A RAIL WA Y RIDE. 69 



A market-garden, with rows of early cabbages, and lettuce, 

 and peas ; 



Over a hedge, a nice, new stone villa, with the gardener shov- 

 ing up the sashes of the conservatory, and the maids tearing 

 clothes from the drying-lines ; 



A bridge, with children shouting and waving hats ; 



A field of wheat, in drills as precisely straight, and in earth as 

 clean and finely tilled, as if it were a garden-plant ; 



A bit of broad pasture, with colts and cows turning tail to the 

 squall ; long hills in the back, with some trees and a steeple 

 rising beyond them ; 



Another few minutes of green bank ; 



A jerk a stop. A gruff shout : 



" BROMBRO ! " 



A great fuss to get the window on the other side from us open ; 

 calling the conductor; having the door unlocked; squeezing 

 through the ladies* knees, and dragging our packs over their laps 

 all borne with a composure that shows them to be used to it, 

 and that they take it as a necessary evil of railroad traveling. 

 The preparations for rain are just completed as we emerge upon 

 a platform, and now down it comes in a torrent. We rush, with 

 a quantity of floating muslin, white ankles, and thin shoes, under 

 an arch. With a sharp whistle and hoarse puffing the train 

 rumbles onward ; grooms pick up the lap-dog and baskets ; flaunt- 

 ing white skirts are moved again across the track ; another rush, 

 in which a diminutive French sun-shade is assisted by a New 

 York umbrella to protect a new English bonnet ; a graceful bow 

 in return, with lifting eyebrows, as if in inquiry ; and we are 

 altogether crowded in the station-house. 



In a few minutes they go off in carriages, and room is left us 

 in the little waiting-room to strap on our knapsacks. The rain 

 slackens ceases, and we mount, by stone steps up a bank of 



