her carriage."

On the morning I left Ireland to seek my fortune in London I had a
youthful notion that, once on the mainland of my parents' country, St.
Paul's and the smoke of London would be visible; but we had passed
through the Menai tunnel, grazed Conway Castle walls, and skirted miles
of the Welsh rock-bound coast, and yet no St. Paul's was visible to my
naked eye which was plastered against the window-pane of the carriage.
The other eye, clothed and in its right mind, inspected the carriage and
discovered that there were two other occupants--a lady and her maid.
These interesting passengers had recovered from the effects of the
Channel passage, and were eating their lunch. The lady politely offered
me some sandwiches. "No, thanks," I replied; "I shall lunch in London."
This reminds me of a story I heard when I was in America, of two young
English ladies arriving at New York. They immediately entered the
Northern Express at the West Central. About 7 o'clock in the evening
they arrived at Niagara--half an hour or so is given to the passengers
to alight and look at the wonderful Falls. The gentleman who told me the
story informed me that as the two ladies were getting back into the
carriage he asked them if they were going to dine at once. They,
ignorant of the vastness of the "gre--e--at country Amuraka," replied,
"Oh, no, thanks, we are going to dine with our friends when we arrive.
It can't be long now, we have been travelling so fast all the day!"

"And may I ask, young ladies, where your friends live?"

"We are going to an uncle who has been taken suddenly ill in San
Francisco."

These young ladies would have had to wait certainly five days for their
dinner,--I only five hours.

The strange lady and I conversed a great deal on various topics. By
degrees she discovered that I was a young artist, friendless, and on his
way to the great city to battle with fortune. I may have told her of my
history, of my youthful ambitions and my professional plans,--anyway she
told me of hers, and, while her maid was lazily slumbering, she
confessed to me her troubles.

"My story," she said, "is a sad one. I am of good family, and I married
a well-known professional London man. He turned out to be a gambler, and
ran through my money, and I returned to my parents. I have left them
this morning again, and, like you, I am now on my way to London to
start in life, and if possible make my own living. You see my appearance
is