INKLINGS ABROAD.

BY THE EDITOR.

A SERIES of untoward circumstances came near utterly cheating me out of my vacation rambles the past summer. I, however, like occasionally to have either a running fight or a pitched battle with circumstances. I have always, as yet, come away from the contest a victor, and better prepared, by the discipline acquired, for the great battle of life. I find occasionally developing in my nature some strange inconsistencies. With a strong propensity to a life of literary seclusion, I find mingled a passion for roaming over the earth in search of the beautiful, the picturesque, or the romantic in nature. Were I to follow my propensity to literary leisure, I should closely confine myself to my sequestered study, limiting my view to the rural landscape immediately around me, and seldom, if ever, mingling with the world on the great thoroughfare of life. Were I to yield to my passion for the beautiful in nature, I should be ever rambling over hill and dale, mountain and valley, dallying for a time in shady glen; then climbing the mountain summit; then roaming over the plain, or following the devious meanderings of the streamlet, or coasting along the indented shores of the ocean. I think, on the whole, my propensity is stronger for a life of physical activity than for one of literary confinement. It may be that this is only an instinct of my nature, designed to secure that physical exercise, without which life to me would be brief and of little value. So, whatever may be the confining force of circumstances, I must occasionally break away, and recruit my energies, exhausted by confinement to mental labor, by a few days of free and romantic rambling. On such occasions I care little for promiscuous society. It is true, I sometimes most unexpectedly meet an old acquaintance, or very opportunely form a happy new acquaintance, thereby increasing my resources of enjoyment. But generally the company of one friend of congenial spirit is sufficient for all purposes of society. I never pass over a route of travel, or look on a natural scene, however familiar

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it may be to me, without receiving impressions of beautiful pictures, which remain fadeless on the memory. Some such scenes, presented in my last excursion, I may attempt to describe.

SCENERY OF THE MIAMI.

I had never, till my last summer excursion, passed up the valley of the Miami; nor did I ever dream of such scenes of exquisite beauty as float before the vision of the traveler, as he dashes along the railway.

Leaving Cincinnati from the depot of the Hamilton and Dayton railroad, we crept by a winding way out of the city, and soon found ourselves amid scenes of surpassing loveliness. The morning was rainy; but neither the rain which fell on the thirsty earth, nor the mist which shrouded the landscape, occasionally rising to disclose the hillsides, detracted from the beauty of the scene. Did ever human eye look on a vale more beautiful than that of the Miami? To describe it is impossible. To be appreciated it must be seen. No pen, no pencil, can give an idea of the luxuriance of the fields, and the exquisite and elegant bowers of trees and shrubbery scattered over the landscape. Reader, reader of the city, the Queen City of the West, have you yet neglected to make an excursion over this beautiful scene? Are you aware that within an hour's distance of your home there may be found rural scenes and landscape views for which the traveler may in vain look even in far-famed Italy or classic Greece? There is, reader, if you have not yet been over that scene, reserved for you a feast of luxuriance and of pleasure. And if you have been over it, you may, with renewed pleasure, go over it again, and still again; nor will it ever become to the eye of the lover of the beautiful commonplace or uninteresting.

THE MAD RIVER RAILWAY.

I have often been over the Mad River and Lake Erie railroad, and I never have failed to enjoy the excursion in a high degree. I know not what it is which makes the route so pleasant. I can not describe the combination of circumstances which make up the amount of pleasure. The scenery is not remarkably interesting, nor has the road been free from disadvantages arising from the want

of the heavy T rail, and from the necessity of frequent repairs; yet the day has always passed pleasantly. The agreeable sensations of which I am conscious may be owing to the perfection and completeness of the arrangements for avoiding accidents and detention; the quiet, regular, and equable progress of the cars; the civil and orderly character of the people who frequent that route; and the accommodating and gentlemanly deportment of the conductors and hands employed by the Superintendent in running the trains. The Superintendent of that road is one of the most efficient railroad managers in the west. With his efficiency and enterprise of character he combines a liberal, generous, and magnanimous spirit. Under his able administration the affairs of the road have assumed an order and system attained by few railroad corporations in the country. Nearly the entire line has been remodeled, the flat rail with which it was first built being removed, and the most approved heavy rail substituted. A new line has been constructed from Tiffin to the Lake, greatly shortening the distance and the time. Before long, perhaps before you read these rambling sketches, the new arrangements for the whole line will be completed. When this is done, you can find no route from the Ohio to Lake Erie more pleasant than by the Miami and Mad River roads. The towns along this line are flourishing and beautiful. None more beautiful than Dayton, and Springfield, and Urbana may you see in the west. Of the smaller and newer places, there are some perfect gems between Cincinnati and Dayton, and some fresh and thriving north of Urbana.

The country scenery, as we have already observed, is not generally of special interest; yet there is considerable variety. Along the Mad River we pass over several wild savannas, waving in the season with tall grass, and pastured by innumerable flocks and herds. North of Bellefontaine we plunge into a wild and dense forest, unbroken except where a site seemed necessary for a village to accommodate the increasing business of the railroad. Toward the Lake we reach a region of small prairies and open groves, with frequent villages.

The several journeys I have made over that road have left nothing but pleasant memories in my heart-memories of agreeable company, of polite attentions, of easy journeyings, and of quiet enjoyment.

LAKE ERIE.

The scenery about the Lake differs greatly from the scenery of the ocean shore. The Lake shore is less wild, less romantic, less grand, but more cultivated, more beautiful, and more homelike, than the sea-shore. The Lake itself reminds one little of the ocean. Although you may be floating far out from shore, even out of sight of land, yet you would not, in your most abstracted reverie, imagine yourself at sea. There is wanting on the Lake the heavy surge, the deep swell, the mountain wave of the ocean.

The passage over the Lake is generally pleasant. The steamers are large, clean, well furnished, and well ordered in all their arrangements. The boarding and the lodging are as good as you could desire, or could expect even at the city hotels. The Lake, whenever I have had the luck to make passage over it, has been tranquil and smooth as some cozy fountain sequestered among the hills. It is pleasant to sit at evening on the open deck, and look out on the still waters, as your steamer glides along. It is pleasant to rise from your bed in the quiet night, and, while all around you are sealed in sleep, look out on the moonlit waters. It is pleasant to rise at early morn, just as the dawn streaks the east, and watch the crimson glow, increasing in compass and in intensity, till the sun, uprisen from the waters, appears in full view. It is pleasant to sit in the spacious cabin of the magnificent steamer, and quietly read or pleasantly converse with a friend, while you are rapidly borne along toward your place of destination. It is pleasant, when the boat stops at some one of the fairy cities along the coast, to go ashore, and ramble about the streets, and saunter along the beautiful and shady sidewalks. But look out that you do not unfortunately get left. I and my companion came so near getting left that we were, at least, very badly scared. We went ashore at Erie, supposing the boat would remain some two hours. We climbed the hill on which the town stands, and spent some time in observing the broad streets, wide sidewalks, large buildings, and magnificent distances of that famous place, till becoming weary we concluded to return to the boat, though we supposed we had yet an hour to spare. What was our fright to find, on arriving at the wharf, the cables loosed, the plank taken in, and the boat just leaving the pier, permitting us, as she rounded to, just to step aboard. Had we remained in town two minutes longer, we should have been too late.

Who conceived the plan on which the town of Erie was laid out? I should think he had been brought up in the Grand Prairie, where a neighbor is deemed too near at the distance of fifteen miles. If the philanthropy of the people be as widespread as their streets, and their hearts as big as their houses, I should like to live among them.

But Lake Erie sometimes presents other than pleasant scenes. Calm as appears usually her face, she sometimes frowns in tempest and in storm. Sometimes, too, her waters are lighted with the glare of burning wreck, or they echo from their surface with the dying wail of the hapless, sinking in the flood from fatal collisions. Let, however, the curtain not now be raised over such scenes as those of the Erie, and of the Griffith, and of the Atlantic.

THE ERIE RAILROAD.

The first one hundred and fifty miles of the Erie railroad, from Lake Erie to the Chemung river, affords the traveler a fair specimen of a new country. We pass along the brow of hills clothed