in high life.
LEAVING SARATOGA—BURNING OF THE BAGGAGE OAR—
VISIT TO NEW YORK.
The season at Saratoga having closed, I had to re¬
turn to Albany to get paid for my clothes. I had for¬
gotten to mention that the season I have just been de¬
scribing, my baggage had been all burned up on my
way to Saratoga. I will now give you a description
of the circumstance. I had intended stopping at the
Yellow Springs that season, as many of our aristoc¬
racy were there; but concluded not to do so. I took
the cars at Xenia for Saratoga, and after riding a day
and night, when I was just two and a half hours'
ride from Saratoga, we had stopped about ten or fif¬
teen minutes at a little place called St. Johnsville.
The most of the passengers were asleep, but as I
had scarcely ever slept on the cars, I chanced to be
looking out of the window, and at the moment envy¬
ing the gentlemen in a refreshment saloon drinking
hot coffee, when I saw a man walk hurriedly out of
the saloon. He glanced with a look of alarm toward
the foremost cars, and immediately hallooed " fire."
I called to a number of ladies and gentlemen sitting
around, and told them the cars were on fife. They
laughed at me, and said I must be dreaming. I then
threw up the window, and looking out, could just see