The Open Air 



a brunette, now golden hair: it is a stage, only it is 

 real. The bustle, which is not the careworn anxious 

 haste of business ; the rushing to and fro ; the greet- 

 ings of friends ; the smiles ; the shifting of the groups, 

 some coming, and some going plump and rosy, it 

 is really charming. One has a fancy dog, another a 

 bright-bound novel ; very many have cavaliers ; and 

 look at the piles of luggage! What dresses, what 

 changes and elegance concealed therein! conjurors' 

 trunks out of which wonders will spring. Can any- 

 thing look jollier than a cab overgrown with luggage, 

 like huge barnacles, just starting away with its freight ? 

 One can imagine such a fund of enjoyment on its way 

 in that cab. This happy throng seems to express 

 something that delights the heart. I often used to 

 walk up to the station just to see it, and left feeling 

 better. 



68 



