So thoroughly distinctive are the classes, as marked out by the hour of the day, that very little experience would enable the student to pronounce upon the travellers--while so striking are the features of each class, that “given one second-class traveller, to find out the contents of a train,” would be the simplest problem in algebra. As for myself, I never work the equation: the same instinct that enabled Cuvier, when looking at a broken molar tooth, to pronounce upon the habits, the size, the mode of life and private opinions of some antediluvian mammoth, enables me at a glance to say--“This is the apothecaries' train--here we are with the Sandycoves.” You are an early riser--some pleasant proverb about getting a worm for breakfast, instilled into you in childhood, doubtless inciting you: and you hasten down to the station, just in time to be too late for the eight o'clock train to Dublin. This is provoking; inasmuch as no scrutiny has ever enabled any traveller to pry into the habits and peculiarities of the early voyager. Well, you lounge about till the half-after, and then the _conveniency_ snorts by, whisks round at the end, takes a breathing canter alone for a few hundred yards, and comes back with a grunt, to resume its old drudgery. A general scramble for places ensues--doors bang--windows are shut and opened--a bell rings--and, snort! snort! ugh, ugh, away you go. Now--would you believe it?--every man about you, whatever be his age, his size, his features, or complexion, has a little dirty blue bag upon his knees, filled with something. They all know each other--grin, smile, smirk, but don't shake hands--a polite reciprocity--as they are none of the cleanest: cut little dry jokes about places and people unknown, and mix strange phrases here and there through the dialogue, about “_demurrers_ and _declarations_, traversing _in prox_ and _quo warranto_.” You perceive it at once--it is very dreadful; but they are all attorneys. The ways of Providence are, however, inscrutable; and you arrive in safety in Dublin. Now, I am not about to take you back; for at this hour of the morning you have nothing to reward your curiosity. But, with your leave, we 'll start from Kingstown again at nine. Here comes a fresh, jovial-looking set of fellows They have bushy whiskers, and geraniums in the button hole of their coats. They are traders of various sorts--men of sugar, soap, and sassafras--Macintoshes, molasses, mouse-traps--train-oil and tabinets. They have, however, half an acre of agricultural absurdity, divided into meadow and tillage, near the harbour, and they talk bucolic all the way. Blindfold them all, and set them loose, and you will catch them groping their way down Dame-street in half an hour. 9 1/2.--The housekeepers' train. Fat, middle-aged women, with cotton umbrellas--black stockings with blue _fuz_ on them; meek-looking men, officiating as husbands, and an occasional small child, in plaid and the small-pox.