Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1858-07-15

there is no train for two hours I sink in bor-
Tor upon the one thin, hard, narrow, wooden
seat in the place, and thousand wild schemes
chase each other with fearful rapidity through
my troubled brain. Solitary is the station as
a witch S hut upon heath, and nothing like r.
conveyance Is visible on the line, except a
navigators wheelbarrow turned upside down
upon heap Of gravel. My eye follows the
long thin, tapering lines of rails i'm the direc-
ton OF London until they pierce a cIump of
OF trees, and vanish ut that distant point from
my sight. Can run along the line, and by
that means reach my appointment. even an
hour later than the proper time? How reyuI.
sive everything about the country appears now
the trees, the fields, and the golden sunset; and
how L hate the stiffness broken only by the
cawing of those dreadful rocks in the adjoining
PARK, whose song would give worlds to ex-
change for the smoke and rattle of Fleet street.
Why did ever venture into the treacherous
precincts OF the picturesque, when 1 should
have been slipping my coffee and reading my
paper in my dingy tavern? A roar and puff
OF smoke, and the express train whirs BY that
might have carried me to my destination in
half an hour, if 1 could have summoned cour-
age and physical agility to have jumped upon
the roofs OF the carriages rs they passed under
the bridge, timing rny leap like an acrobat in
the circus.
But miss tie golden opportunity, and am
looking vacantly at the clock which has now
reached the stroke Of seven
lhere st Tor the next two hours, while
panorama Of the events at the theatre passes
before my mental vision. I hear the sharp
click OF the prompters bell, and the voice of
the call-boy, shouting overture, gentlemen,"
up The staircase. see my aged dresser, who
mas been used to punctual men, old actors and
slow makers-up, walking franc,icaly about tho
room, wondering where can be, when have
to so on IN an elaborate costume, in the mid
die OF the first act He taxes his memory 10
ascertain whether was ever so late before,
when the same piece was being performed, and
he determines that never was
Unable to bear his mental torture any longer,
he hobbies down to the hall keeper. and finds
that L have not yet passed into the theatre
Then commences a consultation, and the in
formation is spread behind the curtain that
Mr. Sockskin has not arrived. although he has
to go on in the next scene. Prompter, actors,
l-hoys, and manager, takes the alarm and
the latter dives to his room to prepare a few
hasty words Of apology. Tho moment arrives
that can be no longer delayed, and the pale,
nervous manager goes on in a comic dress, and,
with the most heart-broken voice, and the most
piteous face, that contrast ludicrously with his
gay and facetiOus attire, tells the disappointed
and indignant audience all he knows himself,
namely: that Mr.. Sockskin is not in the thea
tire. The curtain rings down amidst torrent
OF yells, while another piece is being hastily
put upon the stage and am gnawing my fin
ger-nails in the enforced and unwelcOme soli-
tude of the railway station.
These are some of the phantasms of procrasti-
nation and delay that a mOrbidly regular man
like myself will occasionally call up before him
In his hours of idleness. AS there are many
men in the world who cannot be kept in the
path of temperance, unless awful examples of
n fInp ill.,
AIDED before their eyes, it may be that unaon-
scieusly drill myself in the virtue of punctu-
ality,. by indulging my imagination in the
opposite vice