LEAVING SAN FRANCISCO.
March 28th. A company of thirty escorted us down the harbor, in the tug. Some of the gentlemen contrived to get on board the Fleece, but to our disappointment the rest of the party remained in the tug. The deck of the ship being high above the tug, our conversation, with reminiscences, compliments, assurances of continual remembrance, messages, could not be so sentimental as if conveyed in whispers. As we went down the harbor, the swell was great, and we were sorry that many of the pleasant faces preferred to turn and look from us overboard; whereby our conversation, difficult though it had been for some time, was wholly cut off. At length the signal was given for parting, and the little tug with its company, the most of whom we could not expect to see again, darted ahead of us; a cloud of handkerchiefs gave us their parting salute, which we continued to answer till the tug was lost amid the crowd of vessels in the harbor. Soon the heavy swell outside admonished us that we also were mortal, and we shut ourselves from the sight of each other.