ewer than at present. Then
shall their grandchildren bring other trees and set them along the
streets, and dig wells and fountains, where Kuhleborn may rise to bemoan
the desolation of his ancient domain.

Probably from sympathy with the bulk of their freight, the
passenger-cars upon the Oil Creek Railway are so streaked with oil upon
the outside, and so imbued with oil within, as to suggest having been
used on excursions to the bottoms of the various wells; but uninviting
as is their appearance, they are always crowded, and Miselle shared her
seat with a portly gentleman, whom at the second glance she recognized
as Viator Ignotus, and he, presently alluding to the fact of their
having dined together the previous day, a conversation grew up, through
which Miselle, much to her amusement, was initiated into the cabinet
secrets of the two or three railway companies who divide the travel of
the West, and who would appear to cherish very much the same jealousies
and avenge their grievances in much the same manner as Mrs. Jones and
Mrs. Brown with their neighborhood quarrels. Then Viator, producing from
his pocket sundry maps and charts, foretold the career of railways yet
unborn, and discoursed learnedly upon their usefulness, or, as he
phrased it, their "paying prospects." Finally, the subject of railways
exhausted, or rather run out, Viator paid his companion the compliment
of inquiring of her the condition of public feeling in her native State
as regarded the election; and the affairs of the nation were not yet
completely arranged when the train arrived at Titusville, and Viator
departed.

The city of Titusville is probably the most forlorn and dreary looking
place in these United States. To describe the irregular rows of shanties
bordering on impassable sloughs of mud, the scenery, the pigs, and the
people, were a thankless task, as the most eloquent words would fall
short of the reality. In one of the principal streets the blackened
stumps still stand so thickly that the laden wagons meander among them
as sinuously as the path which foxes and squirrels wore there only three
years ago,--while in curious contrast with this avenue and the
surrounding buildings stands a handsome brick church, with a gilded
cross upon its spire, the one thing calm and steadfast in the dismal
scene.

When the train again moved on, the seat vacated by Viator was taken by a
young woman bound for Oil City, where her husband awaited her; but t