Eleven,P.M.­In the boat "City of Boston,"escorted thither by my car acquaintance,and deposited in the cabin.Trying to look as if the greater portion of my life had been passed on board boats,but painfully conscious that I don't know the first thing;so sit bolt upright,and stare about me till I hear one lady say to another­"We must secure our berths at once;"whereupon I dart at one,and,while leisurely taking off my cloak,wait to discover what the second move may be.Several ladies draw the curtains that hang in a semi-circle before each nest­instantly I whisk mine smartly together,and then peep out to see what next.Gradually,on hooks above the blue and yellow drapery,appear the coats and bonnets of my neighbours,while their boots and shoes,in every imaginable attitude,assert themselves below,as if their owners had committed suicide in a body.A violent creaking,scrambling,and fussing,causes the fact that people are going regularly to bed to dawn upon my mind.Of course they are;and so am I­but pause at the seventh pin,remembering that,as I was born to be drowned,an eligible opportunity now presents itself;and,having twice escaped a watery grave,the third immersion will certainly extinguish my vital spark.The boat is new,but if it ever intends to blow up,spring a leak,catch afire,or be run into,it will do the deed to-night,because I'm here to fulfill my destiny.With tragic calmness I resign myself,replace my pins,lash my purse and papers together,with my handkerchief,examine the saving circumference of my hoop,and look about me for any means of deliverance when the moist moment shall arrive;for I've no intention of folding my hands and bubbling to death without an energetic splashing first.Barrels,hen-coops,portable settees,and life-preservers do not adorn the cabin,as they should;and,roving wildly to and fro,my eye sees no ray of hope till it falls upon a plump old lady,devoutly reading in the cabin Bible,and a voluminous night-cap.I remember that,at the swimming school,fat girls always floated best,and in an instant my plan is laid.At the first alarm I firmly attach myself to the plump lady,and cling to her through fire and water;for I feel that my old enemy,the cramp,will seize me by the foot,if I attempt to swim;and,though I can hardly expect to reach Jersey City with myself and my baggage in as good condition as I hoped,I might manage to get picked up by holding to my fat friend;if not it will be a comfort to feel that I've made an effort and shall die in good society.Poor dear woman!how little she dreamed,as she read and rocked,with her cap in a high state of starch,and her feet comfortably cooking at the register,what fell designs were hovering about her,and how intently a small but determined eye watched her,till it suddenly closed.
Sleep got the better of fear to such an extent that my boots appeared to gape,and my bonnet nodded on its peg,before I gave in.Having piled my cloak,bag,rubbers,books and umbrella on the lower shelf,I drowsily swarmed onto the upper one,tumbling down a few times,and excoriating the knobby portions of my frame in the act.A very brief nap on the upper roost was enough to set me gasping as if a dozen feather beds and the whole boat were laid over me.Out I turned;and after a series of convulsions,which caused my neighbor to ask if I wanted the stewardess,I managed to get my luggage up and myself down.But even in the lower berth,my rest was not unbroken,for various articles kept dropping off the little shelf at the bottom of the bed,and every time I flew up,thinking my hour had come,I bumped my head severely against the little shelf at the top,evidently put there for that express purpose.At last,after listening to the swash of the waves outside,wondering if the machinery usually creaked in that way,and watching a knot-hole in the side of my berth,sure that death would creep in there as soon as I took my eye from it,I dropped asleep,and dreamed of muffins.
Five,A.M.­On deck,trying to wake up and enjoy an east wind and a morning fog,and a twilight sort of view of something on the shore.
Rapidly achieve my purpose,and do enjoy every moment,as we go rushing through the Sound,with steamboats passing up and down,lights dancing on the shore,mist wreaths slowly furling off,and a pale pink sky above us,as the sun comes up.
Seven,A.M.­In the cars,at Jersey City.Much fuss with tickets,which one man scribbles over,another snips,and a third "makes note on."Partake of refreshment,in the gloom of a very large and dirty depot.Think that my sandwiches would be more relishing without so strong a flavor of napkin,and my gingerbread more easy of consumption if it had not been pulverized by being sat upon.People act as if early traveling didn't agree with them.Children scream and scamper;men smoke and growl;women shiver and fret;porters swear;great truck horses pace up and down with loads of baggage;and every one seems to get into the wrong car,and come tumbling out again.One man,with three children,a dog,a bird-cage,and several bundles,puts himself and his possessions into every possible place where a man,three children,dog,bird-cage and bundles could be got,and is satisfied with none of them.I follow their movements,with an interest that is really exhausting,and,as they vanish,hope for rest,but don't get it.A strong-minded woman,with a tumbler in her hand,and no cloak or shawl on,comes rushing through the car,talking loudly to a small porter,who lugs a folding bed after her,and looks as if life were a burden to him.
