Travellers who prefer the privacy of the European system may combine it with the liberty of the American system by hiring, at a small extra rate, the so-called “drawing-room” or “state-room,” a small compartment containing four seats or berths, divided by partitions from the rest of the parlour car.  The ordinary carriage or “day coach” corresponds to the English second-class carriage, or, rather, to the excellent third-class carriages on such railways as the Midland.  It does not, I think, excel them in comfort except in the greater size, the greater liberty of motion, and the element of variety afforded by the greater number of fellow-passengers.  The seats are disposed on each side of a narrow central aisle, and are so arranged that the occupants can ride forward or backward as they prefer.  Each seat holds two persons, but with some difficulty if either has any amplitude of bulk.  The space for the legs is also very limited.  The chief discomfort, however, is the fact that there is no support for the head and shoulders, though this disability might be easily remedied by a movable head-rest.  Very little provision is made for hand luggage, the American custom being to “check” anything checkable and have it put in the “baggage car.”  Rugs are entirely superfluous, as the cars are far more likely to be too warm than too cold.  The windows are usually another weak point.  They move vertically as ours do, but up instead of down; and they are frequently made so that they cannot be opened more than a few inches.  The handles by which they are lifted are very small, and afford very little purchase; and the windows are frequently so stiff that it requires a strong man to move them.  I have often seen half a dozen passengers struggle in vain with a refractory glass, and finally have to call in the help of the brawny brakeman.  This difficulty, however, is of less consequence from the fact that even if you can open your window, there is sure to be some one among your forty or fifty fellow-passengers who objects to the draught.  Or if you object to the draught of a window in front of you, you have either to grin and bear it or do violence to your British diffidence in requesting its closure.  The windows are all furnished with small slatted blinds, which can be arranged in hot weather so as to exclude the sun and let in the air.  The conductor communicates with the engine-driver by a bell-cord suspended from the roof of the carriages and running throughout the entire length of the train.  It is well to remember that this tempting clothes-rope is not meant for hanging up one’s overcoat.  Whatever be the reason, the plague of cinders from the locomotive smoke is often much worse in America than in England.  As we proceed, they patter on the roof like hailstones, in a way that is often very trying to the nerves, and they not unfrequently make open windows a doubtful blessing, even on immoderately warm days.  At intervals the brakeman carries round a pitcher of iced