_Trenton Falls, Sept. 16th._--We left Boston on Tuesday afternoon, and
got as far as Springfield, a town beautifully situated on the river
Connecticut, and celebrated for a government institution of great
importance, where they make and store up fire-arms. It is just 100 miles
from Boston, and the railway runs through a beautifully wooded country
the whole way, which made the journey appear a very short one. The
villages we passed had the same character as those between Providence
and Boston, and were, like them, built altogether of wood, generally
painted white, but occasionally varied by stone-colour, and sometimes by
a warm red or maroon colour picked out with white.
Springfield lay on our way to Albany, and as we had heard much of the
beauty of the place, we were not deterred from sleeping there by being
told that a great annual horse-fair was to be held there, but to secure
rooms we telegraphed for them the day before. At the telegraph station
they took upon themselves to say, there was no room at the established
hotels, but that a new one on the "European plan" had been opened the
day before, where we could be taken in; at this we greatly rejoiced, but
to our dismay on arriving, we found its existence ignored by every one,
and we were almost in despair when we bethought ourselves to go to the
telegraph office, where we were directed to a small new _cabaret_, whose
only merit was that we, being its first occupants, found everything most
perfectly fresh and clean; but having been only opened that day, and the
town being very full, everything was in disorder, and there were but two
bedrooms for papa, myself, William, and Thrower.
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