s hail with delight the idea of
once more being

"Far from the madding crowd."

The very thought refreshes you. There is something exhilarating in our
journey country-wards, long and tiring though it may be. Few people
care about a railway journey, and yet with one or two kindred spirits
I think it most enjoyable.

Traveling alone in the midst of strangers, you do feel rather
melancholy. You try to read, and when you are tired of chasing the
words up and down the page, you look out of the window and admire the
scenery as you flit past until your eyes ache to such an extent you
are obliged to withdraw your gaze and be satisfied with the study of
human nature, as far as it can be procured from the inmates of your
compartment. Finally you go to sleep, only to wake up after a few
minutes, to find the eyes of all your fellow passengers upon you, and
this serves to make you nervous and uncomfortable. You dare not close
your eyes again. You feel sure it is the signal for everyone to turn
in your direction, and you will not gratify them.

Then comes luncheon time, when we all begin to grow fidgety, and take
surreptitious looks at our watches, and then glance round at our
companions to see if anyone is taking the first plunge. Hopeless
quest! Nobody ever _will_ be the first to begin to eat in a railway
carriage. Why is it, I wonder? Are they afraid none of the others will
follow suit, and they be left to eat all alone? It would be nervous
work, certainly. You would feel so dreadfully greedy, and yet if you
offered any of your fellow travelers even a sandwich, they would peek
up their heads, give you an astonished look, and decline shortly but
with decision. You are made to feel you have insulted them, and yet
they had such a hungry expression! Rarely indeed, though, do you
undergo such an experience. You only have to rise, and reach down your
basket, and behold! the next moment all the carriage is feeding. We
are nothing but sheep after all. One leads the way, and we all follow.

When you have once made a start, eating on a railway journey is easy
enough work; it is when you grow thirsty that the difficulty comes in.
You pour the sherry, claret, whatever you have (some take milk in a
green bottle--not a very tempting beverage to look at!) on to the
floor, over your gown, on your neighbor's foot (thereby eliciting a
most unholy frown from the recipient of your bounty), anywhere,
indeed, except in your glass. Even if you