The day has passed without adventures, but in comfort. We left Pittsburg at seven in the morning. At nine we passed Johnstown. The terrible calamity that befell that city two years ago was before my mind's eye; the town suddenly inundated, the people rushing on the bridge, and there caught and burnt alive. America is the country for great disasters. Everything here is on a huge scale. Toward noon, the country grew hilly, and, for an hour before we reached Harrisburg, it gave me great enjoyment, for in America, where there is so much sameness in the landscapes, it is a treat to see the mountains of Central Pennsylvania breaking the monotony of the huge flat stretch of land. The employees (I must be careful not to say "servants") of the Pennsylvania Railroad are polite and form an agreeable contrast to those of the other railway companies. Unhappily, the employees whom you find on board the Pullman cars are not in the control of the company. * * * * * The train will reach Jersey City for New York at seven to-night. I shall dine at my hotel. About 5.30 it occurred to me to go to the dining-room car and ask for a cup of tea. Before entering the car I stopped at the lavatory to wash my hands. Some one was using the basin. It was the conductor, the autocrat in charge of the dining car, a fat, sleek, chewing, surly, frowning, snarling cur. He turned round. "What do you want?" said he. "I should very much like to wash my hands," I timidly ventured. "You see very well I am using the basin. You go to the next car." I came to America this time with a large provision of philosophy, and quite determined to even enjoy such little scenes as this. So I quietly went to the next lavatory, returned to the dining-car, and sat down at one of the tables. "Will you, please, give me a cup of tea?" I said to one of the colored waiters. "I can't do dat, sah," said the negro. "You can have dinnah." "But I don't want _dinnah_," I replied; "I want a cup of tea." "Den you must ask dat gem'man if you can have it," said he, pointing to the above mentioned "gentleman." I went to him. "Excuse me," said I, "are you the nobleman who runs this show?" He frowned. "I don't want to dine; I should like to have a cup of tea." He frowned a little more, and deigned to hear my request to the end. "Can I?" I repeated. He spoke not; he brought his eyebrows still lower down, and solemnly shook his head. "Can't I really?" I continued. At last he spoke. "You can," quoth he, "for a dollar." And, taking the bill of fare in his hands, without wasting any more of his precious utterances, he pointed out to me: "Each meal one dollar." The argument was unanswerable. I went back to my own car, resumed my seat, and betook myself to reflection.