'THE SCOTCH MAIL' 89 



the knolls and silvering the wet stones ; the puffs of 

 curling mist seem to draw themselves higher up, grow 

 whiter and more palpable in his rays, and become 

 absorbed in the solid gold-white mass of cumulus 

 cloud floating against the blue of this glorious summer 

 morning. 



The hills, too, seem to have grown farther off, the 

 landscape is lower, rich crops and waving corn appear, 

 the silver stream of Eden reflects red bridges and black- 

 green woods, and in a few more minutes a vision of 

 red stone and brick, of old grey wall and clustering 

 chimney, of filmy smoke against the luminous air, 

 and ' Carr-lisle ' rings in a clear northern voice 

 along the platform ; the train is still once more. 



It is yet very early, and feeling warmer and more 

 restful, though you peep out to look along the train 

 (why ?), you do not care to rise. The northern dialect of 

 the porters, contrasted with the accent of your London 

 guard, arrests your ear for a moment ; you have time 

 to note a few types, shepherds and nondescripts, loaf- 

 ing into the station as the light brightens, to catch 

 some local train or receive some unsavoury package, 

 and you are away again. 



Soon appear the flat marshes that fringe the 

 Solway Firth, the broad stretch of still water outside 

 the reeds reflecting: the white whms of the gulls or 



