away for a few days soon miss these pleasant faces.

In reconstructing Brighton station, one thing was omitted--a balcony from
which to view the arrival and departure of the trains in summer and
autumn. The scene is as lively and interesting as the stage when a good
play is proceeding. So many happy expectant faces, often very beautiful;
such a mingling of colours, and succession of different figures; now a
brunette, now golden hair: it is a stage, only it is real. The bustle,
which is not the careworn anxious haste of business; the rushing to and
fro; the greetings of friends; the smiles; the shifting of the groups,
some coming, and some going--plump and rosy,--it is really charming. One
has a fancy dog, another a bright-bound novel; very many have cavaliers;
and look at the piles of luggage! What dresses, what changes and elegance
concealed therein!--conjurors' trunks out of which wonders will spring.
Can anything look jollier than a cab overgrown with luggage, like huge
barnacles, just starting away with its freight? One can imagine such a
fund of enjoyment on its way in that cab. This happy throng seems to
express something that delights the heart. I often used to walk up to the
station just to see it, and left feeling better.



THE PINE WOOD


There was a humming in the tops of the young pines as if a swarm of bees
were busy at the green cones. They were not visible through the thick
needles, and on listening longer it seemed as if the sound was not
exactly the note of the bee--a slightly different pitch, and the hum was
different, while bees have a habit of working close together. Where there