Just across the passage are seated an ancient maiden lady and an attenuated, pale, thin-whiskered merchant who has been up the city to make some purchases for his store. Now this ancient maiden lady has seen her fifty-and-two summers at least, and is strong in church government, and church soirees, and church donative entertainments, ostensibly for the benefit of the poor. Just now, however, I must leave her, for the conductor has entered the forward door of the car, wearing his sombre but neat railway uniform, and is shouting out “Tickets!” Without exception everyone in my coach has the required pasteboard, and he has quickly passed us. Conductors evidently can get along well with such a class of passengers, for there’s no quarrelling or unpleasantness, nor questions for him to answer, nor anyone for him to eject from the train. It is manifest from his facial expression that he is in good humor with us, his passengers, and that his dinner likewise has agreed with him. This lady opens conversation with the merchant sitting near her, and without waiting for a reply to the opinions she expresses, continues an unchecked stream of talk on her favorite subject. Resignedly, patiently, meekly, Christianlike, this helpless merchant submits. And it is poured on, over, twisted, every side brought forth, while he calmly folds his long white wasted hands over his breast. Some young city men are coming down to a country town to attend a ball, and they make a lively party of themselves. Their fun and mirth and overflowing spirits do not annoy us, but we cannot help catching the contagious infection of mirth, and we are all goodnatured [Illustration: SARAH TERWILLIGAR’S ATTEMPT TO FLY TO HEAVEN. THE WORLD TO COME TO AN END.] in this car, except possibly aforesaid ancient maiden lady, who is still too deep in “church government” for the contagion to catch her. With questionable zeal a young Salvation Army fellow and a couple of Salvation Army lasses, seated near the farther end of the car, boldly strike up. The tune may be melodious, suggestive of piety, musical, well-rendered, and withal nicely done, for one of the female voices is really sweet. It gets monotonous, however, at the beginning of the third verse, and we cannot enjoy our conversation. “Will you kindly stop?” Perhaps the word kindly is not suggestive enough--at any rate, it does not produce the desired quietus, and the hymn-singing goes bravely on.