At Eight O'clock We Found Ourselves Passing Over Water,
And Between Long Rows Of Gas-Lights, And Shortly Afterwards The Cars
Stopped At Boston, The Athens Of America.
Giving our baggage-checks to the
porter of the American House, we drove to that immense hotel, where I
remained for one night.
It was crammed from the very basement to the most
undesirable locality nearest the moon; I believe it had seven hundred
inmates. I had arranged to travel to Cincinnati, and from thence to
Toronto, with Mr. and Mrs. Walrence, but on reaching Boston I found that
they feared fever and cholera, and, leaving me to travel alone from
Albany, would meet me at Chicago. Under these circumstances I remained
with my island friends for one night at this establishment, a stranger in
a land where I had few acquaintances, though I was well armed with letters
of introduction. One of these was to Mr. Amy, a highly respected merchant
of Boston, who had previously informed me by letter of the best route to
the States, and I immediately despatched a note to him, but he was absent
at his country-house, and I was left to analyse the feeling of isolation
inseparable from being alone in a crowd. Having received the key of my
room, I took my supper in an immense hall, calculated for dining 400
persons. I next went into the ladies' parlour, and felt rather out of
place among so many richly dressed females; for as I was proceeding to
write a letter, a porter came in and told me that writing was not allowed
in that saloon.
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