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season at Saratoga having closed, I had to return to Albany to get paid for my clothes. I had forgotten to mention that the season I have just been describing, my baggage had been all burned up on my way to Saratoga. I will now give you a description of the circumstance. I had intended stopping at the Yellow Springs that season, as many of our aristocracy were there; but concluded not to do so. I took the cars at Xenia for Saratoga, and after riding a day and night, when I was just two and a half hours' ride from Saratoga, we had stopped about ten or fifteen minutes at a little place called St. Johnsville.

The most of the passengers were asleep, but as I had scarcely ever slept on the cars, I chanced to be looking out of the window, and at the moment envying the gentlemen in a refreshment saloon drinking hot coffee, when I saw a man walk hurriedly out of the saloon. He glanced with a look of alarm toward the foremost cars, and immediately hallooed "fire."

I called to a number of ladies and gentlemen sitting around, and told them the cars were on fire. They laughed at me, and said I must be dreaming. I then threw up the window, and looking out, could just see