THE EDITOR S STORY. 139 



minus, bound for the extreme south of the 

 county of Cork. As I leaned back in the 

 carriage, I felt a certain boyish delight at my 

 escape from the London round of life, which 

 was becoming more or less wearisome to me. 

 On arriving at Holyhead I noticed three ladies 

 on the platform, who seemed in a distracted state 

 with their luggage. There was no gentleman 

 with them apparently, and the porter was listen- 

 ing in a surly and uninterested manner to their 

 nervous description of a missing box. I went 

 forward, and inquired if I could be of any 

 assistance. They thanked me, and explained 

 that they had put the box into the carriage 

 with them where it was ultimately found, 

 shoved far back under a seat, when the surly 

 porter condescended to search for it. One of 

 the ladies, while directing the man, had given 

 me a shawl and cloak to hold, and when the 

 little incident was over, I found myself follow- 

 ing the party on board the steamer. They 

 went down to the cabin, but I remained on 

 deck, and was about to hand over my charges 

 to the stewardess, when the owner of the shawl 

 reappeared. 



