I just dreamed of being taken into the employ of the Baltimore steamers and of having a lesson in the duties of the pilot house. I remember particularly the close questioning of a sharp-faced officer with brown side whiskers as to the method of signaling with flags. Later I seemed to be off duty and sitting in a saloon of the same steamer as she tore along at wonderful speed through black, angry waters. I thought we were standing out into Massachusetts Bay. It seemed to be dusk of a cloudy day. Suddenly I was surprised to hear a railroad train. A glance showed it to be running on a low trestle parallel with our course. It was running at a high rate, but we left it behind in a moment. Then I saw houses near us, we must have entered a canal; the Universalist Church shot by, our speed was checked, and a voice called, "Walnut Street, change for Newton Highlands." As nearly as I can make out the ship canal must have been cut from Boston to Newtonville, and it must have ended at the head of Washington Park.