The luggage system on American trains is perfect. The traveller, on buying his ticket, gives up his belongings to the baggage man, and receives for each article a brass check, the counterpart of which is affixed to the article. Then he may travel on for days and nights, without ever troubling himself to look after his luggage; and, on delivering up his checks at the journey's end, there are the "traps " safe and sound. This check system makes the railway directly responsible, and saves all annoyance. Further, when alighting from the train, the passenger may hand over his checks to the omnibus man or the parcel delivery agent (who come on to the train), and so have his luggage taken directly up to the hotel. Why we, in Britain, have not yet adopted so obvious an improvement on our own confused system, is a question to be answered by those in charge of our passenger arrangements.

The American locomotive is a curious structure, very different from our massive tight-built engine. It is cumbrous and unwieldy, with a large glasshouse for the driver, and an enormous bell-mouthed chimney. The latter is made wide to ensure the perfect combustion of the fuel, which is chiefly wood, and to prevent sparks from doing damage to the dry country round; a wire netting, indeed, is stretched across the top, to keep the larger particles of burning

In

fuel from escaping. The boiler is long and low, with shining brass bands; and there is an appearance of flimsiness and tinsel about the whole locomotive. front there is the great wooden cowcatcher,—which is not unnecessary, as the line has in many places no continuous barrier between it and the adjoining fields, to check the wandering propensities of stray cattle. The entire engine is suggestive rather of an ironmonger's shop than an engine yard; and you cannot associate with so clumsy a fabric the idea of speed; yet these locomotives are said to be capable of attaining a rate nearly as high as our own.

Most American trains run slowly-some very slowly; the average speed being about twenty-five miles an hour. (There is even a line in a back district, I am told, where progress is so slow that the cowcatcher is shifted and put on behind!) But the reason of this want of pace does not seem far to seek the United States railways cover a vast extent of territory; and such capital as the nation can yet afford is inadequate to the perfect levelling and finishing of these lengthened tracks; while an increase of speed means also a proportionate increase in the wear and tear of rolling stock by friction. And as most of the American railways are financially in straitened circumstances, an improvement in speed cannot be early looked for.

Railway fares are cheap in the States, a very gratifying feature; three cents a mile being the maximum charge for ordinary travelling.

The mode of constructing a new railway through a district not taken up by settlers is somewhat remarkable. The company for the projected line having satisfied Government that it will be a public benefit, and having obtained permission to proceed with their operations, the Government gives them large grants of land adjoining the track, which they dispose of to settlers, and thus realise so much against cost. The laying down of the line is effected with a rapidity that would strike a British contractor dumb. The country is probably prairie or flat land; in which case farmers move on in front with their ploughs and turn up the soil, while the workmen follow quickly behind, levelling, laying down the rails, and ballasting as they find material. There is often a great scarcity of stone ballast; and in order to strengthen the track as much as possible, the sleepers are placed very close together-only some eighteen inches apart. The workmen live in cars, which are pushed onwards as the line progresses; and they are frequently divided into shifts, working day and night. A mile of roadmaking in the day has been known to be accomplished in this peculiar (though it can hardly be called permanent) way.

As years go on and the country yields an increasing traffic, the line is slowly improved; but for a long time it remains very rough and uneven.

And now, our first railway journey having brought us to the Continental Hotel, Philadelphia, we pass on to the wonders of the Quaker City.

CHAPTER V.

THE QUAKER CITY.

THE Continental Hotel, Philadelphia, proved to be one of the most perfect of the great American hotels. There was an air of homely comfort blended with its magnificence, which made our sojourn very pleasant; and Mr Kingsley, the proprietor, took a kindly interest, not only in our welfare within doors, but in our rambles through the city, and gave us his best aid in indicating what was to be seen.

The hotel waiters were all black men; and from Philadelphia south and westward we always had the negro servitor. In majesty of bearing the coloured waiter comes short of his white brother; but he more than makes up for it in expression. The component parts of a black waiter are a white waistcoat, a large collar, two rows of glistening teeth, and a smilescarcely a smile either-something between a broad laugh and a yawn. The black waiter is always smiling; more, I think, from inborn good nature than from any acute perception of the ridiculous. I am hardly able to estimate with certainty the size of his mouth when at rest, having always seen it wreathed