Here we land, and get into the train waiting alongside;
then the engine begins to snort, and we are away. As we move off from
the waters of San Francisco Bay, I feel I have made another long
stride on the road towards England.

We continue for some time rolling along the rather shaky timber pier
on which the rails are laid. At last we reach the dry land, and speed
through Oakland--a pretty town--rattling through the streets just like
an omnibus or tramway car, ringing a bell to warn people of the
approach of the cars. We stop at nearly every station, and the local
traffic seems large. Farm land and nice rolling country stretches away
on either side of the track.

From looking out of the carriage windows, I begin to take note of the
carriage itself--a real American railway carriage. It is a long car
with a passage down the middle. On each side of this passage are seats
for two persons, facing the engine; but the backs being reversible, a
party of four can sit as in an English carriage, face to face. At each
end of the carriage is a stove, and a filter of iced water. The door
at each end leads out on to a platform, enabling the conductor to walk
through the train from one end to the other.

This arrangement for the conductor, by the way, is rather a nuisance.
He comes round six or seven times during the twenty-four hours, often
during the night, perhaps at a time when you are trying to snatch a
few minutes' nap, and you find your shoulder tapped, and a bull's-eye
turned full upon you, with a demand for "tickets." This, however, is
to be avoided by affixing a little card in your hat, which the
conductor gives you, so that by inspection he knows at once whether
his passenger is legitimate or not.

I did not travel by one of "Pullman's Silver Palace Drawing-room
Cars," though I examined them, and admired their many comforts. By
day they afford roomy accommodation, with ample space for walking
about, or for playing at cards or chess on the tables provided for the
purpose. At night a double row of comfortable-looking berths are made
up, a curtain being drawn along the front to render them as private as
may be, and leaving only a narrow passage along the centre of the car.
At the end of the car are conveniences for washing, iced water, and
the never-failing stove.

The use of the sleeping-cars costs about three or four dollars extra
per night. I avoided this expense, and contrived a very good
substitute in my second-class