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