The element of danger adds zest to it all. On we go, rumbling and
flashing, with our loud whinnies thrown out from time to time, or
trumpet-blasts, into the darkness. Passing the homes of men, the
farms, barns, cattle--the silent villages. And the car itself, the
sleeper, with curtains drawn and lights turn'd down--in the berths the
slumberers, many of them women and children--as on, on, on, we fly
like lightning through the night--how strangely sound and sweet they
sleep! (They say the French Voltaire in his time designated the grand
opera and a ship of war the most signal illustrations of the growth of
humanity's and art's advance beyond primitive barbarism. Perhaps if
the witty philosopher were here these days, and went in the same car
with perfect bedding and feed from New York to San Francisco, he would
shift his type and sample to one of our American sleepers.)
MISSOURI STATE
We should have made the run of 960 miles from Philadelphia to St.
Louis in thirty-six hours, but we had a collision and bad locomotive
smash about two-thirds of the way, which set us back. So merely
stopping over night that time in St. Louis, I sped on westward. As I
cross'd Missouri State the whole distance by the St. Louis and Kansas
City Northern Railroad, a fine early autumn day, I thought my eyes
had never looked on scenes of greater pastoral beauty. For over two
hundred miles successive rolling prairies, agriculturally perfect
view'd by Pennsylvania and New Jersey eyes, and dotted here and
there with fine timber.
Pages:
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241