The Hollow Scream Of The Locomotive Is Heard Even Above
The Thunder Of Niagara.
I slept in the cars for an hour before we started,
and never woke till the conductor demanded payment of my fare in no very
gentle tones.
We reached Hamilton shortly after two in the morning, in the
midst of a high wind and pouring rain; and in company with a dozen very
dirty emigrants we entered a lumber waggon with a canvas top, drawn by one
miserable horse. The curtains very imperfectly kept out the rain, and we
were in continual fear of an upset. At last the vehicle went down on one
side, and all the Irish emigrants tumbled over each other and us, with a
profusion of "Ochs," "murders," and "spalpeens." The driver composedly
shouted to us to alight; the hole was only deep enough to sink the vehicle
to the axletree. We got out into a very capacious lake of mud, and in
again, in very ill humour. At last the horse fell down in a hole, and my
Scotch friend and I got out and walked in the rain for some distance to a
very comfortable hotel, the City Arms. The sun had scarcely warmed the
world into waking life before I was startled from my sleep by the cry,
"Six o'clock; all aboard for the 'bus at half-past, them as goes by the
Passport and Highlander:" but it was half-past, and I had barely time
to dress before the disagreeable shout of "All aboard!" echoed through the
house, and I hurried down stairs into an omnibus, which held twenty-two
persons inside, commodiously seated in arm-chairs.
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