When every person has succeeded in liberating himself or herself from the train, it is amusing to observe how cleverly, from long practice, the Company’s porters understood the apparent confusion which exists. To people wishing to embrace their friends--to gentlemen and servants darting in various directions straight across the platform to secure a cab or in search of private carriages--they offer no assistance whatever, well knowing that none is required. But to every passenger whom they perceive to be either restlessly moving backwards and forwards, or standing still, looking upwards in despair, they civilly say “_This way, Sir!_” “_Here it is, Ma’am!_”--and thus, knowing what they want before they ask, they conduct them either to the particular carriage on whose roof their baggage has been placed, or to the luggage-van in front of the train, from which it has already been unloaded on to the platform; and thus, in a very few minutes after the convulsive shaking of hands and the feverish distribution of baggage have subdivided, all the cabs and carriages have radiated away--the parti-coloured omnibuses have followed them--even the horses, which in different clothing have been disembarked, have been led or ridden away--and, the foot-passengers having also disappeared, the long platform of the incoming train of the Euston Station remains once more solely occupied by one or two servants of the Company, hemmed in by a new line of expectant cabs and omnibuses. Indeed, at various periods of the day, a very few minutes only elapse before, at the instigation of compressed air, the faithful signal-bell is again heard hysterically announcing the arrival of another train at Camden Station. In a clear winter’s night the arrival of an up-train at the platform before us forms a very interesting picture.