tations, and kissings of hands of all colours and sizes, are seen to pass between several of the inmates of the passing train and those seated in or on the motley line of conveyances standing stock still which have been awaiting their arrival. A wife suddenly recognises her husband, a mother her four children, a sister her two dear brothers; Lord A. B. politely bows to Lady C. D.; John, from his remote coach-box, grins with honest joy as faithful Susan glides by; while Sally bashfully smiles at "a gentleman" in plush breeches reclining in the rumble of the barouche behind it.

As soon as the train stops, a general "sauve qui peut " movement takes place, and our readers have now an opportunity of observing that, just as it is hard to make money, easy to spend it, so, although it consumes at least twenty minutes to fill and despatch a long train, it scarcely requires as many seconds to empty one. Indeed, in less than that short space of time the greater number of the railway carriages are often empty!

When every person has succeeded in liberating himself or herself from the train, it is amusing to observe how cleverly, from long practice, the Company's porters understood the apparent confusion which exists. To people wishing to embrace their friends-to gentlemen and servants darting in various directions straight across the platform to secure a cab or in search of private carriages-they offer no assistance whatever, well knowing that none is required. But to every passenger whom they perceive to be either restlessly moving backwards and forwards, or standing still, looking upwards in despair, they civilly say "This way, Sir!" "Here it is, Ma'am !"—and thus, knowing what they want before they ask, they conduct them either to the particular carriage on whose roof their baggage has been placed, or to the luggage-van in front of the train, from which it has already been unloaded on to the platform; and thus, in a very few minutes after the convulsive shaking of hands and the feverish distribution of baggage have subdivided, all the cabs and rriages have radiated away—the parti-coloured omnibuses have followed them-even the horses, which in different clothing have n disembarked, have been led or ridden away-and, the foot

passengers having also disappeared, the long platform of the incoming train of the Euston Station remains once more solely occupied by one or two servants of the Company, hemmed in by a new line of expectant cabs and omnibuses. Indeed, at various periods of the day, a very few minutes only elapse before, at the instigation of compressed air, the faithful signal-bell is again heard hysterically announcing the arrival of another train at Camden Station.

In a clear winter's night the arrival of an up-train at the platform before us forms a very interesting picture.

No sound, is heard in the cold air but the hissing of a pilot engine, which, like a restless spirit advancing and retrograding, is stealing along the intermediate rails, waiting to carry off the next down-train; its course being marked by white steam meandering above it and by red-hot coals of different sizes which are continually falling from beneath it. In this obscure scene the Company's interminable lines of gaslights (there are 232 at the Euston Station), economically screwed down to the minimum of existence, are feebly illuminating the damp varnished panels of the line of carriages in waiting, the brass doorhandles of the cabs, the shining haims, brass browbands and other ornaments on the drooping heads and motionless backs of the cab-horses; and while the blood-red signal lamp is glaring near the tunnel to deter unauthorised intrusion, the stars of heaven cast a faint silvery light through the long strips of plate-glass in the roof above the platform. On a sudden is heard—the stranger hardly knows whence the mysterious moan of compressed air, followed by the violent ringing of a bell. That instant every gaslight on and above a curve of 900 feet suddenly bursts into full power. The carriages, cabs, &c. appear, comparatively speaking, in broad daylight, and the beautiful iron reticulation which sustains the glazed roof appears like fairy work.

CHAPTER IV.

THE RAILWAY CARRIAGES.

WE will now proceed to detail a few circumstances respecting the railway carriages, about which our readers have probably never cared to inquire.-And, firstly, as soon as an up-train arrives at the commencement of the Euston platform, while it is still in motion, and before its guard-distinguished by a silverbuckled black shiny patent-leather belt, hanging diagonally across the white buttons of his green uniform-coat-has ventured with practised skill to spring from the sideboard of the train to the platform, two greasy-faced men in canvas jackets, with an oil-can in each of their right hands and with something like a mophead of dirty cotton hugged under each of their left arms, are to be seen running on each side of the rails below in pursuit of the train; and while the porters, holding the handles of the carriage doors, to prevent any traveller from escaping, are still advancing at a brisk walk, these two oilmen, who have now overtaken the train, diligently wipe as they proceed the dust and perspiration from the buffer-rods of the last carriage. As soon as these irons are perfectly clean and dry rubbed, they oil them from their can ; and then-crawling beneath the open doors of the carriages and beneath the feet and ankles of a crowd of exuding travellers of all ages, who care no more for oilmen than the oilmen of this world care for them-they hurry to the buffer-rods of the next carriage-and so rapidly do they proceed, that before the last omnibus has driven off, the buffer-rods of the whole train are as bright as when new. But, secondly, these two men have been closely followed by two others in green jackets--one on each side of the carriage-who deal solely in a yellow composition of tallow and palm-oil. Carrying a wooden box full of this ointment in one hand and a sort of short flat salve-knife in the other,

they open with the latter the small iron trap-doors which cover the receptacles for greasing the axles, restore whatever quantity has been exhausted, and then, closing with a dexterous snap the little unctuous chamber over which they preside, they proceed to the next tallow-box; and thus, while the buffer-rods of the whole train are being comfortably cleaned and greased, the glistening axles of the carriages are simultaneously fed with luxurious fat. Thirdly, while these two operations are proceeding in the lower region, at about the same rate two others are progressing, one inside the carriages and the other on their roofs; for on the arrival of every passenger-train, the carriage "searcher," also "beginning at the end," enters every carriage, lifts up first all the stuffed blue seats, next the carpet, which he drops in a heap in the middle of the carriage, and then, inquisitively peeping under the two seats, he leaves the carriage, laden with whatever article or articles may have been left in it, to continue his search throughout the train. The inconceivable number and variety of the articles which he collects we shall shortly have occasion to notice. Fourthly, above the searcher's head, on the roof, and following him very closely in his course, there sits up aloft a man called a "strapper," whose sole duty it is, on the arrival of every train, to inspect, clean, shampoo, and refresh with colddrawn neat's-foot oil the luggage-straps, which, in consequence of several serious accidents that have occurred from their breaking, are now lined inside with strong iron wire. It is the especial duty of this inquisitor to condemn any straps that may be faulty, in order that they may be immediately replaced.

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As soon as these four simultaneous operations are concluded, directions are given by the station-master to remove the upcarriages from their position, that the rails may be clear for the arrival of the next train. At this word of command a pilotengine, darting from its lurking place like a spider from its hole, occasionally hisses up to the rear of the train, and drags it off bodily into a siding. The usual mode, however, of getting an in-train out of the way is by the assistance of various unnoticed turn-tables, upon which portions of it are standing. By these simple contrivances the carriages, after being unhooked from

each other, are rapidly carried off into the sidings, where they are arranged, according as they may afterwards be required, among the five sets of rails which lie between the opposite platforms of the arrival and departure trains. No sooner, however, do they reach this haven, than, fifthly, a large gang of strong hehousemaids, clattering towards them in wooden shoes and in leather leggings rising above their bony knees, are seen advancing; some with mops in their hands, others with large chamois leathers, while others are carrying on their shoulders a yoke, from which are suspended in equilibrio two pails. From pipes on each side of these five sets of rails water is immediately drawn off, and the busy operation of washing then begins. Half a dozen dusty, dirty-faced, or rather dirty-bodied, carriages are simultaneously assailed on each of their sides by wet mops flying up, down, and around in all directions. The wielders of these, be it noticed, are so skilful in their vocation, that, while they are talking to their "pailers," they with great velocity continue to mop round the wood-work of the various-shaped plate-glass windows just as vigorously and as accurately as if they were looking at them; indeed, it is evident that they know the position of railwaycarriage doors, windows of all forms, handles, steps, &c., so accurately, that they could mop a coach clean in the dark ;—and probably they often go through these motions when they are asleep, just as King Richard III. in his dream called for his horse and for linen bandages-just as the sleeping orator ejaculates portions of his last speech-and just as an equally tired outstretched fox-hound during the night occasionally convulsively kicks with his uppermost hind leg and yelps aloud when he thinks of the view he got of Renard as he first gallantly broke away from gorse. It may possibly not be known to some of the most fashionable of our readers that among "moppers" there exist the same gradations which so distinctly separate other classes of society. A "first-class mopper" would on no account demean himself by mopping a second-class carriage, and in like manner a "second-class mopper" only attains that distinction after he has for a sufficient length of time been commissioned to mop horse-boxes and common luggage-trains.