After that hour the railroad ran through a farming country all the way to Dublin. I was amused with the queer shapes of the fields. These were generally small, and running into sharp corners, regardless of convenience in cultivation. They were separated always by hedges and ditches. A ditch was dug some two feet deep and three or four feet wide, the dirt was thrown up into a bank to correspond on one side, and on this bank was planted a hedge of hawthorn--“quick-set” they commonly called it. These hedges were of all ages, from those young and well kept to those in all stages of growth and dilapidation. I could have passed everywhere from field to field through breaks in the hedges, sometimes wide ones. I could not see of what use they were except for hunters to jump over. Saw occasionally a laborer’s cabin, sometimes a group of them. When an Irishman came out to sun himself, he always stood higher than the eaves of his thatched roof. Occasionally a more pretentious house would appear. These were all alike, painted white, full of windows, very thin from front to back, and looked like waffles set on edge. Never did I see a tree or a bush about a house to relieve the appearance of barrenness, but there were often small trees in the hedge-rows. The railway station on one side of Dublin was about four miles from the station on the opposite side, from which a short railway ran to Kingston, a point a little distance south of Dublin, from which the channel boats crossed to Holyhead. There being no other means of conveyance, I rode through Dublin in an open van sitting on the mail-bags. At the Kingston station an empty train stood waiting for the mails. The regular passenger-train had gone some time before, but the boat at Kingston was also waiting for the mail. I got into a carriage, having ordered my trunk put into the baggage-van, but was ordered out by the guard. I showed him my ticket, and was told that I would have to see the superintendent. That official appeared, and told me this train was for the mails. It had an empty passenger-coach. I showed him my ticket and told him the assurance on which I had bought it, that I should go through with the mails. He replied that the passenger-train had gone, I should have been here to take it. Said he was very sorry, but it was impossible. I got mad. My trunk stood on the platform. As nobody would touch it, I took it up and put it into the open door of the baggage-van myself. The superintendent ordered two men to take it out, which they did. I told him of my great anxiety to reach London that afternoon. All the reply he made was to repeat that he was very sorry, but it was impossible, and I was compelled to stand there and see that train move off, and fool away the whole day in Dublin. Does the reader want to know what the matter was? If he does not know already, he is as green as I was. I had not given the superintendent two and sixpence. But I had more yet to learn about England and the