Ladies' Enterprise

SCRIBBLINGS BY THE WAY.

What a little world is one of those passenger cars; what hopes and fears, what joys and sorrows are centered in that small space; how many hearts are beating with anticipations of reunion with loved, and perhaps long absent ones; how many tears are falling at separations which must be, until the "better world" opens upon the now tear-dimmed vision. Such was my departure from Springfield, and such my thoughts as I crossed my native Connecticut, passed over the Berkshire mountains, and steamed across the noble Hudson. I have no cause of complaint upon this route, all was right, all as it should be, and I was beginning to feel well pleased with railroad travelling and its belongings generally, when, "woe the day," I was set down at the depot of the New York Central Railroad.
I stood at the "gateway" and looked in; could it be that the structure, or rather structures around, was the depot of the Central? Yes, so said the "sign," and so said everybody near; and so I entered. To what age in the world's history could they have belonged? Were they thrown up by good Hendrick Hudson and his crew when they voyaged for the first time up the river which bears his name? Ah! now I have it; it was here those misty and mystical dwellers in the Catskill regions, played at "nine pins," the sound of which, reverberated among these hills, in the days when Rip Van Winkle took his twenty year's snooze! Yes, this must have been their "alley."
As I had some four hours to wait before the night train should leave for Niagara, I looked about for a seat and finally obtained one; but oh! the filth and dirt to be endured in that four hour's waiting. I have forgotten what European city it was, in which a certain English writer counted "seventy-nine separate and well-defined smells;" but had it been said of one in the United States, I should be at no loss to remember, for certain am I, it could have been none other than Albany.
But this city, too, with its vexations must be left, and at six o'clock, P. M., we were fairly under way for the Suspension Bridge. A wet cold night, the rain poured in torrents, Egypt itself never saw thicker darkness. Few things are more unpleasant to me than night travelling, yet I managed to pass the long twelve hours with tolerable comfort; sometimes lounging as the length and breadth of my seat would permit; sometimes sitting upright and staring around at my drowsy companions, and laughing at the queer spectacle which the car full of sleeping "noddies" presented. Directly before me, lay, stretched across two seats, a hardy, rough looking, Son of the Ocean; he, evidently is used to uncomfortable beds, for he snores, and sleeps, and snores, as though nothing less than an earthquake, or a "smash up," could arouse him; while across reclines a city exquisite, who is a deal more troubled to look, than to rest well. Farther-on is a newly married pair, probably on their return-from bridal tour. They are anxious to reach home, so they travel to-night; but little of fatigue does the fair girl know, so carefully is she tended by the lover-husband. How tenderly he wraps the heavy shawl about her, that she may not feel the chill night air, how fondly he folds her to him as he seeks rest through the weary, long hours She is young, the bloom-is yet on her smooth cheek, but the flush of early manhood has faded from his, and the nobler brown of mature year has settled upon his features. A sad, almost sorrowful look those features wear, as he gazes down upon the gentle one his arms so tenderly support; his thoughts are in the past: they dwell now upon one equally fair and gentle, whom he thus held to his heart a half score years ago; and a tear falls to her memory, upon the face thus calmly upturned to his. The first wife is not forgotten in his second love.
"Rochester passengers for the Suspension Bridge change cars," calls out the conductor at the door, and instanter the sleepy one is awakened, and the crooked one made straight, the snorer forgets his snoring and-his valise For my part I was glad to straighten my cramped limbs by a few seconds run to the "cars on the right," but sorry to find myself in one far less easy and comfortable than that I had just left, Yet this, was not bad, and as we were now somewhere in the neighborhood of morning I did not complain. I have but one fault to find in this night ride : the saloon was dark as the darkness outside could make it: pray, good people of the New York Central, can't you afford a little light in those corners.
But daylight came at last, and with it a fair sky, two very necessary articles for one to have, when about visiting Niagara. At present, I am sitting by a mammoth stove (in which blazes a good fire) in the depot at the Suspension Bridge, waiting a little ere I go to the Cataract; when I have seen the wonder, and am again at a stopping place, I will write once more.
Ever yours,
Anna STEBBINS C.