Yet when the necessity arises, no force has to be applied. People manage
somehow or other to "welcome the coming, speed the parting guest." Every
one recognises that cantankerous obstructiveness would only make matters
worse, nay, absolutely intolerable. The first comer makes no attempt to
insist upon his position of advantage, because he knows that to-morrow
he may be the last comer. The sense of individual inconvenience is
swamped in the sense of general convenience. People laugh and rather
enjoy the joke when a too sudden start or an abrupt curve sends a whole
group of them cannoning up against one another. It must be remembered
that the transit is rapid, so that there is no irritating sense of
wasted time: and that the cars are brilliantly lighted, and, on the
whole, well ventilated, so that there is no fog, smoke, or sulphurous
air to get on the nerves and strain the temper. The scene as a whole,
even on a wet, disagreeable evening, is not depressing, but rather
cheerful. For my part, I regard it with positive pleasure, as a
manifestation of the national character. Less admirable, to be sure, is
the public acquiescence in the political manoeuvring, which blocks the
proposed underground railway. Yet the opponents of the scheme have
doubtless something to say on their side. It appears, at any rate, that
the profits of the "L" road are not exorbitant. It is said to be only
through overcrowding that it pays at all. The passengers it seats barely
suffice to cover expenses, and "the profits hang on to the straps."

Idealists hope that when the underground comes, the elevated will go;
but I, as an outsider, cannot share his hope. In the first place, I
don't see how the mere substitution of one line for another is to
relieve the congestion of traffic; in the second place, the elevated
seems to me an admirable institution, which it would be a great pity to
abolish. Even æsthetically there is much to be said for it. The road,
itself, to be sure, does not add to the beauty of the avenues along