St. Anthony Hotel,

Broadway N.Y.

Wednesday, May 14th, 1873

My Dear Sister:

In my pleasant room in this hotel, with its solitary window fronting Broadway, which is a perfect bedlam with the continuous clattering of horse-hoofs and the rumbling of coaches over its stony pavements -- I sit down to pen you the letter which you may be waiting for with some anxiety. Of course I enjoyed the ride from Athens to N. York, which was accomplished in so short a time that I hardly realize I am 500 miles or more from home. Although since leaving Athens I have not seen a familiar face, and do not

expect to meet any of my former acquaintances for years, I have not felt lonesome or homesick or depressed in the least degree. The exciting scenes through which I have been passing have kept up an unusual flow of spirits.

It was daylight Monday morning when I bade adieu to Bro. Morgan, Bro. Kinnison, and others, at the depot at Athens, and stepped on board the "fast line" for Baltimore. (My through ticket from Ports. to N. Y. cost $21). At 6 A.M. we crossed the marvelous bridge at Parkersburg and found ourselves among the W. Virginia hills. These kept gradually rising higher and higher until their huge masses threw into the shade all your petty Scioto Co. elevations. The engine ran panting and puffing up the long grade with astonishing speed, and about noon we found ourselves skimming over the heights of the Allegheny mountains. The descent was beautiful and grand. All the poetic fire in me kindles afresh at the recollection. Down we glided on our winding way into the gorge of a most romantic stream, about the size of the Scioto, which ran foaming and dashing over its rockey bed, accompanying us for miles and miles. The mountains on either side rose up in all their American majesty, and presented a sublime scenery, varying with every turn of the road. They were not at all precipitous, however, and were thickly covered with timber, and in many places with grayish rock. (A picture of the Cumberland Mountains, in Mitchell's Geography, at the State of Tennessee, is a good representation of the scenery).

Just before reaching Harper's Ferry, we came out on the banks of the beautiful and majestic Potomac. It was "all quiet along" there, as usual, saving the clattering of the train as it went galloping on in its headlong career. At Harper's Ferry the scenery was worthy of both painter and poet. It was evening, and if "John Brown's soul" was still marching on, its stately tread was not heard in the peaceful stillness that reigned around.

9:30 P.M. found us in Baltimore. I resolved to wait for the train the next morning, so as to have an opportunity of seeing the city. So I put up at the Fountain Hotel, and Tuesday morning started out to hunt the Washington Monument, from the summit of which Bro. Miller said a fine view of the city might be obtained. A walk of a mile and a half through the busy streets brought me to the place. I found the structure much superior in every respect to Clay's Monument in Lexington. Visitors were charged 15 cts. I would have given a dollar for the privilege of ascending it. An old man gave me a lantern, and I proceeded to mount the circular stairway inside, no one with me. 227 steps, up, up, up. The ascent took 5 minutes, and at last my limbs could scarcely support me.

Daylight at length burst upon my view, I set down my lantern, and through a narrow opening stepped out upon the platform. No exclamation of surprise or gladness could give proper vent to the feelings with which I gazed upon the scenery before me. Beneath me, spread out like a map, stretching for miles on every side lay the magnificent city of Baltimore. Not a single edifice, it seemed, was hidden from sight. Hundreds of Churches shot up their spires into the sky; thousands of private residences and business houses lay under my gaze; before me the smooth waters of the Chesapeake, like a silvery lake, stretched towards the Atlantic; while scattered over the surface were anchored hundreds of little sloops and schooners. This, my first sight of "salt water," was the finest part of the scene to me. I staid a few minutes, drinking in the sublimity of the spectacle, and looking down at the pigmies who were toddling over the pavement 180 ft. below me. -- So much for Baltimore. If ever you find yourself there, by all means visit the Washington Monument. It will pay you 50 times over.

I hurried back to the depot, and at 9:30 A.M. we were off for N. York. All the way the country was as level as a plain, and bore the marks of extreme fertility. I did not wonder that three such cities as Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York could subsist in such a region, though less than 100 miles separated the two former, and a still shorter distance the two latter. The road was smooth, and I think the train at times made 40 miles an hour. As we were hurried along with astonishing speed from one great commercial emporium to another, I could not but think with some contempt of the insignificant railway traveling done in Southern Ohio. You see my mind is becoming much more expanded, through the influence of "seeing the world." We passed through Philadelphia, Trenton, Newark, etc., and reached N. York about 6 P.M.

This morning I took a walk up Broadway, some two miles or more. It is no wider than the ordinary streets of Portsmouth, but oh! the buildings and the churches and public edifices. One of the latter, not yet finished, is 7 stories high, and hundreds of feet square. The pavements are thronged with people, and everybody seems "on the stretch." The coaches and cars and carriages are continually passing, and it is even dangerous to undertake to cross the street.

I have had an interview with Dr. Dashiell, and the arrangements are that I shall not go to Maine, but spend a week here in securing my outfit. So next Sunday you may consider me as booked down for Talmage's church in the morning, and Beecher's at night. I intend also to visit Central Park, and other places of interest. -- But let me not excite envy by further details.

I sat for my picture this morning, and next week I shall send a photograph to Joe. Of course, if you want your letters to reach me, you must wait until I can tell you where to write.

Goodby for this time.

Your aff. brother,

A. Stritmatter

P.S. Many hearty thanks for that album. It was as opportune a gift as it was unexpected.