The outlook for baggage at Waterloo; the feeing of the obsequious porter expectant of a douceur; the mistake I made in getting my ticket which had to be rectified at the last moment; the confused ringing of bells and clattering of trucks up and down the platform; the slamming of doors and hurrying of feet to and fro:--then, the sudden pause in all these sounds; the shrill whistle, betokening all was ready; the converting of all the employes into animated sign-posts, that waved their arms wildly; the grunt and wheeze from the engine, as if from a giant in pain; the sharp jerk, and then the steady pull at the carriage in which I was sitting; the "pant, pant! puff, puff!" of the iron horse, as he buckled to his work with a will; and then, finally, the preliminary oscillation of the ponderous train, the trembling and rumbling of creaking wheels along the rails--as we glided and bumped, slowly but steadily, out of the terminus--the distance signal showing "all clear" to us, and blocking the up line with the red semaphore of "danger." Past Vauxhall, once famed for its revelry--conspicuous, now, only for its picturesque expanse of candle-factory roofs and the dead boarding that is displayed skirting the railway:--Clapham, villa-studded and with gardens laid out in bird's-eye perspective:--Surbiton, dainty in its pretty little road-side station, all garnished with roses and shell- walks:--Farnborough, where a large proportion of our passengers, of military proclivities, alight en route for Aldershot, and celebrated of yore for the "grand international" contest with fisticuffs between a British Sayers and a Transatlantic Heenan:--Basingstoke, the great ugly "junction" of many twisted rails and curiously-intricate stacks of chimneys; until, at length, Southampton was reached--a town smelling of docks and coal-tar, and dismal in the evening gloom. Not a feature of the landscape on my way down was lost to me; although, as I've said, I was thinking of Min all the time the train was speeding on. I was wondering within myself, in a duplicate system of thought, when I would see the scene again, in all its variations, as I saw it clearly, now; and whether the green meadows, and fir-summited hills, and shining water-courses that wandered through and around them--nay, whether the very telegraph posts and wires, and the country stations we rattled past so quickly and unceremoniously, as if they were not worth stopping for-- would look the same on my coming back to England and my darling once more! But, I was not sad or down-hearted. Her last words had rendered me almost as hopeful as she professed to be; so, in spite of my great grief at our parting, a grief which was too deep for words, I was endeavouring more to look forward sanguinely to the future than dwell on all our past unhappiness--which I tried to put away from me as a bad dream. I was only musing, that's all.