FELLOW PASSENGERS.

Southern Cross, Volume 7, Issue 34, 18 November 1899, Page 11

FELLOW PASSENGERS.

(Bj E.S.S.) •

In a comfortable corner, safe from draughts, and with our impedimenta safely stowed away, we can lean back and complacently study the pasengers who have not been so early as ourselves. All sorts and conditions of men, not to speak of women, travel, and it is entertaining and instructive to watch the traits and tempers which develop themselves during a journey. Our first passenger is a stout party robed as for a trip to Klondyke, and laden with a provision supply worthy a hungry regiment. She treads on our corns, and the corners of her baskets stick into our ribs, but serenely indifferent she ensconces herself in the most comfortable seat available, and closes all the windows within her reach, lest by any means a breath of fresh air should enter. A jolly farmer comes next, his face beaming with good nature ; it is not long till we hear of his famous horse, cow, or pig, as the case may be, which he is sending to the show, fully convinced it will be hard to beat. W e cannot help wishing he may be successful, though to us cattle may be a mystery, and pigs an unknown quantity. Now a lady and her children engage attention. She evidently expects everybody to take an interest in her nursery concerns, for, ere we have travelled many miles, we know that Henry has a weak chest, while Maud is a musical prodigy, being able to play, “ Ba, Ba, Black Sheep,” though only five years old ; the baby has three teeth, and her servant girl has completed the list of her enormities by giving notice, just when her mistress was going for a holiday. We sigh sympathetically and only ourselves know that it is the unfortunate servant we pity.

At a wayside station, a bridal pair slip in, trying to look very cool and unconcerned, bat “ the besc laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley,” and some grains of rice resting upon the bridegroom’s hat “ give them away.” In contrast to the happy-looking bride is a lady whose deep mourning and sorrowful countenance make us wonder what errand takes her from home in such evident grief. Joy and sorrow go hand in hand, even in a railway train. A little boy sits opposite, and eyes with great glee a young packing case which takes up rather more room than the youthful passenger is entitled to, hut the friendly guard

shuts his eyes, and the squealing and scraping of pet guinea pigs falls on deaf ears so far as he is concerned. An austere-looking individual drops into a spare seat, and eyes with disapproval the novel lying beside ns. In vain we try to sit upon it, or drop it on the floor—his eagle eye follows it up, and shows him an opportunity not to be lost. With a solemnity bordering upon the. ludicrous, he speaks of the wickedness of novels in general and our one in particular, after which he takes a case from his pocket and presents us with a tract—- “ You are travelling towards the grave.” When we tell him that we are looking forward to a pleasant holiday with our friends before we go, he launches into a sermon, but we escape by going on to the platform, preferring smoke and cinders in our eyes to sermons and sins in our ears. A dear old lady steps on board. She smiles on us all and tells tbe guard to be sure and let her off at She has evidently not travelled far from Sleepy Hollow, and is anxious lest she should be carried past her destination. She smoothes down her silk dress, which might have been cut from the same piece as Mrs Noah’s, and tells us she is going to her grand-daughter’s marriage/ She carries with great care a small box which is too precious to be trusted with her other luggage. Encouraged by our sympathy, she shows us a dozen spoons, thin with use, and oldfashioned in style, but silver, and priceless in her eyes, as the wedding gift of fifty years ago. We feel, though the bride of the day may have many gifts, she will have none with more tender associations than grannie’s teaspoons. But we draw near our journey’s end, and there is a gathering together of parcels and umbrellas, parting smiles and nods, then we step out, and are soon amongst our own familiar friends.