the world;
say, _from twenty-five to thirty_, and most of them of a large class."

He was in the valley of the Ohio that year, and he spoke of it "as the
land of cheapness:" flour, two dollars and a quarter a barrel; oats,
twelve and a half cents a bushel; corn and rye, twenty cents; coal,
three cents. He found all the region from Louisville to Louisiana "one
vast wilderness," with scarcely any settlements, and now and then a log
hut on the banks, occupied by the people who cut wood for the
steamboats. On the prairies of Missouri he rode miles and miles without
seeing a house. Indiana was an almost unbroken wilderness: corn ten
cents a bushel, a wild turkey twelve and half cents, and other things in
proportion.

Nevertheless, travelers at that day had some pleasures which could be
advantageously compared with the ease and comfort of the Pullman car.
The Alleghanies were then crossed by open wagons drawn by splendid
Pennsylvania horses, six in a team, gayly decorated with ribbons, bells,
and trappings. He used to repeat, in a peculiarly buoyant and
delightful manner, a popular song of the day, called "The Wagoner,"
suggested by the apparently happy lot of the boys who rode and drove
these horses. Some readers may remember the old song, beginning:--

"I've often thought if I were asked
Whose lot I envied most,
What one I thought most lightly tasked
Of man's unnumbered host,
I'd say I'd be a mountain boy
And drive a noble team--wo hoy!
Wo hoy! I'd cry,
And lightly fly
Into my saddle seat;
My rein I'd slack,
My whip I'd crack--
What music is so sweet?
Six blacks I'd drive, of ample chest,
All carrying high their head.
All harnessed tight, and gaily dressed
In winkers tipped with red.
Oh, yes! I'd be a mountain boy,
And such a team I'd drive--wo hoy!
Wo hoy! I'd cry;
The lint should fly.
Wo hoy! Dobbin, Ball.
Their feet should ring,
And I would sing,
I'd sing my fal-de-roll."

We have almost forgotten that such a gay mode of crossing the
Alleghanies was ever practiced; and yet a person need not be very old to
have enjoyed the experience. I myself, for example, can just remember
riding from Buffalo to New York by a line of stages that came round by
the Alleghany Mountains, and crossed the State of New Jersey, passing
through Morristown. We