conclusion that for a commercial people to whom time is of value, ours is the
best article, and if we had not been a lawyer-ridden people we might also
have had the cheapest article.

Before starting the Express train, we must not fail to note one new class of
passengers, recruited by the speed of railways, viz., the number of gentlemen
in breeches, boots, and spurs, with their pinks just peeping from under their
rough jackets, who, during the season, get down to Aylesbury, Bletchley, and
even Wolverton, to hunt, and back home again to dinner. But the signal
sounds. The express train moves off; two gentlemen at the last moment are,
in vain, crying out for Punch and the Times, while an unheeded hammering at
the closed door of the booking-office announces that somebody is too late.
There is always some one too late. On this occasion it was a young gentleman
in a pair of light top-boots, and a mamma and papa with half-a-dozen children
and two nursery-maids in a slow capacious fly.

We cannot bestow unqualified praise upon the station arrangements at Euston.
Comfort has been sacrificed to magnificence. The platform arrangements for
departing and arriving trains are good, simple, and comprehensive; but the
waiting-rooms, refreshment stand, and other conveniences are as ill-contrived
as possible; while a vast hall with magnificent roof and scagliola pillars,
appears to have swallowed up all the money and all the light of the
establishment.

The first-class waiting-room is dull to a fearful degree, and furnished in
the dowdiest style of economy. The second-class room is a dark cavern, with
nothing better than a borrowed light.

The refreshment counters are enclosed in a sort of circular glazed pew, open
to all the drafts of a grand, cold, uncomfortable hall, into which few ladies