In England, this mode of locomotion is more than comfortable—it is luxurious. The termini and the stations are so well ordered, that you may obtain your ticket at your ease, without that rushing and pushing incident to all other European countries. If you have to wait the train, you do so in a clean and comfortable room in winter with a large fire; or, if a lady, you can remain in an inner room, with dressing-room attached, where you may command the services of a female attendant. The first class waiting rooms are, of course, much better than those of the second and third classes, though these also have every reasonable convenience. Should the carriages be in waiting at the terminus, (which is usually the case) the traveller, after securing his ticket, may instantly take his place, and, arranging his dressing-case, wraps, &c., comfortably ensconce himself in his seat, before the arrival of the less punctual passengers. If our traveller have taken a first-class ticket, he will find, even if he has filled a second place with his necessary encumbrances, he will rarely be disturbed; for those who in England can afford to pay for the best accommodations, are usually of a class to whom good manners are habitual—they will, therefore, rather seek another seat than put a fellow-passenger to inconvenience. The railway companies being most liberal with their carriages, the chances are, if you arrive early and manage well, you will always secure room for your legs. Six places are the usual complement of each first-class compartment; these have elastic cushions, and are partitioned off with arms, like an easy-chair, so as to allow the occupant of each seat to lean back. The French arrangements are still more commodious—while the German second class, “Wagen,” is equal in comfort to the English and French first class carriages. These latter, in Germany, are literally small “salons,” containing a sofa, arm-chairs, centre-table, and even large and handsome mirrors on the walls. What a contrast to the American cars! Surely, Madame de Staël must have had prophetic vision of these odious vehicles, when she declared travelling to be “_Le plus triste plaisir de la vie_”—for I can testify, that the old _diligence_, with its numerous inconveniences, is as the gates of Paradise, compared to the straight-backed benches of cotton velvet, the stuffy atmosphere, and the miscellaneous and unsavory company in a Yankee car! The _coupé_ of a diligence, at least, permits of cleanliness and privacy; but where, Oh! ye Goths and Vandals, may we take refuge, in this land of “liberty and equality”—but _not_ “fraternity”—from squalling babies, tobacco-juice, spittoons, and the great unwashed? My readers, even though Americans, must pardon these observations. There are very many fine institutions in this splendid country; but there is also much room for improvement.