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Updated: May 8, 2025
The morning of the third day after my departure from home found me seated at breakfast in the large hotel at Corning, N. Y., which stands within a few steps of the Corning and Blossburg railway-station.
They went out to see what could be done, and we awaited their decision in great anxiety, the widow bemoaning her fate and wishing she had never begun the journey, and the milliner rehearsing numerous other misfortunes which had befallen the Blossburg train when she had been a passenger; not one of which, however, had proved such a "fix" as we were in now.
"Oh, it was nothing," she replied; "only this is an old road, and there have been so many break-downs on it that Mr. Smith likes to make fun of all the Blossburg passengers." "But is anything the matter now?" I asked. "No: we always creep along this way. You see, the distance is only eighteen miles, or nobody could stand it.
From the conversation going on around me, I inferred that several of the guests besides myself were going by the Blossburg train, but I could not see the point of the landlord's jokes on the subject, which, however, appeared to be fully understood and heartily appreciated by my neighbors.
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