YULETIDE ON A 15-TONNETl 165 



The morning of my departure from smoky old London 

 opened gloriously from a fowler's point of view, and as 

 the express train rushed at fifty miles an hour along the 

 ringing metals, I brushed away the frost-rime from the 

 windows of my compartment, and saw, to my egotistical 

 joy, that the ploughs and meadows were frozen hard as 

 iron, and that even the rapid streams over which the 

 train sped with a roar and a clash, were covered with a 

 thick coating of ice. I say that I noticed these evidences 

 of hard weather with selfish delight, for they told their 

 own tale of goodly companies of wild duck and other fowl 

 driven from the inland waters to the coast and estuaries 

 whither I was bound. But, alas ! they spoke also of 

 hardship and suffering amongst the dark, noisome slums 

 of the great city I was rapidly leaving behind me : hard- 

 ships which made themselves felt perchance also in the 

 peaceful hamlets and cottages dotted here and there 

 over the icebound country through which I was speeding 

 pleasure -bound. 



I had but two fellow-passengers, one of whom had 

 the appearance of a well-to-do, well-fed yeoman, who 

 tried hard to draw me out on matters political — he was 

 an ardent Protectionist — and the other a dapper, foxy- 

 faced little man, who spent his time between smoking 

 big cigars and damning frosty weather, and a stable of 

 'ack-'unters which were " heating their 'eads off, cuss 

 'em ! " 



Bidding the owner of the unemployed " screws," 

 and Mr Chamberlain's champion, " Good-day " and a 



