The train is coming. An official opens the north doors. There is a scramble for valises, baskets and overcoats, a mad rush and a struggling, pushing, impolite jam in the doorway by a lot of people who know that the train will wait twenty minutes for them after it arrives. The bell clangs; the single eye of the coming engine shines with what may be termed--in order not to disappoint the gentle reader--a baleful glare. A disciple of Mr. Howells' realistic school might describe the arrival of the train as follows: "Clang-clang-chookety chookety--chookety-clang-clackety clack-chook-ety-chook. Che-e-e-e-ew! Bumpety-bump--Houston!" The baggage men, with yells of rage, throw themselves upon the trunks and dash them furiously to the earth. A Swiss emigrant standing near clasps his hands in ecstasy. "Oh, Gott," he cries, "dess ees yoost my country like I hear dot avalanch come down like he from dot mountains in Neuchatel fall!" The passengers are alighting; they scramble down the steps eagerly and leap from the last one into space. When they strike the ground most of them relapse into idiocy, and rush wildly off in the first direction that conveniently presents itself. A couple of brakemen head off a few who are trying to run back under the train and start them off in the right direction. The conductor stands like a blue-coated tower of strength in the center of the crowd answering questions with an ease and coolness that would drive a hotel clerk wild with envy. Here are a few of the remarks that are fired at him: "Oh, conductor, I left one of my gloves in the car. How long does the train stop? Do you know where Mrs. Tompkins lives? Merciful heaven, I left my baby in the car! Where can I find a good restaurant? Say! Conductor, watch my valise till I get a cup of coffee! Is my hat on straight? Oh, have you seen my husband? He's a tall man with link cuff-buttons. Conductor, can you change a dollar? What's the best hotel in town? Which way is town? Oh, where's mamma gotten to? Oh, find my darling Fido; he has a blue ribbon round his neck," and so on, _ad noisyam_--as one might say. You can tell old travelers at a glance. They have umbrellas and novels strapped to their satchels and they strike a bee line for the open doors at the depot without creating any disturbance. But the giggling school girls on their way home for the holidays, the old spectacled lady who punches your ribs with her umbrella, the country family covered with confusion and store clothes, the fat lady with the calla-lily in a pot, the timid man following the lady with the iron jaw and carrying two children, a bird cage and a guitar, and the loud breathing man who has been looking upon the buffet car when it was red, all these have tangled themselves into a struggling, inquiring, tangled Babel of bag, baggage, babies and bluster. * * * * *