Something of all this wonderful story comes fragmentarily to the passenger whose interest is aroused by the splendid construction of the road, on which no effort was spared to secure permanence and safety. One feature that is always a noticeable one to the traveller is that of the "milestones," so to speak; the tall signs clearly inscribed with the figures registering the miles as they are so rapidly passed over. Not only flowers and glaciers, sunsets and tumbling cataracts, rocky pinnacles and frowning ramparts, enchant a journey unrivalled on the continent, but in the palace-train, whose cars are a series of drawing-rooms in their luxurious appeal, there are varied opportunities for studies of humanity, human interest, and sympathies as well. For example, in one corner is an aged French Abbé, absorbed in his breviary and in a richly bound volume which reveals {184} itself as the meditations of Fénelon. The air of detachment and scholarly isolation that he contrives to throw around himself forbids even much speculation as to whence he came or whither he is going--as if even one's mental questioning might be an intrusion. At one little station, as the train stops, its resplendent comfort contrasting strangely with the primitive life of the newly-fledged village, there enter a man and woman who have been attended to the very steps of the vestibule by a throng that apparently represents the entire population of the town. They are all singing, and the man and woman linger in the vestibule joining in the song. The man is in the uniform of an officer of the Salvation Army; the woman, sweet-faced and smiling, is also costumed in this order, with the usual Salvation Army bonnet projecting over her serene and pleasant face. The refrain of the song floats out on the air: "Yes, we'll gather at the river, That flows by the throne of God." There is something in the time, the place, the isolation in the new and just-opened country through which the train is passing, the on-coming darkness, and the penetrating cadence of the trite and familiar melody that touches every heart. Every one joins in the melody; and as the train begins to move, the outer throng withdrawing into safer distance, the man and the woman still leaning from the door of the vestibule, there is a waving of hands, and a {185} chorus of farewells from the vanishing group left behind, and the train flies on to the benediction of song that still pursues it on the air: "God be with you till we meet again!" The man and the woman catch up the line; they are singing with melodious voices, the magnetism enchains the passengers, and the cadence echoes again through the railway car: "God be with you till we meet again!"