[…] one man showed me a young oak which he had transplanted from behind the town, thinking it an apple-tree.

If Euston is not typically English, St. Pancras is. Its façade is a nightmare of improbable Gothic. It is fairly plastered with the aesthetic ideals of 1868, and the only beautiful thing about it is Barlow's roof. It is haunted by the stuffier kind of ghost. Yet there is something about the ordered whole of St. Pancras that would make demolition a terrible pity.

Prof. W. Hung (Tu Fu, p. 38) censures previous traductors for their use of the pronoun of the second person which, in his opinion, makes the poem sound as if the elder poet were being chided as a worthless boy.

The party's regionality prevented it from winning a national election.