[Illustration: 164]
If the wise Calif who studied mankind by sitting on the bridge at
Bagdad, had lived in our country, and in our times, he doubtless would
have become a subscriber to the Kingstown railway. There, for the
moderate sum of some ten or twelve pounds per annum, he might have
indulged his peculiar vein, while wafted pleasantly through the air, and
obtained a greater insight into character and individuality, inasmuch
as the objects of his investigation would be all sitting shots, at
least for half an hour. Segur's “Quatre Ages de la Vie” never marked
out mankind like the half-hour trains. To the uninitiated and careless
observer, the company would appear a mixed and heterogeneous mass of old
and young, of both sexes--some sickly, some sulky, some solemn, and some
shy. Classification of them would be deemed impossible. Not so, however;
for, as to the ignorant the section of a mountain would only present
some confused heap of stone and gravel, clay and marl; to the geologist,
strata of divers kinds, layers of various ages, would appear, all
indicative of features, and teeming with interests, of which the other
knew nothing: so, to the studious observer, this seeming commixture of
men, this tangled web of humanity, unravels itself before him, and he
reads them with pleasure and with profit.
So thoroughly distinctive are the classes, as marked out by the hour
of the day, that very little experience would enable the student to
pronounce upon the travellers--while so striking are the features of
each class, that “given one second-class traveller, to find out the
contents of a train,” would be the simplest problem in algebra. As
for myself, I never work the equation: the same instinct that enabled
Cuvier, when looking at a broken molar tooth, to pronounce upon
the habits, the size, the mode of life and private opinions of some
antediluvian mammoth, enables me at a glance to say--“This is the
apothecaries' train--here we are with the Sandycoves.” You are an
early riser--some pleasant proverb about getting a worm for breakfast,
instilled into you in childhood, doubtless inciting you: and you hasten
down to the station, just in time to be too late for the eight o'clock
train to Dublin. This is provoking; inasmuch as no scrutiny has ever
enabled any traveller to pry into the habits and peculiarities of the
early voyager. Well, you lounge about till the half-after, and then
the _conveniency_ snorts by, whisks round at the end, takes a breathing
canter alone for a few hundred yards, and comes back with a grunt, to
resume its old drudgery. A general scramble for places ensues--doors
bang--windows are shut and opened--a bell rings--and, snort! snort!
ugh, ugh, away you go. Now--would you believe it?--every man about you,
whatever be his age, his size, his features, or complexion, has a little
dirty blue bag upon his knees, filled with something. They all know
each other--grin, smile, smirk, but don't shake hands--a polite
reciprocity--as they are none of the cleanest: cut little dry jokes
about places and people unknown, and mix strange phrases here and there
through the dialogue, about “_demurrers_ and _declarations_, traversing
_in prox_ and _quo warranto_.” You perceive it at once--it is very
dreadful; but they are all attorneys. The ways of Providence are,
however, inscrutable; and you arrive in safety in Dublin.
Now, I am not about to take you back; for at this hour of the morning
you have nothing to reward your curiosity. But, with your leave, we 'll
start from Kingstown again at nine. Here comes a fresh, jovial-looking
set of fellows They have bushy whiskers, and geraniums in the button
hole of their coats. They are traders of various sorts--men of sugar,
soap, and sassafras--Macintoshes, molasses, mouse-traps--train-oil and
tabinets. They have, however, half an acre of agricultural absurdity,
divided into meadow and tillage, near the harbour, and they talk bucolic
all the way. Blindfold them all, and set them loose, and you will catch
them groping their way down Dame-street in half an hour.
9 1/2.--The housekeepers' train. Fat, middle-aged women, with cotton
umbrellas--black stockings with blue _fuz_ on them; meek-looking men,
officiating as husbands, and an occasional small child, in plaid and the
small-pox.
10.--The lawyers' train. Fierce-looking, dictatorial, categorical faces
look out of the window at the weather, with the stern glance they are
accustomed to bestow on the jury, and stare at the sun in the face, as
though to say--“None of your prevarication with _me_; answer me, on your
oath, is it to rain or not?”
10 1/2.--The return of the doctors. They have been out on a morning
beat, and are going home merry or mournful, as the case may be.
Generally the former, as the sad ones take to the third class. These are
jocose, droll dogs: the restraint of physic over, they unbend, and chat
pleasantly, unless there happen to be a sickly gentleman present, when
the instinct of the craft is too strong for them; and they talk of
their wonderful cures of Mr. Popkins's knee, or Mr. Murphy's elbow, in a
manner very edifying.
11.--The men of wit and pleasure. These are, I confess, difficult
of detection; but the external signs are very flash waistcoats, and
guard-chains, black canes, black whiskers, and strong Dublin accents.
A stray governess or two will be, found in this train. They travel
in pairs, and speak a singular tongue, which a native of Paris might
suppose to be lush.