hrown overboard, and lights gleam
along the side of the boat. There is no sign of the unfortunate girl who
has so rashly sought peace, and the waters will hold her in their cold
embrace till the sea gives up its dead. All search is hopeless, and the
boat speeds on, a dumb horror holding its occupants mute.

In a fog, the scene is exciting beyond description. The passengers
throng the forward end of the boat, and strive with eager eyes to pierce
the dense mist which enshrouds the stream and hides the shore from view.
From either side the hoarse clangor of the ferry bells, tolling their
number, comes floating through the mist, to guide the pilot to his
destination, and all around, on every hand, steamers are shrieking their
shrill signals to each other. The boat moves slowly and with caution,
and the pilot strains both eye and ear to keep her in the right course.
One single error of judgment on his part, and the boat might go crashing
into a similar steamer, or into one of the vessels lying in the stream.
It is a moment of danger, and those who are used to the river know it.
You could hear a pin drop in the silent crowd on the deck. If men speak
at all, they do so in low, subdued tones. There is a sharp whistle on
the right, and the boat suddenly stops. You hear the splashing of paddle
wheels, and the next moment a huge steamer dashes past you in the mist.
You can hear her, but the fog hides her. Then the boat goes ahead again,
and gradually the fog bells on the shore grow louder and clearer, and in
a little while the dock bursts suddenly upon you, so spectral and
unearthly in its appearance that you hardly recognize it. The boat now
glides swiftly into her "slip," and a sigh of relief breaks from the
throng on board. The danger is over.

The boats carry such crowds that an accident to any of them is a terrible
affair. The collision at the Fulton Ferry in 1868, and the terrible
explosion of the Westfield in 1871, were attended with great loss of
life. The injuries were none of them slight, and the disasters were of
such magnitude as to throw a general gloom over the community.

XVII. THE HOTELS.

New York is the paradise of hotels. In no other city do they flourish in
such numbers, and nowhere else do they attain such a degree of
excellence. The hotels of New York naturally take the lead of all others
in America, and are regarded by all who have visited them as models of
their kind.

It is said