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“Warly cares and warly men

May a’ gae tapsalteeree O!”

“The cab is at the door, Sir.”

“Very good.”

“Is everything I want put into it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, good-bye!”

“Now, my man, drive to Euston-square Station.”

“All right, Sir.” And away we went,

What a scene of bustle and confusion a metropolitan railway station presents a few minutes before the starting of a train, and more especially in holiday time. Men, women, and children, in every direction, hurriedly traversing the crowded platform; luggage barrows, with porters, rushing to and fro; newspaper venders bawling “Times! Chronicle! Punch!” Cabs galloping into the yard with anxious passengers; others, after having deposited their living burthens, slowly quitting it; the crowd of persons pressing forward for their tickets, jamming and jostling each other, as if the existence of each individual depended upon his or her obtaining that necessary passport. At length all are supplied and seated in their various carriages. Phiz! goes the steam, and the train slowly and majestically quits the station, gathering fresh speed in its progress, until the travellers find themselves whirled along at the rate of thirty or forty miles an hour; station after station appear and disappear like the lightning flash of a summer’s cloud—