ch
are mournful and depressing perhaps in that privacy demanded on other
occasions, are here, by reason of their very publicity, of an edifying
and exhilarating character. A parting kiss, blown from the deck of a
steamer into a miscellaneous crowd, of course loses much of that
sacred solemnity with which foolish superstition is apt to invest it. A
broadside of endearing epithets, even when properly aimed and apparently
raking the whole wharf, is apt to be impotent and harmless. A husband
who prefers to embrace his wife for the last time at the door of
her stateroom, and finds himself the centre of an admiring group of
unconcerned spectators, of course feels himself lifted above any feeling
save that of ludicrousness which the situation suggests. The mother,
parting from her offspring, should become a Roman matron under the like
influences; the lover who takes leave of his sweetheart is not apt to
mar the general hilarity by any emotional folly. In fact, this system of
delaying our parting sentiments until the last moment--this removal of
domestic scenery and incident to a public theatre--may be said to be
worthy of a stoical and democratic people, and is an event in our lives
which may be shared with the humblest coal-passer or itinerant vender
of oranges. It is a return to that classic out-of-door experience
and mingling of public and domestic economy which so ennobled the
straight-nosed Athenian.

So universal is this desire to be present at the departure of any
steamer that, aside from the regular crowd of loungers who make their
appearance confessedly only to look on, there are others who take
advantage of the slightest intimacy to go through the leave-taking
formula. People whom you have quite forgotten, people to whom you have
been lately introduced, suddenly and unexpectedly make their appearance
and wring your hands with fervor. The friend, long estranged, forgives
you nobly at the last moment, to take advantage of this glorious
opportunity of "seeing you off." Your bootmaker, tailor, and
hatter--haply with no ulterior motives and unaccompanied by official
friends--visit you with enthusiasm. You find great difficulty in
detaching your relatives and acquaintances from the trunks on which
they resolutely seat themselves, up to the moment when the paddles are
moving, and you are haunted continually by an ill-defined idea that
they may be carried off, and foisted on you--with the payment of their
passage, which, un