The shades of evening closed in upon me as I alighted at a very comfortable hotel at Rochester.  The amiable Morpheus soon claimed me as his own, nor was I well pleased when ruthlessly dragged from his soft embrace at 6-1/2 A.M. the following morning; but railways will not wait for Morpheus or any other deity of fancy or fiction; so, making the best use I could of a tub of water and a beefsteak, and calming my temper with a fragrant weed, I was soon ensconced in one of their cars, a passenger to New York.

On reaching Albany, we crossed the river and threw ourselves into the cars of the Hudson River Railway, which, running close to the margin nearly all the way, gives you an ever-varying view of the charming scenery of this magnificent stream.  Yankee industry was most disagreeably prominent at several of the stations, in the shape of a bevy of unwashed urchins parading the cars with baskets of the eternal pea-nut and various varieties of lollipop, lemonade, &c., all crying out their wares, and finding as ready a sale for them as they would at any school in England.  The baiting-place was not very tempting; we all huddled into one room, where everything was hurry and confusion:  besides which, the appetite was not strengthened by the sight of hands—­whose owners seemed to have “registered a vow in heaven,” to forego the use of soap—­turning over the sandwiches, one after another, until they had made their selection.  However, the majority approve of the system; and as no thought is given to the minority, “if you don’t like it, you may lump it.”

But the more permanent inconvenience of this railroad is one for which the majority cannot be held responsible, i.e., it runs three-fourths of the way over a bed of granite, and often between cuts in the solid granite rock, the noise therefore is perfectly stunning; and when to this you add the echoing nature of their long wooden cars, destitute of anything to check the vibrations of sound, except the human cargo and the cushions they sit upon, and when you add further the eternal slamming of the doors at each end by the superintending conductor and the inquisitive portion of the passengers, you may well conceive that this combination is enough to rouse the slumbers of the dead, and rack the brains of the living.  At the same time, I must allow that this line runs the best pace and keeps the best time of any in the Union.

On reaching the outskirts of New York, I asked, “Is this the proper place for me to get out at?” And being answered in the affirmative, I alighted, and found myself in a broad open street.  Scarce had I set my foot on the ground, when I saw the train going on again, and therefore asked for my luggage.  After a few questions and answers, I ascertained it had gone on in the train about three miles further; and the only consolation I got, was being told, “I guess you’d best have gone on too.”  However, all troubles must have an end; so getting into a hackney, I drove to my hospitable friend Phelps’