At about half-past three, we arrived at a place called _Syracuse_!!!--where, stopping to change horses, my father observed that here there were two different routes to our point of destination; and desired our driver to take that which passes through Skaneateles, a very beautiful village, situated on a lake so called. However, to this the master of the inn, who was also, I believe, proprietor of the coach, seemed to have some private objection; and while my father was yet speaking, very coolly shut the coach door in his face, and desired the driver to go on in the contrary direction. The insolence of the fellow enraged my father extremely; and it was rather astonishing, that's the fact: but the deuce is in't if, in a free country, a man may not choose which way his own coach shall go, in spite of the folk who pay him for the use of it. We had to pocket the affront; and, what was much more disagreeable, to travel an ugly uninteresting road, instead of a picturesque and pretty one. We had not proceeded many miles after this occurrence, and were just recovering our equanimities, when the said vehicle broke down. We were not overturned or hurt, only tilted a little on one side. The driver, however, did not seem to think it safe to proceed in this condition: the gentlemen got out, and searched the hedges and thickets for a piece of oak sufficiently strong and stout to repair, at least for the moment, the damage: we were not at the time within reach of any house. At last, they procured what they wanted; and, having propped up the carriage after the best fashion they could, we proceeded at a foot pace to the next village. Here, while they were putting our conveyance into something like better order, ---- and I wandered away to a pretty bright water-course, which, like all water in this country, was made to turn a mill. The coach being made sound once more, we packed ourselves into it, and progressed. The evening was perfectly sultry. I never shall forget, at a place where we stopped to water the horses, a cart-full of wretched sheep and calves, who were, I suppose, on their way to the slaughterhouse, but who, in the mean time, seemed enduring the most horrible torture that creatures can suffer. They were jammed into the cart so as to be utterly incapable of moving a single limb; the pitiless sun shone fiercely upon their wretched heads, and their poor eyes were full of dust and flies. I never saw so miserable a spectacle of suffering. I looked at the brutal-looking man that was driving them, and wondered whether he would go to hell, for tormenting these helpless beasts in this fashion.