ere other routes to
London, by the way of Dieppe and Havre. My friend might have gone by one
of those! Yes, there was a train at about that time, my driver somewhat
sullenly informed me,--for he was fast losing his cheerfulness: perhaps
it was his supper-time, or perhaps he was in a hurry for his
drink-money. Did he know where the stations were? Know? of course he
did! There was but one terminus for both routes; that was in the Rue St.
Lazare. Could he reach it before the train started? Possibly; but his
horses were jaded; they needed feeding. And why didn't I tell him before
that I wished to stop there? for we had come through the Rue St. Lazare,
and actually passed the railway station there, on our way from the Cite
Odiot! That was vexing to think of, but there was no help for it; so
back we flew on our course, to catch, if possible the train, and my
friend, who I was certain was going in it.

"We reached the Lazarus Street Station; and I, all in a frenzy of
apprehension, rushed in, to experience one of those fearful trials of
temper to which nervous men--especially nervous Americans in Paris--are
sometimes subject. The train was about starting; but, owing to the
strict regulations which are everywhere enforced on French railways, I
could not even force myself into the passenger-room,--much less get
through the gate, and past the guard, to the platform where the cars
were standing. Nobody could enter there without a ticket. My friend was
going, and I could not rush in and catch him, and borrow my--ten francs,
I suppose, by that time, because I had not a ticket, nor money to buy a
ticket! I laugh now at the image of myself, as I must have appeared
then,--frantically explaining what I could of the circumstances to any
of the officials who would hear me,--pouring forth torrents of broken
and hardly intelligible French, now shrieking to make myself understood,
and now groaning with despair,--questioning, cursing, imploring,--and
receiving the invariable, the inexorable reply, always polite, but
always firm,--

"'ON NE PASSE PAS, MONSIEUR.'

"Absolutely no admittance! And while I was convulsing myself in vain,
the train started! It was off,--my friend was gone, and I was ruined
forever!

"When the worst has happened, and we feel that it is so, and our own
efforts are no longer of any avail, then we become calm: the heart
accepts the fate it knows to be inevitable. The bankrupt, after all his
anxious nights and terribl