n Iowa and Kansas, from Maine that borders on the
Canadas, and from the Canadas themselves--some one or two were fleeing
in quest of a better land and better wages. The talk in the train, like
the talk I heard on the steamer, ran upon hard times, short commons, and
hope that moves ever westward. I thought of my shipful from Great
Britain with a feeling of despair. They had come 3,000 miles, and yet
not far enough. Hard times bowed them out of the Clyde, and stood to
welcome them at Sandy Hook. Where were they to go? Pennsylvania, Maine,
Iowa, Kansas? These were not places for immigration, but for emigration,
it appeared; not one of them, but I knew a man who had lifted up his
heel and left it for an ungrateful country. And it was still westward
that they ran. Hunger, you would have thought, came out of the east like
the sun, and the evening was made of edible gold. And, meantime, in the
car in front of me, were there not half a hundred emigrants from the
opposite quarter? Hungry Europe and hungry China, each pouring from
their gates in search of provender, had here come face to face. The two
waves had met; east and west had alike failed; the whole round world had
been prospected and condemned; there was no El Dorado anywhere; and till
one could emigrate to the moon, it seemed as well to stay patiently at
home. Nor was there wanting another sign, at once more picturesque and
more disheartening; for, as we continued to steam westward towards the
land of gold, we were continually passing other emigrant trains upon the
journey east; and these were as crowded as our own. Had all these return
voyagers made a fortune in the mines? Were they all bound for Paris, and
to be in Rome by Easter? It would seem not, for, whenever we met them,
the passengers ran on the platform and cried to us through the windows,
in a kind of wailing chorus, to "come back." On the plains of Nebraska,
in the mountains of Wyoming, it was still the same cry, and dismal to my
heart, "Come back!" That was what we heard by the way "about the good
country we were going to." And at that very hour the Sand-lot of San
Francisco was crowded with the unemployed, and the echo from the other
side of Market Street was repeating the rant of demagogues.

If, in truth, it were only for the sake of wages that men emigrate, how
many thousands would regret the bargain! But wages, indeed, are only one
consideration out of many; for we are a race of gipsies, and love change