ladies are not compelled to sit in
isolation, by the side of passengers who use the car-floor as a
spittoon. We may chat together upon family-matters without awakening the
vivid interest of any mother-in-Israel mounting guard in front of us
over a bandbox. The gentlemen may smoke, if the ladies like it, and, so
long as they keep the windows open, nobody shall say them nay. We all
enjoy a sense of security and independence, which is like occupying a
well-provisioned Gibraltar on wheels. If we have a sick friend with us,
he need never leave his mattress till he reaches San Francisco.
Should his situation become critical _en route_, the best medical
attendance is at hand,--every through-train being obliged by statute
to carry a first-class physician and surgeon, with a well-stocked
apothecary-compartment. But our present party are all of them in fine
health and spirits; so we may dismiss the doctor's shop from our
consideration.

The whistle blows just as the ladies have hung their bonnets in the
rack, and the gentlemen exchanged their boots for slippers. We wave
adieu to the Atlantic coast and the friends who have come to see us
off. A few minutes more, and we pass through the Bergen Tunnel. The
remainder of the day is spent amid that wild mountain and forest
scenery which the Erie Railroad has made familiar to the whole
travelling-population of our Eastern States. At Salamanca we strike the
Atlantic and Great Western's separate line. On the way thence to Dayton
we shall pass a number of long trains, made up of platform-cars heavily
laden with barrels carrying East the riches of the Pennsylvania
oil-region. These have connected with our main road by a couple of
branches built especially for the accommodation of the petroleum-trade.
From Dayton to Cincinnati we shall traverse one of the finest
farming-regions of the world, meeting trains laden with beeves, swine,
packed pork, lard, grain, corn, potatoes, and every variety of produce
that bears transportation. By this time, also, Ohio vine-culture has
attained a development which justifies an occasional train entirely
devoted to pipes of still Catawba and baskets of the sparkling brands.

From Cincinnati to St. Louis by way of Vincennes, we run through the
southern portions of Indiana and Illinois, threading varied and
picturesque scenery all the way, unless we have seen the Egyptian
prairies so many times before that they pall on us before we reach the
Mississippi bluff