58 COLLECTOR'S RAMBLES 



doors, rang a dinner-bell, and away went the " puffing 

 billy," with its string of boxes. 



I pictured to myself an American locomotive, with 

 its graceful and harmonious appearance, all its appoint- 

 ments making it an object of life, beauty, and useful- 

 ness, as it rushes over the miles of our railroads, con- 

 veying in its large, clean, well-lighted and ventilated 

 cars hundreds of people as much at ease as in their 

 own parlors. I thought of our polite conductors, of 

 our magnificent depots, where every convenience is 

 provided for the passengers. I thought of all these, 

 and, for the first time, I wished myself back in Yankee- 

 land. 



I hurried back to Auckland, changed my lodging, 

 as I had been obliged to share my room the previous 

 night with numerous fleas, bugs, and mosquitoes, and 

 buried myself in one of Mark Twain's books in order 

 to forget the many unpleasant things that haunted 

 my mind. Suddenly upon my peaceful repose, the 

 door burst violently open to admit the reeling form of 

 a drunken man, who demanded, in tones that admitted 

 of more politeness, that I purchase him a drink. This 

 was the climax. Seizing the gentleman by the neck, 

 I " fired " him from the room, further assisting his 

 progress with a liberal Yankee kick. This somewhat 

 relieved my feelings ; and after a night's rest in a clean 

 bed, I awoke the next morning in my usual good 

 spirits. 



