young gentleman we felt for deeply. He was so
obviously out of his element; he seemed so very
much afraid that any one should see him in
such company, and was so evidently there
under protest and without prejudice, that it
was really pitiable. We trust that he enjoyed
himself when he arrived in Portsmouth. He
certainly did not upon the journey.

Neither did an old gentleman who sat
beside him. While all around were chatting,
laughing, and drinking in draughts of happiness
as they were whirled across the fair
landscape, he seemed to think the whole
affair a nuisance; a disagreeable necessity,
the sooner fulfilled the better. For a long way
he slept. Then he tried to read. Then again
sat bolt upright on his seat, his hands in his
pockets, and, looking straight before him,
frowned upon those who were so very merry
all around him. What did this man here?
While every one else had come out expressly
to be happy, what business had that frowning
face amongst them ? It was clear that
he was no excursionist,— not he. We felt
convinced at once that his journey to
Portsmouth was purely a matter of business,
and that he had taken our train for cheapness
—not for jollity. Out upon this obtaining
carriage under false pretences!

Who is that singing ? For shame, you
naughty little pale-faced boy! This is Sunday.
What right have you—you, whose
complexion, blanched by long confinement in
close crowded courts, suggests the idea that
you are made of pipe-clay instead of the red
earth that formed your father Adam—what
right have you to give vent to your unaccustomed
joy thus sinfully ? No more right
than those birds, which, as we stop at this
quiet little station, we now hear also singing
as loudly as yourself—ay, and if happiness
be sin, as wickedly. O! for some Sunday
legislation that will stop the birds!

There was one man who puzzled us. He
seemed so thoroughly well up in all connected
with the train; he was very learned in
all the mysteries of railway signals, branch
lines, sidings, switches, points, and all the
rest of it. He kept a sharp look-out the
whole way down, telling us, as we passed each
signal-post, whether it said "All right," or
"Caution." Once he nearly frightened the
whole carriageful into fits by telling us he
saw the danger signal on; but soon allayed
our fears by adding that it only meant we
were to stop, and not that there was any
real peril. At first we thought he must be
one of the officials of the railway; but he
was smoking—we have already mentioned
the sad fact that many were—and however
indulgent the authorities might be in this
respect to the excursionists, it was hardly
likely, we thought, that one of their own
servants would have run the risk. He soon
explained the matter. "Why, you see," he
said, when we remarked upon his extensive
knowledge, "I travel a good deal by these
excursion trains. P'raps once a-month, it
may be once in three weeks, I go out
somewhere, sometimes by one line, sometimes by
another. The old girl here is rather delicate."
—She looked so. A pale, sickly young woman,
with an infant in her arms, smiled up
gratefully at him as he went on:

"You see, sir, I work very hard all the
week; and on Sundays, somehow, I seem to
want a little change now and then. Our
place in town isn't much of a one to spend a
comfortable day in, though there are many
folks worse off in that way than ourselves.
So, as I said before, we just come out as often
as we can. I can smoke my pipe as we go
along (hope it don't annoy you; they're not
particular in these open carriages) and so I
have the missis with me all day long. It
does her good, I'm convinced; and, after all,
it doesn't cost much more than p'raps I
might spend if I went to publics instead.
And then she'd be left poking at home all by
herself. Ah! they're fine things, these
excursion trains. But here we're going to stop,
sir, to show our tickets."

He was right. In a few minutes more we
were in Portsmouth.

We are not going to write a guide-book to
the sights of this important naval port; nor
do we feel inclined to launch out into any
rhapsodies about the sea. It has been done
before. We will not, therefore, stop to tell
how we employed our time while there. All
that we have to do with at present is the
excursion train. We are once more seated in
it, on our way back to London.

We met one or two of our acquaintances of
the morning on the platform. There was one
of our fellow-passengers whom it would have
been madness to expect:—We mean the
business man. He never meant to come back
the same evening, we are sure. No doubt
the fellow had sold his return ticket in
Portsmouth to some one wishing to come up to
London cheaply, and thus had made a good
thing of the speculation both ways. The poor
woman who had been to see her son returned
in the same carriage with us. O, how happy
she was! O, how thankful! She had seen
her boy, and he was safe! She was so full of
joy, she longed for somebody to share it with
her, although that somebody were a stranger;
and selected us. How he had grown! What
a fine lad he was! And O! how pleased he
was to see his mother! She never tired of
repeating it. The boy had been out to the
Baltic—right to the seat of war itself—she
told us, as she wiped her spectacles and put
them on again, when they at once required
wiping more than ever. He had been out
with stores for the fleet. And now he had
returned—was safe!—and O, so well!—so
much improved since she last saw him!
Once more the spectacles were wiped, and
once more immediately dimmed again.

Poor mother! You will go home very
happy to your bed to-night. Will you go less