Then again, your fellow passengers are not always all that can be
desired. Often they are neither pleasant in themselves nor interesting
as a study. I traveled with an awful old lady the other day. She had
six small packages with her in the carriage, besides her hand-bag and
umbrellas and half the contents of an extra luggage van. The
long-suffering porter who had looked after her boxes and finally put
her in the train, was crimson with his exertions. The generous lady,
having searched several pockets before finding the necessary coin,
bestowed on him a threepenny piece for his trouble! "Thank yer, mum,"
he went off muttering grimly, "I'll bore a 'ole in the middle and 'ang
it round my neck."

This good dame never ceased to worry all through the journey. She
pulled her things from under the seat and put them up in the rack, and
then reversed their locality. At each station she called frantically
to the guard to know where she was and if she ought to change.
Finally, when we reached our destination, it was proved that she had
taken her ticket to one place and had her luggage labelled to another;
and there she was, standing on the platform gesticulating violently,
while the train was steaming off with her belongings. What happened I
do not know, for I was hurried off by my friends; but I should think
it would be long before she and her luggage met again.

Fortunately she never knew how near she was to her death. If ever I
had murderous intentions in my heart, it was on that journey north.

You do not feel very affectionate toward the country on a wet day.
Indeed, it is a most mournful affair altogether, unless you have a
particularly merry house party. There is absolutely nothing to do. The