illing to "chance it;" the patriarchal regime is
replaced by the every-man-for-himself-and-devil-take-the-hindmost
system. When I hired a horse to ride up a somewhat giddy path to the
top of a mountain, I was supplied (without warning) with a young
animal that had just arrived from the breeding farm and had never
even seen a mountain. Many and curious, when I regained my hotel,
were the enquiries as to how he had behaved himself; and it was no
thanks to them that I could report that, though rather frisky on the
road, he had sobered down in the most sagacious manner when we
struck the narrow upward trail. In America the railway passenger has
to look out for himself. There is no checking of tickets before
starting to obviate the risk of being in the wrong train. There is
no porter to carry the traveller's hand-baggage and see him
comfortably ensconced in the right carriage. When the train does
start, it glides away silently without any warning bell, and it is
easy for an inadvertent traveller to be left behind. Even in large
and important stations there is often no clear demarcation between
the platforms and the permanent way. The whole floor of the station
is on one level, and the rails are flush with the spot from which
you climb into the car. Overhead bridges or subways are practically
unknown; and the arriving passenger has often to cross several
lines of rails before reaching shore. The level crossing is,
perhaps, inevitable at the present stage of railroad development in
the United States, but its annual butcher's bill is so huge that one
cannot help feeling it might be better safeguarded. Richard Grant
White tells how he said to the station-master at a small wayside
station in England, _a propos_ of an overhead footbridge: "Ah, I
suppose you had an accident through someone crossing the line, and
then erected that?" "Oh, no," was the reply, "we don't wait for an
accident." Mr. White makes the comment, "The trouble in America is
that we _do_ wait for the accident."

When I left England in September, 1888, we sailed down the Mersey on
one of those absolutely perfect autumn days, the very memory of which
is a continual joy. I remarked on the beauty of the weather to an
American fellow-passenger. He replied, half in fun, "Yes, this is good
enough for England; but wait till you see our American weather!" As
luck would have it, it was raining heavily when we steamed up New York
harbour, and the fog was so dense that we c