It was well for US that we were in this humour．for山e road we wentover that day was certainly enough to have shaken tempers that were notresolutely at set fair，down to some inches below stormy．At one time wewere all flung together in a heap at the bottom of the coach，and at anotherwe were crushing our heads against the roof．Now，one side was downdeep in the mire，and we were holding on to the other．Now，the coachwas lying on the tails of the two wheelers；and now it was rearing up inthe air，in a frantic state，with all four horses standing on the top of aninsurmountable eminence，looking coolly back at it，as though they wouldsay“Unharness US．It can’t be done．”The drivers on these roads，who certainly get ever the ground in a manner which is quite miraculous，SO twist and turn the team about in forcing a passage，corkscrew fashion，through the bogs and swamps，that it was quite a common circumstance，On looking out of the window，to see the coachman with the ends of a pairof reins in his hands，apparently driving nothing，or playing at horses，andthe leaders staring at one unexpectedly from the back of the coach，as ifthey had some idea of getting up behind．A great portion of the way was over what is called a corduroy road，which is made by throwing trunks of trees into a marsh，and leaving them to settle there．The very slightest of the jolts with which the ponderous carriage fell from log to log was enough，it seemed，tO have dislocated all the bones in the human body． It would be impossible to experience a similar set of sensations．in any other circumstances，unless perhaps in attempting to go up to the top of St．Paul’S in an omnibus．Never，never once，that day，was the coach in any position，attitude，or kind of motion，to which we are accustomed in coaches．Never did it make the smallest approach to one’S experience of the proceedings of any sort of vehicle that goes on wheels．
Still，it was a fine day，and the temperature was delicious，and though we had left summer behind US in the west，and were fast leaving spring，we were moving towards Niagara and home．We alighted in a pleasant wood towards the middle of the day，dined on a fallen tree，and leaving our best fragments with a cottager，and our worst with the pigs who swarm in this part of the country like grains of sand on the seashore，to the great comfort of our commissariat in Canada，we went forward again，gaily．
As night came on，the track grew narrower and narrower，until at last it SO lost itself among the trees．that the driver seemed to find his way by instinct．We had the comfort of knowing，at least，that there was no danger of his falling asleep，for every now and then a wheel would strike against an unseen stump with such a jerk，that he was fain to hold on pretty tight and pretty quick，to keep himself upon the box．Nor was there any reason to dread the least danger from furious driving，inasmuch as over that broken ground the hoses had enough to do to walk；as to shying，there was no room for that；and a herd of wild elephants could not have run away in such a wood，with such a coach at their heels．So we stumbled along，quite satisfied．
These stumps of trees are a curious feature in American travelling．The varying illusions they present to the unaccustomed eye as it grows dark are quite astonishing in their number and reality．Now，there is a Grecian urn erected in the centre of a lonely field；now，there iS a womanweeping at a tomb；now，a very commonplace old gentleman in a whitewaistcoat，with a thumb thrust into each arm-hole of his coat；now，astudent poring on a book；now，a crouching negro；now，a horse，a dog，acannon，an armed man；a hunchback throwing off his cloak and steppingforth into the light．They were often as entertaining to me as so manyglasses in a magic lantern，and never took their shapes at my bidding，butseemed to force themselves upon me，whether 1 would or no；and strangeto say，I sometimes recognized in them counterparts of figures oncefamiliar tO me in pictures attached to childish books，forgotten long ago．
Is soon because too dark，however，even for this amusement，andthe trees were SO close together that their dry branches rattled againstthe coach on either side，and obliged US all to keep our heads within．It lightened，too for three whole hours；each flash being very bright，and blue，and long；and as the vivid streaks came darting in among thecrowded branches，and the thunder rolled gloomily above the tree-tops，one could scarcely help thinking that there were better neighbourhoods atsuch a time than thick woods afforded． At length，between ten and eleven 0’clock at night，a few feeblelights appeared in the distance，and Upper Sandusky，an Indian village，where we were to stay till morning，lay before US． They were gone to bed at the login．which was the only house ofentertainment in the place，but soon answered to our knocking，and got some tea for US in a sort of kitchen，or common room，tapestried withold newspapers，pasted against the will．The bedchamber to which my wife and 1 were shown was a large，low，ghostly room，with a quantity of withered branches on the hearth，and two doors without any fastening，opposite to each other，both opening on the black night and wild country，and SO contrived，that one of them always blew the other open—a noveltyin domestic architecture which I do not remember to have seen before， and which 1 was somewhat disconcerted to have forced on my attention，after getting into bed，as I had a considerable sum in gold for our travelling expenses in my dressing—case．Some of the luggage，however，piled against the panels，soon settled this difficulty，and my sleep would not have been very much affected that night，I believe，though it had failed to do SO．