I should think, of brown beans and liquorice, for breakfast; a bit
of sloppy chicken, or fish and potato, with custard pudding or
stewed rhubarb, for dinner; and a cold supper of--oh! anything that
occurs to Molly at the last moment. Nothing ever occurs either to
Molly or Oonah at any previous moment, and in that they are merely
conforming to the universal habit. Last week, when we were starting
for Valencia Island, the Ballyfuchsia stationmaster was absent at a
funeral; meantime the engine had 'gone cold on the engineer,' and
the train could not leave till twelve minutes after the usual time.
We thought we must have consulted a wrong time-table, and asked
confirmation of a man who seemed to have some connection with the
railway. Goaded by his ignorance, I exclaimed, "Is it possible you
don't know the time the trains are going?"

"Begorra, how should I?" he answered. "Faix, the thrains don't
always be knowin' thimselves!"

The starting of the daily 'Mail Express' from Ballyfuchsia is a time
of great excitement and confusion, which on some occasions increases
to positive panic. The stationmaster, armed with a large dinner-
bell, stands on the platform, wearing an expression of anxiety
ludicrously unsuited to the situation. The supreme moment had
really arrived some time before, but he is waiting for Farmer
Brodigan with his daughter Kathleen, and the Widdy Sullivan, and a
few other local worthies who are a 'thrifle late on him.' Finally
they come down the hill, and he paces up and down the station
ringing the bell and uttering the warning cry, "This thrain never
shtops! This thrain never shtops! This thrain never shtops!"--
giving one the idea that eternity, instead of Killarney, must be the
final destination of the passengers. The clock in the Ballyfuchsia