fatigued, they found themselves at their place of destination."

This fancy sketch, thrown off by an inveterate joker three hundred
years ago, is justified curiously by any of our modern railways; but
to see the picture represented in startling accuracy you should find
some busy "junction" among the coal-mountains. Here you may observe,
from your perch upon the hill, an assemblage of roads actively
reticulating and radiating, winding through the valleys, slinking off
misanthropically into a tunnel, or gayly parading away elbow-in-elbow
with the streams. These avenues, upon minute inspection, are seen to
be obviously moving: they are crawling and creeping with an unbroken
joint-work of black wagons, the rails hidden by their moving pavement,
and the road throughout advancing, foot by foot, into the distance.
It is hardly too fanciful--on seeing its covering slide away,
its switches swinging, its turn-tables revolving, its drawbridges
opening--to declare that such a road is an animal--an animal proving
its nature, according to Aristotle, by the power to move itself. Nor
is it at all censurable to ask of a road like this where it "goes to."

The notion of what Rabelais calls a "wayfaring way," a _chemin
cheminant_, came into our thoughts at Cumberland. But Cumberland was
not reached until after many miles of interesting travel along a route
remarkable for beauties, both natural and improved. A coal-distributor
is certain, in fact, to be a road full of attractions for the tourist;
for coal, that Sleeping Beauty of our era, always chooses a pretty bed
in which to perform its slumber of ages. The road which delivers
the Cumberland coal, however, is truly exceptional for splendor of
scenery, as well as for historical suggestiveness and engineering
science. It has recently become, by means of certain lavish
providences established for the blessing of travelers at every turn, a