l," I said, "and, as you say, it is very English.
Charles Dickens, who was almost more English than England, wrote one of
his rare poems about the beauty of ivy. Yes, by all means let us admire
the ivy, so deep, so warm, so full of a genial gloom and a grotesque
tenderness. Let us admire the ivy; and let us pray to God in His mercy
that it may not kill the tree."

XXXII. The Travellers in State

The other day, to my great astonishment, I caught a train; it was a
train going into the Eastern Counties, and I only just caught it. And
while I was running along the train (amid general admiration) I noticed
that there were a quite peculiar and unusual number of carriages marked
"Engaged." On five, six, seven, eight, nine carriages was pasted the
little notice: at five, six, seven, eight, nine windows were big bland
men staring out in the conscious pride of possession. Their bodies
seemed more than usually impenetrable, their faces more than usual
placid. It could not be the Derby, if only for the minor reasons that
it was the opposite direction and the wrong day. It could hardly be
the King. It could hardly be the French President. For, though these
distinguished persons naturally like to be private for three hours, they
are at least public for three minutes. A crowd can gather to see
them step into the train; and there was no crowd here, or any police
ceremonial.

Who were those awful persons, who occupied more of the train than a
bricklayer's beanfeast, and yet were more fastidious and delicate than
the King's own suite? Who were these that were larger than a mob, yet
more mysterious than a monarch? Was it possible that instead of our
Royal House visiting the Tsar, he was really visiting us? Or does the
House of Lords have a breakfast? I waited and wondered until the train
slowed down at some station in the direction of Cambridge. Then
the large, impenetrable men got out, and after them got out the
distinguished holders of the engaged seats. They were all dressed
decorously in one colour; they had neatly cropped hair; and they were
chained together.

I looked across the carriage at its only other occupant, and our eyes
met. He was a small, tired-looking man, and, as I afterwards learnt, a
native of Cambridge; by the look of him, some working tradesman there,
such as a journeyman tailor or a small clock-mender. In order to make
conversation I said I wondered where the convicts were going. His mouth
twitched with t