Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1868-11-25

rival Holland; 1 cannot count my
griefs and catalogue them, as Walt
4 Whitman would do, nor can en-
shrine them in platitudes as Robert
Buchanan might and doubtless would
/ if he knew them. No, / must deal in
generalitiss and not even venture up
on particulars. l shall say nothing
about the grOans that resOunded,
mingled with snOres and gaspings,
from one end Of the sitting car to the
other; / do not even allude to the
woe-begOne and miserable shapes that
crawled out of their berths and sat for
a change upon the edges. Ispare my
readers the details of the calculations,
and will not attempt to say how many
times / heard words that began with
I'D" burst from lips that perehance
had hitherto been strangers to such
profanity. To those who suffer much,
much must be forgiven, and surely
we all needed forgiveness if suffering
were the price to pay for it. After
few hours of abOrtive attempt at Sleep
ing, / at last found myself, in the
early gray of morning, as wide awake
a. if it were broad noon. leaned out
of my coffin and looked about in the
dim light to see how it Jared with the
other dead people. MY eonfiding
friend was sitting on q pillow on the
floor by the side of his berth, apparent |
ly wondering why his maiden aunt
had not included sleeping cars in her
list Of dangers he was to avoid / at |
tempted to address him few cOnsol- |
atOry remarks.' But my words sound
ed like the hollow mOckery they were
He answered me with grOans, and /
using q word that began with I'D, /" he
banged his head against the edge Of
his berth. Above US the lamp glim-
mered with a siekly ray. Our friends
on the opposite side (for in misery, are
we not all friends?) had abandoned
their berths, and while one Of them,
forgetting that it was
and that escape was impos-
sible, was feebly putting on his stock
ings, the other was sitting with
dogged expression on the edge Of the
berth, and swinging his useless legs
in the air.
Looking down the dismal alley, it
was evident that We were not the
only sufferers. Here, a ruff1ed and
be-tossed head was thrust wearily out
from the curtain, like the last one
to a wreck, and peering about
for land. Here, night
mare arms were waving in the spec
tral air, and nightmare cries, an
swered to their despairing gestures.
An old gentleman who, counting on
peaceful slumbers, had gone TO bed in
his night-gown, had arisen and
stood, invested in that garment, while
he balanced his hat in one hand
against his trowsers in the other,
which to put on first, or
whether to put on either. Indeed il
was idle to think Of escaping before
our time. We had paid for berths,
and il was expected that we would
sleep in them. The doors were lock-
ed, our boots were gone, there were
no seats TO sit upon, and 70 return to
our berths, which has been liked to
prove our deaths, was the only re-
source. So after much deliberation,
back, and longed for the
II L had been provident
enough to bring my writing materials
with me, l could then and there,
have written such description of a
shipwreck as has never yet been
written. I could have put such feel
ing into it as no reader, unless made
Of cast-iron, could have resisted. You
would have had set of weeping sub
scribers. But for lack Of the poetry
that might have been, take this plain
prose. Beware of sleeping cars, un-
less you are an old traveller, or can
sleep soundly under circumstances
that to the majority Of human beings
make sleep impossible. The young
gentleman who, if we may believe the
slept soundly through the
recent collision on the Albany and
Boston Railroad, may without mis-
givings, take a berth in q sleeping-car.
But let only those who think they
could match him in the one feat,
emulate his rashness in the other.