LONDON & NORTH WESTERI 
 RAILWAY 
 
 DAV 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Received AUG 171892 . i8g 
 Accessions No.A^^^^^, Class No. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fiftyyearsoflondOOstevrich 
 
FIFTY TEAES 
 
 ON THE 
 
 LONDON & NORTH WESTERN 
 RAILWAY, 
 
 AND OTHEE MEMOEANDA 
 
 IN THE 
 
 LIFE OF DAVID STEVENSON. 
 
 EDITED BY LEOPOLD TUENER. 
 
 fUHIVBRSITTj 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED m 5PC0RQU0DALE & CO. LIMITED, 
 CARDINGTON STREET, EUSTON, N.W. 
 
 1891. 
 

 ^^^^^^ 
 
^^^^ 
 
 OV THB 
 
 toHIVBRSITT; 
 
 EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 'HPHESE writings have been placed in my hands for the 
 purpose of submitting- them to the public. I have found 
 litde to advise or suggest respecting them ; my principal share 
 in their introduction consisting of the addition to the sketch and 
 letters of a few of Mr. Stevenson's poetical pieces — pieces which 
 may, I think, enhance the interest the friends he already possesses 
 are likely to take in the leading portion of his little work, and 
 which may not, I trust, escape the approbation of those other 
 friends whose companionship — granting it is to be enjoyed— 
 inust date from the day of publication. 
 
 L.T. 
 
 B2 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TN the early days of my active service upon the railway, it was 
 my practice to write almost daily, in easy journalistic 
 fashion, to my dear friend and connection, the Rev. Robert 
 Turnbull, Vicar of Wybunbury, Cheshire. He preserved some 
 of the letters, and, at his lamented death, his widow returned them 
 to me. A few friends requested me to write an introduction 
 to them, giving- some further account of my experience and 
 recollection, and to publish them. With many misgivings as to 
 the favourable acceptance of such lucubrations from me, even by 
 the large body of railway men to " whom my name is familiar, 
 I consented to do so, reserving their publication until the period 
 of my retirement from the service. The recollections were written 
 long before the Jubilee Year, and the teeming personal accounts 
 which then became the rage, and have since continued to flood the 
 press, destroyed the little hope I ever had that my poor book, 
 would ever be of any general interest. It may, however, serve to 
 recall my name to those railway friends and others, with whom 
 for so many years my life has been passed, "when my place 
 shall know me no more," and when for me at least, in all mundane 
 considerations, the *' pleasures of hope" shall have given place to 
 the " pleasures of memory." 
 
 D.S. 
 
'tjhivbrsitt; 
 
 ^£ipl 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TN the leafy month of June, 1837, when the heralds were 
 proclaiming the Princess Victoria queen of these realms, one 
 of the most humble and loyal of her future subjects entered the 
 service of the new method of locomotion called the Railway. 
 That child of scientific invention had just begun to stretch 
 its powerful limbs over the length and breadth of the 
 land, and was destined to be one of the greatest influences 
 towards the prosperity and progress of the good Queen's long 
 and brilliant reign. 
 
 I was introduced to Mr. Ashlin Bagster, who had been 
 appointed, at the nomination of Mr. Robert Stephenson, to be 
 the first manager of the London and Birmingham line: a tall 
 and serious-looking gentleman, who shook his head when, at 
 his bidding, I copied a letter as a specimen of my hand-writing. 
 I was, however, appointed a cadet in his office at a salary of 
 twenty pounds per annum ; the first clerk to the first manager of 
 the railway I 
 
 It was an exciting period ; for after a long and animated 
 struggle, Mr. George Carr Glyn, the chairman, and his colleagues, 
 had obtained the sanction of the legislature; Mr. Robert 
 Stephenson had overcome the difficulties of surveying the line, 
 at the point of the pitch-fork and other obstructions of the land- 
 owners; had conquered the engineering difficulties, and nearly 
 completed the work which a pamphleteer of the time endeavoured 
 to prove to be a greater work than the erection of the Egyptian 
 pyramids. The time had arrived when a portion of the line was 
 to be opened to the public. The engines were ready, Mr. Joseph 
 Wright's carriages were built, the stations were constructed as far 
 as Boxmoor, twenty- three miles, and it was decided to engage the 
 staff — clerks, porters, policemen, drivers, firemen, and mechanics 
 
— and begin. Mr. Richard Creed and Captain Constantino 
 Richard Moorsom were the joint secretaries prior to the opening- 
 of the railway. Mr. Creed had his office at Cornhill, in London, 
 and Captain Moorsom at Birmingham. They were appointed in 
 September, 1833. At the same time Robert Stephenson was 
 selected as the engineer. This was at the first meeting of the 
 Board. Previously the business of the Company had been 
 conducted by two committees, one in London, and the other in 
 Birmingham. Mr. Creed had been a partner in the banking 
 house of Fauntleroy & Co., the head of which firm was executed 
 for forgery, the last victim to the inhuman law in such cases. 
 Mr. Creed had subsequently been sent by the Government to 
 Paris to settle the English claims upon France consequent upon 
 the Treaty of Peace. 
 
 The details of the preparation for the opening fell upon 
 Mr. Bagster, at a salary of £400 per annum, and his small 
 band of assistants at Euston, at salaries from £20 to £150. 
 This gentleman provided many of the methods and forms which 
 were adopted afterwards by most of the railways, and which 
 still remain in use. Of those who took part in the preparations 
 only a few rose to distinction in the development of railways. 
 Mr. Bagster left the London and Birmingham, and took service 
 on a northern line, but died early. Mr. Fox, the resident 
 engineer, went into trade, and was knighted during the 
 Exhibition of 1851. Mr. Kenneth Morison became the founder 
 of the Railway Clearing House, and the remainder, disappearing 
 in the course of time, made, as I have said, no mark of 
 importance. Joseph Atkinson, the chief of the mechanics, whose 
 father had been a near neighbour of the elder Stephenson in his 
 humble days, was an ingenious inventor, and the author of the 
 carriage truck still in use, and of improvements in waggons and 
 other valuable aids to the new system. Ill health afterwards 
 shortened his career of usefulness. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 i^N the twentieth of July, 1837, the road to Boxmoor was 
 ^^ opened by the Directors and their friends, and the down 
 journey was conducted satisfactorily ; but on the return, on 
 descending- the incline to Euston, the first of the two trains ran 
 into collision with the end of the platform. The brakesman, 
 Kirkup by name, turned the brake, which then worked from a 
 seat on the top of the carriage, the wrong- way, and lost command 
 of the train. Kirkup g-ave an explanation in the broad 
 Newcastle dialect, but as he was very much excited, I am unable 
 to record it. The manag-er who was also inclined to Newcastle 
 speech, said it was "pweposterwous." Plaster for broken heads, 
 and a few repairs, soon restored matters, and the running of 
 trains for the public commenced. 
 
 The following is a copy of the notice issued to the Public : — 
 LONDON AND BIRMINGHAM RAILWAY. 
 
 PARTIAL OPENING OF THE LINE, 1837. 
 
 The public are informed that on and after Thursday, the 20th inst., the 
 Railway will be opened for the conveyance of Passengers and Parcels to and from 
 London and Boxmoor, including the intermediate stations of Harrow and Watford. 
 
 First class coaches carry six passengers inside, and each seat is numbered. 
 
 Second class coaches carry eight passengers inside, and are covered, but 
 without lining, cushions or divisions, and the seats are not numbered. 
 
 Third class coaches carry four passengers on each seat, and are without 
 covering. 
 
 The following, until further notice, will be the times for departure of the 
 Trains. On every day except Sundays. 
 
8 
 
 First Time Bill of the London and Birmingham Railway, copied from Original. 
 
 RAILWAY. 
 
 1837. 
 HOURS OF DEPARTURE. 
 
 From Ziondon : 
 
 FIRST TRAIN . . . ... 10 o' Clock. 
 
 SECOND do. ..... 2 „ 
 
 THIRD do. ..... 5 „ 
 
 From Boxmoor : 
 
 FIRST TRAIN ^o' Clock. 
 
 SECOND do. , ... 2 ,, 
 
 THIRD do. ..... 7 „ 
 
 ON SUNDAYS. 
 From Xiondon : 
 
 FIRST TRAIN d&ClocL 
 
 SECOND do 5 „ 
 
 THIRD do. . . , . 7 „ 
 
 From Boxmoor: 
 
 FIRST TRAIN 9 o' Clock. 
 
 SECOND do, . . . . 5 „ 
 
 THIRD do, . . . . . 7 „ 
 
 Curiosity brought thousands of passengers ; but in the third 
 class open carriages the dust from the roofs ot the tunnels and the 
 newly made line, and the hot cinders from the engines, gave 
 them rough travelling. Paper tickets were used torn from books 
 
with a reserved duplicate; and as the line opened to longer 
 distances the name of each passenger booked was entered in the 
 duplicate, after the manner of the old coaching days. On 
 October i6th, 1837, the line was further opened to Tring, and on 
 April 9th, to Denbigh Hall. The stage coaches and mails were 
 conveyed on carriage-trucks to Denbigh Hall, thence by road to 
 Rugby, and the rest of the journey by rail to Birmingham. The 
 stations were enlivened by the sound of the bugle, but the coach- 
 guards were disgusted with their outside ride on the railway. 
 The railway guards also had an unpleasant time, for, adhering 
 to old usage they too rode outside on the top of the carriage, 
 where, amidst other disagreeables, their clothes sometimes caught 
 fire. The roadside stations were enclosed with lofty iron railings, 
 within which the passengers were imprisoned until the train 
 arrived ; they were then permitted to rush out to take their places, 
 for which they sometimes had to join in a free fight. Then the 
 engine gave a prolonged whistle, which Charles Dickens described 
 as saying ''Here are two hundred and fifty people in the veriest 
 extremity of danger ; and here are their two hundred and fifty 
 screams all in one "I The clatter caused by the stone blocks, 
 which were used before the wooden sleepers replaced them, 
 added to the unpleasantness of the journey. Thus the success of 
 the new mode of conveyance was not then established in ihe 
 popular mind ; and coach proprietors and others interested in its 
 expected failure, still hoped on, and in many cases lost money 
 by their lingering belief in the old system. Not so the leading 
 men connected with the London establishment. Benjamin Worthy 
 Home, William Chaplin, and others, took early steps to connect 
 themselves with the railway companies. 
 
 Home and Chaplin became the London and Birmingham 
 Co.'s agents for parcels and omnibuses, and did good service for 
 many years in the organisation of branch coaches and in providing 
 temporary conveyances in periods of floods and landslips when 
 parts of the line became impassable. It was, however, some 
 time before the general public fully believed in the permanence of 
 the railways. Large sums were spent in improving the high roads 
 for the coaches when the railways were approaching completion, 
 and some were actually open for traffic. 
 
10 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "DY this time, near the site of the place where Trevithick 
 had exhibited his first locomotive engine, Philip Hardwick's 
 great Doric entrance to Euston reared its solid front, and was 
 considered a handsome addition to the architecture of London. 
 In removing the scaffolding, but fortunately while the men were 
 at dinner, a large portion of the hugh baulks of timber, of which 
 the scaffolding was composed, fell to the ground with a loud 
 report. 
 
 In September, 1838, the line was opened throughout from 
 London to Birmingham, and the duties of the several departments 
 had become more defined. At first everybody made himself 
 useful in that which came to hand. I collected cash bags from 
 the stations, worked in the office, carried a torch at night when 
 the trains were late — for we had no gas in the earlier months — 
 booked passengers, engaged policemen or porters, and did 
 anything else I was told. Sometimes I acted as brakesman to 
 the passenger trains from Camden to Euston; and when the 
 first Napoleon's celebrated general. Marshal Soult, paid us the 
 honour of a visit, I assisted the General Manager and the Superin- 
 tendent of Police in lowering the train to Euston, ordinary 
 brakesmen being put aside on so important an occasion. 
 Railway Managers of this day would be shocked at the free-and- 
 easy use of the main line between Camden and Euston at this time. 
 Thus, the manager rode to Euston on a waggon which he lowered 
 himself; and any superior officer had the power to adopt this 
 method of making the journey, quite regardless of what might be 
 in the way. On one occasion, on taking down a very high-sided 
 waggon, I had to stand outside the vehicle on the buffer, 
 intending to work the brake with my foot, but midway I found I 
 could not reach it, and I was only saved by the aid of a very long 
 porter who happened to be with me. All hands were proficient 
 at this braking, for we used to make small wagers as to stopping 
 the waggons or carriages to an inch on the turntable at the bottom. 
 
n 
 
 After serving- a few months in the audit office, and in the 
 opening- of the through line to Birmingham, I was drafted from 
 the Manager's office to Camden Station, in connection 
 1838. with the Stores and Construction Departments. This 
 was a change for the worse as regards my personal 
 comfort. The office was a rough wooden erection, with an 
 earthen floor, and contained, by day, myself in my great coat, 
 the stores of all kinds, a table, a small cabin stove, and the 
 mice. Chalk Farm was in the country then, and I had to prepare 
 my meals at the small stove, and to consume them assisted by the 
 mice, who evidently had a great contempt for my presence. 
 The place was always muddy. The station had been raised 
 from the road by the earth from the Primrose Hill Tunnel, and 
 this new clay produced a Slough of Despond, which I have only 
 seen equalled at the Royal Agricultural Show, at Kilburn, a few 
 years ago. 
 
 Still the building of waggons for the intended goods traffic 
 went on, and I kept my books and blew my fingers until better 
 times came. During this period I was instructed to obtain a 
 sight of the patent for Booth's Patent Grease, some trouble 
 having been experienced for want of a suitable lubricant for the 
 carriage axles. I did so, and made the first can of the compound 
 in my shed, and, as it was found successful, the Company afterwards 
 purchased the use of the patent, and have adopted it ever since. 
 
 Chalk Farm Tavern was then at the end of a lane near my 
 office. It had been, as is well known, a celebrated duelling place, 
 and it still retained some of its faded grandeur, as a place of resort 
 for dancing and fetes. The large ball-room was decked with 
 chandeliers and convex mirrors. An elevated gallery led to the 
 tea-garden, at the entrance to which the figures of two soldiers 
 were painted. The Chalk Farm Fair had not yet begun, but 
 the navvies, during the making of the tunnel, had lowered the 
 character of the place. When over their beer at night, their singing 
 could be heard far away. A favourite chorus of theirs was to this 
 effect ; 
 
 " And the guns shall be rattling, 
 
 A-rattling and roaring, 
 A-rattling and roaring, Oho-0-0-0!" 
 
 The stentorian sound must have surprised the crows at Hampstead. 
 
]-2 
 
 , ' These navvies became quite a class when canals were cut, and 
 came in valuably for the railway work. They took their 
 designation from the word 'navig-ation,' and retained it after they 
 had changed their occupation. The pure air and hard earth-work 
 made them models of physique. They were utterly fearless, and 
 were very fond of beer and an occasional fight, but were other- 
 wise simple and honest fellows. They were in the habit of calling 
 "Ware out," when anything was thrown down or falling; and 
 it is said that a man, falling over his barrow at the mouth of an 
 abyss, finding that he must inevitably fall down the shaft, cried, 
 ''Ware out! Navvie a-coming ! " I do not, however, vouch for 
 the truth of the story. 
 
 As a number of rats joined the mice and me in our shed, 
 and the rain began to damage the books and goods, it was 
 found necessary to make room for me in the office of the 
 engineer and. timekeepers, beneath an arch of Chalk Farm 
 Bridge ; and then we organised a daily ordinary at the Chalk 
 Farm Tavern, which suited me better than the cabin-stove 
 feasts. The wag of the party was our engineer, who ultimately 
 became the General Manager of more than one important 
 railway. He used to resent the bad fare provided for us, and 
 played the old landlord many a practical joke. On one occasion 
 a putrid sucking pig was served, and, as we could not eat it, our 
 friend nailed it over the mantel-piece of the room and rang the 
 bell. Boniface appeared and tore down the pig, anathematising 
 us all. Pigeon-shooting at the place gave us pigeon-pies to 
 satiety ; but I suppose the pies were running short one day, 
 when a lady and gentleman drove up and ordered dinner. The 
 landlord came into our room and asked if we could spare the pie. 
 We replied, " In a minute or two;" and it was then taken away, 
 but not before " George " had abstracted the pigeons and'replaced 
 them with potatoes. *' Guess," said he, " there will be a ringing 
 of bells presently," and so there was; also the ordering of the 
 horse and gig, in great indignation, and the departure of tjie 
 lady and gentleman. At another time the cook was overheard 
 remonstrating with the landlord on the unfitness of a goose for 
 human food, when mine host was heard to say, *'Oh, bless it, 
 pepper it ; pepper it ; /hey' 11 eat it ! " But that goose disappeared, 
 and it has not yet been discovered what became of it. 
 
13 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 nPHE working- of the line went struggling towards a state of 
 order. The rails were found to be too light for the traffic — 
 56th fish-bellied rails in some cases — the stone blocks a failure ; 
 fires to luggage on the tops of the carriages frequent ; signals by 
 flag and hand lamps insufficient. The signalmen, dressed in 
 police uniform, had been drilled by Mr. Superintendent Bedford, 
 formerly of the Guards and lately of the Metropolitan Police, 
 and they brought the flag-staff round to the shoulder, as the 
 trains passed, with true military precision. But they were not 
 enough, and sig-nal posts were contemplated. These and many 
 other defects occupied the Board and Management. The subject 
 of goods traffic engaged much consideration, and, on the 
 resignation of Mr. Bagster, Mr. Joseph Baxendalewas appointed 
 manager of the line. He removed the manager's office to 
 Camden Station, in a building originally intended for the 
 passenger booking office, before the extension of the railway 
 to Euston. Into this building Mr. Robert Stephenson's office was 
 also transferred, from a house in St. John's Wood, since called 
 the Eyre Arms Tavern, in the grounds at the back of which the 
 ladies and gentlemen used to practice for the celebrated Eglinton 
 Tournament, which took place about this time. I am afraid 
 they hindered the work of the drawing clerks very much, and for 
 my own part I must confess that I sometimes tilted when I should 
 have been otherwise engaged. 
 
 The stores and engineer's departments were likewise brought 
 into the manager's building. 
 
 Two more suitable men could not have been called to the 
 councils of the Board at such a period than Mr. Joseph 
 Baxendale and Mr. Benjamin Worthy Home. Their experience 
 and energy, in relation to the conveyance both of passengers 
 and goods, were of the highest order. Yet they were totally 
 different in character, as in appearance. Mr. Home was a tall 
 wiry man, of determined face and rapid speech, quick in manner. 
 
14 
 
 irritable, and prompt of action. He largely contributed to the 
 g-reat efficiency of the stage coaches, and had been found a bitter 
 opponent to many a competitor in the struggles for ascendancy 
 on many a road. He once pointed out to me a road-side inn 
 where he went one night, years before, and bought up all the 
 horses of the coach opposed to his, driving by triumphantly in the 
 morning where the rival coach, with its passengers, had come to 
 an unexpected stand. Mr. Baxendale was a shorter and a 
 broader man than Mr. Home. He was cheerful and witty in 
 conversation, ever had a word of encouragement for the 
 youngsters, and was universally beloved by those whom 
 he employed. The success of Pickford & Co., and the general 
 efficiency of that establishment, proved his administrative power ; 
 and his foresight and wisdom at this critical time for carriers 
 were borne out by eminent results. His clear system of forms 
 and arrangements, by which a hold of the goods conveyed is 
 maintained from the time they leave the consignor until they 
 reach their destination, continues to be the basis of the carrying- 
 business all over the kingdom. 
 
15 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 npHE g-oods traffic was commenced by the transfer of some of 
 
 '■' Messrs. Pickford & Co.'s extensive canal traffic to the line, 
 
 and a small temporary loading- shed was built for the purpose, 
 
 in 1839. The old wagg-on sheds were removed, and an 
 1839 adequate workshop for the construction of wagg-ons was 
 
 erected ; while at Euston a commodious carriage shop 
 was established, the works being- placed under Mr. Worsdell 
 and his son. 
 
 The endless rope by which the trains had been drawn up the 
 incline from Euston was abolished, and the marine engines and 
 two lofty chimneys at Camden were removed. The long- discussed 
 question of the adhesion of the locomotive engine wheels to the 
 rails, had been settled in some degree, and that power had 
 replaced the rope. The latter had long; worked unsatisfactorily, 
 causing many minor accidents, and on one occasion nearly 
 destroying- the writer of this humble record. The skid which was 
 placed in the rear of the trains sometimes became partly 
 detached, and was thrown about wildly on its passage up the 
 incline, to the great alarm of persons walking- on the line, of 
 whom there were many at that time. The messenger rope from 
 the foremost carriage to the endless rope frequently slipped or 
 broke. The signal apparatus, which was a vessel on the 
 principle of a gasometer, and moved some coloured water in a 
 tube at the engine-house end, and also blew a whistle, failed 
 occasionally. 
 
 Messrs. Cook and Wheatstone brought to the carriage shops 
 a mysterious quantity of wire and began a series of electric 
 experiments. Many wondrous reports were told us of our being 
 likely to talk with people at a distance, by means of a wire 
 and a pianoforte like instrument. There, in a corner of the 
 carpenter's shop, reposed the embryo Puck, which was to put a 
 girdle round the earth, remove prejudices, equalise prices, 
 annihilate space, and, with its elder brother, the railway, mingle 
 
16 
 
 the races of men and become the many-leag-ued boots on the feet 
 of Civilisation. But the doubting" world received this invention 
 with incredulity, as it ever does the boons which science confers. 
 
 On July 25th, 1837, two copper wires were laid between 
 
 , Euston and Camden, and the two quiet inventors placed 
 
 themseves one at either end and conversed. The 
 
 1837. mig-hty and mysterious thing- was proved a practical 
 
 success, whose development would bring the human 
 
 voice within instantaneous communication with each other at any 
 
 distance, and make the whole world kin. 
 
 The gradual opening of Railways into London and other 
 parts of the Kingdom brought us many learners of our forms and 
 system, and occasionally we were sent to them to render 
 assistance. On a trip of the kind to Leicester, I first met Mr. 
 James Allport, of the Midland Railway, who was then doing duty 
 in the booking- office, from whence he rose to the rank of 
 Director and Knighthood. 
 
 Further steps were taken to improve the goods traffic. A 
 Goods Committee of Directors, with Captain Moorson for 
 Chairman, was appointed; that gentleman having become a 
 Director. Hitherto the Directors had not taken an active part in 
 the details of the departments, and the power for the general 
 management rested with the Chief Officers, their proceedings 
 being confirmed by the Board in almost a merely formal way. 
 The Chairman, Mr. Glyn, and his colleagues, confined their 
 personal efforts to matters of policy, finance, &c. The Secretary 
 was the Chief Officer, the Superintendent being- responsible to 
 him for the working- and staff arrangements. Captain Moorsom, 
 in his new office, began a more active control in the details of the 
 young- Goods Department. Mr. Wyatt, from Pickford & Co's 
 establishment, was made the Goods Manager, and the Company 
 began to carry on toll for some of the important carriers, in 
 addition to Pickford and Co. Mr. Baxendale, at this time, 
 resigned the superintendence of the line, and was succeeded by 
 Mr. H. P. Bruyeres, a late Officer of Engineers. The goods 
 traffic progi'essed but slowly, however, although inducements 
 were offered to road and canal carriers to transfer their business 
 to the railway. 
 
17 
 
 At this time I volunteered from the Stores into the Goods 
 Department, which had always seemed to me the most interest- 
 ing and important branch of the business. I had 
 1840. already familiarised myself with the parcels work, in 
 my leisure evenings, and I made the change, believing 
 that the merchandise branch of the railways would afford the 
 best career, although I knew it to be the most difficult and 
 arduous. 
 
 After a few years' service Mr. Wyatt died, and was 
 succeeded by Mr. Thomas C. Mills, formerly connected with 
 the Birmingham Coaches, and subsequently Station Master at 
 Birmingham. He had exhibited considerable energy during the 
 riots at Birmingham, when the Company's station was 
 threatened. In appearance he resembled the representations 
 of Oliver Cromwell. He had much of that great man's blunt- 
 ness of character, without, I fear, much of his piety. Under his 
 management the tolls were so considerably reduced as to com- 
 mand the bulk of the general trade hitherto sent by canal. 
 Sheds were erected for the large carriers, for which they paid a 
 rental ; and Pickford & Co. built their own premises, adjoining 
 the station, on land purchased by Mr. Baxendale years before, 
 in anticipation. Chaplin & Home became Goods agents for 
 the Grand Junction Railway Co., and had also suitable accommo- 
 dation provided for them at Camden. The Company provided 
 waggons which they placed in a siding, from whence the carriers 
 turned them into their respective sheds. Occasionally the 
 Company supplied tarpaulins for the waggons, for which a 
 charge was made. I am precise in stating this arrangement, 
 because of attempts in after years to deny the rights of Railway 
 Companies to terminal charges. When the legislature first pro- 
 vided for the toll upon Turnpike Roads, the term did not include any 
 services but the transit over the roadway; the coach proprietors 
 and others using the way provided their own terminal con- 
 veniences. We find the term " toll " used again in reference to 
 the Canal charges ; and here also the carriers were permitted to 
 use the water-way for the toll they paid, and provide their own 
 quays, wharves, and warehouses at the end of the journey. 
 Pickford & Co. built their terminal at the City Basin; and 
 
18 
 
 others rented wharves. It is reasonable to suppose that when 
 the Parliamentary powers were granted to the railways, the 
 repetition of the use of this word ''toll" was intended to convey 
 the same meaning" as when it was used by the same powers for 
 canals and roadways. Mr. Baxendale, the largest carrier at 
 the time, certainly expected that any future carrier on toll upon 
 the railway would have to rent or provide his own terminal con- 
 veniences, in addition to the payment of the toll for the use of 
 the line. Some years before the London railways carried any 
 goods, Mr. Baxendale took the opportunity of purchasing land 
 adjoining the London and North Western Railway at Camden 
 Station, as before mentioned, sufficient to receive his ware- 
 houses when the time should come for the transfer of his traffic 
 from the canal to the railway. On this piece of ground he 
 afterwards erected his premises at Camden Station, and carried 
 on the trade of carrier on toll; while his competitors rented 
 sheds, cranes, &c., within the station, which were built by the 
 Railway Company. Thus, it was thoroughly understood at this 
 period that the toll did not include the terminals ; and I think 
 the fact fully shows that the attempt to force the Companies to 
 provide costly stations, and then to deprive them of the right to 
 a fair remuneration for the provision, was altogether unjust, and 
 contrary to all originally understood notions on the subject. 
 
 Under the altered system the traffic increased week by week. 
 It fell to my duty to make up the daily totals from the weights ot 
 
 the Company, dividing it under the several rates 
 1844. according to the declarations of the carriers; a severe 
 
 task, for many hours each day. I, however, held out, 
 and received gratifying promotion. The staff were gradually 
 increased, and my position grew in importance. We discovered 
 that the declarations of some of the carriers as to the description 
 of goods loaded by them in the waggons were often 
 systematically false, and we had to appoint a detective, who 
 frequently found the real invoices in the waggons to differ entirely 
 from the declarations given to the Company. It also happened 
 that when trade was brisk, and waggons were in large demand, 
 the carriers' men would have a pitched battle for the vehicles; it 
 was also found that loads made up at country stations, where the 
 
19 
 
 weight could not be checked, were overloaded to a dangerous 
 extent. 
 
 Meanwhile the higher authorities were commencing 
 
 negotiations for amalgamating the London and Birmingham, 
 
 the Grand Junction, and the Manchester and Birmingham 
 
 1844. Railways into a line to be called the London and North 
 
 Western Railway, under one corporation. The Act of 
 
 Parliament confirming the amalgamation was passed on July i6th, 
 
 1846, after a long series of jealousies and unworthy squabblings. 
 
 Mr. Glyn became the Chairman of the new Company, Robert 
 Stephenson was made the engineer-in-chief of the amalgamated 
 Companies in 1844, but the London and North Western Railway 
 was not in full operation until 1851. The engineering duties 
 were divided into sections; Mr. R. B. Dockray taking the 
 Southern Division, Mr. Norris and others the Northern 
 section. After 1851, Mr. Stephenson had only a consulting fee. 
 Captain Mark Huish came to London from Liverpool, and was 
 installed as General Manager; which was announced by a flourish 
 of trumpets in the form of a circular. His salary was fixed 
 at ^2,000 per annum ; calling for much comment, as a monstrous 
 stipend : one writer declaring that no manager could be worth 
 such a salary. 
 
 Mr. Glyn was well entitled to his increased dignity. He 
 was an enlightened gentleman, and his services towards the 
 development of railways were afterwards deservedly recognised 
 by his elevation to the peerage, under the title of Lord Wolverton 
 in the choice of which name he paid a graceful compliment to the 
 locomotive centre of the London and Birmingham line, and the 
 station where her Majesty passed the night on one of her earliest 
 railway journeys. 
 
 Captain Huish was a man of stern demeanour in business. 
 He managed the line from his office, seldom visiting the stations, 
 but left the details almost wholly in the hands of his responsible 
 officers. In private life he was a genial gentleman, a warm 
 friend, and ever ready to promote any enterprise for the 
 moral and material improvement of the poor. He was possessed 
 of considerable literary power, and wrote more than one talented 
 paper on the condition and prospects of the railway. After his 
 
20 
 
 retirement he resided at Bonchurch, where his active benevolence 
 rendered him generally respected. On his monument in the 
 Bonchurch graveyard his former connection with the Bengal 
 native infantry is recorded, but no mention is made of his 
 distinguished position with the greatest of English railways. 
 
 So ended the London and Birmingham Railway Company 
 as a distinct body ; a happy family of directors and servants, 
 every one of whom deemed it an honour to be connected with 
 the development of the new mode of locomotion. The directors 
 vvere generous and considerate to their officers and servants, and 
 the managers worthily interpreted the intentions of the directors 
 towards the rank and file. Censure was applied in a manner to 
 convince the delinquent of the justice of a rebuke, while judicious 
 praise stimulated the exertions of good workers. The establish- 
 ment being within reasonable compass, the subsequent modern 
 dogmatic and unreasoning discipline was not so necessary as 
 the prodigious extension of the railway establishment has perhaps 
 rendered it. The few who can recall the time of which I write 
 will warmly acknowledge the truth of these remarks. 
 
21 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 T TNDER the new organisation the line was divided into districts. 
 In the locomotive department we had Mr. Edward 
 Bury for the south, Mr. Ramsbottom and Mr. Trevithic for the 
 north. In the coaching department Mr. H. P. Bruyeres for the 
 south, Mr. Norris, superintendent and engineer, for the north. 
 The goods department was managed by Mr. Mills in the south, 
 Mr. Eborall, central district, at Birmingham, Mr. Poole at Liver- 
 pool, and Mr. Salt at Manchester. Mr. Eborall was the father 
 of Mr. Cornelius Eborall, who became for many years the 
 esteemed General Manager of the South Eastern Railway, and 
 whose death, at a comparatively early age, was deeply lamented. 
 In 1847 it was decided to abolish the system of toll carrying, 
 and the Railway Company gradually commenced carrying 
 directly for the public. Pickford & Co. and Chaplin 
 1847. and Home being appointed agents for the cartage ot 
 the traffic, and to work the Goods sheds in London. 
 A monthly Conference of the Goods Managers and the 
 Agents, presided over by Captain Huish, was instituted, at 
 which the bitter quarrels of Pickford & Co. and Chaplin and Home 
 were the most remarkable feature. Their implacable competition 
 with one another, in seeking the trade, was a source of weak- 
 ness to the Company ; for the agents would expend as much 
 strength in getting customers from one another as in drawing 
 them from railways and other competitive services. Pickford & 
 Co. withdrew their boats from the canals, and Chaplin and Home, 
 who were almost new to the goods traffic, matured their position 
 by means of their old Coaching connection and parcels offices. 
 Mr. Home threw all his excitable and inexhaustible energy into 
 
22 
 
 the combat; while the three sons of Mr. Baxendale took the 
 manag-ement of Pickford & Co.'s department with increased 
 personal feeling and angry opposition. 
 
 The North London Line to Fenchurch Street and Poplar 
 was opened in 1846, and at the sug-g-estion of Mr. Home the 
 London and North Western Company purchased some Dock 
 Warehouses at Haydon Square, Aldg-ate, and formed a Goods 
 Station for the City at that place. I accompanied the first 
 g"Oods train to Haydon, about four o'clock one fine summer 
 morning", and the view of all the sleeping- uncurtained rooms of 
 the squalid houses which the train commanded was, indeed, only 
 "a sight for a father." The North London Company added to my 
 other duties, by consent of the London and North Western 
 Company, the office of goods manager, at a small, but to me 
 important, salary; at that time Mr. Harry Chubb was the 
 secretary. He was an able manager, a just and considerate 
 master, an amiable and refined gentleman, and a sincere 
 friend. 
 
 The work of uniting all the railways in the Clearing House, 
 for the division of the receipts, the making of rates, and a system 
 of accounts for a universal carrying, with all the consequent 
 details, was a great labour, but it progressed quickly in the 
 hands of the able goods managers and accountants to whom it 
 was entrusted, and the new arrangement approached completion. 
 Periodical conferences of the officers of all the railways in the 
 Clearing House were established, and a code of rules for the 
 business was printed. Had the Companies at the same time 
 taken in hand the management of the cartage, within a radius of 
 their respective stations, they would very easily have transferred 
 to themselves all the men who actually did the work, and by re- 
 jecting the large firms who absorbed so much of the profit (and 
 who should have disappeared with the coaches, or confined them- 
 selves to the canals and suburb carrying), would have saved 
 enormous cost and many years of dispute and difficulty, yet 
 unsettled ; while the public would have been drawn nearer to 
 them, and the question of a reduction in rates would have pressed 
 less heavily. Cartage at a cost price leaves the railway rate to 
 be discussed on its merits. Cartage by a contractor, who requires 
 
23 
 
 a large profit, exhausts the elasticity of the railway rate. With- 
 out the cartage in their own hands, therefore, this beautiful 
 system of carrying, which conferred such a great benefit on the 
 trade of the country, was crippled and incomplete. The public 
 require the movement of their merchandise to be one transaction 
 from the door to the destination, and any intermediate dealer 
 is an extra cost and obstruction. Better- far would it have 
 been for the peace of the Companies to have continued their 
 carrying on toll, and left the public to the irregular and uncon- 
 trolled charges of town carriers, great and small. 
 
 It may be urged that competition between the carters would 
 have reduced the charges to the minimum ; but even in the Canal 
 time these carriers learned how to combine to keep up prices, and 
 they are still, as then, uncontrolled by Acts of Parliament, by Rail- 
 way Commissioners, or even by public opinion. I may also state 
 that the charges for the porterage (that is, the delivery) of 
 packages conveyed by coach, in the old Road time, were 
 oppressively exorbitant, and altogether irregular and unchecked. 
 
 Much more could be said on this subject, but it is contro- 
 versial ground, and I desire only to write a sketch of the 
 experience of a very humble member of the Railway body 
 during a period somewhat interesting, and that only within 
 the limits of my own immediate sphere. 
 
 Amongst the changes related I had obtained some promotion, 
 being appointed chief assistant to Mr. Mills, who was now much 
 G^gdiged with other managers in the formation of the altered 
 arrangements. I had also the charge of the Camden Station, 
 trains, brakesmen, etc., with partial responsibility to Mr. Bruyeres, 
 the superintendent of the southern division. My salary was 
 advanced, which enabled me to take a wife; an event having 
 much more to do with the good working of a railway officer than 
 is sometimes supposed. 
 
 During this period of steady duty, there were some " cakes 
 and ale." The first Officers' Dinner took place at the Euston 
 Hotel, then newly built. Mr. Kenneth Morison presided, and I 
 wrote, and sang, a song, which was graciously received. We 
 had a cricket club on the fields now covered by the Gloucester 
 Road at Camden. Among the members were Mr. Samuel 
 
24 
 
 Brooks and Mr. Dawson, who whistled duets in sweet fashion ; 
 amiable Georg^e Coulter, a hard hitter at cricket, who gave me 
 one to long--field which I caught on my eye ; the two Chapmans ; 
 the two Bacons, of the Hotel ; Thomas Long- ; J. O. Binger ; and 
 many others ; of whom I alone remain in the service — and even 
 my cricketing days are long gone by. Groups of faces of the 
 young and merry companions of the Stores office, the Goods 
 office, the Booking and Audit offices at Euston, etc., rise up to my 
 memory. William Haley, a happy bachelor, with a sweet voice 
 and exquisite taste; poor Stephen Beadle; bluff Tom Holbein; 
 Jacob the messenger, droll as Sam Weller ; pompous but good- 
 hearted Bickley; handsome Tom Barker — la-di-da — who once 
 thought he gave me a great treat by taking me to see Tom Cribbthe 
 bruiser, who appeared to me anything but a representative of 
 muscular beauty ; Brennan ; Sadgrove ; Tyers ; James Hewett ; 
 Henry Whittle ; Penrucker; Oliver; and others : all talented, 
 musical, or in some way amusing — lightening the long hours by 
 many a joke; all long since gone, by death and change, in 
 foreign lands or otherwise, and succeeded by repeated relays 
 of others, as the decades have proceeded. 
 
 I found time in the early Camden Goods years to attend 
 lectures, learn mechanics, and study design at Somerset House, 
 under Mr. Dyce, R.A., and music under Mr. Hullah ; and I had 
 occasional treats at the theatre in Macready's days, with a chop 
 afterwards at Paddy Green's entertainment at Evan's Grand 
 Hotel, where I took down the songs in shorthand, for my friend 
 William Haley. The money-taker at this establishment had a 
 curious method of making fourteen-pence one and fourpence, and 
 sixteen-pence one and sixpence, greatly to his profit. He had a 
 large hole in his forehead, which, perhaps, caused the mathe- 
 matical peculiarity. 
 
 In my early youth, I had become familiar with the forms of 
 most of the aristocratic celebrities, by visits to the park, etc. ; 
 Count D'Orsay, with his magnificent whiskers, his splendid 
 cabriolet drawn by two horses, with a bright steel bar across 
 them ; the old Duke of Wellington ; the Fitz Clarences ; Sir 
 Watkin Wynne, on his stout cob ; Lord Melbourne ; Lord 
 Forester ; Lord Chesterfield, etc., so that when any of them came 
 
25 
 
 to the Railway, which at first was considered a subject of 
 curiosity rather than an established institution, I could point them 
 out. I have seen the great Sir Robert Peel drav/ down a white nig-ht- 
 cap over his wise head, as he settled himself in a carriage for a 
 night journey by rail; Lord Brougham borrow paper and 
 postage-stamps from the booking clerk ; and I had the honour to 
 help Mr. P. Hardwick, the company's architect, to exhibit to 
 Queen Adelaide the then new machine for catching the mail bags 
 on the railway journey. Daniel O'Connel frequently used the 
 line, and wore a blue cloth cap, which made him look like a large 
 sized master of a German band. 
 
 I also recognised the members of the theatrical profession; 
 for, when a boy, a friend, who had dealings with the theatres, gave 
 me opportunities of carrying business communications to them, and 
 in my visits to Mr. Palmer, of Drury Lane, I often lingered on the 
 bridge above the stage to listen to the singing of Madame 
 Malibran, or the declamation of Macready, Helen Fawcet, and 
 many others. I was in the Strand theatre one morning and heard 
 W. J. Hammond give Douglas Jerrold an account of a violent 
 personal encounter on the previous day, between Alfred Bunn — 
 *' velvet breeches Bunn" — and Macready. The quarrel, which 
 might have resulted in murder, was through some jealousy of 
 Macready' s as to Charles Kean. On another occasion, at Covent 
 Garden, I was swept away from the slips by a ballet retreating 
 to clear the front. I had once an opportunity to call on Harley, 
 the great comedian, in Gower Street, but was so overcome by the 
 comicality of his approach to me, that I had a great difficulty to 
 tell my business for laughter. 
 
 On another occasion, I had to see Macready in his dressing- 
 room, at the Haymarket. He was studying his part. At the 
 conclusion of my message he turned tragically to me, and bit out 
 his thanks, adding that he would send me an order for the gallery. 
 Much hurt, and indignant, I bowed and retired. I had rare 
 chances of seeing that beautiful woman, and talented actress and 
 songstress, Madame Vestris. At the conclusion of a conversation 
 with Mr. Palmer, she once said, " Ah ! Mr. Palmer, some day you 
 will see me a faded figure at the corner of a street, begging, and 
 people will say, 'That is the celebrated Madame Vestris T" 
 
26 
 
 Palmer never had that grief, althoug-h she was extravagant to the 
 last. While touching on theatrical experiences, I may relate 
 that in later years, at some private performances at the house of 
 a friend, I met a modest young gentleman who was then, I think, 
 engaged in the wine trade. He played " Boots at the Swan " 
 admirably, and recited some pieces of his own composition, and 
 in after conversation was strongly recommended by me and others 
 to adopt the stage as a profession. He afterwards did so, and 
 with what success the name of J. L. Toole is sufficient to tell. 
 
 The lawyers too were known to me. In my holidays, when 
 quite a boy, I had a habit of attending the Law Courts, to listen to 
 the trials. Ballantine and Parry, who were then leaders at the 
 Old Bailey, always on opposite sides, were at once recognised 
 when they appeared. Many a pleasant time have I passed in 
 laughing at the witty pleadings and clever cross-examination of 
 Charles Phillips, afterwards Commissioner in Bankruptcy, and the 
 sad victim of a misunderstanding on the trial of Courvoisier, for the 
 murder of Lord William Russell. I happened to be in court at 
 the trial of a Chartist, whom the Attorney General Jarvis 
 prosecuted and Kenealy defended, when the latter was rebuked 
 for his strong language to Mr. Attorney. He used stronger 
 language on the Tichborne trial years afterwards. I was 
 present at part of the trial of Hocker, for the murder of his friend 
 Delarue. Both had been teachers of languages at Hampstead, 
 and Hocker had been a constant attendant at the Parish Church. 
 He at one time sought to pay his addresses to the daughter of a 
 widow lady of my acquaintance, and she commissioned me to see 
 him and make inquiries as to his respectability. I met Hocker 
 and found him to be an educated but flighty and conceited youngs 
 man. For this and other reasons I reported against his eligibility. 
 A year, probably, afterwards, returning home to Hampstead 
 one night, I was told that a man had been killed in a field next 
 the wall of the extensive grounds surrounding Belsize House, now 
 covered by the houses called Belsize Gardens. The murderer, 
 as it afterwards appeared, left his victim and ran across the 
 field to the Swiss Cottage, washing his hands in the snow on the 
 way; and, after fortifying himself with some brandy, returned to 
 the spot and assisted to carry the body to the Yorkshire Grey at 
 
27 
 
 Hampstead. Hocker was afterwards cleverly traced to be the 
 murderer, and offered, as his defence, the unlikely story that he had 
 accompanied the brother of a young- lady at Hampstead, to 
 -chastise Delarue for misconduct towards her. The brother, he 
 averred, struck the fatal blow, but he, Hocker, being- engag-ed to 
 the young lady, could not betray the brother, or he would be a 
 traitor. If he suffered for the offence, he would die a martyr. 
 This defence, the police told me, the counsel rejected as entirely 
 against the evidence ; but the authorities thought it necessary to 
 jnake an inquiry' at Hampstead, to discover any love affair that 
 might have existed, and somehow found the little matter of my 
 friend the widow lady's daughter, and my inquiry. In 
 •consequence of which the police called at my lodgings and searched 
 the lady's house, in a very rough and painful way, confiscating 
 some of Hooker's letters which they discovered, as great prizes 
 of detection. The circumstance caused endless excitement and 
 reports, and a long period of serious annoyances, but the Sheriff 
 afterwards obtained, in writing, from the prisoner, a complete 
 statement that he had not the slightest intention to allude in the 
 most remote degree to my young friend. 
 
 Captain Moorsom became Admiral Moorsom, and Chairman 
 of the Chester and Holyhead Railway; J. O. Binger 
 General Manager of that Railway, and Robert Mansell, brother 
 •of Dean Mansell, the Secretary. The line was afterwards 
 .amalgamated with the London and North Western, when Mr. 
 Binger was appointed superintendent of the Chester and 
 Holyhead district, and, Mr. Chubb having retired, Mr. Mansell 
 came to the North London Line, which was always mainly the 
 property of the London and North Western Company. The 
 Admiral succeeded to the chair of the London and North 
 Western Board in 1861, after the retirement of the Marquis of 
 •Chandos. Mr. Glyn had retired in 1853, and had been succeeded 
 first by General Anson and then by the Marquis of Chandos. 
 This nobleman had made his name heroic by cutting off the 
 entail of his father's estate, to pay the Duke's creditors, and had 
 to devote his energies to work, to sustain the consequences. 
 Previous to his appointment he was inspecting the departments 
 of the railway and called at Mr, Bruyeres' office. Poor Watts, 
 
28 
 
 a clerk, who was somewhat impressed with his own official 
 dig-nity, asked his lordship what he wanted -" a situation ? If so, 
 there are no vacancies. Besides, you're too short." The 
 Marquis replied, "Then I will leave my card" "Oh, your card. 
 Very well." But when Watts read the card he fell down and 
 worshipped, and never smiled again. 
 
 Old Mr. Creed, the Secretary, retired in September, 1848, 
 and was succeeded by Mr. C. E. Stewart. 
 
 Mr. Stewart had seen foreig^n service in the civil department 
 of Government, and was a g-entleman eminently qualified for his 
 new position. During- my communication with him he received an 
 anonymous letter charging me with purloining the Company's 
 property. He sent for me and bade me read it, and then asked 
 if I knew how he intended to dispose of it — immediately putting it 
 into the fire. Captain Huish entered at the moment, and, on 
 being told the circumstances, requested me if I could find the 
 author, to take legal proceedings, and the Company would bear 
 the expense. He said it would doubtless be found to have been 
 sent by some discharged man : which turned out to be the case. 
 
 The Secretary's duty at this time was less classified from the 
 General Manager's than after Mr. Cawkwell's period, and Mr. 
 Stewart received applications for railway evidence in parliament 
 and elsewhere. He did me the honour to nominate me as L. & 
 N. W. witness in a great number of cases — service which was 
 often very remunerative and much missed by me in after days, 
 having given evidence in every court of judicature, from the House 
 of Lords to the Coroner's Inquest. In later years Mr. Stewart 
 nominated me for the post of Agent to the Great Indian 
 Peninsular Railway, in Bombay, at £3,000 per annum, which \ 
 should have obtained but for Captain Sherrard Osborne, who 
 brought greater interest in his favour at the last moment. 
 
 Mr. Edward Bury's four-wheeled engines had been the subject 
 of much controversy in the railway newspapers. They were 
 superior to any previously used, but were not strong enough for 
 the traffic; he retired in March, '47. He had been of great 
 service to the Company, not only in his own department. 
 He was succeeded by Mr. McConnell, a strong and determined 
 man of the rough sort. By -the aid of Mr. Madigan of the 
 
29 
 
 Permanent Way Department, and others, he successfully resisted 
 a strike of the engine-drivers. The guards who rode on the 
 engine-plate, to direct the new men, received printed certificates 
 of special service during this serious difficulty. 
 
 Mr. McConnell's "Bloomers," 7-6 fly-wheel, and six-wheeled 
 coupled engines, were a great success and made his name. He 
 was the author of many locomotive improvements and patents, 
 which brought him wealth, and he afterwards retired to Aylesbury, 
 became a member of the County Bench of magistrates, and sat, 
 in that capacity, with Disraeli. I received many acts of 
 hospitable courtesy at his hands, as well as offers of appointments 
 on foreign railways. 
 
 In Mr. Stewart's Secretaryship before Captain Huish retired, 
 Mr. Edward Watkin became an under Secretary. He took an 
 active part in all the important transactions of the Company, and 
 exhibited talent of no ordinary kind. Had he remained he 
 would doubtless have succeeded to the highest position, but he 
 sought "pastures new," and is now Sir Edward Watkin, Bart. 
 Under his direction I was commissioned to contest the re-election 
 of some of the members of the Parochial Board of the St. Pancras 
 Parish — that body having behaved in an arbitrary manner to the 
 Company. We were defeated in the first contest, but when the new 
 Metropolitan Management Act came into force, a new Board 
 of respectable and in many cases distinguished men were elected 
 and took their seats under the chairmanship of the Rev. Thomas 
 Dale, Vicar of the Parish. I represented the Company, and 
 added to my experience as Chairman of the Assessment Rate 
 and Appeal Committee. 
 
 While the years were gliding by and the everlasting 
 principles of change and renewal were operating on the railway, 
 as in all things, the traffic increased, and branch lines and 
 amalgamations were added to the L. & N. W. Company. The 
 stations and appliances became too small — were always, in fact, 
 behind the requirements, and officers and servants were too 
 frequently condemned and removed, instead of the real remedy 
 of suitable enlargement being promptly applied. The coal 
 grew, from small beginnings, into a heavy traffic. When the Clay 
 Cross Company first proposed to send coals by rail to London, it is 
 
80 
 
 said that Mr. Bruyeres would not receive it from the Midland 
 Company, at Rugby, unless it were restricted to a few wagon 
 loads at a time, covered carefully with tarpaulins — a restriction 
 that speedily gave way. The first consignment of Clay Cross coal 
 by rail to London was brought to Kilburn Station in July 1845, 
 and was sold by Mr. Baker, a gentleman still in the employment 
 of the Clay Cross Company. The Ince Hall Coal was shortly 
 afterwards sent by Messrs. Lee and Jerdein. The cattle traffic 
 necessitated the erection of a large cattle station at Camden. 
 The animals, who always, in their excitement, ran the wrong way, 
 often escaped on to the main line and charged the trains, getting, 
 of course, the worst of such encounters. The cattle landing was 
 ultimately removed to the Maiden Lane Station, which reduced, 
 but never entirely stopped, such casualties. These were not 
 confined to bullocks from the cattle pens. A sharp watchman, in 
 a dimly lighted goods shed at Camden, once found a bear, which 
 had escaped from Euston, crouching against a waggon, and, 
 taking it for a thief, he pounced upon it, but retreated in dismay, 
 unhurt. A hue-and-cry was raised, and poor Bruin was captured, 
 after a spirited chase. At another time a tiger in a case fell from 
 a load on to the railway. The fall smashed the case, and the 
 tiger trotted along the line. Some soldiers were obtained from 
 a neighbouring barrack and went in pursuit. They found that 
 the signalman had climbed a telegraph post to get out of the way, 
 but on nearing the tiger they discovered that they had marched 
 without ammunition, and the tiger fell to the gun of a gentleman 
 who lived near the spot. A case containing a crocodile similarly 
 fell from a train, and an inspector, walking the line, thought he 
 was nearing a man run over, but he speedily went back for 
 assistance, on arriving at the object of his attention. 
 
31 
 
 _______ CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TN August, 1846, Mr. Glyn cautioned the proprietors as to 
 the probable decrease in the value of the property, and in 
 February, 1847, a reduction of the dividend was declared for the 
 last half of 1846. Dissatisfaction ensued, which continued until 
 185 1, when Mr. Richard Moon was elected a Director. This 
 gentleman immediately took a very active part in the affairs ot 
 the Company, and was appointed, with two other Directors, to 
 examine the whole working of the establishment. The depart- 
 ments were at this time imperfectly controlled by head quarters. 
 Different systems prevailed in the Districts, according to the 
 differing views of the Managers and Superintendents. The 
 Goods Managers made their own rates. The purchase of stores 
 was extravagantly conducted, and the sale of old materials was 
 open to irregularities and dishonesty. The check departments 
 were insufficient, and the discipline of the staff was loose ; while 
 passes for free travelling were issued by all departments and were 
 shamefully abused. Matters which appeared insignificant, 
 compared with the principal transactions of the Company, yet 
 involving the expenditure of large sums of m.oney, were left 
 entirely in the hands of officers in receipt of small salaries : and 
 some of them proved unworthy of their trust. In short, the then 
 unusually large establishment appeared incapable of effective 
 management by ordinary methods. Yet Mr. Moon brought to 
 the task he and his colleagues had undertaken the simple maxims 
 of an industrious and vigilant merchant. By expanding them to 
 the magnitude of the concern, he believed that he could make it 
 thoroughly well governed and completely disciplined. He 
 ultimately succeeded, after many years of untiring labour, amidst 
 opposition of every kind; and the voluminous programme 
 of reforms which he registered during the searching investigation 
 he had made was finally completed by the removal of the 
 Agents from the possession of the London Goods Stations, ten 
 years afterwards. 
 
32 
 
 De mortuis nil nisi homwi is not the rule of the historia,n. It 
 is of the dead he speaks freely ; of the living- he is silent. 1 ask 
 for an exception in the case of Mr. Moon, in describing- him as a 
 man of grave aspect, with a pleasant smile, enhanced by its 
 rarity ; always approachable to those of his officers in whom he 
 believed. He had a single eye for the Company's interest, an 
 insatiable capacity for details, and a belief in a personal 
 examination of every person and place on whom or which a 
 decision was necessary. After he became Chairman, his 
 unadorned addresses to the proprietors were like familiar 
 conversations between the head of a firm and his partners. Such 
 a reformer was inevitably unpopular. Many of the Directors, 
 and more of the officers, from the Manager downwards, decried 
 his recommendations and opposed him. He was condemned as 
 mean, self-seeking, and petty in his views — partial in his appoint- 
 ment of officers — and ungrateful for earnest services — unjust to 
 old servants, and capricious and conceited of his own views. I 
 believe I was the first man who worked heartily with him, and, so 
 far as could be consistent with the difference of our rank, a mutual 
 friendship was soon established between us. For many years, no 
 week passed without our exchanging written communications. Mr. 
 Moon was alike indifferent to good or evil repute, and tenaciously 
 pursued the even tenor of his way, until, as I have said, he carried 
 all his points in time. Change in the Directorate, and the 
 manifestly good results of his measures, brought him supporters. 
 The Marquis of Chandos retired, and Admiral Moorsom 
 succeeded to the Chairmanship. In 1861 the latter died, 
 and Mr. Moon was appointed to the office. From this date 
 commenced that steady course of improvement and enlightened 
 progress which has enabled the Railway to take its place as one 
 of the most complete organisations in the world, and the leading 
 line of this kingdom. The perfect supervision of every depart- 
 ment of the establishment by Committees of Directors, the careful 
 choice of managers and staff, the soundness of the plant, the 
 enterprising and wise expenditure to widen and extend the line to 
 meet the increasing traffic, the constant additions to the comforts 
 and safety of travelling — are all unsurpassed, if in any way 
 equalled, in this or any other country ; while not the least is to 
 
33 
 
 be commended the liberal treatment of the officers and staff in 
 providing- for their retirement and old age. Before this 
 consummation could be approached, Mr. Moon had many years 
 of active service and constant labour, many disappointments, and 
 much to call forth and exercise his indomitable courage and 
 persistence. 
 
 In the Stores Department Mr. Chapman was removed, and 
 the system of purchase entirely altered. In the Goods Mr. 
 Eborall died and was replaced by Mr. Broughton. Mr' 
 Braithwaite Poole, of Liverpool, and Mr. Salt, of Manchester, left 
 the service. Mr. Poole had been made the first Chief Goods 
 Manager by Captain Huish. He was an accomplished and 
 clever man, and a delightful social companion. He wrote some 
 useful compilations for railway work, and was highly appreciated 
 at the Railway Clearing House Committees ; but he was far too 
 ambitious, and too indifferent to the details of his department, to 
 suit the ideas of the Chairman. Some blot was discovered in Mr. 
 Salt's management, in which his assistant, Mr. Kay, was involved, 
 but the latter speedily regained the confidence of his superiors. 
 He was appointed temporarily to manage part of the goods of the 
 Manchester District, and Mr. Noden was put over another part. 
 Mr. Mills was removed to Euston and succeeded Mr. Poole as 
 <^hief Goods Manager. I succeeded to his district ; Mr. Huntley 
 to Wolverhampton. We were thus a new Goods Conference, 
 under the chairmanship of Mr. Mills ; Mr. Broughton acting as 
 Secretary. A General Conference of all the officers. 
 Superintendents of the Coaching Department and Goods 
 Managers, was also formed, under the chairmanship of the 
 General Manager. 
 
 As time sped, and Mr. Moon had almost completed his 
 programme of reforms, the last item, namely, the removal of 
 the Agents from the shed work of the London stations, came to 
 the front. Captain Huish had resigned, and Mr. Cawkwell, from 
 the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway, was appointed General 
 Manager; but he and some of the Directors did not sym.pathise 
 with this important change. Mr. Charles Mason, who had 
 joined the Company as chief Goods Manager on the 
 superannuation of Mr. Mills, had scarcely yet grasped his 
 
34 
 
 department. Messrs. Pickford and Co., and Messrs. Chaplin and 
 Home were, of course, bitterly opposed to their removal from 
 the stations, and they had many staunch friends at the Board. 
 Much discussion ensued, but the Chairman persevered; and, 
 finally, I consummated my many reports on the subject by a 
 statement at the Board. I was exposed to a severe cross- 
 examination for some hours, resulting in a favourable vote and 
 many unexpected compliments on the manner in which I had 
 sustained the ordeal. Mr. Home, who had implied that he 
 should abide by the decision of the Directors, and either hoped 
 for a different result or thought Pickford and Co. would resist, 
 became furious. He applied for an injunction, and the case was 
 tried, Sir Hugh Cairns advocating the Company's case. The 
 injunction was refused, and from that time Mr. Home pursued 
 me with unrelenting persecution. He left nothing undone, no 
 vituperation unsaid, to ruin me with the Directors and the 
 management. 
 
 The Goods establishment in London was transferred to the 
 Company, giving me nights and days of labour and anxiety ; the 
 Chairman alone in any way helping me with advice, assistance 
 or authority. 
 
 The general organisation was soon brought into form, 
 although Pickford & Co. carried away nearly all the best men. 
 I had to find an accountant from the staff of Chaplin and Home. 
 He succumbed to the numberless obstructions of the agents, who 
 had ample means of active annoyance in the cartage accounts. 
 The invoice tissue copies were often mysteriously destroyed or 
 missing, and it became evident that a stronger man should take 
 the work in hand. Mr. Ephraim Wood, from the Audit Office, 
 at Euston, was chosen, and, after many months of skilful industry 
 and determination, brought the accounts to a balance, and 
 triumphantly placed this part of the work in perfect order. He 
 received deserved promotions for his exertions. 
 
 In looking for a chief assistant I displeased Mr. Reay, who 
 was then the chief of the Audit Office, by endeavouring to obtain 
 Mr. Houghton for the appointment. He was willing to come, 
 but Mr. Reay valued his assistance, and I at length accepted Mr. 
 Stewart's nominee, Mr. Briscoe, who had been a soldier in the 
 
35 
 
 celebrated charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava. He was 
 an able and active man, and was soon removed to a more 
 important post. 
 
 After the removal of the agents, a few years of tolerably 
 regular work ensued, always accompanied by Mr. Home's 
 never ceasing attacks. 
 
36 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 pRIOR to these events., as previously stated, Mr. Mills v^as 
 placed on the retired list. I had the best authority for 
 hoping- that I should succeed him, but the completion of the work 
 at Camden tied me to that place, and I lost the chance. Mr. 
 Reay, of the Audit Office, wsls proposed, but Mr. Charles Mason, 
 who had competed for the general managership, was ultimately 
 chosen. He came from the Birkenhead Railway, and was a 
 shrewd and indefatigable man of business, after the Chairman's 
 own heart ; a disciplinarian, but ever considerate to those under 
 him ; sharp and decided with real offenders, but reluctant to find 
 fault, and desirous of being friendly and cheery with his 
 subordinates, which gave force to deserved rebukes. 
 
 The business grew, until it was evident that the goods 
 stations in London were too small for the traffic. Space was 
 purchased near Broad Street for a large City Station. While 
 Broad Street Station was preparing, a proposition arose for the 
 erection of a large shed at Camden, in which to treat the goods 
 on an altered principle — a system which no one who knows the 
 details of the London work would approve. I could not succeed 
 in convincing the Directors and the Management that the plan 
 would certainly fail. I intimated that the scheme should wait 
 until Broad Street Depot became completed, and the effect upon 
 Camden should be ascertained. I was told that Broad Street 
 would take little of the traffic from Camden. The opening of the 
 City Station proved the correctness of my representations. 
 
 Whether it was considered that I should not give the new 
 method fair play, or that Mr. Home's incessant reports and 
 violent tirades became intolerable, I do not know; but it was 
 decided that a gentleman from Manchester, who was said to 
 understand the proposed mode of working, should carry out the 
 change. I had visited Manchester with Mr. Mason, but could find 
 no system in operation with miscellaneous goods such as 
 those in London. When the shed was finished Mr. Greenish was 
 
. 37 
 
 appointed, and I was removed to Euston, and was appointed to 
 take charg-e of an enlarged southern district of the Goods 
 Department, extending- from Kensing-ton to near Stafford and 
 Birmingham, including the branch lines intervening, and after a 
 short period, with the further charge of opening the Company's 
 new stations at Leicester and Derby, and the new development 
 . of the Midland Collieries, and the Ashby-de-la-Zouch Railway, 
 with the outlying agencies at Leicester, Newark, Gloucester, 
 Cheltenham, Worcester and Southampton. 
 
 Meanwhile the new system was commenced, and, as I had 
 predicted, it threw the provincial work into such confusion, that 
 in a few days its failure had to be admitted and the old method 
 resumed. 
 
 My office at Euston being considered insufficiently central 
 for my new work, Mr. Cawkwell informed me that I should 
 remove to Rugby. To leave London was a severe trial to me." 
 I left my friends and the pleasant associations of many years. I 
 ceased to be a member of the Clearing House Goods Conference, 
 and lost much of my position with Mr. Mason, whom, as I have 
 said, I had assisted to manage the line during Mr. Cawkwell's 
 continued absence. 
 
 During the absence of Mr. Cawkwell through ill health Mr. 
 Mason considered it necessary to give me assistance, in order 
 that I might aid him in negotiations with other Companies, 
 increased duties, parliamentary and others, at Euston, and as no 
 eligible person on the line appeared available, I was instructed to 
 find a suitable Railway man elsewhere. I at first selected Mr. 
 John Noble of the Clearing House. The terms I offered were 
 considered insufficient by Mr. Noble. He afterwards took 
 service with the Midland Company, and ultimately became the 
 General Manager of that line. I next appointed Mr. Lambert ot 
 the Great Eastern. He closed with my proposals, and assisted me 
 as previously recorded, first in the district at Northampton and 
 afterwards in charge of the London Stations. On Mr. Cawkwell's 
 return sometime afterwards, the arrangement for my removal 
 to Rugby and Mr. Greenish to Camden, no provision for Mr. 
 Lambert appeared to have been considered, and, on enquiry as to 
 what duties he was to fulfil under the change, he was ordered to 
 
38 
 
 take a subordinate appointment under Mr. Greenish, which, 
 considering- that the country portion of the division was to be 
 taken away with me, was a fall to Mr. Lambert. He seemed to 
 think he had been brought away from the Great Eastern under 
 a misrepresentation, and, as I felt personally concerned in the 
 good faith towards him, I introduced him to Mr. Grant, the 
 General Goods Manag-er of the Great Western, who, on my 
 representation of his high qualities, immediately engaged him. 
 The change was fortunate for Mr. Lambert, who subsequently 
 succeeded Mr. Grant, on that gentleman's lamented death, and in 
 later times obtained the position of General Manager of the 
 Great Western Railway. Mr. Grant was profuse in his thanks 
 to me on several occasions as to the benefit I brought to his 
 Company by the transfer of Mr. Lambert. 
 
 I had now to resign my commission as Captain in the 
 Middlesex Artillery Volunteers, of which corps the Duke ot 
 Buckingham was Colonel. My weekly attendance at the Coal 
 Exchange was to continue, and was a little relief to my exile. 
 Occasional kindness from Mr. Mason and the chairman also 
 consoled me. The circumstances of the case rendered them 
 powerless to prevent my removal, but did not lose me their 
 confidence. I started to take possession of my duties at 
 Rugby one Sunday night, but on reaching Euston I was so heart- 
 sick and unhappy that I returned to my home in town and went 
 the next morning. The new work and the fresh air of the 
 country soon restored my spirits, and I settled down in the 
 position as a permanent thing for the rest of my service. 
 Advance in salary and frequent recognition of work 
 conscientiously done helped me to forget disappointments, and, 
 as I considered, my unjust treatment. 
 
 Additions in these years were made to the Goods Conference. 
 Mr. D. Parsons, Mr. Carter, Mr. Bradshaw, and occasionally Mr. 
 George Findlay, from South Wales, became members; Mr. 
 Mason, and, in his absence, myself, presiding. In time the 
 Company purchased the South Wales line, and, with it, Mr. 
 Findlay was transferred to the London and North Western 
 service. Ultimately he came to London and was made General 
 Goods Manager, Mr. Mason taking the post of Assistant General 
 
39 
 
 Manager. Mr. Home found his match in Mr. Findlay. The 
 former had been in the habit of visiting- Euston, carrying in his 
 hands his hat, and in his pockets a confusion of papers. He 
 would call at one office and exclaim 
 
 "Ah, Manager No. i Out ; 
 Gone fishing, no doubt I " 
 
 — at another and say, 
 
 " Of course. Manager No, 2 
 Gone fishing also ! " 
 
 — at another and say, 
 
 " Manager Mason gone to look after 
 His cracked stones ! " 
 
 But he had occasion to abandon that kind of conduct with 
 Mr. Findlay, who subdued him very considerably in a little time ; 
 although he never ceased to rage, and Mr. Greenish fared as 
 badly with him a I had done. When very ill Mr. Home rose 
 from his sick-bed and came to the conference, and Mr. Findlay 
 addressed to him some congratulatory words as to his returning 
 health. He replied with angry remarks, condemning all the 
 officers wholesale. Soon afterwards his restless and wearied 
 spirit found the common fate of us all, and his place knew him 
 no more. He did good service during his fretful hour on the stage 
 of life, and his eccentricities, on the whole, provoked more smiles 
 than anger. 
 
 About this time Mr. Robert Savill, the Assistant Secretary, 
 was superannuated. He had been with the London and Bir- 
 mingham portion of the line from the formation of the Company, 
 and was universally esteemed by the staff and the public. In 
 this year of the Queen's Jubilee [1887] he is still alive and 
 vigorous, and continues his useful life in the sphere in which he 
 moves, as a private gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Reay, of the Audit Office, became Secretary, vice 
 Mr. Stewart, who retired and soon after died. Mr. Coldwell 
 succeeded Mr. Reay in the Audit Department, and died after a 
 comparatively short enjoyment of his position ; Mr. Partington 
 succeeding him. 
 
 In the past decade there had been still occasional '* Cakes 
 and Ale." In the Marquis of Chandos's reign he invited a 
 number of Directors and Officers, and their wives, to a fete at his 
 country residence, and we enjoyed boating and feasting and the 
 
40 
 
 hospitable society of the Marquis and Marchioness. On another 
 occasion I accompanied my volunteer regiment to the Battle of 
 Stowe. We were quartered with the Yeomanry Cavalry. My 
 Company was told off to the fortress in the grounds, and I am 
 afraid that if our guns had been shotted we should have slain 
 many of our friends. The Monthly Conference always dined 
 together and enjoyed many hours of pleasant intercourse. Of 
 such meetings Mr. Dudley Parsons was the leading spirit. At the 
 Officers' meetings, during Captain Huish's time at Birmingham, 
 we had always a formal meal after the work. At one of these 
 gatherings we bade farewell to Mr. Slater, of the Carriage 
 Department, who resigned, on which occasion I wrote an 
 impromptu song, and had the assurance to sing it. At another of 
 these meetings Mr. Cawkwell changed chairs with Captain Huish, 
 on the latter's retirement. Then, the retirement of any of the 
 Managers was always celebrated by a testimonial, present and 
 a dinner; Dudley Parsons, the provider and king of the feast. 
 The vacancies by death and change had been replaced by 
 Mr. David Taylor at Liverpool, Mr. Farr at Manchester, Mr. 
 John Mason at Birmingham, and others. Districts were altered 
 and extended, and other members were added to the conference. 
 The monthly social meetings were merged into an annual 
 dinner, which came off at some place away from town — the 
 Crystal Palace, Richmond, Malvern, Windermere, Sec, under my 
 secretaryship, after Mr. Parsons left the service. All these 
 occasions were pleasant breaks in our official toil. 
 
 The sudden death of Mr. Charles Mason was a shock to us 
 all, and extinguished in me any remaining hope of further 
 promotion in the service. Besides which, in him I lost a true and 
 real personal friend. Many a happy evening I can recall, spent 
 with him in star-watching, with his powerful telescope, or with the 
 Royal Astronomical Society, of which he was a fellow ; many a 
 day's shooting in the holidays, and many hours of pleasant work 
 in deciding knotty questions relating to the business of the line, 
 or in drawing up reports. After Mr. Mason's death, Mr. George 
 Findlay was appointed Assistant General Manager, and I began 
 to revive a little hope that the office of Chief Goods Manager 
 might fall to me. It became apparent, however, that Mr. Thomas 
 
41 
 
 Kay was nominated. While the matter was under discussion, 
 Mr. Kay generously proposed to me to ask the Directors to 
 divide the appointment into two, North and South. The pro- 
 posal was made, but rejected, and Mr. Kay succeeded to the 
 appointment ; for a time he remained at Manchester, but 
 afterwards came to London. 
 
 Without any feeling of envy for Mr. Kay, whose worthy and 
 honest character I greatly admired, I felt the disappointment 
 keenly. It was no reflection on me to be displaced by such a man 
 as Mr. Mason or Mr, Findlay, but, as compared with Mr. Kay, 
 I was the older servant and slightly the senior manager. I had 
 greater experience, both in the management of a large 
 establishment and in the highest management of the concern, 
 and was better acquainted with the general affairs of the Company. 
 I may add, without egotism, that I was better educated. The 
 Duke of Buckingham, from whom I had always received the most 
 kindly recognition, meeting me at this time, offered me some 
 consoling remarks, saying he supposed it was " a descent of the 
 Normans." Some pleasant words from the Chairman and a 
 little time, with the reflection that the Directors had a right 
 to set up or put down whomsoever they pleased, brought me 
 back to my usual cheerful condition of mind, and I gave to 
 Mr. Kay, my cordial and loyal co-operation, *'as in duty bound." 
 He was afterwards assisted by the appointment of Mr. Houghton 
 to the post of Assistant Goods Manager. 
 
 My residence in Warwickshire obtained for me many new 
 friends, among them Mr. Newdegate, M.P., to whom I rendered a 
 little service in regard to his estate. He placed me on the free 
 list of his newspaper, and never ceased to treat me with marked 
 consideration until his death. My few leisure hours were spent in 
 the delights of my large garden, or in advocating in the local 
 press some contested improvements in the affairs of the place, 
 under a nom de plume which became well known. The beauty of 
 the country through which I travelled in my daily rounds, at all 
 seasons gave me intense enjoyment, and made me conscious that 
 there was something to see in the world besides the rough and 
 tumble excitement of railway work. I found amusement in the 
 characters of traders with whom I had to deal, and food 
 
42 
 
 or observation in the social cliques and parties of the towns 
 where I transacted business. I began to think myself too old for 
 any further notice by my railway superiors. I thought my little 
 career had culminated, and was content and happy during some 
 very pleasant years. 
 
43 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TN the early part ot the year 1877, I was privately informed 
 that the original design of taking over the Agency of Messrs. 
 Chaplin and Home was to be consummated. "When the idea 
 was first entertained, during Mr, Charles Mason's Goods 
 Managership, and when my difficulties with Mr. Home were in 
 full force, I had been named for the future management of this 
 work. I now thought I might still be considered qualified for 
 the post. The hope gave me new life. In the end, I received 
 the appointment, and came to London to commence one of the most 
 arduous undertakings that had hitherto fallen to my lot. I found 
 the town offices in a very confused and irregular condition, as 
 regards charges, check, and discipline. The cartage irregularly 
 and expensively worked, and the canvassing department 
 unsystematic. Five or six years of incessant labour and attention 
 absorbed the offices into the railway method of audit and 
 supervision. The cartage and canvassing were organised into 
 districts. New premises in several parts of London were opened, 
 and the old offices improved. The Agency was altogether made 
 to cover the Metropolis with useful means of communication by 
 the public with the Company's main establishment, and advertised 
 the London and North Western Railway more prominently than 
 it had ever been previously. The arrangements in degree 
 contributed to the great popularity which has lately marked the 
 progress of the railway, and helped to establish it as the 
 acknowledged leader of the British rsiilways. I attribute the 
 success of these efforts mainly to the freedom of action kindly 
 accorded to me during the early years of the change. I had not 
 the usual, and, as a rule, necessary interference with the proceedings. 
 I carried out my views, and reported the results to the General 
 Manager and the Committee, formed for the purpose, under the 
 Chairman of the Company, I understood the business, and 
 enjoyed the confidence of my superiors; and it was a labor of 
 love in the city I understood best, and which was the place in all 
 the world I most valued. My banishment had been indeed to me 
 
44 
 
 an exile, and I may be pardoned a little feeling of triumph at 
 returning to the scene of my severe persecution in a position of 
 trust and command. Ten years have rapidly past, and in the 
 course of that time the Agency has become welded into the 
 Company's establishment, and duly subjected to the departments 
 and regulations of the railv^ay. The saving in the expenses paid 
 off the purchase money in the first three years, and the progress 
 has been satisfactorily continued up to the present time; 
 notwithstanding many circumstances adverse to the parcels 
 trade. The whole of the London Stations, during recent years, 
 have been added to my charge, in all composing a staff of 
 nearly three thousand hands, and many hundreds of horses. 
 
 The London places for the reception of goods and parcels 
 and for other conveniences of the public are as follows, viz. : — 
 
 NUMBER OF GOQDS STATIONS, OFFICES, ^c. 
 
 No, 
 
 Goods Stations 5 
 
 Outlying Stations, Goods and Coal 22 
 
 Coal Depots only 3 
 
 Town Offices 33 
 
 London and North Western Stations, 
 
 Parcel Offices 10 
 
 Do. Universal Offices, 
 
 Goods and Parcels 5 
 
 North London Stations, Parcels Offices ... 18 
 
 Do. Universal Offices, Goods 
 
 and Parcels 8 
 
 West London Stations, Parcels Offices ... 4 
 
 108 
 
 Pickford and Companys' Goods and 
 
 Parcels Offices 25 
 
 Auxiliary do 15 
 
 40 
 Total 148 
 
45 
 
 I am now fulfilling- the final years of my service, and while I 
 apologise for this somewhat self laudatory record of to me the 
 most enjoyable part of my career, I venture to hope for a belief in 
 the minds of my employers that I have executed my trust. 
 
 While I have been occupied with trade and shipping — 
 customs and bills of lading — warehouses — barges — carts and 
 horses — sales — markets — exhibitions and theatrical parties and 
 ships crews, and so dealing with all sorts and conditions of men in 
 this vast Metropolis, what of the line ? Many writers have told the 
 tale of its wondrous advancement. Science has been busy with 
 the Engines, the Signals, and the Brakes, taste and comfort in 
 the Carriage have occupied the best eff"orts of the Mechanic and 
 Upholsterer — and the perfection in travelling has culminated in 
 the Royal and other trains. Long may the goodly work continue, 
 and the prosperity of the dear old country render it necessary 
 when my humble pen shall have lost its cunning, and my little 
 share of duty as one of the pioneers of the great invention shall 
 be forgotten in the dust. 
 
46 
 
 ■foV 
 
 RAILWAY. 
 HOURS OF DEPARTURE. 
 
 COMMENCING 29th OCTOBER, 1837. 
 
 From London: 
 
 FIRST TRAIN - - - 8 o'Cloch A.M. 
 
 SECOND do. - - - 10 Clock A.M. 
 
 THIRD do. - - - 2 o'Cfocyf; P.M. 
 
 FOURTH do. - - - 5 o'Cfocyfc P.M. 
 
 From Tring: 
 
 FIRST TRAIN - - - 8 o'Clock A.M. 
 
 SECOND do. - - - 10 o'Cfoc^ A.M. 
 
 yff/i?D Jo. - - - 2 o'Cfoofc P.M. 
 
 FOURTH do. - - - 7 o'clock P.M. 
 
 Every Monday Morning:, the First Train from 
 Tring will leave at Seven, instead of Eight. 
 
 ON SUNDAYS, 
 
 FROM 
 
 London and Tring: 
 
 FIRST TRAIN - - ^ pa^-t 9 o'Clock A.M. 
 SECOND do. - - i past 1 o'Clock P.M. 
 yff/fii) do. - - - 5 o'clock P.M. 
 
 •■*« 
 
47 
 
 PART II. 
 
 OLD LETTERS & JOURNALS, 
 
 My Dear Tubnbull, 
 
 The story I told to your wife a few evenings ago is 
 perfectly correct, but if you wish to have it in detail, it is as 
 follows : — 
 
 My father's family hailed from a Scottish estate, which had 
 been in their possession for 26 generations. My father went into 
 trade as a London merchant, but died at the early age of 38, 
 leaving my mother with three children — two sisters and myself, the 
 youngest born. In an evil hour she married again, and her second 
 husband soon scattered her little stock of money, and was thrown 
 into Whitecross prison for debt. At this place he met with a 
 Mr. Gardener, who, for some purpose, wished to adopt a little 
 boy of my age, and some bargain was made between them about 
 myself. Some months after my stepfather had left the prison I 
 had been put to bed one night, when Mr. Gardener came for 
 me. I was dressed and taken away by him in the "dickey" of a 
 four-horse coach to a house near New Cross, then quite in the 
 country, where in an upper room a lady was lyingupon abed. As we 
 entered she rose and took me on her knee, called me darling and 
 caressed me. My age was probably about five years at this 
 time. In a day or two I was sent to a neighbouring preparatory 
 
48 
 
 school. I fretted a little for my mother, but on the whole I was toler- 
 ably happy. After a few months stay, I was permitted to go home 
 and see my family. I had been told that in future I should be 
 called Edward Gardener, and the lady and g-entleman my mamma 
 and papa. Of course I gave a very satisfactory account of my 
 quarters at New Cross. My mother was satisfied, and then I 
 returned to my adopted parents. In a few months I left the school, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Gardener appeared to g-et into difficulties. A 
 Major Haswell, the lady's father, had occasionally visited the 
 house. The old gentleman took some notice of me, and would 
 often walk up and down the room and teach me my tables. In 
 \iis visits now, however, he always appeared very angry. After 
 a while they ceased, and the family appeared approaching 
 starvation. For weeks together we had an insufficiency of food, 
 faring almost exclusively on potatoes and red herrings. My 
 clothing was neglected and I went without shoes. I was 
 frequently beaten by the lady and frightened by figures dressed 
 up in the garden, while the man would sometimes give me port 
 wine until I was ill. He would frequently swear and teach me 
 filthy songs. Matters grew worse, and finally the lady went away. 
 One night Gardener and two men accompanied by a boy older 
 than myself came to the house. They heaped up a large fire, 
 brought up a quantity of port wine on a tray, and sat up all night 
 drinking until they were all drunk, including the boy, who became 
 very sick. Towards five or six o'clock in the morning the men 
 and the boy went away and Gardener went to bed. Shortly 
 afterwards a knock came at the door, and he bade me speak out 
 of the window to the man and say there was nobody in the 
 house except myself, which I did. The man at the door replied 
 " that no one would have left a child in a house alone, and that 
 what I said was a lie." He persisted, and at length Gardener 
 arose and admitted him. He proved to be an officer of some 
 kind, and immediately arrested Gardener, leaving me in the house 
 alone. The house looked over a dreary waste of level fields — the 
 weather was very boisterous, and the banging of the doors and 
 roaring of the wind acting upon nerves reduced by bad living 
 and a sleepless night nearly destroyed my senses during the 
 long day, during which I tasted no food. In the evening, two 
 
49 
 
 women, formerly servants in the house, came to me. One left 
 immediately, the other remained and insisted upon my g"oing- to 
 bed. I do not think I slept, and after some hours I heard 
 repeated knocking at the door of the house. While I was 
 dressing- to go down to the door the remaining woman staggered 
 into my room, and fell prone in a complete state of drunkenness. 
 I admitted the knocker, who was Major Haswell. I do not know 
 what was done, but I was again put to bed, and the next day there 
 was a consultation between the Major and a brother of Mr. 
 Gardener, evidently about the disposal of my poor little self. It 
 was found that my stepfather had removed from his late place of 
 residence and could not be found, and it was decided that I should 
 be sent to the workhouse. Mrs. Gardener returned to the house 
 where she was met by her husband, who appeared in an officer's 
 uniform; meanwhile most of the goods in the house were 
 removed. During the few days that matters were in this miser- 
 able condition, an old woman, formerly a servant in the house, 
 seemed to take a great interest in me, and questioned me as to what 
 relations I had and where they lived. I happened to remember 
 the address of an aunt, to whom she immediately sent, which 
 resulted in my mother being informed of the probability of my 
 becoming an inmate of the workhouse. She immediately came 
 to me, and I shall never forget the sensation of joy at seeing her 
 enter the door. So ended the episode, which I give to you as it 
 occurred, leaving to your imagination to guess the why and 
 wherefore of the whole matter, which has always been beyond 
 me entirely. I have left out a thousand little particulars of the 
 period, which I will tell you when next we meet over the walnuts 
 and the wine — 
 
 Always yours, 
 
 D. S. 
 
 Camden Station, 27M May, 1852. 
 
 The haste, the noise, the aager, the heap of papers, the 
 earnest words of command, attendant on the earning of my daily 
 bread, have past over somewhat earlier than usual to-day, 
 and I turn with refreshing pleasure to the clear page on 
 
50 
 
 which I have determined to mark a few words, of my 
 usual free and easy style, to my dear brother *Reuben. If my 
 thoughts could but be daguerreotyped, how often you would 
 have a long- epistle. You would have my notions of 
 everything I see and hear, and, instead of blowing me up for my 
 silence, you would send me a piteous appeal to desist. Strange 
 to say, nothing new or remarkable comes within my ken, but 
 straight I set it down that I will send you a description of it, and 
 then time flies and I never do it, yet I dream the same again, often 
 and often. What spell have you cast over me .? Is it my vanity you 
 flatter? or is it that I feel certain I may be quite unrestrained to 
 you ? that if, in the frolicsome gambols of my mind, the slender 
 garment of prudence which it wears, falls on one side and 
 reveals some evil beneath, you will not be severe in your criticism. 
 
 2nd June, 1852. — I was called away from the above, as I 
 often am when I intend to write to you. 
 
 We have Whitsuntide fair at Chalk Farm. What an awful 
 celebration of the coming of the Holy Ghost. The poor ignorant 
 slaves of society go through the process of " enjoying themselves" 
 on these occasions ; that is, they drink bad beer by the gallon, 
 and struggle in crowds to get it from the ' bar, ' as though life and 
 death were at stake; they swing in perilous machines till they 
 scream with nausea, and think it fine fun when the man wont 
 *' stop the ship," and relieve some agonised wretch. They dance 
 in close rooms on perhaps six square inches of space, and fight 
 on the same extent of ground. Smoke also they do, like funnels. 
 Husbands and wives enter freely into these delights, dragging 
 their poor little ones through it all. Old women refresh their aged 
 bodies in the same way, and forget that they are old : one fell out 
 of a swing yesterday and cut her eye out — poor old creature I 
 Young men and maidens go into the pleasureable vortex, like mad ; 
 and oh, for the maidens ! Many a misery dates its commencement 
 from the visit to the fair. Little boys, too — they do enjoy the fair 
 — yea, without the beer or the dancing ; they may go to the extent 
 of a fight, now and then, but they principally feed on the clowns 
 at the shows — that is their weakness. They admire the whitened 
 degraded wretch twisting- his body and thrusting out his poor 
 
 *A nick name in allusion to Reuben and Joseph in Scripture 
 
51 
 
 tong-ue for sixpence a day, and think how hard they will try to 
 imitate him when they go home to their dirty miserable domiciles. 
 Could you accompany the little ragged fellows to their resting 
 places, you would find them going through the performance 
 on their beds, or dreaming of the glorious fair in that sleep which 
 blesses youth under all circumstances. Could you see them in 
 the park the next day you would find them throwing somersaults 
 and studying to be clowns. What is the age about, that some 
 better object of ambition is not placed before them. Further 
 on in life we shall find these boys very bad men, and, as this sort 
 of character is much on the increase among us, is it not probable 
 that in time they will give the nation a strong tinge of their colour ? 
 We are making way for their operations with such propositions as 
 universal suffrage, &c. What will be the end of it all ? I wish I 
 could be quite sure that I have no responsibility in the matter. I 
 am only a poor clerk ; surely it is a small speck of blame that 
 will fall to my share when the Nation is judged! * * * 
 I dined at the Freemasons' Tavern a short time since, 
 along with the Licensed Wittlers. The dinner was hot and 
 excellent, and the wine good, — so were the songs. Sir Henry 
 Meux made a speech. I sipped my wine, and enjoyed the noisy 
 scene. The sight was like some painting I have seen ; some 
 Roman or Grecian banquet. If I were learned I would quote 
 the subject in Greek or Latin, and tell you the artist's name. 
 The room where we dined is very large and handsomely 
 decorated, and is capable of accommodating about four 
 hundred people. The good feeling and the wine had a 
 happy effect on my state of mind, and I dreamed pleasantly of 
 the last time I was in that place. The tables for the moment 
 disappeared, sweet music filled the air of the ball room, and 
 youth and beauty shone at every turn. Merry laughter and 
 many twinkling feet kept sweet accord with the pleasing strains 
 
 of music. The figure of L in purple velvet and white fur is 
 
 there, and a pale young 'feller' waltzes by her side. Lovers 
 and jealousy are there, too ; little they know how soon death 
 will come between them ! — fair forms, how soon to fade ! — pure 
 hearts, full of hope, how soon to lose their freshness ! — cloudless 
 brows and rosy cheeks, how soon to pale and bear the impress 
 
52 
 
 of Care's cruel feet ! My dream was disturbed, for here the 
 waiter upset a dish over my new coat, and a Licensed Wittier 
 blessed his eyes. And now. while I write this, where are the 
 waiters and the Wittlers ? That company will never meet the 
 same again. Where will they be when next I enter that Hall ? 
 Where are the people who met at the Ball? Where? Now 
 scattered never to meet again on earth 1 
 
 I4f/i yune, 1852. — I went last evening to what is called a 
 Puseyite church. It stands in Munster Square, formerly York 
 Square — a place better known than respected. I like the fine 
 stained-glass windows, the tasteful gaslights, the ample room 
 provided to kneel, the division of the men from the women, the 
 soul-elevating music, and the general unanimity of the con- 
 gregation in responding; but I don't like the removal of the 
 Commandments and Belief from the Communion table, and the 
 substitution of a painted veil of gold, with a cross in the middle, 
 and a candle burning on each side, for show, and not for light, 
 towards which all the devotions appear to be made. I don't like 
 this, because I think Christians, aged or youthful, will get 
 wrong through the practice. I don't like the universal rising 
 when the clergymen and choristers come through an iron gate, 
 as though out of a monastery, into the church, in long procession. 
 This savours of Popery, and is just getting a little too far in that 
 direction, without much being gained in other respects. Davie 
 is jealous of too much homage being paid to you parsons, it 
 leads both priest and people into error. I miss the prayer for 
 God's blessing, in the pulpit, before the sermon, and the prayer 
 after it. There is a shade too much bowing also, although I 
 should not mind it if it were not done towards the rather gaudy 
 communion table at the end of the church, so pointedly. The 
 clergyman — Mr. Stuart, I think — preached a sermon on public 
 worship, and made a very good case out for the better con- 
 ducting of the church services, but he defended nothing to which 
 feel an objection. I think I shall enjoy the evening service 
 occasionally. 
 
 15/A yune, 1852. — Have you seen the summer anywhere 
 down your way ? He hasn't called here this season. Mr. Rains 
 absented himself in the early part of the year, for some months, 
 
53 
 
 sending-, in his stead, a very disagreeable and windy person, 
 called East. East came from a cutting- quarter, a keen fellow, 
 and a g^reat favourite with the coal trade. He wasn't at all 
 popular here, thoug-h; so Rains came down upon us himself, 
 about a month since ; and, by jingo, he doesn't appear to be 
 going yet. My wife put a lot of " ornaments for yer fire stove " 
 in our grate about six weeks since, expecting Summer, knowing 
 that that gentleman objected to a fire ; and here we are, sneaking 
 into the kitchen, among big pots, black beetles, and crickets, at 
 
 ,, every opportunity. 
 
 l|H 26M June^ 1852. — This week 1 have been engaged at a trial 
 in the Court of Exchequer. The Achili case was on in the 
 * Bench,' but you could not have poked so much as your nose* 
 into the place, it was so crowded. 
 
 Did you ever see a Baron of the Exchequer in full costume ? 
 The Barons were going about in great state yesterday, and I 
 had much difficulty in keeping a serious face. I begin to think 
 that they go about for the purpose of making poor witnesses 
 laugh, in order to commit them for contempt; the shocking old 
 guys being so short of work, now that the County Courts give 
 the people cheap law. 
 
 What do you think of the Achili case ? Oh, you parsons 
 are terrible fellows I Before the Times issued its late article — 
 before, mind! — I arrived at the same conclusion, viz., that the 
 exhibition of two christian priests ripping each other up in this 
 way is a fine bone for the grinning infidel and the sneering 
 scoffer. It strikes me, also, that the Roman Catholics will be 
 losers, not only of the trial, but of proselytes. In exposing this 
 man, Achili, they have exposed their own system ; and the 
 holding up to the light of the awful power of the priests, the 
 fearful and uncontrolled establishment of the Inquisition, the 
 possible result of sending a daughter to confess to a man vowed 
 to celibacy, and all the paraphernalia of the matured but objec- 
 tionable system of the Roman Church, will do more to frighten 
 the English people away than would even the preaching of a Robert 
 Turnbull at St. Paul's Cross ! Talk of High Church ! To hear 
 and see all we do of the Romish Church just now, is enough to 
 make us turn Ranters, and yet how much the a^es -owe to the 
 grand old Church. >^ v^'' ' ' "^ - <>i 
 
 fuHIVBRSITT)) 
 
54 
 
 Last night a Good's train broke down a tew miles from here. 
 It's a strange sight to see a lot of men, and fire and lights, and 
 bales, and broken waggons, and clouds of steam, reflecting the 
 light like the cloud which led the Israelites, suddenly dropped 
 down into the silent country, w^here a few moments before the 
 stars shone calmly down on stillness, save when the nightingale 
 twittered to its mate or the light wind rippled the quiet stream. 
 In the mysterious workings of the awful Providence which 
 governs the earth and its inhabitants, how strangely linked 
 together are great events and small! matters remote and 
 unconnected with us, apparently, often become of urgent 
 consequence to us ere long. Could we look into futurity, how 
 different would our feelings be! When one of our carpenters 
 went to bed last night ; when he supped with his wife and made 
 his arrangements for the morrow, and his promises for the 
 bright summer days ; when he caressed his little-ones and 
 thought of his future age and their manhood; when, let us hope, 
 he knelt in prayer for his daily bread, and forgiveness for his 
 sins ; could his guardian angel have whispered in his ear that in 
 few moments an event would occur miles away which would 
 cause his immediate death, that to-morrow for him would be no 
 more, that no summer sun would ever shine on his living brow 
 again, that he had kissed the sweet lips of his darlings for the 
 last time, that his heart, which so lately warmed with love and 
 pride and hope for the future, would never kindle with an old 
 fathers admiration, that he needed to pray, but oh! not for the 
 bread of this life; had these sentences been uttered, think you 
 the man would have believed them ? No ! the improbability would 
 have exceeded his awe at the fearful prophecy. Yet, when sleep 
 reigned in his house a knocking came and summoned him to 
 death. The accident near Harrow rendered it necessary to 
 forward assistance from Camden, and several of the carpenters 
 were called up. One poor fellow missed his footing while 
 getting into the train and was killed on the spot. He has left a 
 wife and large family. 
 
 28M June, 1852. — At the Puseyite Church yesterday morning 
 an alarming sermon from a man with a nasal twang : a few hard 
 knocks and a short round ; sinners down — as ihe pugilists have it. 
 
55 
 
 At the conclusion of the service, before the prayer for the Church 
 Militant, a number of gentleman go round with little red velvet 
 bags and collect the 'one thing needful,' while the clergyman 
 reads the encouraging passages from Scripture appointed for 
 the purpose. All very correct and proper ; but the tinkling ot 
 the sixpence, the unoccupied air of the congregration, and the 
 dropping pauses between the sentences read by the Priest, have 
 a strange effect. It is just the time that Mrs. Sloe, the tea-dealer's 
 wife, reckons up the new summer toggery of Mrs. Alum, the 
 ,. baker's wife, — when Julia Languish takes the opportunity of 
 |B ascertaining whether that dear fellow with the slight moustache 
 is in his place. The proper way, I fancy, is to do what the young 
 lady with the gold ' kivered ' prayer book appears to do, namely, 
 to kneel in silent prayer; but she throws herself down on the 
 hard floor with such force that her knees must suifer : and can 
 anyone pray in pain .? 
 
 In the evening to St. James's Chapel, Hampstead Road, Mr. 
 Stebbing did not preach, but a young man edified us with a 
 beautiful sermon from the sentence, "But thou has kept the good 
 wine until now." It was a fervid, comforting, discourse, touching 
 the heart with the love and hope of Christianity and showing 
 God's ultimate good to his creatures, though here they might be 
 visited with sorrow and affliction. It was likely to soften the 
 hardened, to win the wavering, and soothe the troubled; and a 
 few sound truthful arguments, candidly and entreatingly expressed, 
 as from one man to another, completed the effective address. 
 
 29M j^une, 1852. — Eliza and Mrs. Hutton went to Barnet 
 yesterday, so I took the opportunity of stealing off to the theatre, 
 to see a much talked-of piece called the ''Vampire." There are 
 no end of ghosts in it, which caused me to whistle a great deal as 
 I came up our dark lane on my way home. I saw a fight in Oxford 
 Street, — up and down, hard blows, blood, and curses ground 
 between the teeth, a scream, a crowd, and a policeman, as if 
 from the bowels of the earth, stood between the combatants, who 
 dropped their arms sulkily to the Majesty of the law. One 
 drunken non-combatant became strongty pot-valiant when there 
 was no fear of a fight being allowed. "Show me," said he, 
 "show me a man, and I'll fly into him like a 'hevil genus!' " So 
 home to bed. 
 
56 
 
 I have just been to see Mrs. Walker, the widow of my poor friend 
 the Locomotive Manager here, of whom I wrote to you some time 
 since. A pretty good collection has been made for her, but with 
 her large family it is a small allowance. She will be confined in 
 August and add another fatherless child to the number. At best, 
 the attention of kind-hearted friends but ill supplies the father's 
 place; and the troublesome advice of well meaning persons 
 perplexes and mocks the bruised heart. She is a very pure-minded 
 and upright woman, and a credit to Auld Scotland. God will not 
 desert her. 
 
 I am just about to shut up. Another day has rolled away, 
 and, like the waves of the receding tide leaving the beach 
 revealed, another multitude of sins, equal in number to the grains 
 of sand on the shore, are recorded. Why does the earth remain ? 
 Why are men born to destruction ? A breath of His will would 
 crumble up the rolling globe, teeming with living things, and 
 scatter it into space, as bursts the soap-and-water globule from 
 the boy's tobacoo pipe and is no more seen. Incomprehensible 
 scheme I how profound are thy mysteries ! how perplexing thy 
 revelations ! how immeasurably mighty must be thy Maker, the 
 vast and unfathomable God! O puny earth, — yet great and 
 inexhaustibly wonderful earth ! And man — how insignificant ! 
 Wondering over all, daring to approach even to the Great First 
 Cause of all,— ungovernable, restless, — flows the never-dying 
 thought. Reasoning, questioning comparing, praying, yet sinning 
 — Free Essence ! Eternal Soul ! Beautiful gift of the all-bountiful 
 Creator ! Why, oh ! why art thou not ever stainless ? What unseen 
 end is accomplished by thy association with corruption and evil ? 
 Patience ! It is told us that Eternity will come, and time and sin 
 will be no more. Beauty and grace, and pure and holy love will 
 be in Heaven. Bright Heaven ! a home of never fading light 
 and everlasting happiness, where glory, untainted by ambition or 
 death, will shine on all for ever. 
 
 yzily 7M, 1852. — I have been very gay lately. Last week 
 we had Mrs. Hutton and two lady friends stopping with us. They 
 went to Gravesend one day, and T. L. and I joined them 
 in the afternoon. On my journey down I left the "Meteor" 
 steamboat about two minutes before she saved the passengers 
 
57 
 
 from the unfortunate "Duchess of Kent." One of our people 
 whom I left on board saw it all, and described the scene as 
 awful in the extreme. On Saturday I went to Grays on a visit 
 until Monday. My host introduced me to an old lady, the 
 proprietress of an inn, her son, and three pretty black-eyed 
 daughters. The old woman is quite a character, and tells very 
 funny stories of life when she was young, fifty years ago. 
 
 Coming home in the boat on Monday, I talked with some 
 soldiers, and was highly edified with a " gent " with moustaches, 
 who boasted of the superiority of the travelling arrangements 
 on the Continent, and wanted to know ''Wart we were detayned 
 foh." He twiddled his hair and showed his ring — an immense 
 one — and behaved as became a fop ; and I was enraged to see 
 a beautiful fair-haired, rosy, blue-eyed girl evidently admiring 
 him, and smoothing her face and furbelows to be admired in 
 return. 
 
 To an evening concert, with the girls, at the Beethoven 
 rooms. Good music. These entertainments seldom pay, I 
 believe. They are usually half-filled with orders, and are mostly 
 intended to get up a name for some singer who wants to be 
 considered a rising man. Mr. F. B. was the aspirant in 
 this case, and we four paid nothing. It is very nice to wear 
 white kids and sit with scented folks in a beautiful drawing room, 
 to hear sweet sounds from pretty women and well-dressed men. 
 1 like to take the scene into my fancy, and believe that all the 
 people present are really what they seem — human butterflies — 
 whose hands are never soiled, whose faces never frown, whose 
 lips are always pure ; and not Alum the baker, and Sloe the 
 grocer, and Hookit the swindler, and David the clerk, with their 
 •cleaned gloves and greased heads. That the ladies are all 
 angelic as they appear, and that no struggle has occurred to get 
 >the pretty brooch or the gay ribbon ; but let us spare them ! 
 they are so much better than men, that they are angelic 
 comparatively. Home late. Felt the appeal to my gallantry 
 in my pocket, being the only gentleman with three ladies ; which 
 ■cabs is expensive. 
 
 Tihjuly, 1852. — This night by the death bedside of poor S. 
 He was a strong fine man, with good hope of a long life. We 
 
58 
 
 liked him for his bass songs and friendly disposition, and forg-ave 
 him his prosy stories about his native town, Manchester, which he, 
 poor man, considered a model city. Some time ago he had 
 lodgings in some house where he picked up a woman and 
 married her, and, when too late he discovered her to have been 
 a disreputable character. She soon evinced a partiality for 
 spirits and pawned his property. He, however, in some measure 
 reformed her, and kept her with him. Disgusting to tell, the 
 near approach of his death imbued her with a desire to get hold 
 of what little money he had, to indulge in her propensity while he 
 lay gasping for life on a sick bed. Finally, after a day ot 
 drunkenness, she endeavoured to get his watch from beneath his 
 pillow; and it so exasperated the dying man that he rushed up 
 from the bed and ran after her into the street. With much 
 difficulty we got him to bed again, and obtained from her the 
 watch and some of his money, which he placed in the custody of a 
 neighbour. Assured by the doctor of the impossibility of his 
 recovery, I entreated S. to think no more of his earthly 
 possessions, and bade him look for pardon and hope where alone 
 it can be found, — and may God consecrate the words which were 
 offered by my unworthy lips, to the salvation of his soul ! May he 
 grant me in my last hour that hope and consolation with which I 
 fain would have impressed this poor man ! 
 
 gih July, 1852. — Here's a pretty woman with a baby wants 
 me— very ominous — with a sweet smile too. Bless me! It was 
 Mrs. P. Now Mrs. P. is the wife of Mr. P., a young clerk, a 
 gentlemanly young man, with few influential friends. He lost his 
 situation some three months ago and has been pinched very hard, 
 by ^' short commons." He told Mr. Mills, in confidence, that ai 
 porter's place would be acceptable, if it were in the country, out 
 of sight of those who had seen him better off. Poor fellow ! So 
 we have managed to put him on as office porter at Watford, and 
 he and she are so overjoyed and so thankful, and think us so good 
 to grant them a pass and to free their goods— scanty sticks, poor 
 dears— as if it cost me or Mr. Mills anything. It is pleasant; no, 
 altogether it is not a pleasant thing to receive undeserved 
 gratitude. One feels somehow an impostor; and yet it is a. 
 comfort to behold new-found happiness. 
 
59 
 
 When in Oxford Street yesterday evening-, one of our people 
 and I were boyish enough to go into a show to see a wonderful 
 lady with a beard and whiskers. She introduced herself politely 
 as a native of Geneva, twenty-one years of age. Her neck was 
 white, and unmistakably a woman's, but her face looked about 
 thirty-five years old. Hair grew round her cheeks and chin, and 
 some ladies present pulled it; it was evidently genuine. She wore 
 a gold watch and a black satin dress, and a wonderful head-dress 
 of diamonds (?) "Laydes and gent'men," said she, "I em vaisey 
 mush oblige. My bebby is at de door." The baby at the door 
 was a beauty, but I don't believe in //. 
 
 iQthJuly, 1852. — Here's a letter come requesting me to state 
 the condition of Mr. Jack L's. health, and whether I think he is 
 eligible for assurance, and begging me to unfold my inmost 
 opinion, in confidence, to the Secretary of the concern . Well, what 
 shall I say ? Jack is a strong fellow ; he can eat — rather! he can 
 jump or run, and on a pinch could ram his head through a cheese 
 or a grindstone. Yes, Mr. Secretary, unless you are a very strong 
 man, Jack will see us both out, sir ; we shall be down in the dust 
 and evaporated, before Jack gives up. Lor, Sir Sec ! you and I 
 may help to eke out old Jack at last. He may smell us or eat us, 
 through some of nature's strange transfers, and get us into his 
 blood somehow ; and who knows whether that won't set him 
 a- thinking of us — dead and gone — and soften him ; for somewhere 
 about him there are tears and soft feelings, although he's rough 
 now — very ; and so we may do something for him, dead, though we 
 do nothing for anybody living. And believe me, brother quill- 
 driver, our doings for Jack, or anyone else, here, are as much a 
 mystery, and the work of the Great Governor, as the silly conceit 
 I have just uttered about our probable doings hereafter. 
 
 \2th July, 1852. — Emily and Eliza and I went to the Marion- 
 ette Theatre on Saturday evening. The Adelaide Gallery 
 forms a pretty little house ; but oh, for poor Punch and Judy, 
 whom the Police Act endeavoured to annihilate ! They are 
 infinitely superior to this affair. The marionette puppets have 
 dreadful convulsions, especially when they walk, and the 
 audience continually make mistakes as to the person speaking. 
 The voices behind the scenes are out of proportion. One curious 
 
60 
 
 effect I observed. After looking- at the performance an hour or 
 two the eye becomes unable to form an estimate of the real size 
 of the figures. The scenes, tables, chairs, decorations, etc., 
 being all, in proportion, there is no difficulty in imagining the 
 things as large as life, and people go away with different 
 notions of the height and size of them. Emily thinks they were 
 nearly as large as life. Eliza says they were about the height 
 of a girl twelve years old. Mrs. Livock and John, who have 
 been to see them, say about half the size of life ; and I myself 
 am confident they do not exceed two feet. This may seem stupid, 
 but it is true. 
 
 To church at St. Mark's; Mr. Galloway not back yet. I 
 understand he has lost his wife, and is gone for change to the 
 seaside. An appeal is made to defray the expenses of doing the 
 work while he is away. I would put down my little mite cheer- 
 fully, but I rather object to this call. What is the use of 
 episcopacy if it cannot meet an occasion like this ? Why cannot 
 a few reserve men be kept by the richly paid bishop ? Not that 
 I wish to speak disrespectfully of the bishop, or of any of my 
 pastors and masters, but I do protest against the reservation of 
 so much wealth in the higher walks of the pasture, while down 
 among the flocks, where the work is to be done, the shepherds 
 are only kept just above starvation-point, and the flocks are often 
 prematurely fleeced to obtain that. 
 
 \-i^th July, 1852. — Last evening Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson 
 gave, a select soiree at their mansion in Regent's Park Road. 
 The aristocracy present were the right fat and podgy Mrs. H., 
 the long Mr. M., and the elegant and accomplished Miss M., the 
 thin Mr. R. M., and the pretty Miss H., of Hampstead. Singing 
 was kept up to a late hour, when a recherche supper was served, 
 in Betsy's best style, on the two parlour tables shoved together. 
 The amiable Mr. H. attended in his spectacles, and performed 
 Lucy Neal, with variations, on the violin. The last reveller from 
 Chalk Farm Tavern was turned out by the landlord, as the party 
 emerged from Montrose House amid the music of much laughter 
 and many shakings of hands. There is no truth in the report that 
 Mr. M. kissed Miss M. while they were looking for Miss M.'s 
 pardsol in the passage, although it is generally considered that the 
 
61 
 
 worthy host acted very improperly in carrying- away the light at 
 the precise juncture, particularly as the young- couple will be 
 married in February next, and ought not to require kissing- at all, 
 considering what a lot of that sort of thing they will have to 
 undergo then. 
 
 I have been to Eliza's doctor in Finsbury Square to 
 ascertain the real state of her health. He says the air we live in 
 is impure. I think he is a humbug. He has ordered Eliza to 
 Ramsgate immediately, and says she will soon be well there. The 
 doctor told me I looked as though I lived in bad air, and that I 
 confirmed his previous notion. He added, however, that I had 
 a strong constitution. 
 
 What an awful place is the waiting-room of a physician ! 
 One cannot help feeling that every person there has some 
 dreadfully bad place under his or her clothes. Wounds and 
 sores appear to surround one, and a little imagination would 
 make you sure that the apartment smelt of disease. I fancy the 
 feeling is something akin to that of those who " passed by on 
 the other side," in the case of the man who fell among thieves. 
 No doubt the lady who stared at me was wondering what I had 
 the matter with me — ^whereabouts the bandages were, and 
 whether it was the result of accident, of hereditary disorder, or 
 of personal neglect. I was glad when the man in plush responded 
 to my silver key and showed me in to the medical man. Plush 
 thinks himself half way towards being a doctor; he speaks of 
 ''our patients," "our fees," ''our busiest time," in the worst 
 English, it is true, but with the tone of a man convinced that he 
 has had a hand in the cures ; and, in many cases, I believe the 
 grammar is the only difference between Jeames and his master. 
 
 i^thjuly, 1852. — One of our teams killed a poor little child, 
 about eight years of age, yesterday. It died on the spot ; and 
 so an angel went up to Heaven leaving its mantel of griel 
 hanging heavily on its parents. 
 
 Sauntering from dinner just now I paused where two houses 
 are being built, when the foreman and an English labourer had 
 a few words, more emphatic than elegant. A paddy from the 
 opposite job, sung out " Don't swear," which injured the dignity 
 of the brave Englishman, and he forthwith walled across and 
 
62 
 
 fetched Paddy a punch on the nose; but the fall he got 
 immediately must have relieved him of a little wind. Up he rose 
 and again assailed the Irishman, immersing the Emerald Isle 
 in deluges of sanguinary expressions. Englishmen always do 
 thrown poor Pat's country in his face in a quarrel. Again the 
 bold Englisher went down a ''buster " ; when a little man with a 
 bullet head — I hope he wasn't an Englishman — came behind 
 Paddy and smote him a dig in the ear that would have polished 
 off such a man as your friend Davey entirely. This w^as the 
 signal for a general scrimmage "Hooroo, ye devils " was heard 
 on all sides. As I w'as the only impartial person present I 
 sheered off to a deferential distance, and in about a quarter of 
 an hour the storm subsided, save now and then the distant 
 thunder of the original Englishman's voice, dying away in dis- 
 contented grumbles. 
 
 By the way if you don't send me a good long letter after 
 this I shall think I am boring you. Can't you tell me, my 
 patriotic parson, how the country is going on — whether, because 
 Snooks, or Leatherlungs, or Freebread is " in," the country 
 will topple down to destruction, or because Steadycourse and 
 Scornpraise are left out, no one can be found to govern 
 the country? "Lor, Sir!" you should tell me; for I get 
 bewildered between the arguments and protestations — the 
 patriotism, the ambition, the jaw, the claptrap, and the deceit 
 of politics. One thing often strikes me, and that is, that with 
 nations, as with children, they may have good governors, or bad, 
 from whom they may imbibe a something, one way or the other, 
 but the bulk of the result will be found to be in their own nature. 
 They are for the most part born what they will be, in spite of 
 the straws which stand in the way. 
 
 \^thjuly\ 1852. — Talked to a sort of running porter, who 
 gets his living by finding ' busses ' for passengers, opposite the 
 Mansion House. '' Such a living as it is," said he, — adding *' but I 
 could yarn more, yellowmen, if it warnt for my ' sperit.' I hev 
 got sich a sperit. Now, if you hadn't answered to my satis- 
 faction, no more you'd a had out o' me. I never axes twice — I 
 can't — it goes agen me summuz. Now, there's that cove over 
 
there— t'other side o' the way, — there's him, as is at it now. He 
 makes a tidy thing of it— five or six bob a night. He reglar 
 insults people. I hate sich mean ways. Here's a Ampstead 
 bus, sir, — thankee, sir — good night, sir, and thankee for me." 
 
 i^thjuly, 1852. Detained at Bayswater for several hours 
 by a most awful storm, — such blue grinning lightning and such 
 bursting clattering thunder! 
 
 igthjuly, 1852. — I went to Southall on Saturday night, on 
 a visit to a very delightful family. Mr. G. is surveyor of the 
 roads under the Metropolitan Commissioners. He has a nice 
 house, keeps two horses, a four-wheel and a gig, and has 
 a splendid garden, full of glorious flowers and fruit, with fountains 
 and nooks and arbours, — a large farm-yard, a field, and a 
 piece of ground for wurzel and other stuff" for two cows, all 
 laid out in good order, so that you may stroll about and enjoy 
 yourself for hours. There are several boys, from eight to 
 eighteen years old, and two daughters, one twelve and the other 
 twenty ; and they are the most amiable and loving young folks 
 that I have seen for many a day. The boys wait on the girls like 
 gallants, and on their mother, whose every wish is anticipated. 
 She is an amiable woman and has been a beauty. A few years 
 ago she lost one of her legs by an accident and she wears a cork 
 one, and the tenderness that has grown out of that sorrow is 
 beautiful to see. Thus good continually arises out of evil, — 
 adversity and affliction purify the soul. The old gentleman is so 
 hospitable. He makes his visitors eat and drink, routs them out 
 of bed in the morning, and shows in a thousand ways his great 
 kind heart. 
 
 We heard an excellent sermon from the incumbent ot 
 Norwood Green Church. I felt much of the discourse as applic- 
 able to myself, and made some solemn resolutions; but if you 
 only knew what a weak man I am, how prone to evil, how 
 yielding and unenergetic, you would pity me. I sometimes long 
 for one hour of sincere repentance and belief in the saving atone- 
 ment of our blessed Redeemer, and then to quit this world of 
 temptation for ever. For who would live but that it is the will of 
 Him who will dispose of us hereafter .? May He grant me grace 
 to keep me in the right path, to resist evil and myself, (who am 
 
64 
 
 full of evil,) and take me into His Kingdom, in His own time, 
 when this fight, so inglorious to me hitherto, shall cease. 
 
 26th July, 1852. — On Saturday evening I went to Harrow 
 to reconnoitre for a house, as I intend, in the course of a year 
 or two (D.V.), to remove thither, in order that James shall be 
 qualified for admittance into the Harrow School, and also for the 
 sake of Eliza's health. There is plenty of ground marked out 
 for building, and it is a fine place. Such a magnificent view 
 from the churchyard. "Ah! " said the sexton to me, ''There's 
 where old Byron had his tea-things many a brave day," pointing 
 to some unfortunate person's tombstone, which has been chipped 
 almost all away by the enthusiastic Britishers and Yankees, 
 because Lord Byron used to recline upon it and contemplate the 
 view of the country. The poor sexton walked away in disgust 
 when he found I had no inclination to listen to his story nor to 
 fork out sixpence. 
 
 28M July, 1852. — Last night amongst a lot of cricketing 
 gentlemen, who are mad for bats and belts and leggings and 
 flannel jackets, to the great profit and satisfaction of 
 Mr. C, who teaches them to play and supplies their little 
 requirements. He is a tanned shady-faced man, with white 
 whiskers and a nose which appears to have had the gristle taken 
 out for the convenience of cricketing, and he evidently considers 
 cricket to be as important a subject of discourse as free trade or 
 the Protestant cause. He talks solemnly about it, as though 
 there were more in it than the world could be prevailed upon 
 to believe. C. harangued the club last night and strongly 
 recommended the social glass as a good thing to " keep your 
 men together." The good man strengthened his precept by an 
 energetic practice, and although he profoundly announced 
 several times that he had had his •' dose," yet he yielded to 
 his inclination and suffered himself to be persuaded into another 
 glass. What a terrible thing that drink is! If intoxicating 
 liquors could be utterly abolished what a happiness it would be 
 to the world ! 
 
 19M October, 1852. — When shall I cease to tell you that we 
 are very busy .^ When? Ah! when.? Will no one leave me a 
 fortune ? Shall I always ply the pen to keep my wife and picca- 
 
65 
 
 ninnies? I suppose so ; and a good dispensation too, I feel sure. 
 vSo my hand must shake, and my noddle tremble, and shuffling- 
 limbs support my bended back and silvered head before I ran 
 tell you that I am released from toil. Well, we are busy this 
 time. The gold-diggers have found the treasure and raised their 
 voices to such a tune that the mighty sound rings through all the 
 workshops of old England. The wax, and the thread, and the 
 leather combined into boots and shoes by the bootmakers of 
 Northampton come up in tons daily, to be shipped; thousands 
 of tons of cotton goods from the clicking, snorting factories of 
 Lancashire pour through our sheds (to be shipped) ; Sheffield 
 cutlery comes from Birmingham, in bewildering quantities, to 
 be shipped ; Staffordshire crates, Coventry ribbons and watches, 
 Worcestershire carpets, canvas and linen from Scotland, and 
 woollen bales from Yorkshire teem into the station to be tumbled 
 out and shipped; while the salt provisions, biscuits, wines and 
 spirits for the voyages are astounding. Then, to keep the pot 
 boiling (down), we are obliged to hurry hides to be tanned, 
 and no end of other stuff to tan them, and the bark off 
 all the trees in England, I am sure, to help. Square bales ot 
 foreign wool are hauled from the dark holds of ships and bundled 
 into Yorkshire ; stag horns, elephants' tusks, flax, ironstone, 
 oil, to be manufactured ; and tea, sugar, wine, beer, fish, flour, 
 corn, tons on tons, to feed the manufacturers; with guano 
 to grow their vegetables, and bonnets, perfumery, pianos, furni- 
 ture, and toys for their wives and families. And all this besides 
 the meat and potatoes in hundreds of tons weekly, and nine 
 thousand head of animals to feed the cockneys who keep the 
 account of all these mighty movings, with six hundred thousand 
 tons of coal to help to light the fires to cook the grub. Oh, 
 dear me! Silk (raw) to Macclesfield, and manufactured silk up 
 from the same ; lace from Nottingham ; glue, grindstones, gum, 
 gun-barrels, bottles, anchors, and American clocks, gutta 
 percha, ice and iron bedsteads, grease, grates, blacking bottles, 
 garden seats, machinery, bobbins, needles in awfully heavy little 
 packages, bees wax, blankets from Witney, cables and clogs, 
 butter and buttons, pitch and pumice-stone, cannon balls, reaping 
 hooks, and soldiers' clothing. Then it is the heaviest hop season 
 
66 
 
 ' ever knowh, and the tig-htly stuffed pockets are rolling- in upon 
 us unrelentingly, until pile on pile is stacked up to wait for 
 wag^g-ons and tarpaulins, which cannot be obtained for them in 
 consequence of the unprecedented increase of our trade. 
 
 2ird October, 1852. — Crowded, and crammed, and jammed, 
 here we are again this morning", and the rain coming" down like 
 a water-spout, and a coal engine has just run into the 
 broadside of the down mail, sending the lot to smithereens and 
 blocking our line, so that the goods train can't go out. Nobody 
 hurt but the driver. If you could only see the debris, you'd say 
 it was a miracle. 
 
 27/^ October, 1852. — Swift has just been asking us to meet J. 
 at his house and make it up ; and so we go on unto our lives' 
 end, as thousands have gone on before us. What a breadth and 
 importance we attach to our own little span ! How we smile and 
 philosophise over the lives of those who have preceded us ! "All 
 the world's a stage," — but all the men and women are very fond 
 of thinking themselves the audience. 
 
 2^th October, 1 85 2. — What clever writers are bursting into 
 print with letters to the Times ! One sapient individual proves 
 even too much. He first says that the Companies have long 
 known that one accident costs more than the expenses of an 
 efficient staff for a year, and then adds that, for the sake of 
 economy, the Companies prefer an occasional accident to keeping 
 an efficient staff, because it costs less. Wonderful man ! The 
 fact of the matter is, that the prosperity of the country has so 
 suddenly and so vastly increased, that the railways cannot 
 sufficiently expand to receive it. They had scarcely recovered 
 from the Exhibition inundation when this flood of unexpected 
 traffic came upon them. The people, by their representatives, 
 forced the railways into the lowest possible fares and rates, by 
 allowing competition ; and, unless they forfeited their dividends, 
 it would be impossible for the Companies to keep a large reserve 
 of plant and trained officers to meet such an unprecedented 
 influx of traffic as the present. They did keep every department 
 full-handed before other lines were allowed to go into their 
 districts in violation of their vested rights. As far as the road is 
 concerned, our one railway is ample for the traffic of all the 
 
67 
 
 districts it covers. It is the spare engines and experienced hands 
 of which we are deficient, and these time only can enable the 
 abused but anxious directors to supply. Some grocer who mixes 
 red lead with his cayenne, and takes an apprentice, whose 
 marrow and bones he uses up for seven years without a penny 
 payment, and commits daily other tricks of trade, having- more 
 ink than brains, and a cacotthes scribendi, humanely suggests the 
 mulcting the poor station clerks, or the forcing a director to ride 
 on the frame of each engine. Witty and intelligent person ! 
 If by his adulterations, which, poor man, he would say the 
 competition in trade obliged him to practice against his 
 conscience, he could scrape together sufficient to become a 
 railway director, he would change his tune to that of the grind- 
 ing, cheese-paring, penny-wise and pound-foolish description of 
 man who now and then gets upon the Board, but whose illiberal 
 policy is mostly kept under by the better sense of the other 
 directors. There! having disgorged my bile, I'll go to dinner. 
 
 \6th November, 1852. — Not a word to you for ten days. Weill 
 floods and things have so '' served us out " that really one has 
 felt like Job. No sooner has one bespattered guard told his tale 
 of disaster by flood and field, than another man rushes up to 
 announce another stoppage. Kensington under four feet of 
 water ; West London line damaged ; Bedford branch flooded 
 and impassable ; Poplar station submerged ; Peterborough 
 branch blocked by the surging waters ; Oxford branch tunnel 
 fallen in ; and Kilsby main-line tunnel queer. Midland viaduct 
 washed away, and a bridge on the Trent Valley line ditto. 
 Rugby and Stamford line underwater. South Staffordshire branch 
 also swamped, with a multitude of minor mischances. Our 
 neighbours, too, have been as badly visited. The Great Western, 
 Great Northern, and Eastern Counties, have all been more or 
 less shut up by the rolling waters. Can you tell your poor 
 lay brother-clerk what it all means ? Is the clerk of the weather 
 selling his rain off at a ruinous sacrifice? or are the elements 
 weeping for the death of England's hero ? If the latter they 
 have the water laid on from the main, as Sam Weller says. 
 
 26//^ November^ 1852. — Two hundred and thirty loads of cattle 
 and goods came into this station within three-quarters of an hour 
 
 D 2 
 
on Saturday nig-ht, — such a job! Talk of managing- people, or 
 anything else, in moving masses ! What use would the great 
 Duke have been at Camden ? We delayed the express, and the 
 passengers enunciated their opinions of us. Who cares? Let'em 
 get out and do it themselves — that's all. One of the passengers 
 told me a joke, by way of relief. When they arrived at Leighton 
 the porter sang out, as usual, " Lay-tun ! Lay-tun ! " which a 
 young fellow, afflicted with wit, said was exasperating in the 
 extreme, considering that it was enough to know that the train 
 was a ** late'un," without the fact being bawled into their ears by 
 a porter hired and liveried for the purpose. 
 
 yth December, 1852. — I am taking a dip now and then into 
 
 those beautiful lays of the Scottish Cavaliers, and I am on those 
 
 occasions carried up above the present altogether. I soar above 
 
 Camden Station, and dream in that lovely cloudland of romance. 
 
 ******* 
 
 How about your income tax of fivepence-farthing in the 
 pound ? What do you now think of Dizzy .? Some of our men 
 are emigrating; and who would not do so in their circumstances .'^ 
 The hundred pound per annum men are the strength and sinews 
 ot the mercantile world. They are also just the men who will 
 emigrate and do well. There never was a more unwise measure 
 than to put such a heavy tax on to poor struggling chaps with 
 few comforts and many children. I rub against these men (I 
 have been one of them single, and I may be one of them married 
 some day, — I don't deserve to be so well off" as many of them), 
 and I know what they have to bear in a place like London, and 
 how well they bear it ; hoping for ever, and being careful of 
 their duty, and their clothes, and their " kids," in the meanwhile. 
 It is wrong to take these poor fellows' pence. It is an effectual 
 plan to prevent the children getting education, and the ability to 
 see how their rulers are exempted from paying legacy duty, &c. 
 
 gth December, 1852. — I have just been at the Cattle Show, on 
 business. I am happy to say that all my important trains of 
 cattle are in for to-day. Whether I shall get over the next three 
 heavy days, without delaying the passenger trains and incurring 
 discredit, I cannot tell. It is a lottery. Our place is small, and 
 the overwhelming trains of goods and cattle come pouring in. 
 
^9 
 
 One needs a voice of thunder, and wings, so as to be at all 
 points in a little time. 
 
 2 is/ Decefuher, 1852. — Here is one of my men who has taken 
 his time-piece, on the sly, to the maker's, who contracts for 
 repairs. It is completely smashed. On taking" a glance at the 
 chap's proboscis, I perceive that he has had a whack on that 
 instrument; and on calling up my memory, I do bethink me 
 that I saw his lordship come out of a public-house early one 
 morning last week. Now, he says that he had only been in for 
 half-a-pint of beer, as a great exception ; that the train started 
 suddenly, and hurled him against the iron rail of his break, and 
 that at another time a bit of iron flew up and cut his nose. What 
 are you to do in such a case ? Let him go, I suppose, and 
 tell him to look out; pull a grave face, and bid him think of 
 his family, and not fall into evil habits; all of which he meets 
 by strong assertions that he has long seen the necessity of a 
 virtuous career, and that that is why he has become such an 
 exemplary character, the admiration of all his acquaintances, 
 <S:c., &c. 
 
 227td December, 1 852. — The note of preparation sounds for 
 Christmas. Special trains are harnessing to convey wandering 
 sons to the fireside of old home, to carry the eye and heart from 
 the eager pursuit of gain and distinction back to that dear place 
 where the prayer was first learned and the precept given, there 
 to note with tenderness the signs of increasing years in the 
 devoted parent, the kindling manhood of the brother, and the 
 beauty of the young sister. Steam, too, is preparing in the big 
 engine to bring in the long Parliamentary train filled with 
 hard-working toilers. They each arrive with a small bundle of 
 presents for their friends ; and when they get out of the train and 
 meet Jack or Tom they shake hands, — and there's no mistake 
 about the squeeze. The bewildering mass of turkeys, hares, 
 geese, parcels of perishables, &c., which pour out of every 
 incoming train is truly distracting. Clerks have to sit up all 
 night and all day, with bread and beef in one hand, to keep up 
 the steam, and the pen in the other, recording these substantial 
 tokens of the love there is in the world. Turn 'em out, — here 
 you are, — and there's more a-coming,— call 'em over, — here's no 
 
70 
 
 direction, — never mind, — shove him in, — what's that? — never 
 mind, — pick up some direction, — stick it on, — fire away 1 
 
 yth January, 1853. — A bullock ran off a cattle platform last 
 night and jumped on to the main line. He trotted majestically 
 into the tunnel, where he received a poke in the ribs from a 
 playful passenger engine coming up. On he went, however, for 
 about four miles, leaving four of our men panting after him far 
 behind, and everybody here in a state of alarm about the final 
 result. At length up came the news. The Tring train had cut 
 the animal "to ribbons," as my foreman said. The heart was 
 found fifty yards from the rest of the body. The whole train 
 went over him, but only the engine and break-van were thrown 
 off, and no one was hurt. 
 
 nth January, 1853. — Poor, weak, silly J. E., with ill health, 
 a nervous disposition, a poor old father and mother who loved 
 him, respectable friends, and a confiding master and patron, 
 collected all the Company's money (about £1,000) at his station 
 
 at , took a ticket for Tring, but came on to London last 
 
 Tuesday week, by the morning mail, paid the difference of fare, 
 and then, as the political economists say, became absorbed in the 
 population. Up to the present we have failed to find him, 
 although I took a detective and rushed down the line, searched 
 his lodgings, questioned his landlady (who said she had a disease 
 of the heart and couldn't stand it), and put him in the Hue and Cry, 
 
 On Sunday I went to hear Dr. Pusey preach. A good 
 practical sermon upon our besetting sins, and it might have been 
 all copied from Bishop Taylor's "Holy Living." Dr. Pusey 
 looks rather miserable. His hair wants combing, and his 
 whiskers are a dirty colour, and, being scanty, have a mangey 
 appearance. His forehead is high, but looks higher because of a 
 slight baldness. His neck-cloth is low and he wears no collar. 
 His nose is well-shaped and large, and his eye rather bleared — 
 which may be from age. He appears between fifty and sixty. 
 You can hear his voice well, but it is hard in quality, and he gives 
 his jaw a twitch when he speaks, which is not pleasant to see. 
 
 Last night we all went to Saddler's Wells. Saw Phelps 
 in Henry the Fifth. A good play is a great enjoyment. The 
 pantomime was very good. I should think the wonderful fellows 
 
71 
 
 who tumble so extraordinarily, as though they had gutta-percha 
 spines, must have devoted the whole of their existence to their 
 " profession/' and may, consequently, be unable to read or write 
 or do anything else. 
 
 14M January, 1 85 3. — Allow me to tell you that we have 
 been cultivating a very peculiar breed of pig for some time past. 
 In fact, I may say he's more peculiar than profitable ; for although 
 we have fed him with all those inviting washes in which pigs 
 delight, consisting of the " bilings " of all the Christmas good 
 things, with pollard and barley-meal, and many other luxuries, 
 the creature disdains to get fat. He maintains the most delicate 
 proportions in spite of all our efforts ; and although I love the 
 beautiful, still I like it to pay; but this pig practically uses 
 Pistol's reply, " Base is the slave who pays " ! — and so no pork 
 have we ! 
 
 20th yanuary, 1 853. — R. went to Sadler's Wells with us as 
 gay as a lark. He was a cheerful fellow, kind-hearted, but 
 rather extravagant. He had a nice home, seven fine children, 
 from eighteen years old downward (for he married very young), 
 and good prospects, while his ^^300 per annum as Station Master 
 
 in the goods department of station enabled him to live 
 
 comfortably in the meantime. Last week he had £416 to pay 
 the men, and when he returned to the office after dinner he found 
 a leaden key broken in the lock of the safe and the money gone 
 He closed the station gates instantly and had every person 
 
 searched, but without effect. Mr. , the General Manager, 
 
 then sent for the lock-maker, Chubb, who pronounced it impos- 
 sible to open one of his locks with a pewter key, and so they 
 suspended R., who took the accusation to heart and ran away. 
 His wife in a day or so received a lock of his hair and some 
 affecting words of farewell, not expressly saying that he intended 
 
 suicide, but that Mr. 's conduct was too much to bear and 
 
 he should never behold her again. Meanwhile the Guarantee 
 Society took possession of the house and furniture. The police 
 seized all the private letters and papers, and £10, leaving the poor 
 woman with five-and-sixpence and all her overwhelming trouble. 
 So perhaps he is innocent and distracted, or perhaps guilty and 
 •cunning. He is excitable enough to be half mad under the former 
 
72 
 
 circumstances, and talented enoug-h to complete a robbery of the 
 sort dexterously. 
 
 i^th January, 1853. — I am glad the journal amuses you. I 
 find it pleasant to jot down a few thoughts and occurrences at the 
 close of the day's work. It is agreeable now and then, too, to 
 drag out the inner man and give him a little fresh air and paper. 
 At best he's a secret, reserved, moody, wicked fellow, hiding him- 
 self in the recesses of the heart, where he for the most part 
 dwells, and brooding over evil thoughts; sometimes sinful and 
 rebellious — coveting, envying, hating ; and yet inconsistent — for 
 he sometimes lies prostrate in sorrow for error — repents and 
 prays and vows ; and sometimes, too, the recollection of his own 
 weaknesses fills him with tenderness towards his fallen fellow- 
 creatures, and for the poor and less richly blessed than he. These 
 are, however, but the visits of angels to his solitude and are 
 " few and far between." For the most part impatience and anger 
 and pride prevail ; and I say, therefore, O my friend ! it does him 
 much good to look in upon him occasionally and record a few ot 
 his aspirations. So when he gazes on the written realised thought 
 his aspect brightens and he casts the good thought on the waters 
 of his memory, and after many days it may return to him and 
 stay the angry word or the harsh judgment. 
 
 27/A January, 185 3. — So you are grumbling because you 
 don't make Whitchurch the most Christian parish in the kingdom!; 
 You don't know what is going on under the dark surface. The 
 grain has been cast in, and the harvest-time may come when 
 you are far away. The floods may wash away, or rot some of 
 it, but surely all will not be lost. The green blade may not arise 
 in the soul until the last moments of life, and then may have 
 such a ray of heavenly sunshine poured down upon it that in aa 
 hour the ripened ear may appear to view, before the Christian 
 sighs away existence. Certainly no words of exhortation earnestly 
 and prayerfully poured out to a congregation can be entirely lost. 
 Some heart must be touched, some conscience moved — it may be 
 to fall asleep again ; but two or three such knocks must awake 
 the sleeper. 
 
 Now what is to be done with a package consigned to- 
 
73 
 
 "Young-," "till called for"? because, althoug-hit is entered as 
 
 " Glass, with care," an enterprising- checking--clerk has discovered, 
 througfh a crevice, that it contains the body of some individual de- 
 ceased. It came here very early yesterday morning-, and *' Young" " 
 don't seem to care about coming for the glass up to this juncture, 
 8 p.m. After 3 a.m., when the trains are most of them gone, 
 and the gas is turned down a little, you won't find many clerks 
 or porters in the large dark shed, in the particular corner where 
 the case of glass stands. *' Don't stand it on end," said one of 
 the men, when they found out the contents ; " perhaps you've got 
 the poor fellow legs up'ards.' 
 
 I'^th January, 1853. — Young came for his case of glass this 
 morning. 
 
 Beck, a poor porter in Chaplin & Home's employ, wanted me 
 to pass a boy down to Wolverton, our Locomotive Establishment. 
 His boy he called him, and he was going to learn to be a 
 mechanic. By a mere accident I learnt to-night that the boy is 
 a very intelligent lad, and has received an excellent education at 
 the hands of porter Beck with his eighteen shillings per week ; 
 that he is not Beck's boy, but that the boy's father was killed on 
 the Chester and Holyhead line, and Beck "had compassion " on 
 him, and when he lost his father took him away and brought him 
 up. " For as much as ye have done it, &c." Beck! glory may 
 shine on the great here, but a glory awaits thee hereafter. Let 
 us look to it. Let me take home a big boy, bear with his tempers, 
 check his propensities, patiently teach him, save him from the 
 reproaches of my wife and children in moments of thoughtlessness 
 (and my wife should be more thoughtful than good Beck's wife), 
 in short, take the heavy charge of him up to fourteen years of 
 age. I'm ashamed to say I should refuse to do it, or if I did 
 it, I should make my sins a multitude that the charity might cover 
 them. Oh, philosopher ! Cast thy pen away ! Give up reflection ! 
 Turn from all the speculations on thy progress, and humbly 
 imitate the poor man who, without education or any advantage 
 but his eighteen shillings per week, performs an immortal good ! 
 
 31J/ January, 1853. — I ^^^^e had a long ride on the engine 
 and am tired. You never went through a tunnel on an engine ? 
 I don't know anything more awful; although one gets so 
 
'74 
 
 accustomed to it that it does not create any exclamation. 
 Imag-ine the most utter darkness — a mig-hty roar beneath a 
 vaulted roof, made by the steam, the machinery, and the action 
 of twenty or thirty tons weight of iron rattling- along- at thirty 
 miles an hour over iron rails, every joint of the rails giving- out 
 a loud sound — and then the convulsive vibration of the plate on 
 which you stand and the rail you hold. You feel alone in the 
 deep g-loom, but yet feel that two men stand somewhere near 
 you, and you know that all are impressed with the thought that 
 the crack of a wheel, the fracture of a spring, a stone on the 
 line, a loose rail, or any irregularity, would send all the iron and 
 wood and flesh and blood and bones and fire into one wrecked 
 heap in that dreadful place. Nothing gives me the feeling that 
 we are helplessly in the hands of the Almighty so much as riding 
 on an engine through a long tunnel. It is, however, pretty to 
 see the light of the sun appear at the approaching end, — first a 
 speck, then larger, until a small theatre is unfolded, with a 
 natural landscape for a scene. 
 
 1st February, 1 85 3. — We have been in a cloud here all 
 day,, — a cold, choking, dismal, dense fog. Our detonating 
 signals, which explode like artillery when the waggons pass over 
 them, have been booming on the station as though we were on a 
 field of battle, and I don't know whether the place is not as 
 dangerous as one, for we can't see ten yards, and engines and 
 trains are flitting about in all directions, while the fog signals 
 almost make one jump out of one's skin and into the way of 
 danger. I have felt inclined to send messages about the station, 
 instead of going myself. I cannot express too much admiration 
 of the rules of war which instruct a wise general to keep himself 
 out of danger ! But the fog gets everywhere. In the open 
 station there" s an eternity of it. In the dark passage in our 
 ofiice you can smell it. It is in the gas-lighted room, in your hat, 
 up your trousers' legs, and it evidently makes an attempt to get 
 into the fire, which looks bright with indignation in consequence. 
 Well ! I want my tea, and I think I've said enough of the fog, 
 which is a disgusting vapour made by the witches for the especial 
 torment of railway officials. 
 
 2isi February, 1853. — To-morrow the inquest sits on the 
 
75 
 
 bodies of two of our coal porters who have been killed in the 
 tunnel. The poor fellows had lain down, as is usual when two 
 trains pass any pedestrian on the line in different directions, but 
 instead of taking the six-feet width between the rails they took the 
 up-line, and the low fire-box of the engine gave them no chance. 
 One poor man was found mixed up with the machinery and 
 frightfully mangled. He leaves a wife and five children. One 
 of my best men has, also, crushed a finger between the buffers; 
 and what with sickness and the frost, we are in a terrible pickle. 
 
 It is a strange thing that accidents and injuries frequently 
 pursue one man or one family. One of the poor creatures 
 killed in the tunnel turned the points wrong about three months 
 ago, and made a great mess of it. Backer, a porter at Euston, 
 was knocked and squeezed, and immediately after his return 
 from the hospital, cured of the effects of a crush between the 
 buffers, his arm was smashed between two carriages. He 
 learned to write with his left hand afterwards very well. Old 
 Woodgate, a porter here, was hurt three or more times at this 
 station, and finally killed, while his son lost his arm a very little 
 time after. Inspector Watts was cut to pieces by a train, and 
 three months afterwards his son lost his ear and right arm, and 
 was nearly killed at this place. I suppose you will say it is the 
 effect of certain circumstances which occur in a machine like a 
 railway, precisely or nearly similar, acting on a peculiar sort of 
 mind, which is the same in father and son, and that the conduct 
 of the sufferers precipitates the catastrophe. 
 
 24/h, February, 1853. — Another death in the tunnel to-day — 
 a pig this time. The poor porker, strong in his own opinion, 
 dodged and dipped and escaped through the legs of the drovers 
 and men on the cattle platform, who used some pointed and 
 forcible arguments to induce him to alter his course ; but he 
 obstinately pursued his own line of policy; and while, in all 
 probability, he was congratulating himself on the distance 
 between him and his pursuers, an engine cut him in half. 
 
 wth March, 1853. — I went to the Great Western a few 
 evenings ago and missed my train. Having an hour to wait 
 I smoked a cigar and endeavoured to find out something 
 to amuse me; and I fell in with an old face — a grey, stout. 
 
76 
 
 very civil, meek old man, by name Tom Calvert. Honest 
 Tom Calvert I have seen BelVs Life call him. But Tom was 
 a rogue and a hyprocrite. He bought old iron of our 
 stores department some ten years ago, kept a trotting mare, 
 drove a large business as a fish and fruit dealer, and was 
 well to do. His inclinations were sporting rather, and he had 
 been a fighting man in his youth. He knew all the " fancy " and 
 I think a few of the thieves about town. He bribed three or 
 four of our people — G. C. who has compounded with his creditors 
 and finally bolted, a defaulter, from his new employers; T. L., a 
 clever fellow, who loved brandy-and- water, and who, from two 
 or three excellent situations, has come down to be a journeyman 
 painter ; W., a decent man, who subsequently lost his berth, and 
 now holds the situation of potman at a public-house ; and M., 
 a porter, who put his gains in the bank and is now a policeman. 
 These men used to make Calvert's bargains worth his money. 
 They delivered to him (for one trick) three or four tons of old 
 iron, when he only paid for one ton. Worthy Tom Calvert 
 married, and, getting tired of his wife, turned her off, and she 
 went raving mad. He now keeps an oyster stall at Paddington, 
 and talks of former days. You see that cheats really do not 
 always thrive, even here. 
 
 \2.th March, 1 85 3. — Wonderful men these detectives. They 
 dont find out everything, though ! One of our station-masters, 
 whom we suspected of mal-practices, wanted a new porter, and 
 it was thought that a detective would do well for the situation for 
 a little time. So Mr. detective went down and joined in the fun 
 of thieving, and other agreeable pastimes, and was considered a 
 nice man. They, however, put the poor fellow to carry sacks ot 
 corn, which proved ''too much " for a slight young London thief- 
 taker, and so he hastened the accomplishment of his mission, 
 and the result is that the station-master and all the porters, 
 save one, will be discharged off'-hand as soon as a staff" can be 
 organised to march into the garrison. Somehow I don't like 
 this work. It doesn't seem English, and it is just possible that 
 the most diabolical villainy may be practised under it some day. 
 
 * *e * * * * * 
 
 Another week is closed for ever. To look forward how, 
 
77 
 
 fresh and new and long the week to come appears! To look 
 back, how brief, how unsatisfactory ! Who would recall it ? I 
 have no desire to do so. Hoping- and resolving-. I yearn for the 
 future alone. Some may say "Give me again the past and I will 
 do better ; " but I know I should not. When the goal is reached 
 and the race of time draws to a close with me, I shall rejoice. 
 Breathless, and sadly soiled with the journey, I shall rejoice to 
 have the opportunity of casting my burden at the foot ot the 
 cross and of entering into rest. 
 
 It is a weary world. The good are secluded. One appears 
 now and then amidst the thick battle of life, but for the most 
 part they do not jostle on the mart. As the struggling crowd 
 thrusts out its bruised and wounded, the good people of the world 
 pick them up and pour oil into their wounds ; but their gentle 
 voices are not heard amid the shout and the din, the angry curses, 
 the distorted faces, and raised arms. If they were to come into 
 the thick of the strife, they would find such wicked, wicked men — 
 liars, oppressors, cheats, clothed in fine cloth and respectability ; 
 grey hairs, with worldly cruel hearts ; trickery marked in solemn 
 protestation and virtuous indignation ; thieves on a grand scale, 
 witnessing against starving pilferers " for the benefit of society ; " 
 grinders of the poor " compelled by competition " to outrage 
 their grieved consciences : grinders of the poor, also not so much in 
 pocket as in unfeeling wanton words, as though no human 
 heart could beat without the gold watch ticking by it, and the 
 costly waistcoat covering it. 
 
 \\th March, 1853. — Our clergyman is pitching into the 
 Sunday opening of the Crystal Palace, and I am of his opinion. 
 Who says that the masses will go to Sydenham and invigorate 
 their bodies with fresh air and their minds by the contemplation 
 of Nature and art .? I^know the British working-man too well to 
 think that when he is "out" he will do anything so tame; and 
 as a proof that my opinion is not singular, the public-houses 
 within a short distance of the place are rising in value 200 or 300 
 percent. The railway officials will be kept at work; the traffic in 
 cabs will be increased ; young lads and men will go on the spree ; 
 servant-girls and other young women will go there and be led 
 astray. The artisan and his wife and bairns will drag down 
 
78 
 
 there and perhaps enjoy their picnic, but they will spend their 
 boot and shoe money and get home tired. Don't tell ! — as the 
 Yankees say. At Sydenham it will be no church all day. At 
 home there's a chance. Besides, it's a step towards the wretched 
 state of France. Let us turn Puritans rather than that. Society 
 would be a chaos without religion, little though its influence may 
 sometimes appear; and without the observance of Sunday, 
 religion cannot be worked — to use a railway term. Let us keep 
 to the quiet Sunday. Temptations there are enough ; let us 
 make a stand against the application of capital to increase their 
 number. Investments must be scarce indeed, when rich and 
 quasi-moral-and-patriotic gentlemen speculate on the inclination 
 of the people to break the Sabbath. They cannot have lived 
 any time in the world and not know that the notion of elevating 
 the people's minds by a Sunday trip to their great show is a 
 humbug and a farce, and a direct violation of the Divine 
 command to keep the Sabbath holy. I believe that the nation 
 will incur a curse if the Sunday opening of this huge tea-garden 
 monopoly be sanctioned ; and I feel, as a humble member of the 
 community, that to permit this desecration will be gross 
 ingratitude for the Divine mercy towards our beloved land in 
 sparing us the infliction of civil convulsion, and in blessing us 
 with an unprecedented flow of prosperous commerce while the 
 countries around us have been visited with suicidal strife, 
 bloodshed, and annihilated liberties. 
 
 19M May, 1853. — A poor fellow, named Clarke, was knocked 
 under the wheels yesterday, by a sudden turn of his horse, and 
 although he had the presence of mind to save his life by roUing 
 under the waggon, the wheels went over his foot. 
 
 The Company are going to assist my two poor widows, 
 whose husbands were killed here. I think they will get £iO 
 each. One of them thinks of opening a lodging-house; the 
 other is too delicate to do much, and is a difficult subject. I am 
 the almoner, and I feel a great deal of conceit as I walk about 
 the poor streets visiting my patients. I should have been a 
 precious self sufficient hypocritical humbug if I had been a 
 parson ; I know 1 should. 
 
 24J/1 May, 1853. — I went to Exeter Hall last night to hear 
 
79 
 
 Haydn's " Creation " — a wonderful composition. Mrs. Beecher 
 Stowe was there, and was much applauded on entering- and re- 
 tiring". She appears a delicate little woman. Two clergymen 
 accompanied her, and a black man — Uncle Tom, I suppose. 
 She took little notice of the sensation she created; a little 
 familiar sort of a bow, and exit. 
 
 2.2>th May, 1853. — I went to Epsom yesterday to see the 
 * Derby ' run, having- received a pressing invitation from some 
 friends to take a seat in their carriage. The day was bright and 
 pleasant, and its rays were reflected from a thousand cheerful 
 faces on the road — laughing and bantering as on they went — 
 every care cast behind. Then the roadside inn, raised from its 
 twelvemonth's stupour, and in astonishment at the sudden racket 
 in its inside, looked joyous notwithstanding ; while the " missis," 
 and the daughter, and the young relation also had come to help, 
 and the London waiter, hired for the occasion, looked as spruce 
 and as fine as could be. We had first-rate cattle, and passed 
 nearly everything. We reached the course early, and obtained 
 a good position, close to the barrier and near the grand stand. 
 Thousands upon thousands were there, out among the green hills, 
 in God's country, bringing their seared and worldly hearts into 
 the beautiful province of Nature. I lay back in the carriage and 
 philosophised (it was after dinner and a glass of champagne), 
 and I thought of Waterloo and the two great armies. The mass 
 on the opposite hill, the cleared course between, and the solid 
 masses of people on our side were soon transformed into the two 
 contending armies; and I thought, en passant, how a little musket 
 firing would soon bring me on to my legs on the other side of the 
 vehicle. Instead of the popping of corks and the ring of laughter, 
 the boom of artillery and the groans of the wounded would, I 
 thought, alter the scene; and yet the light gallop of the noble 
 horses, the gaily-clothed jockey, the swearing turf-man, the cun- 
 ning thief, the clever conjuror, the blooming beauty, the fortune- 
 teller and the fortune-hearer, the water-carrier, the beggar, the 
 swell, the shoeblack, "three sticks a penny," and the policeman 
 on duty, together with my lolling lazy self, would as effectually 
 be carried away before sixty years hence as though the cannonade 
 had been heavy, and the carnage dreadful, and the glory great 
 
80 
 
 So up I got and saw the Derby run; and in the midst of the race 
 I looked upon the mass of faces turned in eagerness on the strug- 
 gling group of flying horses. In an instant the white faces all 
 turned away, and black heads filled their places. 
 
 We had tea at the roadside inn as we returned ; and the 
 house appeared still more astonished, for the crowd had pene- 
 trated into the pretty back-garden where we had our tea. On 
 the way home our good horses kept up their pace and we arrived 
 in due time at our several destinations after a day of very delightful 
 excitement. 
 
 15M June, 1853. — Yesterday up at 5.30, and to Willesden to 
 see our station clear of some special trains of troops going to 
 Staines by our South Western Junction. Then to Camden, to 
 clear some troops brought from the steamer at Blackwall, by our 
 Dock Junction, to Camden, for Weedon. To Haydon Square in 
 the afternoon, then to Moggs, the map makers, and then back to 
 work at Camden. 
 
 lothjune, 1853. — Half an hour's chat with poor Mrs. Essen. 
 She is very delicate, and frets still bitterly about her poor husband. 
 These two folks, in one room, married some two or three years 
 ago, but he failed to get work for nearly a twelvemonth, and they 
 parted with all they had. At length he fortunately obtained 
 employment on the railway, and they were so happy in their 
 little home, gathering back their valuables, one by one ; and 
 when he was made brakesman, how they thanked God for their 
 prosperity! for " he was a good young man and a kind husband," 
 ''always to his time," "smiling only if his dinner were not ready 
 through some accident; " and she prided herself on never letting 
 him come home to an unswept hearth. The last day he went 
 away he said, *' Good-bye, Eliza ; " and a nervous feeling made 
 her call him back to unsay the word, for it sounded unusual and 
 strange. He smiled and said, " What shall I say .? — Then fare- 
 well!" and so he went away, saying that he would be back to 
 tea in good time. But the tea-time came without him, and hours 
 passed away in awful doubt and fear, and then, weeping, she 
 went as far as the railway gate, and saw some men in earnest 
 talk with the gatekeeper, but she had no courage to ask for her 
 husband. Home she went again ; and when my messenger 
 
81 
 
 asked at the door for Mrs. Essen, she exclaimed, "Is my dear 
 husband killed? Tell, oh, tell me, though it should kill me!" 
 Then like the wind she flew to the hospital, to her dying- partner 
 on his last bed — he sensible and breathing her name ; and when 
 she saw that death was on him she bade him pray to God, and 
 he replied, " Pray for me." Then the doctors forbade her to 
 stay any longer, and sent her home, which was very hard for her 
 to bear. With the dawn, after a sleepless night, she again 
 entered the hospital, only to learn that her husband was gone, 
 with his last accents naming his "dear wife." 
 
 22nd June, 1853. — I have just been superintending the turn- 
 ing in and unloading of the Leeds and Bradford goods ; such a 
 scuffle as it is ! — men and horses, with scrambling, and hooting, 
 and calling over and scribbling, and everyone in his shirt-sleeves, 
 and the horses perspiring. A few mornings ago a poor fellow 
 was seen looking for the top of his finger, which lay on the buffer 
 of a waggon. Terrible work ! The age lives too fast. Nothing 
 but top speed will satisfy the public. Every operation must be 
 performed in keeping with the railway speed, and the govern- 
 ment encouragement of competition in railways pushes the evil 
 to a climax. The race into the City every morning between the 
 Great Northern Company and us, with Leeds and Bradford 
 packs, is dangerous in the extreme. 
 
 The railway to Fenchurch Street from here will run trains 
 along our line, and the South Western junction out of it to Kew, 
 Brentford, &c., on the 1st August next. Look at the map, and 
 you will find that London will soon be "encompassed round 
 about " with rails — from Fenchurch to Camden, Camden to Nine 
 Elms, Nine Elms or thereabouts to the Crystal Palace (pro- 
 posed). 
 
 I had a row with a cabman last week. He agreed to take 
 my wife and me home from Tate's, and stopped short at the 
 Gloucester Road ; said his horse was restive, and wouldn't go in 
 the dark. I got out, and wouldn't pay him. He followed all 
 along the road with his cab, occasionally saying, *' Ah ! would 
 you ? " This was to his dunderhead horse, who enjoyed the 
 quiet walk, and had no more thought of being restive, poor 
 beast, than I have of becoming an opera-dancer. Then at my 
 
gate we had a shindy. He wanted to come in, and I shoved him 
 out. I gave him a shilling-, and he took it with threats of a 
 summons next day if I didn't pay him more. I declined, and 
 closed the gate. In a few minutes all was as still as death — the 
 gas-lamp shone on the silent garden, the dog dosed, the white 
 blinds drawn down told of stretched-out forms within, and the 
 poor rats crept out of their holes to snatch the chickens' crumbs, 
 the steady tread of the policeman died away in the distance, and 
 the moon gazed down on all the town. 
 
 What do you think of our clergyman, Mr. G. ? He has 
 declined a living worth £i,ooo per annum, because he thinks 
 his work in this newly formed district is not finished. I rejoice 
 to think that he stops with us. His stipend is £350. 
 
 2ird July, 1853. — A glance at G.'s conduct gives me a 
 nudge, that other people too might be content without ambitious 
 hankerings after Canada, &c. ; that other people too have their 
 work to complete amongst weak brothers and destitute sisters, 
 and children worse than orphans ; and that running away from 
 it all may be deserting a sacred mission. Then ambition 
 whispers that increased means give increased power to help — 
 that money is better than sympathy — that, in rash attempts to 
 rescue, the hero and sinking are often both lost. Well! God 
 help us all ! If patience and endurance could be struck out of the 
 Christian's conditions, who would not wish to do some one great 
 good in acknowledgment of his Maker's mercies — and die .? 
 Quitting the weary battle where the Devil charges at the head of 
 his troops, now in the front and now in the rear, until the 
 Christian's little column of good resolutions., at some fatal 
 moment, fails to form the necessary square, and is crushed to the 
 earth and annihilated. 
 
 26th July, 1853. — I had a call from an old acquaintance, 
 A. R., who has a good business in the City. I learn a few 
 things from him, such as manoeuvres on 'Change, &c., which are 
 amusing to hear about; but, knowing him to be rather loose in 
 principle, I keep my hand on my sword all the time I am with 
 him. 
 
 2(^th July, 1853. — Accidents on railways hunt in couples, or 
 packs, as I have often told you. A few days ago an axle broke 
 
88 
 
 on the Trent Valley portion of our line. Last ni^ht a cattle 
 train smashed into a goods train on the same line. The night 
 before last a train of goods was shunted into this station before 
 the proper signal was given, and sent a loaded truck and a horse 
 attached to it topsy-turvy. ' 
 
 isi August, 1853. — I was very busy all day on Saturday sell-, 
 ing salmon and meat and looking to the goods from a break- 
 down near Weedon on Friday night. An express train overtook 
 a long goods' train and ran into it. The engine of the goods, 
 56 waggons' length off, was knocked off the line and the engine- 
 driver sent head foremost into the coke; yet, strange to say, 
 three drovers in the goods guard's van, the hindmost vehicle, 
 asleep, escaped unhurt. The guard had not time to wake them.. 
 He jumped off into a ditch, and the drovers were found rolled up 
 together like a ball of cotton. Nobody was injured except the 
 express fireman, w^ho had a nasty knock in the eye. The boxes 
 of salmon, however, and the bales of goods flew about all over 
 the premises. Three bullocks, also, turned a somersault out of 
 a cattle waggon and for the moment felt a little surprise, but 
 finding the grazing pretty good on the slope where they fell, 
 they appeared to like the change and were discovered making 
 
 the best of their opportunity. 
 
 * * * * * # 
 
 Touching total abstinence from drink for example's sake. 
 It would do good, doubtless, even one case would be a sufficient 
 success. But the difTiculties of such a resolution are very great. 
 Many a friend, many an acquaintance, many a pleasant hour 
 stolen from care by the exhilarating glass would be lost. The 
 jocund laugh would be exchanged for the quiet smile ; and with 
 the cccasional morning's headache would go the evening's 
 happy interchange of good fellowship. Men extract the happi- 
 ness of many hours, and live it out in one, over the generous wine 
 or the cheering grog. Virtue is its own reward ; health and a 
 more general and thinly spread enjoyment is experienced by the 
 abstinent man, and thrown into his bargain is an approving 
 conscience, to light him heavenward. For my part, knocking 
 about with railway people, I feel it would be next to impossible 
 to turn my back upon the poison altogether. I have a serious 
 
81. 
 
 desire, however, to keep it as far away as possible, considering- 
 the awful effect of its excessive use. It is certain that a moderate 
 use of drink is a difficult and dangerous position to hold ; like 
 table-turning, one begins to move faster and faster until it 
 becomes a labour to pull up. 
 
 9M August^ 1853. — I have been up to my eyes in bother the 
 last few days. One of my clerks had leave, and the clerk who 
 did his duty fell sick, and a third placed to the work got drunk. 
 Then I had much trouble in disposing of the corpse of a titled 
 lady sent to us by the South Western Company for Carlisle. 
 Then two waggons were upset on the line, and a sudden increase 
 of business crammed up the station, and the new Kew trains 
 stopped and hindered our work, and the engine turntable broke 
 and caused all the passenger engines to cross our lines, and 
 waggons and tarpaulins grew scarce, and I ate some cucumber 
 and made myself ill, and some boys attempted to get over our 
 garden wall and steal our apples, and some beef I bought went 
 bad, and my potatoes took the disease, and a schoolfellow 
 bothered me for a berth, and a new boot gave me a corn, and 
 bread rose to 8|d. per loaf, and the butcher's book struck me all 
 of a heap, and another smash occurred to a goods train at 
 Roade. 
 
 wth August^ 1853. — Thieves are pilfering the goods from 
 our waggons here to an impudent extent. We are at our wits' 
 end to find out the blackguards. Not a night passes without 
 wine hampers, silk parcels, drapers' boxes, or provisions being 
 robbed ; and if the articles are not valuable enough they leave 
 them about the station. A roll of chintz was found on the station 
 this morning ; of course mistaken at first sight for silk, but on 
 tearing the paper the plunderer discovered it to be chintz and 
 threw it away in disgust. I wish he would send in his claim for 
 his loss of time. He should be paid in full. 
 
 \2.th August, 1853. — In yesterday's Times you will see the 
 continuation of a paper about a French Commission on War. I 
 have not read the preceding article, but in this it is amusing to 
 read how neatly the Gallic cock disposes of us poor English. 
 He talks of cooking our goose with the utmost ease ; but 
 Monsieur will have to get another pair of breeches before he 
 
85 ' 
 
 takes the wind out of our little men who '' go down to the sea in 
 ships," and after he has licked them and got on shore he won't 
 find it quite such pleasant walking as in the gardens of the 
 Tuilleries. We should manage to keep him on the alert. Then 
 you would see young Stevenson at the head of his Camden 
 Station Irregulars, slaughtering the enemy and bathed in their 
 blood; and when the fight was done behold him decorated with 
 the Garter and elevated to a dukedom, say of Montrose, &c., &c. 
 
 17/^ August, 1853. — A friend has just asked my opinion on a 
 private matter. I believe we all consult our own inclinations and 
 decide in the main, in most cases, before we appeal to the wisdom 
 of our friends. How high our estimation of their judgment it 
 they approve ! how deep our suspicion of their motives if they 
 condemn I 
 
 18M August, 1853. — I am continually bothered with my men. 
 Some resign to emigrate, some get drunk and are discharged, 
 and others are hurt. There is a difficulty in obtaining strong 
 fellows who read and write, and can lead a horse for our night 
 and day work. The sturdy fellows, too, are as independent as 
 possible. Work is plentiful, and the new land of prom.ise so 
 desirable a resource, that we have to pet our good hands. 
 By-and-by, I shall have to lift my hat and say, " Oh, Mister 
 John Porter, will you do me the favour to turn that waggon ? 
 Thank you. Pray take care of yourself there ; and, John Porter, 
 sir, would you like to take Mrs. J. P. and the family down the 
 line on Sunday? I shall be happy to pass you. And, John, it 
 there should be anything nice in the train, amongst the goods, 
 which you would like to have, pray help yourself. I wish you to 
 feel quite comfortable and unrestrained." It is fast coming 
 to this ; and if John Porter gets drunk, instead of dismissing the 
 honest fellow, I shall have to say, " Why, John, my boy, you've 
 had a little beer! Allow me to fetch a cab, and if you feel ill 
 to-morrow, you need not hurry in the morning." 
 
 19/A August, 1853. — I had along argument last night with 
 Mr. R., a pale-faced vegetarian. I have seldom met with so 
 clear-headed and clever a man. Politics, natural philosophy, 
 finance, medicine, — he is fluent in all ; and his opinions on most 
 subjects comprehend the bearings of the matter in such a grasp 
 
86 
 
 that his judgment seems unerring-. Such is the perspicuity of 
 his remarks and reasoning-, that one is incHned to confidence 
 in his conclusions. He announced his disbehef in the existence of 
 the Devil, in eternal punishment, in Christ's actually fasting- forty 
 days, in the Devil's placing- Christ on a pinnacle of the temple, or 
 an exceeding high mountain, to behold all the kingdoms of the 
 world. He treated the whole as figurative; Eve's temptation by 
 a serpent, as it is narrated, he laughed at as an absurd fable, 
 taken literally. Tell me this : is it anywhere commented upon as 
 to the manner in which it became known to the evangelists that 
 Christ so fasted, and was tempted ? I shall be glad if you can 
 give me a reference to any book which meets liberally and fairly 
 the objections of this sort, which will arise in one's mind, not- 
 withstanding that the regular orthodox churchman will not 
 condescend to notice their existence. 
 
 22nd August, 1853. — I reached Weedon about six o'clock on 
 Saturday evening, and proceeded with Charlie and two of his 
 friends in a dog-cart, thirty-five miles across country to 
 Stratford-on-Avon. The ride was delightful. We baited twice 
 on the journey, and as we rode through Leamington and 
 Warwick, I recognised the places where, seven years ago, my 
 wife and I strolled in the enjoyment of our honeymoon. By ten 
 o'clock we had our legs under the supper-table of Charlie's 
 friend, Mr. Hartley, proprietor of the Golden Lion hotel. Mine 
 host is a jolly fellow, a good singer, and has such floods of 
 anecdotes, told with all the manner and wit of an accomplished 
 actor. Hartley is a celebrated comedian for a hundred miles 
 round, and might have an engagement in London immediately, 
 if he chose, but he finds the Golden Lion suits him better. He 
 is one of five sons of a schoolmaster, who died when they were 
 all young, except the eldest, and he only eighteen years of age. 
 This young man kept on the school, and brought up the family. 
 All the brothers dined with us yesterday, and a good dinner and 
 a good bottle of wine we had — and roars of laughter. In the 
 morning we visited the church, saw the tomb of the bard, and 
 went thence to the house where Ann Hathaway, Shakespeare's 
 wife, resided. A descendant of the Hathaway' s showed me an 
 old bedstead, and the kitchen where Will did his courting. We 
 
87 
 
 started at seven, and drove back to Weedon. A pipe, and a 
 chat with CharUe's wife, and then to bed ; not, however, before 
 Charlie and I had rushed out with the poker to some imaginary 
 thieves, who turned out to be the dog pitching into a birch-broom, 
 and nearly choking himself. A train brought me home this 
 morning by eleven o'clock, to hosts of papers, and the usual 
 shindy. 
 
 The lines proceed, the pages fill — 
 
 And tell the hues of life's swift thread ; 
 Soon will it cease, the pen be still. 
 
 The hand that guides it, cold and dead. 
 
 st September, 185 3. — -You and I, in common with all other 
 men of fixed income, will be the sufferers if corn becomes scarce 
 and provisions rise still higher than their present disagreeable 
 rate. Thank God, the prospect of a war is more remote than it 
 was ; but the singular blights now apparent in potatoes, grapes, 
 and other products, the strange weather of the last eight months, 
 and the introduction of so much gold, together with the emigra- 
 tion of our miners and sailors, and other men of thews and 
 sinews, all proclaim that an extraordinary epoch is coming. The 
 mighty billows of Time are rolling on, in the palm of the 
 Wonderful Creator. We tiny, but not unnoticed or forgotten 
 mites, in the boundless scheme, may go on with our work — I to 
 my merchandise and you to your souls — always remembering, 
 amid discouragement and difficulty, that *' He that goeth forth 
 and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again 
 with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him." 
 
 2ist September, 1853. — At a trial at Westminster. It would 
 make your heart bleed to see some of the wretched criminals and 
 their heart-broken friends. I saw several respectable-looking 
 young men, from eighteen to twenty-five years of age, well- 
 dressed and intelligent, tried for embezzling, pilfering, (fee- 
 Some overwhelmed with a sense of their disgraceful position ; 
 others scowling at their weeping friends in the Court ; and one 
 clever young man, who defended himself with eloquence and 
 talent, but who was convicted of having pursued a system of 
 embezzlement for four years. Oh I for some miraculous specific 
 to cure all crime and sorrow ; to make all people good ; to 
 
render the judge and the advocate, the detective, the gaoler, and 
 the criminal, things of the past ; to banish temptation and take 
 away the staircase of error and sin by which men descend, step 
 by step, to perdition! Simply let us say, ''Thy Kingdom 
 come!" 
 
 2^th September, 1 85 3. — My solemn oration on the decease of 
 Mr. Samuel Warren would probably amuse that gentleman. All 
 you say of the two authors, now that you mention it, comes up in 
 my memory as something I knew well before but had forgotten. 
 I have read the " Diary of the Late Physician," and " Ten 
 Thousand a Year," and have heard of the other man's ''Crescent 
 and the Cross," and cannot think how I could confuse the two 
 persons. But what have I to do with your novels and polite 
 literature .? Don't I live in a real, tragic, comic, stirring drama — 
 more strange than any fiction; Don't my heroes and heroines 
 keep me wide awake ? Is there not an absorbing act continually 
 on the stage, — parcels, porters, and the public, horses, carts, 
 correspondence, careless clerks, and curious coincidences, &c.,&c..? 
 What, then, have I to do with your literature ? Pshaw, Sir ! I am 
 one of your philosophers, who distil their own ingredients to 
 manufacture the elixir of life, and don't buy them at the apothe- 
 cary's. I take my stones from the quarry, not from the 
 picturesque ruins of another man's building. At least, this is a 
 good excuse for my ignorance of the belles letires. Am I not a 
 mysterious work myself.? Have I yet read myself? Have I 
 sufficiently studied that portion of the book which will live for 
 ever ? Can I reflect on the pages of my existence which I have 
 scampered through, without a painful and absorbing interest ? 
 And when the time comes for me to return the book to the Giver, 
 shall I not with shame review the thumbed and soiled leaves, and 
 deserve a terrible award for my unprofitable use of it ? 
 
 4/A October, 1853. — The swelling river shines solemnly in the 
 sunlight, and on its trusty bosom, the mariner cunningly shifts 
 the sails of his craft, using the fickle wind to take his treasure 
 far up the stream to the busy port ; while he, and the many 
 mighty ships which join him on the way, bearing the varied 
 produce of the world, meet the many others outward bound, and 
 make a busy scene. Ride we in the eager steamboat, full of 
 
89 
 
 tired human beings fleeing- from their toil. The thread-bare 
 tunes from harp and violin engage the crowd, while such as you 
 and I lean over the bulwarks, and gaze on the surrounding 
 spectacle. When first I looked on yonder shore, taken to 
 Gravesend on a cockney jaunt, I was a wan, and spare, and tiny 
 boy, and that great house was building for one, 'twas said, who 
 had been a lawyer and had defended thieves, and, having gained 
 great civic honours, and a princely fortune, was rearing that 
 great dwelling there, to end his days in. Since that time, my 
 friend, what deaths I have seen — what poverty, what sickness, 
 what changes in circumstance and feeling — what friendships I 
 have formed, what love requited, what errors committed ! Now 
 just heaves in view a pretty hamlet. The church and red-roofed 
 houses, quay and pier and mill, look cheerful, nestling beneath 
 chalk cliffs and verdant hills, with dotted woodlands here and 
 there. Surely peace and industry must here combine, and 
 happiness and Christian charity; no scandal, no tyranny, no 
 vice of any kind ! Prithee, step on shore and see. 
 
 * * o * * * * 
 
 Oh ! my Turnbull, come back to Whitchurch, where at least 
 sovie virtue may be found ! 
 
 'jth Ocioher, 1 85 3. — The ball-room at Chalk Farm Tavern is 
 no more. It has been taken down to make way for some new 
 houses. And, so, farewell, thou scene of gents and dirty muslin ! 
 At one time, I suppose, greater swells frequented the place — 
 white kids, cravats, and well-cut coats, and fair forms charmingly 
 arrayed ; but they all went their way, and of late years 
 " sixpenny hops " have made night hideous there, — soldiers and 
 servant maids, dirty drabs, and dangerous "young fellers" in 
 curious clothing, with short pipes and wonderfully unclean 
 hands, — such a set ! and they, too, are all gone ! 
 
 gth October, 1853. — At Euston Station last night the engine 
 ran against a signalman, and, catching him in the back and 
 neatly lodging his hat on the buffer-beam, sent him flying. He 
 fell not on the rails, but between them, and escaped with whole 
 bones. Now, that is what I call a close shave. These things 
 make one nervous for a day or two. A sharp shunt or a shout, 
 and the swish of the engine, when one is between our numerous 
 
90 
 
 lines, makes the heart leap into ^the mouth and the lips hold 
 tight, particularly at night. 
 
 13/A October^ 185 3- — What a pucker the local authorities are 
 all in about the cholera ! I see one placard, amongst other 
 things, recommends the people of London never to drink any 
 but pure water. That is waggish, and we shouldn't joke when 
 the cholera is coming. 
 
 I am taking an hour's ride on horseback again every day 
 when the weather permits. The woods and trees around 
 Hampstead are donning the russet suit again. 
 
 Again untiring Autumn brings the golden leaves, 
 
 And clothes the trees in beauty ere it leaves them bare; 
 So He who shed His blood between the thieves 
 
 Was first with grandeur decked in robe ot purple rare. 
 But, as He rose, — though leafless boughs too soon they'll be, 
 
 Left to the sport and scorn of every passing wind, 
 A drear and bitter season over, they will see 
 
 Return of hopeful life to cheer and bless mankind. 
 
 \%th October, 1 85 3. — I paid a visit yesterday afternoon to the 
 Hanwell Lunatic Asylum. As soon as we had passed the door 
 and stood on the well staircase of the interior, amid many iron 
 bars, made as cheerful as possible with light blue paint, I felt we 
 were inside a madhouse. Squatted in unlikely places and in 
 uncomfortable and unexpected attitudes, poor demented women 
 met the view, staring, simpering, smiling, giggling, declaiming, 
 or swearing; and others, equally sad to see, absorbed in silent 
 madness. In the refractory wards higher up — for the large well 
 staircase has several landings, with wards opening upon each — 
 there were creatures in petticoats, with stubbly hair and distorted 
 ill-shapen faces, lounging about and raving and blaspheming if 
 spoken to. Others made absurd noises ; others twiddled their 
 fingers as though playing the flute. One poor wretch was gobbling 
 exactly like a turkey, and another informed me that she (the 
 gobbler) was " always at it," — "it was strange, but do what she 
 would with her, she would make that noise," — "now, for her 
 part, her uncle's name was Herring, and her own name was 
 Thatcher." Poor Thatcher ! They said she was a hard-working 
 well-disposed patient. A lady in checked clothing offered me 
 some bread, and another asked me if I was for England and 
 Victory ; while a third woke up from a deep reverie, as she sat, 
 
91 
 
 tailor-fashion, on her bed, and cursed me lustily. One demanded 
 whom I had come to see, and then consig-ned me to perdition. 
 An old woman — I noticed that most of the women were old — was 
 performing some tragic and by no means ungraceful gestures, 
 with denunciation of an awful kind against some person best 
 known to herself. She was, however, locked up before she had 
 concluded, and there her tongue was let loose. The young 
 woman who was her keeper said, " She never strikes. AH" 
 noise." In a small ward an old respectable-looking lady said 
 that her heart was broken and had been so a long, long time ; 
 and in the next breath, in reply to a contradiction, she exclaimed, 
 *'No, certainly not; if my heart were broken I shouldn't be 
 here." When reminded that she had just stated before that her 
 heart Z£;^j broken, she replied, "Ah, I said so. I say a many 
 things ! " I think there are many people at large as insane as 
 this respectable old woman. I found one wild-looking female 
 standing behind me with a handful of knives, which rather 
 surprised me, to say the least of it ; but, on examination, the 
 implements proved to be harmless, only about an inch or so of 
 the blade being at all sharp, and the remainder the sixteenth of 
 an inch in thickness. I enquired if the mad folks knew that these 
 were different from ordinary knives. The keeper smiled and 
 replied, ''Quite well. In fact, they know almost everything, even 
 to the shame of being in a madhouse." A very mad lady-like 
 woman, with remains of much beauty, said, in answer to the 
 keeper, that she was much better, as must be clear to her, for 
 otherwise she would have been unable to move. This patient 
 was said to be highly accomplished. In the matron's dining- 
 room we found a nice-looking old person. On seeing me look 
 at the portrait of Dr. Connolly, which hung in the room, she broke 
 out into fervent admiration of the man. "Ah, sir! every insane 
 person should pray for that good man. I have been here fifteen 
 years and can remember the time when an iron belt and chain 
 fastened us to the wall and we were treated cruelly. Many, many 
 years was that good gentleman trying to get the system altered, 
 and he succeeded at last." The keeper told us that this was all 
 true, but that the old person who had addressed us had been 
 getting rather worse in her malady lately. All praise to the good 
 
92 
 
 and great man who created such a feeling* of gratitude in a 
 madwoman's heart ! A look into another ward, where a ' Queen ' 
 sitting- in state at one end of the table, and an old wretch, who 
 cursed the keeper for asking- for her beer, at the other ; and this 
 finished the female side. 
 
 The men were more orderly. They were sitting- about on 
 seats, some reading-, others smoking-. One crept behind my 
 friend and tried to pinch his leg-, but this was in a refractory 
 ward, and was the only instance of the kind we saw. The men 
 looked worst in the epileptic ward, bloated, spooney, heavy. 
 The other wards contained some fine, handsome young- men, 
 with hig-h foreheads. Many of them touched their hats and rose 
 as we passed. One man told me that he and his brothers had 
 had some money left them, and that it worried him and they sent 
 him there ; " now, wasn't that a hard case ? " Another — a fine 
 old man-of-war's man — gave me an account of their having 
 taken away his pension and shoved him in there ; and another 
 interrupted him with the consoling remark that it was '' only for 
 life, Bill." The men bake, brew, make all the clothes and shoes 
 and bedding, print, and perform, in short, all the labour of the 
 building. 
 
 Are you tired of this long rigmarole about insanity.? Well, 
 what is your opinion on the subject.? I am inclined to believe the 
 theory of the man who made out that we were all mad. The 
 madhouses only contain the worst cases. Most of the people at 
 Hanwell seem to have the string of their ideas cut, and all 
 their thoughts kicking about in their brains anyhow. There 
 are few of us, I fear, who have the string very loose some- 
 times, and the notions get into the most improper places in our 
 noddles occasionally. We sane folks who pity our poor mad 
 brethren so complacently ! In the Asylum one lunatic laughs at 
 his companion's delusion, but goes stark with his own. What are 
 we doing out of the Asylum — in the pulpit, on the platform, in 
 the press .? Why, laughing at each other's delusions and going 
 into our own "like mad." What is more insane than the pro- 
 pensity to do just what we know to be evil, in spite of the warn- 
 ings of conscience, and to incur Divine vengeance for the sake of 
 a few years of feverish neglect of God's commands.? 
 
93 
 
 2^h September, 1853. — All the past week our station has been 
 in a mess. Goods accumulating, agents neglectful, reports, 
 denials, proofs, waggons off the line, pilferages, indignant public, 
 wonderful influx of potatoes from the north, remonstrance with 
 general manager on the filthy state of the station, brakesmen 
 crushed between the buffers, alteration of trains, new regulation 
 to put detonating fog-signals several hundred yards in the rear 
 of any train coming to a stand on the line, in addition to using 
 the hand signal (this in consequence of the Irish accident), sick- 
 ness amongst the porters, sickness amongst the horses. 
 
 25M October, 1853. — In the extreme state of insanity, women 
 are the more noisy and gesticulatory of the two sexes ; and the 
 peculiarity ascends the scale. The most sensible woman is a 
 greater scold than her parallel companion, the most sensible man. 
 When a man is talkative and violent in his remonstrances, 
 appears to me a mark of effeminacy. The calm and dignified 
 manner, the few pointed words of biting reproof, or earnest 
 exhortation, are the attributes of a man. 
 
 2'jth October, 1853. — Some of the clerks here are getting up 
 a Mutual Instruction and Discussion Society. We have a small 
 Reading Room in Pickford & Co.'s department, and I met the 
 clerks last night and read to them a little paper as a sort of 
 inaugural address. In it I contrasted the present aspect of our 
 station and its surroundings with the green fields and lanes 
 which formerly occupied the site — the peaceful rural scene where 
 the modest daisy raised its face to the sun, the violet shed its 
 perfume, and the lark ascended with its morning song to heaven. 
 I showed how much we were indebted to the labours of our 
 ancestors, and spoke of the duty attaching to each one of us to 
 cultivate our own minds, and thereby, in a humble way, to help 
 forward the general progress of our country and of the human 
 race. 
 
 ^h November, 1853. — I was in the City yesterday and this 
 morning. As a novelty there is much to contemplate in the 
 commencement of a City morning. About 7 or 8 a.m. the 
 outskirts of the great hive of the insect called Man is all alive in 
 the upper rooms, with the said insect in his shirt sleeves, applying 
 a bright sharp instrument to his chin. Then thousands of them 
 
.descend the stairs, rave about, put on boots, eat and drink some- 
 thing, and sally forth. Then a race commences towards the 
 centre of the Hive ; and away they pour, some riding, some on 
 foot, — thicker and closer; mingling, at length, with the dirty 
 dwellers in that place towards which they are rushing. As they 
 thicken, and drop off at the little cells where they stop all day, 
 you may see their faces grow more grave ; and although in the 
 throng you might take them to be all of one species, an inspection 
 of a few of the cells would show you that there are many degrees 
 among them. See the "great" man in that inner cell lecturing 
 the younger insect on the evils of dissipation. Well, — they were 
 both drunk last night, — one at his own table with wine, the other 
 at a tavern, on gin and water. See that stout old insect crawling 
 into yonder cell. He meets one of the dirty dwellers, — a female 
 of the species. He tells her that times are hard and prices low, 
 and that he can't give her more than sixpence per dozen for 
 shirts. 
 
 But there are the good cells, where excellent things are done 
 all day long, by rich but hard-working men, who keep up the 
 gradual improvement of the great hive. What a morning's walk 
 we could take together, meditating on these things. 
 
 2ird November^ 1 853. — You will smile when I tell you that I am 
 on the paper in the Reading-room of our little Society for " A few 
 remarks on Geology." Of course! What do you mean by 
 jeering ? Didn't I study under Professor Sedgwick at the 
 University of Cambridge ? Didn't I listen to that learned man for 
 a whole hour one wet day ? What do you say 1 A mere compilation ? 
 Well, suppose it be, as far as technicalities go ; is there anything 
 new under the sun .? At any rate the reflections and remarks will 
 be my own, and that is all that I announce. Be off. Bob ; don't 
 bully me. 
 
 2'jih April, 1854. — The day's work is over. The papers are 
 cleared away or stowed under weights, to rest during the 
 darkness. The clerks are gone, the office sounds hollow, and the 
 calm evening invites me to take my departure. I hasten away» 
 The pause on this restless place will be brief. The night clerks,, 
 porters, horses, and engines will soon be here, to pull and haul 
 and shriek and shout and hurry and drive. 
 
95 
 
 10th April, 1854. — In some moments a blessed hope illumines 
 my mind, and I believe confidently that, when this world of sin 
 and sorrow and disappointment shall close on my view for ever, 
 a sweet voice of forgiveness and mercy will ring- joyfully in my 
 ear ; that Jesus Christ will wash my polluted soul from sin ; that 
 that wonderful sacrifice — that almost incredible system of 
 unbounded love will be realised by me. Hasten, O happy hour I 
 Who could not long- that the shadows mig-ht thicken for a 
 moment, to be dispelled for ever ? Who would not be eager to 
 exchange this world, how blessed soever it may be, for that glorious 
 land, the splendour of which eye hath not seen and the heart ot 
 man cannot conceive ? Think of purity and glory and brightness 
 and love, unalloyed and unfading for ever. 
 
 ^h May, 1854. — Last night I dined at the Hanover Square 
 Rooms with no end of parsons. One of the cloth got very * tight.' 
 He d — d everybody and nearly punched my head. He's 
 repenting at his leisure this morning, I reckon. The Bishop of 
 Chester made a good speech— a little too long perhaps. The 
 dinner was not the best I ever sat down to, and there was great 
 uproar in getting the hats and coats, coming out. The parsons, 
 who are no doubt nearly all unseasoned casks, were very 
 boisterous. 
 
 16M May, 1854. — George Campbell felt his feet very cold the 
 other night, and said so, and got up and wrapped himself in 
 warmer clothes; but the fire was flickering within, though he 
 knew it not, and the poor old man died while dressing himself 
 in the morning. He was a random talking old fellow, and 
 irreligious apparently; but who knows how far he outraged his 
 conscience, under the impression that it was necessary to suit his 
 conversation to his hearers, whom he thought irreligious ? Who 
 shall say what passed between himself and God, in the quiet hour 
 when the world was shut out and conscious guilt and fear accused 
 him on his knees ? 
 
 ^th June, 1854. — What a long correspondence I have had 
 
 with the Countess of about the threepences charged for her 
 
 empty baskets ! I had a few notes last year, but this year she 
 has gone on anyhow. There's more bother about a nobleman's 
 vegetables, or a parson's wife's new cap, sent by luggage train 
 
96 
 
 than about all the provisions for the fleet or ten thousand bales 
 for China. You aristocrats ought to send by passenger train 
 only. Why, your butler or your cook prigs more in a week than 
 would pay for the vegetable basket or the hamper of foul linen for 
 twelve months. And yet the portly Samuel and Mrs. Dripping 
 escape, while we Railway innocents are called extortionists, and 
 cheats, and monopolists, and get abused in the most fearful terms, 
 but generally in pure grammar. 
 
 2^thjune, 1854. — Bells in steeples don't like playing tunes. 
 They do it evidently under protest, — especially the sacred tunes. 
 There are our Hampstead bells, now. They struggle through 
 the familiar psalm-tunes in a most agonising manner. The quick 
 notes are not at all solemn ; they have a ' nix my dolly, pals ' 
 inclination which outrages one's sense of propriety. Since the 
 man greased one of the slowest sacred airs, the other day, and it 
 darted off, to his horror, at polka pace, the notes have settled 
 down into respectable time ; but the clergyman had better have 
 left the steeple to play **Peas and Beans," as it used to do until 
 he was scandalised by the secular sounds ; for the alteration to 
 sacred tunes exclusively is a dead failure. 
 
 6th July, 1854. — I am very much down in the dumps. I find 
 myself inclined to grumble at everyone, and when anything turns 
 up that gives me a reasonable opportunity to grumble with a fair 
 cause, why, I go in and win. Win, did I say ? No, I don't win 
 much ; I leave off worse tempered than before. I have heard of 
 a sea-captain who used to retire occasionally and have half- 
 an-hour's hard swearing by himself, in which he is said to have 
 found great relief. I haven't tried this. 
 
 I ith Julyt 1854. — ^On Sunday I dined with a friend at Watford 
 and enjoyed a delightful walk to Stanmore and Bushey Heath. 
 My friend's aunt, an old lady, lives in a picturesque cottage near 
 his house, and the indentical ' Mr. Dick ' lives with her. He is an 
 old chap now,— off his head, as our nurse calls it. He dosen't 
 chink his money, as Dickens tells; but if they give him any he 
 throws it away instanter. He likes to be talked to, and listens 
 to conversation, and makes comical noises when he laughs ; but 
 he seldom says anything except ' yes ' or * no.' He is rich, and 
 his brother, w^ho is also his heir, thinks he will soon die, but 
 
97 
 
 Mr. Dick seems inclined to hang on sturdily. Now, whether 
 Dickens ever stumbled across this ' Mr. Dick ' or not, I cannot 
 tell ; but his name is Dick, and the similarity of the characters 
 in name and intellect and other things is singular. 
 
 Last night, after I was used-up at the station, I strolled to 
 Hampstead. There were the omnibuses, and the rough fellows 
 at the end of Flask Walk, and the Station-house, and Hankin's, 
 and George Kerrison, who looks older, talking to Cornick, the 
 man who has Watson's shop ; and there was Livock's Alley ; and 
 there the place where the garden used to be, — for they have built 
 a house in it, which you will be surprised to learn. The poor new 
 house appears to feel its false position; the whole thing looks 
 uncomfortable. The calm evening resting tranquilly on the 
 fresh green undulating landscape, the stillness heightened by the 
 cowboys' call to the cattle, and the gratification which one always 
 feels at gazing upon a wide expanse far out, had a sweet effect 
 on my mind; and the railway clerk forgot, for the moment, 
 his station, and thought pure thoughts full of aspiration, beyond the 
 
 toil and struggle of the city at his back, and, but the fever 
 
 I lately had has made me spooney, I think, at times. 
 
 iSthJuly, 1854. — My wife and I, and three of the bairns, are 
 staying at Heme! Hempstead, near Boxmoor station. The ride 
 to and from Camden daily is doing me good. There are 
 beautiful walks in the neighbourhood of the town, and we shall 
 all benefit by the change. Hemel Hempstead is a quiet place, 
 with about 8,000 inhabitants, who retire to bed at 10 p.m. They 
 have public-houses, but the publicans go to church like christians, 
 and nobody appears to get drunk. The church is a Norman 
 edifice, with a fine spire. Inside there is a hideous gallery, and 
 the organ is a bad one ; but there are two good stained-glass 
 windows. When the creed is said, people and priest turn to the 
 communion table — which ought to be announced beforehand to 
 strangers seated in the chancel, as they suddenly find themselves 
 turned round upon by the whole congregation, which is em- 
 barrassing. There is an absurd old countryman, with a queer- 
 shaped head, and a dissipated-looking white choker, who will 
 stare about the church, and who holds in his hand a stick with a 
 sort of cruet on the top of it. Apart from these eccentricities, 
 
 E 
 
98 
 
 the church on Sunday is a pleasing- sight. How many years the 
 sun has shone through those old windows on the same scene, 
 though the actors have been replaced over and over again ! 
 What a serious moral those venerable walls seem to preach ! 
 
 20th July, 1854. — The Hemel Hempstead straw-plaiters are 
 to be met with all over the town. They talk, and walk, and look 
 about, and loiter, and listen, while their fingers all the time spin 
 away at the straw, turning it into plaits fit for sewing into 
 bonnets. Women, old and young, lovers and wives, and little 
 children, are all engaged in this manufacture, and you find 
 them at work in all sorts of places — at the cottage doors, at the 
 corners of streets, in Sir Astley Cooper's beautiful park, by the 
 stream, in the fields, and by the fire-side. It is said that the 
 young women grow up to be bad wives, and that the little 
 children make dirty plait, which fetches a low price. 
 
 There is a service at the church here every day, but I am 
 told that the clergyman's wife is very often the only person 
 present besides his Reverence. 
 
 Have you read Mrs. Crowe's "Night-side of Nature?" — 
 such a book about ghosts ! Take care that you do not see my 
 double walk into your premises some of these days. Certain it 
 is that if the spirit lingers near those whom the heart has es- 
 teemed, mine is very likely to pay you a visit ere it wings its 
 flight. Well, it isn't pleasant to meet the ghost of the dearest 
 friend if one steps into the garden after dusk ; so, we'll drop the 
 subject, and hope that nothing of the kind will happen. 
 
 Afth August, 1854. — Yesterday my friend, Mr. Taylor, of the 
 Steam Flour Mill adjoining Camden Station, took me to his house 
 in the country to dinner. I popped away at three o'clock, and 
 we reached Rickmansworth, four miles from Watford station, 
 about 4.30. I was driven up a beautiful avenue of trees, into a 
 square space, bounded on two sides by an Elizabethan mansion, 
 and on the other two by trees and a stream of water, across 
 which there is a pretty view of the church and a wood. Surprised 
 — for I had expected to find quite a different kind of dwelling — I 
 walked through the spacious oaken hall and into the panelled 
 dining-room, and then into the drawing-room, and shook hands 
 with ^the miller's two young daughters and their governess. 
 
99 
 
 Dinner wouldn't be ready for an hour or more, so I consented to 
 my friend's proposal to take a turn in the grounds, g-lad of the 
 opportunity of examining the fine old place. It had been for 
 centuries the manor-house of a family of the name of Whitfield, 
 who gradually sold their land and died out, leaving the house 
 and some acres around in Chancery. My friend bought the 
 house, and twenty-five or thirty acres, and had the misfortune to 
 lose his wife just as he was about to remove to the beautiful 
 place. He occupies about half the house ; the remaining rooms 
 are empty and silent — the very air of them seems mournful 
 Wide staircases, sprawling hinges, stained-glass windows, oak 
 carving, gables outside and mysterious passages within, contrast 
 strangely with the homely habits of the occupants — yet I question 
 much if the shining panels of the large dining-room ever looked 
 down upon a better scene than that in which the honest old 
 gentleman took the principal part, when he read aloud a chapter 
 from the Bible to his daughters, their governess, and myself. 
 His sonorous voice gave forth the Holy Words with an impres- 
 sive emphasis, befitting his venerable appearance. During the 
 prayer which followed, a stranger, gazing through the window 
 from without, might have supposed the miller, with his grey hair 
 and white neckcloth, to be the family chaplain ; while the 
 kneeling forms of the daughters and their governess, with those 
 of your David and the two servants, filled up a consistent back- 
 ground. I slept in an immense room. The great bed of Ware 
 could not have been larger than the enormous concern towards 
 which I journeyed after putting out the light on the huge dressing- 
 table. I slept soundly. Whether the restless spirits of any ot 
 the Whitfield family hovered about the room I know not. The 
 witching hours passed over, and I awoke when the bell rang. I 
 had a brisk walk to my clothes on the chair, and thence to the 
 washstand, which gave me an appetite for my breakfast. 
 
 \yh August, 1854. — The strike of the drivers has harassed 
 us immensely this week. It is a mistake, however, to suppose 
 that they are skilled mechanics. When railways first commenced 
 skilled mechanics drove the engines, but they gradually left the 
 employment, and now a cleaner becomes a fireman and then a 
 driver. A few months' experience gives them the requisite 
 
 E 2 
 
LOO 
 
 knowledge, which is much more simple than people suppose. 
 
 A terrible accident occurred last night on our Fenchurch 
 Street Branch. The last train of goods from Haydon Square 
 came to a stand for want of water, on an inclined plane at High- 
 bury. The engines ran away for a supply, the men in charge 
 thinking that the waggons would remain stationary. Unfortunately, 
 however, the waggons ran back and met an advancing passenger 
 train full tilt. The driver of the passenger train was killed on 
 the spot. The hreman is not expected to recover, and one of my 
 number-takers has also little chance of recovery. Four or five 
 men in the break-van of the goods train escaped by a jump at the 
 last moment, and the van was knocked into a complete smash — 
 to use a moderate expression. Yet, with all this, the passengers 
 escaped with a few bruises — an extraordinary result. 
 
 i(^h August, 1854. — Years ago I climbed the coke-oven 
 chimney shaft here. It was newly built, and was esteemed a 
 wonder. Three towering shafts marked Camden Station, from 
 whatever point round London one viewed the prospect. Two 
 of these long since sank into a heap of bricks. This week the 
 last of our landmarks was hauled down, and a few minutes and 
 a ''hurrah!" restored the column of air it had so long displaced. 
 
 2.0th August, 1854. — Well, here I sit in tranquility, after a 
 week of more than usual bustle and excitement. The events 
 which have occurred, death from disease and accident, and 
 change of all kinds, bring my thoughts at this moment to the 
 text of vScripture " My times are in Thy hand." How terrible, 
 yet how consoling, is this truth! How universal, yet how in* 
 dividually applicable ! The nations of the earth may cry peace, 
 and in the pride of a vaunted civilisation, say, " Behold our 
 mighty progress, the work of our hands ! " — but God, in whose 
 hand their times are, may prove there is no peace. National sin 
 is visited, and the great design of the Creator is carried forward. 
 The pursuit of medical science may be so successfully prosecuted 
 that mankind becomes almost exempt from violent suffering, 
 when, behold, a scourge appears, to baffle all remedy and 
 puzzle the most skilful and profound efforts of human aid, — 
 bringing the boasting creature to confess that his times are in 
 the hands of his Creator. Send forth the reapers, O, favoured 
 
lOi 
 
 England, into thy overladen fields, swelling- with their luxuriant 
 
 crops of golden food ; humbly thrust in the sickle and with 
 
 g-rateful heart gather into thy garners the blessed harvest; 
 
 and, while the manly voices of the toiling sons rend 
 
 the air with rejoicing that the last load is secured, let 
 
 thy swelling heart confess that lightning and tempest, and 
 
 rot and blight, might have snatched the yellow prize from 
 
 thy eager hand, that cholera might have left thee without labour 
 
 to collect the store before the storms of winter consigned it to 
 
 destruction. Boast not thyself, for thy times are in God's hand. 
 
 Thou sowest, God has given thee the increase. Eat thou the 
 
 bread of thankfulness, for the tramp of armed enemies is far 
 
 removed from thy peaceful fields ; thy comfortable firesides know 
 
 not the ruthless intrusion of the desolating soldier; oh, boast not 
 
 thyself, for the battle is not always to the strong. Long may the 
 
 glorious season of harvest-time yield thee the fulness of the earth! 
 
 Long may the beauty of thy landscapes be heightened by the 
 
 glorious clothing, over hill and dale, of rich verdure and waving 
 
 ■corn ! Long may thy wonderful fleets be spared the storm, and 
 
 •experience that immunity from defeat which has so singularly 
 
 <Lttended them, to protect thy shores from each hostile attack ! 
 
 But remember in thy day of prosperity that the earth is the Lord's 
 
 and the fulness thereof. To the gay, to the grave, the prosperous 
 
 and the unfortunate, to the hoping and the successful, and the 
 
 bereaved, and the broken-hearted, this text, like many others in 
 
 the Blessed Book, applies alike with great force. A merciful 
 
 Providence veils the future from our eyes, and coming events 
 
 seldom cast their shadows before. Otherwise the gloom of a 
 
 future reverse would embitter a long period of previous existence. 
 
 God has commanded us what to do and be saved, and bids us 
 
 cast our care upon Him. If we suffer, we may feel assured that 
 
 it is to some wise end. Cheerful resignation will be blessed by 
 
 increased fortitude to bear our burden, and teach us to say with 
 
 humility, ''My times are in Thy hand." Let not, however, the 
 
 reckless and defiant sceptic think to escape the confession. The 
 
 time will come; even his next movement may wring it from him. 
 
 He may step into the next railway train smiling, confident — and 
 
 a few minutes may see him in the debris of a cojitfig^^mangled 
 
102 
 
 and helpless. The morning may smile on his buoyant step, and 
 the night may fling its pall over him, stark and dead in the silent 
 room. He may form his plans for the progress and eminence of 
 his darling offspring, but their times are in God's hands, and he 
 may unexpectedly have to don the sombre garments of mourning 
 for their early death, and lay down his schemes and the pride and 
 hope of his heart — that heart which God, in His mercy, by such 
 visitations converts to Himself. By these and many other means 
 God often obliges the worldly, self-relying man to confess His 
 holy name; but "blessed are they that have not seen and yet 
 have believed." Blessed, indeed, is the man who has learnt early 
 to rely on his Maker. The storms of affliction may burst over 
 him, sorrow and poverty may overtake him ; but he has a Friend 
 who can and will guide and comfort him in all seasons. His 
 house is built upon a rock. 
 
 " Praise the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me praise His holy name. 
 
 Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits ; 
 
 Who forgiveth all thy sins and healeth all thine infirmities ; 
 
 Who saveth thy life from destruction and crowneth thee with mercy and 
 loving-kindness ; 
 
 Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things and maketh thee young and lusty 
 as an eagle." 
 3o/>^ August, 1854. — 
 
 On an engine, in the night-time, 
 
 Flying through the starlit gloom ; 
 Not a word between us spoken : 
 
 On great caution hangs our doom. 
 Watch the gauge — turn on the water- 
 Ope the gleaming furnace-door, 
 Making us appear like demons, 
 
 In the glare, and smoke, and roar ! 
 Ho ! the signal ! Put the break on ! 
 
 Shut off steam— reverse the gear ! 
 Now the monster throbs and struggles, 
 
 While we stare ahead and fear. 
 To man's frail limbs the mighty engine 
 
 Yields obedience, and we stand 
 Beneath the lofty danger-signal. 
 
 (Isn't this description grand ? ) 
 
 I ith September, 1854. — More than usual to-day. I came to the 
 office fresh and vigorous for work, and a more than usual amount 
 of vexation, hurry, and irregularity has taken the shine out of me. 
 Now Tm going home jaded and inclined to be ill-tempered. 
 So on and on and on. When will it end.' It's a horse-mill sort 
 
103 
 
 of business, this life of ours. Sleep and dream and eat and 
 work, and sleep again. True, while we go round, the devil or 
 man throws a brick at us, or lashes us, or breaks our shins, and 
 so stirs us up ; and then ag-ain we are turned out into the green 
 fields for a day occasionally. But for the most part it is grind, 
 grind. 
 
 " Around, around, around, 
 About and still about ; 
 All ill come running in, 
 All good keep out." 
 
 iph September, 1854. — Poor George Watson died on Sunday 
 night last, about 10 p.m. He had been ill for four or five weeks 
 with a diseased heart, from which he was not expected to 
 recover; but a two days' attack of diarrhoea hastened the crisis. 
 
 Taking a glance at George's career as a specimen of human 
 life, what a troubled streak of existence it appears ! An indulged 
 boyhood — moral and practical struggling- in manhood, in which 
 poor George continually had the worst of it — and an early grave. 
 The book is filled, and its pages are waste paper. How con- 
 temptible our fuming and puffing, our important anxieties and 
 hopes, our scheming and grasping appear, when brought to 
 this test! But that we are assured that the all-wise Creator 
 fulfils some design in giving us this cunningly devised frame and 
 these few years of life, we could not but turn away from the 
 consideration of our pilgrimage as a worthless puzzle. I do not 
 make these reflections in a gloomy spirit. Such thoughts kick 
 off" the ambition, self-importance, and anxious care from a man's 
 heart, and allow simpler and purer pursuits to occupy him. He 
 gives vent to love and kindness, stoops closer to the domestic 
 affections, doffs his dignity, smiles at insults, has a hand and a 
 cheering word for his erring and fallen brother, and a gentle 
 feeling to all around him, knowing, as he does, that it is all 
 gliding away — swiftly, surely, gliding away. The white hair in 
 his head neither shames nor startles him ; it is all in keeping 
 with what his heart daily tells him. He pities and encourages, 
 and goes about humbled and hopeful, waiting for the end. Such, 
 it strikes me, must be the result to a man whose mind habituates 
 itself to such musings, and is not tossed and driven by every 
 wind of excitement and temptation. 
 
104 
 
 1 8/;^ Septemher, 1854. — Nine horses lame and sick. Enough 
 to grizzle one to fiddle-strings ! It is a good thing they're not 
 my own property. I should wish the cat had me. 
 
 To the junction, five miles down, at 6 p.m. Back into the 
 City by 8. To a Manchester agent at 9.30, and home at mid- 
 night. 
 
 25M September, 1 854. — What can be said of the war ? — of the 
 mangling and smashing and ruining of peaceable people, of the 
 mock glory, of the train of desolated widows and orphans, of the 
 hardened men who come away from the bloody work to dwell 
 amongst us again ? There they go, bold hearts who deny that 
 they see fear — keeping down, down, the inward quake about the 
 soul, bright in colouring and gold and steel, beneath their flags. 
 Yonder the host proceeds. Soon will the still small voice be 
 drowned in excitement ; soon death, sudden stone-dead death, 
 miserable, agonising, frenzied death, and death under the sur- 
 geon's knife! And medals -will be struck, and the band will 
 play, and the Bishops will thank God, and subscriptions will 
 pour in to try to fill the crevices in the rent hearts of the poor 
 mothers and wives, and the rich mothers and wives must go 
 up-stairs and weep, and time will cement over the disfigured 
 parts of the social fabric ; and there an end of the success against 
 the Russians. 
 
 Can it be that Napoleon, whose best means of securing his 
 position on the throne is a firm alliance with respectable 
 England, — can it be that he, not a young man, has deep schemes 
 of revenging Waterloo } I can scarcely believe it. I think he 
 likes enjoym.ent. Will he not prefer to grasp it for the rest of 
 his life, rather than endanger the loss of his superb elevation by 
 treating us treacherously 1 He may write instructions for a son 
 or successor who would doubtless be anxious to distinguish him- 
 self in the eyes of a grand nation, but I do not think he intends 
 to break with us himself — at any rate, not in the Russian war. 
 Besides, he has Moscow to revenge if that be his humour. 
 
 ^th October, 1854. — There seems a great deal of deli^y in the 
 transmission of official news from the Crimea, or else we should 
 hear of the fall of Sebastopol authentically. How full of bounce 
 and exultation the British Lion is ! How the men up in the little 
 
105 
 
 rooms in Printing-house Yard are letting off their crackers- 
 clapping their wings on the safe side of Russia and crowing 
 about oiw power, and our success in the Crimea ! The article 
 to-day about the widows and orphans is, however, well timed 
 and well written. 
 
 loth Octoher, 1854. — Is it not sickening to read of the whole- 
 sale mowing down of men at the battle of the Alma ? How 
 many families will be bowed down with grief at the sad news ! 
 It is, however, to be hoped that the struggle in the Crimea will 
 soon have the effect of bringing matters to a negotiation. 
 
 I ']th October, 1 854. — My feet are cold. The fire is gone down. 
 The office is silent after the bustle of the day. The gas-burners 
 shed a complacent look on the vacant stools and desks, where sit 
 the six or eight busy scribblers during the best hours of the day. 
 Could I, with supernatural glance, follow them, and see what they 
 are about, and penetrate their thoughts, a strangely mingled 
 history would, perhaps, in each case, reveal itself. The whole 
 circumstances of even the simplest life would fill an interesting 
 volume. The Recording Angel, whose book I was told of when 
 a small boy, must have plenty to do. Well — my feet don't get 
 warmer, and I want my tea. Let us turn out the complacent 
 burners, and leave the spirits to gaze on the stools and desks. 
 The spirits require no light ; to them the night and day are clear 
 alike. Not from the material sun do they receive illumination, 
 but the Light of Lights sheds brightness upon them. May they 
 be granted ministering power to remove temptation from the 
 paths of those whose daily toil it is my duty to superintend, and 
 may they help me also to a blessing! 
 
 2.^ih October^ 1 85 4. — Yesterday, I accompanied some railway 
 officials down the new junction to the intended Victoria Docks, 
 near Woolwich. They are docks, and no mistake; large enough 
 for the largest ships, and fully equal to the extended notions of 
 naval architecture. The entrance-gates will have twenty-seven 
 feet depth of water, and the docks themselves will be perfect 
 lakes. Warehouses, vaults, steam cranes, a railway, and a 
 turnpike road are all marked out, on the most improved plans. 
 
 30//^ October, 1854. — Busy to-day. Away to Haydon Square 
 this afternoon. A jostle through the crowded City — more busi- 
 
106 
 
 ness than ever. Exuberant street-boys, who whistle in people's 
 ears, and instantly look another way, young swells going home, 
 with the regular Sibthorpe collar, workmen with dirty faces, 
 porters with parcels, anxious middle-aged ladies, careworn 
 shabby young women, sometimes a sweet bright sunbeam of a 
 face in the gloom of the commercial crowd, and now a wanton 
 face, and then an old buffer — all going on ; and then, in two 
 or three minutes, all changed for a lot more, still ever changing, 
 flowing unceasingly forward. 
 
 25 M December, 1 85 4. — Is there not in all of us some kernel 
 of goodness, which, though concealed by our worldly exterior, 
 lives on, amidst our follies and sins, and occasionally expanding 
 to the surface, brings the prayer to our lips, and our knees to 
 the ground ? Retiring oft it may be, but destined to stand out 
 revealed when the fleshly covering, with its passions, weaknesses, 
 and misconceptions, shall fade away. Oh, for that time when 
 everybody will be good and pure and bright and glorified ! 
 May you and I walk hand-in-hand in that bright kingdom — 
 saved for ever! Until then — the world as it is — and God help us 
 in all things. 
 
 \th January, 1 85 5. — On Christmas Day, my foreman, Fogarty, 
 Yeoman of the Guard to the Queen, was nearly squeezed to 
 death between the buffers at this station. As a brakesman was 
 killed a day or two ago, and a boy was run over the night 
 before, one gets quite nervous. 
 
 I left poor Fogarty about three o'clock, a fine hearty man, 
 full of life, and I saw him a few hours after, saying his prayers 
 on the hospital bed, wiih no hope of life. He has, however, 
 lingered on to this time, and now lies with a bare chance of 
 recovery. While I was at the hospital on Christmas night, 
 a man was brought in dead, killed by the train — as they said — 
 at Camden ; but I did not know his face, and it appeared after- 
 wards that he lost his life on the North London line, about 
 half-a-mile from Camden. 
 
 All the merry time of Christmas, and up to within a day or 
 two, we have been in a sad mess in the station, through increased 
 traffic, the alterations, and want of locomotive power, and my 
 work has been very hard. 
 
107 
 
 Some clever man has invented an improved fog-signal. A 
 fog-signal is a small case of tin, which contains percussion caps 
 and gunpowder, and, being placed on the rail, the pressure 
 of the wheel fires it off with a loud report. The improved signal 
 we find, discharges pieces of cast-iron, and wounds the men. A 
 few nights ago, one of the guards was hit in the thigh, and 
 nearly bled to death before medical aid could be obtained. A 
 pointsman has since been cut, and I have called in the improved 
 articles. Talking of bleeding to death, one of my men was 
 riding on an engine a few days ago, eating, with a knife 
 in his hand; a sudden movement of the engine threw 
 him into the tender, and ran the knife into his leg and severed 
 an artery. 
 
 What of Peace, and the War, and the mismanagement, and 
 the horror .? I don't go altogether with you: though you, no doubt, 
 are better able to '' surround " the subject. Perhaps I have 
 caught the popular feeling in some respects, although I detest 
 the bounce and self-reliance of the vox populi. Whether the 
 Czar intended to overrun Turkey, and all the world afterwards, 
 or whether Napoleon helped us into the row, or not, I cannot say; 
 but the nation has undertaken to check the Czar in a case of 
 aggression, pretty fairly proved against him, and the nation 
 must do its best, under Providence, to carry out that object. 
 Our disasters must be endured, and patient, but energetic 
 exertion must be made to retrieve the position we have lost. 
 Well, I don't like the subject; 1 seldom tackle it: it is so 
 complicated, so deplorable in every point of view. 
 
 26th January, 1 85 5 . — The days go quicker, and the hurry of 
 life increases in speed with me. 
 
 I tell you of most of our accidents, so I must not omit the 
 case of signalman Rice, who went up a ladder to light the lamp 
 of the auxiliary signal at Chalk Farm bridge last night. This 
 signal is turned by a man down at the tunnel by means of a wire 
 and a spring ; and the man had occasion to turn it at the moment 
 poor Rice was lighting it, and so knocked him off his perch, 
 which broke his thigh and ankle-bone very badly. 
 
 Think of Lord John resigning ! He'd better go home ; he's 
 too hoity-toity by half; but let us hear his explanation. Truly 
 
108 
 
 the nation is in a mess. Will you take the government and let 
 me go to the Crimea and put the thing to rights ? Well, it will 
 come right. Clench your teeth, O people, and endure. Through 
 the mud, and out of the blood, and from the heaps of her brave 
 sons, dead, but deathless, England will rise to her place in the 
 world. Scourged she may be, but Heaven will not cast her off. 
 Purified and humbled she may be, but the better able to resume 
 her path towards her high destiny will she come forth, shaking 
 from her garments the dust of many of her errors. Crime and 
 folly, pride and hypocrisy, may appear in the indictment of the 
 Recording Angel, but from amidst the mire of sin in which she has 
 struggled and plunged, her right arm has held forth Freedom, 
 Truth and Light, the Gospel to the heathen, a home to the 
 outcast, protection to the weak, and words of comfort and hope 
 to the oppressed: and the God of mercy may hide his face from 
 her for awhile, but he will not utterly desert her in her time 
 of need. 
 
 -i^ist January, 1855. — Snow — in your face and round your hat 
 and on your bosom, and insinuating itself into your boots ; on 
 the rails ; in the points annoyingly ; in holes deceitfully seducing 
 you up to your knees; in balls in the horses' feet, — and they 
 slither and slide and look beseechingly; up against doorways, 
 and down chimneys, in heaps unexpectedly ; and more and more 
 coming unrelentingly. That is the state of things to-night. 
 
 27M AfriL 1 855 . — Called out in haste. The 4 p.m. passenger 
 train had run into the temporary siding in the new works and 
 upset the carriages and piled them, one over the other, according 
 to the usual completeness with which the ponderous machines 
 are wont to kick up their heels when they do get a chance. 
 Miraculous though it may seem, nobody was hurt. The pas- 
 sengers were fished out of the doors of the carriages. In an 
 hour's time they were all sent away on their journey. A few 
 hours more sufficed to clear the line, and the place looked ready 
 to take its solemn oath that no accident had occurred at all. 
 
 I have had a peep at the Emperor of the French and his 
 pretty wife. She is a blue-eyed quiet-looking lady. His expres- 
 sion is glum and lachrymose. The carriage stopped in front of 
 me. Prince Albert's open handsome face was better worth 
 
I 
 
 109 
 
 seeing than all the rest. Two of my brothers-in-law had tickets 
 for the interior of the Crystal Palace, and they describe the scene 
 as thrilling- in the extreme. I went into the building- after the 
 departure of the Royal personages. The company, the building, 
 and the glorious objects of interest create awe rather than delight 
 in me. The busts of the great men of all ages, the temples and 
 other structures in exact imitation of those used by the ancients 
 thousands of years ago, the representations of forgotten art, &c., 
 drag from the dust of ages, in unexpected vividness, the Past, 
 stripping it of its misty imaginative veil and exposing it in almost 
 abrupt reality to the mind; while the glory of the Present, in 
 the living plants and the thronging people, the sparkling water, 
 the hum of voices, and the heart-thrilling music— not forgetting 
 the refreshment department, together with the shining walls of 
 the fairy-like building, with the bright sun pouring its delighted 
 rays through the sparkling crystal, on objects of grace and 
 beauty everywhere. All this floods my heart and makes me fear 
 for the aspiring pride of man, when he contemplates as much of 
 the present, accumulated and combined with the past, lest he 
 forget the fate of Babylon. All the while the Future mingles 
 with my reflections, and the fear of what is to be at length sub- 
 sides into a warm thankfulness and an earnest trust in Him whose 
 glory and majesty are shown forth in all these things. Thus I 
 lean as a little child on the wonderful Creator and am content. 
 All this flits through my mind while I smile at a joke from my 
 brothers or beat time to some recognised air. 
 
 Afth May, 1855. — Last night the fireman of our night shunting 
 engine was found in one of the signalman's huts in a state of 
 intoxication, with his head under the grate ; and shortly after- 
 wards the signalman himself was discovered, on his back, on the 
 line, nearly as bad ; and further down the line a hamper which 
 had been stolen from a down goods train, and evidently mistaken 
 for a hamper of wine, was also found. The contents were, 
 however, drugs. One bottle contained essential oil of almonds. 
 What the bottle contained which these men drank from is yet a 
 mystery. I should think it was spirits of wine, by the quick effect 
 upon them. 
 
 A few hours previous to this one of our oldest porters was 
 caught between the waggons and horribly crushed. 
 
110 
 
 These incidents occupied the night foreman a long- time, 
 and when he went back to the office he found that the day fore- 
 man had left a pet monkey in the place, and the little brute had 
 got at some brandy and was completely drunk. When I saw 
 the animal in the morning he was looking very lugubrious and 
 like a certain superior animal under similar circumstances. His 
 master informed me that he ate two packets of blacking and a 
 box of pills a few days ago. 
 
 y/h May, 1855. — At the opera. All the men with stiff necks, 
 drawling gentlemanly voices, white kids, and an air which 
 seemed to express their satiated familiarity with the whole thing. 
 The ladies all handsome — for fine feathers do make fine birds — 
 brilliants, bare necks, and teeth like a sunbeam. 
 
 lOth May, 1 8 55. — Sir, I am elected a Vestryman of the great 
 parish of St. Pankridge. Sir, I am now a member of the local 
 legislative body, and I do trust that it will not be necessary for 
 me to point to this stunning fact at any future period of our inter- 
 course, when you might thoughtlessly be inclined to presume 
 upon the urbanity with which I have treated you up to this 
 ''ripping" point of my career. I can now sympathise with the 
 Emperor under the circumstances of his sudden elevation 
 from poverty to power, although my progress into distinction 
 has been somewhat more gradual than his. Sir, you will not 
 feel hurt at these remarks. They are the stern voice of duty 
 coming from a heart overflowing with love to my species, be they 
 ever so humble. You, sir, are humble ; I was humble ; but 
 you will reflect that the cares of government are now heavy on 
 my shoulder. Think of me as the gentle youth with whom you 
 roarhed the Yorkshire heather and the Hampstead hills, and 
 forget the grave brow of the local senator. Remember the 
 wanderings of yore, the drives and the dinners, the confidings, 
 the conversations, the cabs, the warmth of the grip which no 
 storm hath relaxed; but, confound it, Sir! no liberties with a 
 Vestryman. 
 
 \^th May, 1855. — I attended the Vestry Hall on Wednesday 
 last and took my seat. It is good fun. I shall enjoy the debates. 
 There is something to be learnt in all new branches of business ; 
 but this will combine amusement with knowledge. An old 
 
Ill 
 
 "bloke'" — a barrister and churchwarden — took the chair. He 
 makes a good speech. There is a Dissenting- minister, who is 
 an active member, and there are two or three more barristers, a 
 portly tailor who wears a moustache, one or two publicans, and 
 a lot of rummy-looking silent members, who aftbrd me some 
 occupation to think what the dickens they are. There are 
 swellish vestrymen, shabby vestrymen (decidedly so — awkward 
 boots and home-made trousers, and all that kind of thing), 
 vestrymen with unexceptionable white shirts and collars, and 
 vestrymen who do not show either shirt or collar, it being 
 Wednesday, the day before clean-shirt day ; which is a pity. As 
 I am known to represent the interests of the London and North- 
 Western Railway I am treated with some consideration. 
 
 28/ h May, 1855. — One of the lads attached to my office, a 
 promising youth of sixteen, the pet of his mother, went out 
 yesterday in a boat at Richmond, and was drowned. Poor lad ! 
 all my office is in great gloom to-day. He was much liked. 
 How grief-stricken his bereaved parents must be. 
 
 y/k June, 1855. — Do you remember my telling you of a man 
 named Baker who realised a fortune at share-speculating and 
 kept his brougham and had a beautiful wife ? Well, he came 
 down — lost, lost, lost — and finally purloined a Turkish bond, was 
 arrested, but escaped to America. Hearing that his wife was 
 in the hospital very ill, he returned and obtained a situation, 
 was met and taken into custody, and was sentenced to a term of 
 imprisonment in Newgate, where he now lies ; while his beau- 
 tiful wife lies stark and dead in the Middlesex Hospital. 
 
 \st July, 1855. — What think you of Lord Robert Grosvenor's 
 Bill ? I approve of it. The putting a stop to the Sunday 
 morning trading is much required. It will oblige masters to pay 
 their men in time for them to get their Sunday provisions Over- 
 night, and it will oblige men to go home and give their wives 
 some money, instead of going direct from work to the public- 
 house, whence they do not turn out until they have arrived at 
 drunkenness and midnight. We much want a series of measures 
 to keep back the mob from encroaching on the Sunday. The 
 line must be kept better or it will be entirely broken, like the 
 course after a race, and the thimble-riggers, the dancers, the 
 
112 
 
 sing-ers will commence their business, and the whole uproar of 
 Vanity Fair will arise on the green sward lately so serene and 
 clear. The observance of Sunday as a religious day may 
 probably not be directly ordered in the New Testament Scriptures, 
 but even as a human institution it is most valuable. Who in this 
 busy world, with any religion at all, does not feel the necessity of 
 one day in seven to recruit his weary mind, to collect his hurried 
 and scattered thoughts, and to kneel calmly in prayer for his 
 neighbours, his country, the whole world, and himself? Who 
 that has felt any pleasure in this exercise is not convinced, by any 
 occasional deprivation of it, that without the day of holy rest he 
 would dwindle into a mere machine, with blunted sympathies and 
 bewildered thoughts, hopeless and without consolation ? Let us 
 stand by the Sunday. 
 
 Z^ St July ^ 1855. — To-day I had business at the Marylebone 
 Police Court. While I waited I surveyed the poor wretches who 
 were about to be taken before the magistrate. Here is a 
 labouring man with a damaged nose and swollen lips. Drink and 
 fighting appeared to be his weaknesses. A poor careworn woman 
 brings him a bottle of ginger-beer to cool his feverish throat. 
 She is doubtless his wife and is seeing him through it. There sit 
 two boys, about sixteen years of age ; one short and stumpy, with 
 pent brows, sore eyes, and an underhung jaw ; the other, thin and 
 delicate-looking, with regular features, but a crooked smile, and 
 bad teeth. Poor lads ! — in the grand summing-up of this world's 
 complicated Case, how much of your vice and frailty will fall 
 away from you to swell the indictment of those who have neglected 
 you — be they parents, or parishioners, or the nation at large ! 
 Yonder is a drunken woman, about forty or more, with remains 
 of beauty in her red face. She is scarcely sober, and takes it into 
 her head to administer a box on the ear to a rather bumptious 
 policeman. A commotion ensues. Then there is a cavil between 
 a half-tipsy Irishman, all rags and dirt, and the before-mentioned 
 policeman, whom I feel inclined to report for his taunts and gibes 
 to the prisoners. Sitting near are two of the lowest description 
 of prostitutes, one of them slim and pretty, and the other a plain 
 stumpy little termagant, both wearing a defiant expression in 
 their young eyes. Now comes in an old lady, with a terrible 
 
113 
 
 black eye. She is accompanied by her daughter, a young- lady 
 wnth a veil and her hair done up. Some wretch, I suppose, has 
 given the mamma a pop in the eye and she attends to prosecute. 
 But enough! 
 
 \Uh Auguit, 1855. — Talk of Busmen. Can't anything be 
 done for them ? They commence work at about 8 a.m., and leave 
 off at midnight. On Sundays from 10 a.m., to past midnight. 
 "Do you ever see a Bible.?" said a parson to one of them the 
 other day. "Why, yes, I sees em," said the man, "cos there's my 
 six children has one a-piece ; but that's as fur as I gets. Why, 
 love yer art, sir, wen I goes straight home — cos there's many as 
 don't — well, by the time I sits down it's half arter twelve, and 
 wen I tries it on to look at the paper I'm asleep afore you can 
 say ' knife.' So I gives the paper to my misses and I ses to her, 
 ses I, ' you take that — I'll smoke.' Readin's done wi' me, and I've 
 done wi' readin. Why, sir, sixty mile a day in the open air does 
 it. You can't stand a close room arterwards — you're safe to fall 
 asleep. Not but what Ive gone to church twice a-day, five years 
 at a stretch, right off, when I was a gennelman's servant. But I 
 can't bear to think about it. Look out, Bill ! " Stout gentleman 
 at this juncture rushes out of a brewery and blows up the busman 
 for stopping up the road, so that the drays are detained. " For 
 my part," says the gentleman, " I wish you and the cabs were 
 under heavy fines." " Oh, you do, do yer ?" replies the bus-driver. 
 *' Well, them brewers ain't the cream-o-the-valley, /can see." 
 And so the remainder of the ride is not sociable. 
 
 22nd August, 1855. — 
 
 Accursed, subtle, tempting evil 1 
 Thou fluid extract of the devil ! 
 Avaunt — begone — and ne'er again 
 Beguile my lips to steal my brain 
 The flower of life, forced by thy heat, 
 Blooms bright and ruddy, high and sweet, 
 Our hands the friendly grasp return, 
 The fires of passion fiercely burn, 
 Valour and wit escape control, 
 And pleasure dances round the bowl. 
 But Oh ! the morning sees the bloom 
 All spent, — all wasted the perfume. 
 The trembling hands relax their hold. 
 The fire of love is dead and cold, 
 Dismay sits grim on valour's stool, 
 And wit stares now a vacant fool, 
 And Hell yawns round the broken bowl. 
 
114 
 
 20th November, 1856. — The London and North Western 
 Railway Company have appointed me Goods Manag-er of the 
 Southern District. 
 
 29M November, 1856. — A letter from Thomas Carlyle, the 
 author, about his packages. He writes a fist as queer as his 
 style. 
 
 nth December, 1856. — Dined out twice lately, everything" 
 tempting" and glittering ; but a comfortable dinner at home beats 
 it all. 
 
 22nd December, 1 856. — Do you believe this ? It is said that the 
 new electric telegraph was tried on a new line in Wales the other 
 day, but immediately the clerk attempted to spell on the instrument 
 one of the many-consonanted Welsh names, one of the wires 
 curled up and the other broke off short ! 
 
 \6th June, 1858. — The sun is setting gloriously over old 
 Camden, as he will set, Robin Adair, when some one else fills this 
 chair of mine, and when you have ceased to bewail your erring 
 flock and some other chap is going through the same performance. 
 Meanwhile, we will hope that no greater trouble than has hitherto 
 befallen us may come between us and the end, and that a 
 peaceful ray of the wondrous luminary may fall on the green 
 turf of our graves and gild the tear of pleasant memory, shed 
 by the friend whose love recalls us, while our pardoned spirits 
 rest in Heaven, through the same goodness and mercy which 
 have followed us all the days of our lives. 
 
 9M August, 1858.— As regards Canada, if that dream be 
 realised, then, Robin Adair, 
 
 You shall come over there 
 
 And preach on the stair, 
 
 Or the barrel of beer. 
 
 To my wife and her dear, 
 
 In our dwelling so fair, 
 Where Loo and her little-ones ever shall be 
 In clover and ease till they lie down and dee; 
 And folks in the future shall tell— and no lee — 
 
 That once in those parts lived a Bob and Davie, / 
 
 Two out-and-out fellows as ever could be. 
 And that many a year they lived jollily 
 In England, the land away over the sea, 
 The home of the Briton, the soil of the free ; 
 And that when they came out into West Canadee 
 They brought sons and daughters — how many ? Let's see 
 Never mind ! but they finally left ninety-three. 
 
 i^th August, 1858.— Milverton— Somersetshire. 
 
115 
 
 I have just been standing in the moonlig-ht in front of your old 
 domicile at Milverton. It is a beautiful old place certainly, only not 
 quite so large as I expected to see it. The church looks romantic in 
 the moonbeams. The sweet-toned bell struck nine as I strolled 
 round the venerable fabric, full of dreams of the past. I had a little 
 difficulty in finding poor Mary Ann's grave. It is situated in a 
 peaceful spot. Now I have returned to mine inn to write to you 
 and Eliza. What a glorious country it is all about here ! I 
 wish you were with me to answer the thousand questions 
 which arise in my mind. No one seems to know anything. The 
 landlord don't remember anything, and he hasn't been long 
 here. The waiter tells me long yarns about everything hut 
 Milverton ; and the folk seem to think I am not much good, 
 prowling about in the dark. Never mind, I have seen the 
 place and am satisfied ; but I hope the sheets at the hotel won't 
 be damp. Such brandy ! — none of your foreign stuff — real 
 British, and no mistake. Bah ' I repeat, I hope the sheets won't 
 be damp. 
 
 l']th September, 1858. — I have been to the Isle of Man; 
 wasn't sick going or coming. Like the place; pretty country, 
 like Wicklow. Town stinks of drains when the tide is out, and 
 of fish when it's in. People talk a sort of Irish brogue. Went 
 to church, where they collected the money for the poor in an 
 apparatus resembling a warming pan. To the play, where I 
 saw 'Macbeth' with a vengeance. Didn't sleep much o'nights, 
 owing to a church clock just outside my bedroom window striking 
 the hours cruelly loud. 
 
 yd October, 1858. — Sunday. — It is now about half-past seven, 
 and you, I presume, are sowing broadcast in the field of your 
 Master. May your arm be strong, and the' grain full of 
 fructifying vigour, sinking deep into the heart, to bring forth 
 abundantly. Tell your flock how responsible they are; shew 
 them the wonderful miracle of a life — its grand mechanism — its 
 wonderful sustenance — the beauty of its youth — the mighty 
 productions of its manhood — its certain decay, and then the 
 mocking infirmities of age — all speaking with eloquent force, to 
 the thinking mind, that such a glorious creation as man could not 
 have been made to run a purposeless course. Bid them work 
 
IIG 
 
 while it is yet day, each one assisting-, in his sphere, the step ot 
 goodness for which each generation is collectively answerable. 
 Call on them to fight the evil which all must feel to exist in their 
 hearts ; to cultivate the heavenly inclination to goodness, even if 
 it be but a spark, the minute remnant of their divine origin. 
 Entreat them to fan that spark into a flame until it illumines the 
 whole character. Picture to them the hatefulness of sin, and 
 make them to feel the consoling truth that when the wicked man 
 turneth away from his wickedness and doeth that which is lawful 
 and right he shall save his soul alive. The tender mercy of an 
 earthly parent who loves his darlings may feebly convey to them 
 the idea of the ready forgiveness of Him of whom you are 
 commissioned to speak. Pardon for the past, grace and strength 
 for the future, you can offer in His name ; and it will go hard, 
 my anxious pastor, if you do not here and there reclaim some 
 wandering soul. 
 
 2gthyuly, 1859. — The Trosachs. — Here you are, or, at least, 
 here I am ! I have come by Callander from Stirling, and 
 coached it from Callander. I have just now taken a long walk 
 up Glenfinlas — so grand and solemn — swelling bully-looking 
 mountains, that seem to defy and mock the notion of anyone 
 climbing up their sides — rushing, roaring, dashing waters — and 
 such oppressive loneliness. Altogether I felt an indefinite fear 
 as the twilight drew in, especially when I came to a spot where 
 the rocks echoed the hollow sound of the waterfall a hundred times. 
 
 The daylight remains here much later than in the south, as 
 you probably know, and the outline of the mountains against 
 the twilight is very beautiful. 
 
 I start for Loch Katrine to-morrow morning. I shall go up 
 it and on to Inversnaid, and down Loch Lomond to Balloch and 
 Glasgow. 
 
 I enjoyed the sight of picturesque Edinburgh ; likewise I 
 smelled the smells of the old town, down about the Cowgate. 
 I did Arthur's Seat and all the sights, Portobello and bathing 
 into the bargain. 
 
 At tea here this evening I fell in with a chatty pleasant lady 
 from Gateshead. Now, hold hard ! her husband is with her. 
 He seems a decent old chap, but he has a hair lip and articulates 
 
117 
 
 with difficulty ; moreover, he is troubled with eructations, saving* 
 your presence, and looks the next minute as though he had 
 discharged an agreeable duty to his fellow creatures. They have 
 just gone to bed. They are going my way to-morrow. The 
 old chap smokes a cigar, so we vshall probably -fraternise, for, 
 truth to tell, I am not enamoured of my own company on a trip 
 of this kind. I'd give a brass '' farden " if my little woman and 
 you were with me. 
 
 At the present juncture I am writing, and smoking a cigar, 
 and I've a tumbler of toddy before me, and there's a gent 
 opposite '^asisdoin' of the same," barring the writing. On my 
 left is a long-nosed dogmatical Britisher, who has just shut up a 
 long-winded lot of bosh about Louis Napoleon, and further on 
 there is a young "feller" who has been walking his feet off up the 
 "mountings" and looks done up. We are rather a different lot of 
 ''gents" from those who were in the habit of prowling about here 
 a hundred years ago, and if it were as cold here then as now, 
 I should think that the absence of breeches must have been felt 
 severely. 
 
 I find that there's no post from these parts until to-morrow 
 night, and then' the time is uncertain, so I shall carry this in my 
 pocket until I reach civilisation. I may add something more 
 to-morrow, but it will probably be in Gaelic, as you know how 
 readily I forget my native tongue. 
 
 iph December, i86l. — I believe you are right as to the £150 
 days. I don't see much more money, and I don't think I am 
 happier. The latter commodity is, I suppose, nearly equally 
 distributed, or, at any rate, much more so than we think 
 generally. I have, no doubt, as much pleasure, if one could get 
 through, and push aside the pride, affectation and bosh, and 
 arrive at the real state of one's condition — which is difficult to 
 do — I dare say I think myself a very important man of business — 
 that I am working out my little bit of duty in the world ; and 
 that your portraiture of me, although jocularly put, is in reality 
 true, and I am a most excellent fellow, notwithstanding certain 
 remembrances of errors and shortcomings which will come up. 
 I find myself uncommonly willing to take a favourable view of 
 myself at all times. 
 
118 
 
 The religious meeting- was a breakfast in the shops at 
 Euston a Sunday or two ago, at which nearly 400 men of ours 
 assembled. They were addressed by Canon Champneys, Judge 
 Payne, and others, and the speeches were eloquent exhortations 
 to the men to consider their religious responsibility as men, 
 parents, and christians. If no lasting good has arisen, the effort 
 was an earnest one to promote Christianity, and was sensibly and 
 temperately carried out. I don't admire the greasy whining 
 ' parties ' who grow out of a certain method of teaching 
 religion. No ; goodness in act and deed, evidencing love in the 
 heart, and a true imitation of the Great Example, the kind and 
 pure Christ, I like to- recognize and cheer on ; and I find such 
 men amongst all denominations and in many unexpected 
 places. 
 
 I am going to Folkestone on Tuesday. Why not come up 
 and go with me ? We would gaze together into the impatient 
 billows, which lick, like faithful mastiffs, the smiling cliffs of dear 
 old Albion. We would pour the libation to old ocean. We 
 would wander on the pebbly strand and forget awhile the world 
 and our work. These balmy days, so unlike December's 
 usual rigour, ought to beguile us into thoughts of spring-time, 
 while our voices, gently harmonising with the far down murmur 
 of the waves, should pleasantly break the sea-side solitude. 
 Old memories would then arise of days gone grey in our poor 
 recollections, and scenes from the Magic Lantern of the past 
 would be lighted up to touch the chords of our old hardened 
 hearts. 
 
 T^Oth January, 1 863. — Many thanks for all your good wishes. 
 I think 1863 looks hopeful. I begin it more cheerfully, in many 
 respects, than I did 1862. That period will be long remembered: 
 it has been a ' fizzer. ' Yet who can reflect on even the darkest 
 pages of his existence without being able to thank the great 
 Disposer of events for many mercies? Pardon me for trespassing 
 on your line of business for the moment. 
 
 Is Harris still with you .? 
 
 Then let the Harris busy be 
 
 In Wybunbury's bowers, 
 And roar, and laugh, and preach, and spree, 
 
 And waste the vicar's hours. 
 
119 
 
 But, Parson, on the other side 
 
 Of his great mouth, I ween, 
 He smiles when o'er the wincing boys 
 
 He lifts his awful cane. 
 No laugh for them from him the " brute, " 
 
 No spree, no jolly air. 
 ' Hi ! you young sir, that thing won't suit ! ' 
 
 He says, as from his chair 
 He starts — rage in his eye — and all 
 
 The boys around he beats ! 
 Ah me I indeed it doth appal 
 
 To know mankind are cheats. 
 
 September, 1863. — ^Jersey. A soft wind ripples the paper on 
 which I write; the sun-glare is occasionally relieved by a cloud; 
 the sea breaks on the strand beneath me in subdued waves, and 
 in a majesty of expanse stretches far away to the verg"e of the 
 horizon. Of late it tore and foamed and dashed, in mighty waves, 
 rushing to the shore with greedy breakers, ravenous to swallow 
 up the land ; again and again thrust back, to return again with 
 renewed strength. Now its calm bosom gently heaves. The 
 giant sleeps. 
 
 We are greatly enjoying ourselves here and gathering 
 strength for the next year's campaign. But even here there is 
 excitement ; for just now I had to descend from my perch on a 
 rock to bully a man who was going too near my hen and chickens, 
 who were bathing in a neighbouring nook in the rocks. I resume 
 my meditations and return along the sands, very much like the sea I 
 have mentioned — calmer after a ' boil over '. 
 
 These parts are very beautiful : such pretty bays and wild 
 rocks and old castles. I roam about in drab boots and an old 
 grey coat, and feel quite easy. 
 
 i^th Septeniher, 1863. — On South Western Railway. — I have 
 just passed Winchester, flying at the rate of twenty miles an hour 
 towards Southampton. The sun shines over the green land- 
 scape, and I am enjoying the ride. On my left sits a plain young 
 lady in black, and on my right a civil gentleman, who lent me his 
 ' Times. ' Whither are we three going ? Shall we ever sit side by 
 side for three hours again .? What is she .? What is he ? They 
 may be a prince and princess, or the proprietors of a tripe shop. 
 What a trio, presently to throw and dissolve itself in different 
 directions ! What a shell thrown into Southampton, to break up 
 into scattered particles to do mischief I 
 
120 
 
 7-30 p.m. — Nov/ I am in the carriag-e with my brood g'oing* t 
 London, having- met them at the Jersey boat, given them some 
 g-rub, looked after the lugg-ag-e, and lodged them safely here. 
 They all look brown and healthy, although the children have 
 been very sick on the voyage. Away we go, homeward ; another 
 happy holiday spent; another bright summer's pleasure off our 
 lives. Sic transit, 6-<r. 
 
 10.30 p.m. — Home. Greetings with Ellen. Hot supper. 
 Running about the house. Enquiries after the dog and the goat 
 and the cat and the rabbit. Item, heavy cab fare. 
 
 27M September, 1 863. — Great Berkhampstead. I am seated 
 on the gnarled root of a tree. In front of me are hundreds of 
 rose-trees, each with its particular last rose ot summer; and 
 beyond lies, outstretched, Ashridge Park and the usual green and 
 rich country of old England. I have breakfasted, but the 
 household is not yet down, and I have come out for a sniff of the 
 pure air. 
 
 Poor F, who was Station-master at , is here. The 
 
 disease in his bones does not abate much. He may linger for a 
 year or two, but it is thought that recovery is out of the question. 
 His sufferings are great. How ashamed one feels of grumbling 
 and discontent when such a case as this young fellow's comes 
 before one. It is comforting to believe that in the next world the 
 perplexing inequalities of destiny which exist here will all be 
 adjusted. 
 
 25M October, 1863. — Sunday. — It is a great blessing, this 
 Sunday rest. The care and strife, the ambitions and humiliations 
 are suspended, and one has time to pause on this landing of Life's 
 staircase and quiet the poor torn and weary spirit. The good 
 words of the preacher haul in the slack of our practice and bring 
 about reflection. The prayers tranquilise us and revive forgotten 
 hopes of that sweet world to which the pardoned are journeying. 
 There is time to be oneself. The gas of the world, which has 
 puffed up thoughtless impulses, and carried us high away into the 
 clouds of danger and temptation, is turned off for the day, and we 
 walk on terra fir ma. The sins of the week descend also with our 
 balloon and lie in their deformity around us. We gaze and 
 deplore and resolve ; and, remembering former deplorings and 
 
121 
 
 resolutions, pray for better streng-th, feeling- the value of the 
 Great Sacrifice. 
 
 \2th November, 1863. — Here I am waiting at Guildhall. The 
 Queen sent to me and John Doe greeung-, commanding me to 
 appear in the Court of Exchequer here with a 36-pounder cannon, 
 about which there is a dispute in law — the cannon being in my 
 possession officially. So here I am with my cannon. Doe has 
 not yet turned up. I suppose he is a relative of Gog and Magog 
 and other myths. 
 
 It is mouldy work dawdling about. I'he Court has an 
 ancient, not to say a fish-like smell ; so I don't go in there much. 
 All sorts of people hang about ; many of them greasy, with bags, 
 and with their trousers fringed at the heels. Everybody looks 
 ugly somehow, and one has a general distrust of all who come 
 near. This is unchristian, but irresistible. The judges at these 
 Courts have all been changed since I first attended them. The 
 old faces have passed away, and I only recognise an old barrister 
 at the bar here and there. There is M., a rising young barrister 
 within my remembrance. He is now a sad old guy, with white 
 hair and a fearful stand-up collar. He only wants a chair and 
 two bearers, to complete him, and he would take no end of 
 money for fireworks. Ah me ! how the time and the people pass 
 away, — and I, too, cannot be standing on a pedestal witnessing 
 the onward movement. No — we are all in the current — moving 
 surely, though imperceptibly. 
 
 Jih Decef7iber, 1863. — Ted has just been relating how a man 
 he heard of never bought any coals, never had any given him, and 
 never stole any — yet always had plenty in his cellar. It appears 
 that his garden wall was alongside a canal, and his plan was to 
 place on the top of the wall a glass bottle. Playful bargees with 
 freights of coal could not resist a cock-shy, and, with no 
 ammunition but coal, they used that freely. The old man on the 
 other side of the wall picked up and bagged the shots, replacing 
 the bottle when necessary, which was not often. 
 
 I si April, 1864. — I have had a few days of freedom from tooth- 
 ache and some bothers which are my thorns in the flesh, and I have 
 been happy and grateful, enjoying this (on the whole) most 
 agreeable world ; laying in a little stock to remember when the 
 
122 
 
 clouds come, — antidotes to murmuring, — stores of consolation 
 when the porter's knot has to be put on to carry the burdens of 
 this jolly old eccentric pilgrimage. 
 
 1 1 th April, 1864. — Garibaldi is struggling through London 
 to-day. People who have been to see the progress say he only 
 reached Kensington about 5 o'clock, and, considering the sea of 
 people in Pall Mall, at Charing Cross, etc., he will, I should think, 
 be at Stafford House about next Monday, if he has luck. 
 
 \6th September, 1 864. — I went to the Adelphi Theatre this week 
 and saw Toole, a wonderful actor ; but, Robin, we don't roar, as 
 we used, at fun. Alas ! that organ is getting weak in the wind — 
 the Tiot summers, the heat of the day, has dried up the green 
 verdure — and if we are wiser (which I question) we are sadder. 
 I hope we shall be able to keep a few grins to the end, however. 
 
 18/A October, 1864. — Mr. C. Mason is away on a tour, and I 
 am '' taking the duty " for him. A lull in the business leaves me 
 listening to the clock ticking on the mantel-piece — a sound which 
 seems to be elected to the chair when there is a general meeting 
 of silence. 
 
 20th February, 1865. — In the York and Albany just now, at 
 my luncheon, I came across a fellow slightly cranky. He talked 
 of the fresh air, the bad cooking of the chop, his literary labours, 
 the clubs, the insignificance of money to him, though not a rich 
 man, the state of his health, the death of Cardinal Wiseman, the 
 absurdity of men looking into their hats at church ; cried because 
 he had lost his wife, "■ sometime ago, of course ", and then laughed 
 at Punch, and at Protestant parsons; declaimed against the 
 taking of *'our abbeys" by the Protestants; and wound up by 
 prophesying vehemently that England would be Roman Catholic 
 in less than fifty years. 
 
 Musn't I be short of news when I write such a paragraph as 
 the above? Well, one has nothing to say; the freshness is 
 wearing off, I suppose, and we don't see the fun of little matters 
 as we did formerly, or, at least, we fear to write about them, to 
 bore our friends withal, as of old. 
 
 What think you of the weather ? It is a neat old-fashioned 
 winter, I submit; and those who have been talking of '' good old 
 seasonable weather" have, I trust, got plenty of it this time. 
 
123 
 
 For my part, I have had enough. I want a little piece of soft 
 weather, when you can get out of bed without feeling" as though 
 you had taken strychnine — when a man may walk to his small 
 clothes without destroying his dignity by making hideous grimaces 
 in the presence of his weaker vessel — and when shaving isn't quite 
 a process of refined torture. 
 
 19M September, 1 865. — We have had to kill poor old Floss, 
 our doggie. We could not cure his fleas, and they were 
 migrating all over the house; and so there was a long parting, 
 and the sound of his cheery bark went away from us, as all things 
 will go, I suppose, in time. Verily you might take a worse 
 subject for your sermon than that poor little affectionate be- 
 vermined dog. Do the beasts perish ? — ^Are you sure } If so, 
 there is many a beautiful spirit which could be profitably 
 transferred into the carcass of a man, in exchange for his own — 
 so far as my feeble vision can see of the matter. 
 
 \st October, 1 865. — How imperceptibly the hand goes round 
 the dial ! Our seniors are gradually slipping from the front 
 rank, and we shall soon have to totter to their places, to gaze 
 into eternity, face to face. The hands of those who climbed the 
 ladder of life before us, and which have so long been extended 
 downwards to help our steps, are rapidly disappearing into the 
 clouds ; and we must hold each rung ourselves, and in our turn 
 cheer on those beneath us. 
 
 —October, 1865*. 
 
 Who came between the 'tin' and me 
 
 By dodges which I couldn't see, 
 
 And with the plate made much too free? 
 
 H.B. 
 Who knew that I was far too pure 
 To wish with gold Life's ills to cure, 
 And that I relished being poor ? 
 
 H.B. 
 Who for my sake lost self respect, 
 And to be thief did not object, 
 That I on gold might not be wreck'd ? 
 
 H.B. 
 Who coloured well, with reasoning smile, 
 To doting ears, the artful wile 
 That would my expectations ' spile ' ? 
 
 H.B. 
 For this and all, we'd strilic the lyre, ' 
 
 H. B., my boy, and raise thee higher 
 With patent rope, and end with fire, 
 
 H.B. 
 
 *My friend was swindled by H.B. out of some property. A little was saved, but nearly 
 destroyed afterwards in an accidental iire. 
 
124 
 
 8M February, 1866. — Waif-like, I am rushing to and fro on 
 the earth. In No. 135 carriag-e, Great Northern Railway, I am 
 firing- away to Peterborough, while you live at home at ease and, 
 I dare say, at this instant are devoutly giving- your blessing to 
 some excellent tax-collector, or other person, who relieves you of 
 your filthy lucre. I am thinking how cleanly you and I must 
 naturally be. We seem to get rid of that kind of filth by natural 
 instinct, until really sometimes we are uncomfortably clean in 
 that respect — cleaned out, in fact. 
 
 28//^ March, 1866. — Splendid day here yesterday. I went 
 into the country to look at a coal wharf, and lingered in the lanes 
 listening to the wonders of the birds, and breathing, the sunshine. 
 I had had a week of toothache and was free from it, and I felt 
 all the sweet influences of the returning season with doubled 
 happiness. Will there be singing birds, and winding lanes, and 
 fair meadows in the place whither thou art guiding us, O my 
 Preacher ? Take thou mine hand and lead me on quickly, for I 
 tire of struggling men and roaring cities. I never loved the strife, 
 and in the battle with sin I have ever bitten the dust. My heart 
 yearns for the quiet of that tranquil world where men and women 
 are as the angels, 
 
 29/A June, 1 866. — As regards the war between Austria and 
 Italy, my commonplace order of mind wanders down below the 
 inflated speeches and proclamations of ambitious kings and 
 politicians, who, in the pursuit of their game, are blind to all 
 other considerations. I find my way, mole-like, below the 
 grandeur and the glory, and the hollow appeals to romance 
 and humbug, and I get to poor lads, torn away from honest 
 productive occupations, and to mothers and sisters, and aunts, 
 and wives and cousins, and the great heap of accumulated grief 
 which these gilded and silvered and feathered kings and kaisers 
 are making amongst thousands of human beings. Could the 
 suffering of one battle-field — the stark dead and the parched 
 wounded — the agony of all those who wait the fate of a son or 
 brother or husband — could such things be numbered up and 
 divided to the accounts of those who cause the war, the weight 
 would take them all to the bottom of the bottomless pit, or keep 
 them going down for ever. 
 
125 
 
 \Qth November, i866. — Rugby. This is a pleasant place; 
 house, hig-h and dry, in a field off the road ; a mile-and-a-half 
 from the station ; town, half-way ; good suburbs ; town, clean ; 
 good shops. Now for good, sweet, juicy apples : I think at this 
 place, we are equalled by few and surpassed by none; and for 
 pigs that will try the olfactory nerves with here and there one, I 
 think I may venture to put in a modest claim. Good garden, 
 fish-pond, &c. Our pony is a pretty fellow, eats sugar and 
 apples, and is a great favourite. But oh ! you won't betray me if 
 I tell you that I have a dreadful secret respecting that quadruped? 
 My friend ! what are my feelings when my wife and family are 
 fondling that pony, and calling my attention to his beauties — 
 while I smile a ghastly deception, for I know, oh ! I know, that the 
 beggar is as old as Methuselah, and that I paid for him just 
 twice as much as he is worth. Sold he was — sold I was— and 
 sold they were ! 
 
 I go to town several times during the month, but I can get 
 home at night very well, and even to dinner, for we have taken 
 to dining late. Dinner at six, a cup of coffee at nine, and by ten 
 we are lying all unconscious in a dark house on a hill-side, the 
 sleeping birds, the trees, and hedges, and growing crops, and 
 the shining stars, out in the night all around us, — until that 
 bright " Fo-e-bus " drives up his carriage to the gates of day, 
 and lets the silent Lady Morn alight ; who, clad in silver sheen, 
 with solemn tread advances to relieve the watching stars, and bid 
 the world arise. 
 
 Nearly thirty years ago I went to Hampstead, and a few 
 days past I came away from it. All the while I have loved it, 
 lived near it, watched its changes and the falling out, one by one, 
 of its old familiar faces; and now mine has dropped away from it. 
 The persons I knew as acquaintances will gradually fade from 
 my ken ; and many, whom I knew only by sight, from youth to 
 manhood, or from manhood to old age, and whose familiar 
 passings, though we never spoke, are a thing of regret now, 
 will soon be forgotten and know me no more. I clung much 
 of late to all the old views and scenes, and took many 
 a long walk to indulge my memory. I shall see the ''pleasant 
 hill" many a time yet, I hope; but I have ceased to be an hahitui 
 and the link is fractured, if not quite broken. 
 
126 
 
 30/>^ December, 1866. — Another year is falling- over into the 
 g-ulf, and before it passes away, I write to congratulate you and 
 myself on the many blessings which have befallen to you and 
 me, and to yours and mine, during the course of it. Chequered 
 it has been, as its predecessors were, and as, probably, its 
 successors will be, if we live ; but goodness and mercy have 
 been prominent throughout. For which, my dear old chap, let 
 us heartily thank God. 
 
 A and J came down to spend Christmas with us, so 
 
 that we were all round the same table on that day of family 
 gatherings. Charlie and his wife and family joined us, and we 
 were jolly. It was a scene worth looking at, when Charlie per- 
 formed some of his wonders. All the fresh and shining faces 
 of the youngsters, and the happy laughter of the others, including 
 the servants, the shepherd, and the farm groom, and a bucolic 
 friend. The applause was genuine, and Charlie was king of 
 the jollity. We ate and drank of good Christmas things, we 
 talked soberly, but pleasantly, of old times, and old places, and 
 old friends, and remembered tenderly dear old seniors departed. 
 We sang a little, and romped a little, and played cards a little, 
 and slept soundly after it all ; placing the day in our memories 
 with a red letter. 
 
 I hope you enjoyed the day equally. How are you all ? 
 Will "Sally come up" to this place ? It isn't London; but, mind 
 you, Rugby is not to be sneezed at — although our refreshment 
 rooms don't come up to the wants and wishes of cold, tired, 
 ill-tempered, and over-pampered travelling authors, who, in 
 a Christmas book, which should be all charity and forgiveness, 
 choose to wound and pain poor hard-working women, who have 
 to stand all day in the draught, about which Mr. Dickens is so 
 funny, and to put up with the insolence and impudence of the 
 British Public, who, be it said with all deference, is too often 
 rude to young persons behind a counter. Nevertheless, Rugby 
 is a neat, clean town, with good shops, and gentlemanly boys, 
 and civil tradesmen, and an excellent church choir, which my 
 daughter is about to join : — 
 
 " He hears his daughter's voice 
 Singing in the village choir, 
 And it makes his heart rejoice," 
 
127 
 
 And then we have our performing- pony and the chance of a 
 spill any time you ride out ; besides the excitement, occasion- 
 ally, of onion fairs, and horse fairs, and circuses, and the 
 celebrated Japanese Tommy, and always, of an evening-, the 
 unparalleled society of this young- fellow. Oh, yes ! Sairey 
 must come ; besides, I want to hear her say her catechism — 
 being- her g-od-father. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 " And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, 
 keeping watch over their flocks * * * ^^^ jjjg glory of the 
 
 Lord shone round about them." 
 
 A shepherd I — these sheep of mine 
 
 Are on Christ's birthday found 
 Within my fold — and glories shine 
 In blessings all around. 
 
 For Goodness crowning all my days, 
 
 Which Mercy doth afford, 
 Thy Name to glorify and praise 
 
 My heart inclines, O Lord. 
 
 Unto the Saviour lead the way 
 
 Of this Thy flock, and mine; 
 O guide us here, Lord, that we may 
 
 Join that bright Host of Thine. 
 
 — January y 1867. — The generations passing- away, one after 
 the other, in what may seem a meaningless succession, the 
 curiously teeming- earth, full of living things, the wondrous 
 creations in earth and air and sea, the far-off worlds, and all 
 the mighty things which have passed before our eyes on our 
 puny little journey have not explained themselves to us — we 
 know nothing of their object, nor why so much labour has been 
 expended, the result of much of which seems to us to " waste its 
 sweetness." They have, however, humbled our thoughts. They 
 announce themselves as the works of the overwhelmingly great 
 Creator; and in all of them His mercy and benevolence, His 
 beauty and glory, shine forth. We are glad to leave the position 
 of carping spectators, and to fall into the ranks as a part of the 
 ^reat family of so good and tender a Father. We remember 
 that He has known us from the first moment of our existence 
 until now — all our thoughts, and sins, and repentance, and 
 motives — and that He considers that we are but flesh; and we 
 cast ourselves unreservedly into His hands, and so rise up and 
 
128 
 
 pursue our way. If the vast creation do not satisfy our craving" 
 after the desig-ns of God, we must be content and trust Him. 
 If the mysterious life and death of Jesus Christ, the need of so 
 g-reat a sacrifice at all, the slow process of the belief in Him, 
 and the doubts and fears which beset at times even the best of 
 Christians, do not explain themselves, we must submit and 
 trust Him, That Christ came, and left us an example of pure 
 living, and executed His divine mission in sorrow and death, 
 leaving- us tender words of consolation for all periods of life,, 
 and that He fulfilled a scheme of mercy for mankind is certain. 
 But as I get down the hill, and ponder on all that I have been 
 permitted to see. I feel confident that the plan has far greater 
 influence and efficacy than some of our brethren are willing to 
 attribute to it. I dwell upon the complicated causes of sin and 
 wickedness, and the nice shades of g'uilt to be shared and 
 appropriated, and I think of all my poor brothers lying on 
 the surface of this globe ; and then, in warm sympathy for 
 that class of created beings in which it has pleased God to 
 place me, I pray for all sorts and conditions of men. A 
 perfect Man came upon earth and was our brother. His 
 highest attribute was compassion. His words breathed mercy. 
 Then not alone for thee, my poor, blinded, bigoted brother, 
 nor for you alone, O man of severe countenance, died He. 
 If the condition be repentance, then who shall fix the quantity 
 of that precious thing ? May not one electric atom, as the 
 soul escapes, be sufficient to bring- it into the boundless 
 domain of that mercy which seems to be a part of everything- 
 we know of God? For myself, I know the worthless thing- 
 sin has made of this curiously constructed body which the 
 Almightly has entrusted to my care. I feel that if He were to 
 call me to account for my stewardship I should be condemned. 
 But He knows that I love Him, and that at times, fitful and rare 
 indeed, and followed by long- periods of partial forgetfulness, I 
 have given some indications of a disposition not unmindful of His 
 great goodness to me and my fellow-creatures. Feeling myself 
 nothing-, therefore, but a man anxious for God's mercy, in any 
 form that his mysterious and wonderful ways may please to 
 bestow it upon me, I proceed to walk the rest of the road, more 
 
129 
 
 circumspectly perhaps, though I know what little trust there is 
 to be put in my watchfulness, but still hopeful that the same 
 goodness will attend me that has followed me hitherto; and when 
 the end comes I shall not regret to quit the perplexing world, 
 although I shall remember lovingly the happiness and affection 
 I have enjoyed therein. But something within tells me there is a 
 better place whither all will come — and I am content to go as I 
 came, at His will and command. 
 
 2<^th April, 1867. — A and J have been spending a 
 
 fortnight with us. We are walking calmly forward, we trust with 
 becoming dignity and a deep sense of our position, to the 
 venerable titles of grandfather and grandmother. We are well 
 aware that it would be vain to offer any remonstrance to that 
 unrelenting old gentleman called Time; but I feel, my dear 
 young friend, that it would afford me unqualified relief if I could 
 be permitted to give him one good hit. 
 I ^ih April, 1869,— 
 
 In the early train, in the rising morning, 
 
 Passing by the meadows, through the balmy air, 
 
 I began a letter unto you, my Turnbull, 
 
 In the usual manner, beautiful and rare. 
 
 But I broke my pencil, rushing by the streams, 
 / Racing past the swallows, gliding as in dreams, 
 
 And I fell a-musing as I sped away 
 From the gloomy tunnel, plunging into day. 
 
 And you lost effusions born of morning beams. 
 
 I read Sally's letter to Bob last night. That is a treat he 
 gives me sometimes. Her quaint fun reads to me as though it 
 were "■ a diary of a lady of the blank century found" somewhere. 
 She is brimful of humour, like a house with Venetian blinds — 
 undemonstrative without, but full of merriment and music within 
 — glorious when the door opens on the dark night. 
 
 Bob has a £10 rise in his salary, passed to-day: £36 
 per annum. Awful sum ! Do you recollect when you received 
 that stipend? How you looked upon a man with £100 per 
 annum as an aristocrat, and with thoughts of what a person 
 you would be when your income should reach that amount ; and 
 how, afterwards, you found yourself rather worse off when it did; 
 and, further on, how opulence receded from your grasp the richer 
 you became ? If you do not, I can introduce you to a friend who 
 does. 
 
 F 
 
130 
 
 Trade is bad and the American business looks queer. A 
 war and a bad harvest would wind up our clock for a time. Let 
 us hope for the best, and sniff the sweet air that comes across the 
 newly-clad country, for we shall see only a few more such new 
 suits. 
 
 Our dog- broke his leg and was drowned for it the other day. 
 Caution your dog-. 
 
 ']th May, 1869. — I have no fear for the dear old country. It 
 is young yet. Its strength and progress do not depend on the 
 amusement of the game called Debate. Good things go on 
 growing without the gardeners ; and if you parsons keep to the 
 right end of the stick and improve the minds and thoughts of the 
 folks, you will do better than bothering your heads about parlia- 
 mentarians. Charles the First said the people had nothing to 
 do with the government of a country. Do I not echo the senti- 
 ments of the martyr ? Let the swells have the seats of sound 
 learning and write all the teaching in newspapers, and make the 
 long speeches — especially after dinner, as in the good old times 
 of Fox and Pitt — and we shall have nothing flimsy or long- 
 winded, and people will learn to respect their betters, and there 
 will be no disestablishment of anything. But you must in that 
 case put down those inclinations to the three R's, which train the 
 common mind to vigorous thought nearly as much as do Greek 
 and Latin, and the mixing of mankind by those infernal machines, 
 the railways, and the daily living history of the world, to be had 
 for one penny, or else you will have these tiresome flimsy writers, 
 and long-winded speechifiers, and bold irreverent low fellows, 
 forgetting their catechism and speaking evil of dignities. 
 
 30/A August, 1869. — I shall be due at Chester on the 2nd 
 proximo at 9 o'clock, and I propose to present myself to your 
 hospitality on the afternoon of the 1st. I write beforehand in 
 order that the triumphal arches may be prepared and the 
 muslin dresses bought for the twelve Wybunbury damsels who 
 are to strew flowers in my way, from the entrance of the village. 
 Louisa will, of course, fling herself passionately on my neck at 
 the gate of the Vicarage. Kindly give her a hint to take care 
 that I am clear of the steps before she does it ; it would spoil 
 all if we both rolled into the road. You and the girls, I suppose, 
 
131 
 
 will form a tableau at the doorway during- this interesting- part 
 of the ceremony. I shall leave your house about quarter to 7 
 a.m., on the 2nd, to catch the 7.50 train from Crewe to Chester, 
 so that you will be obliged to have the fireworks immediately 
 after the elegant repast in the evening-, in order that I may retire 
 to rest early and get some sleep after the serenade. The 
 conjuring- by the rural dean can go on while I am partaking of 
 refreshment, just after my arrival ; and old Johnson's hornpipe 
 can be done then also. Don't be long, dear friend, in reading 
 the address, but speak the speech, I pray you, *' as it were, in a 
 manner of speaking, as the saying is," you know. Let the one 
 volunteer form himself into line in front of the church and 
 commence file-firing from the right, by sub-divisions, on my 
 approach, and then retreat, as his custom is of an afternoon. I 
 presume that on the horsepicious occasion, Cliffe (the horse) will 
 receive two more oats than usual, and the gallant and chivalrous 
 Charles be requested to inspect the inside of a half-pint of beer. 
 
 I ith September, 1869. — I am on my way back with a sprained 
 knee, got in running last Tuesday: a hint that we ''old 'uns " 
 must not come the juvenile, and attempt to run. Doctor — 
 bathings — rubbing — grunts — ah-oh — ah-oh — no end of bother. 
 Every position disagreeable; everybody doing everything the 
 wrong way. 
 
 When we find that we can get a few yards with a stick, and 
 make it a matter of congratulation, you may conclude that, 
 physically, there is a screw or a large bolt a little loose, and 
 that our health *'aint that sulubrious." My doctor suggested a 
 crutch. Horrid, ^'yer washup ! '* Imagine me going to the 
 Committee on a crutch, for promotion, and getting made a full 
 gatekeeper.' 
 
 lyh Sepieniher, 1 869. — After twenty-four years' pleasant 
 steering, here we are, — Ai, copper-bottomed, and sea- worthy. 
 We went over Waterloo Bridge together in a cab, and now we 
 have become two bands. Another twenty-four years, and 
 we shall probably have crossed another river — alone, — but the 
 fear of that journey diminishes as age reveals the universal 
 goodness and majesty of God, and the safety of putting our trust 
 in Him. Ages do not complete the revelation of His mysteries, 
 
 F2 
 
132 
 
 and we may be content with the hem of Christ's garment, to cure 
 our poor complaints. 
 
 i']th March, 1872. — ''And doth not a letter like this make 
 amends for all the long time he's been dreaming away? " said I 
 to myself, when I received yours of the 13th ultimo. Yea, verily, 
 the bottling-up did no harm. The tap is as good as ever; 
 it is laid on from the main, and the turncock isn't within 
 sight. Send me a dozen of the best. I like pleasant things said 
 to me — so keep on saying 'em, like a dear old chap. Indeed, I 
 think the sayer of good things is rewarded as he works at his 
 kindly office. Write you often, and try it. You will be lighter 
 and better for rousing yourself to do it. 
 
 28M May, 1872. — We were very sorry indeed to hear ot 
 your being ill. The numbness, however, is not, I think, serious. 
 My symptoms of the kind began early in life. I am not such a 
 strongly built time-piece as you, but even you, at length, require 
 winding-up and tinkering. Quiet, quotha ! Why, what can be 
 more quiet than lying on your back, in that chair of yours, shut 
 up in your little caboose } Change is the word. Change and 
 careful dieting will bring you right. There is more in this 
 business of regimen than we generally think. Perhaps more 
 Christian virtue, magnanimity, nobility, and great deeds take 
 their rise in what our cook calls the 'stomjack' than in the 
 head or the heart. What is a man without his liver ? Go to 
 Leamington, and see. Depend upon it, when we are falling 
 out with our friends, here and there — when our objection to the 
 expenditure in the family gives us a kind of pleasure beyond 
 the actual effect on our purse — when we cast about for a victim 
 to sacrifice to our anger when anything happens wrong, and 
 pitch upon people who are entirely innocent of the occurrence, — 
 then may we place our hand upon our abdomen as the seat 
 of the evil, and appeal to two of Cockle's. 
 
 Youth is generous, believes in goodness and purity, takes in 
 the Athanasian Creed, and goes about cheerily, with bright 
 hopes and lots of love for man, woman, and child, and dog — 
 especially Pompey. The * stomjack ' is all right : vide suet 
 dumplings, raw chestnuts, green gooseberries, and the like, 
 defied. Let him approach man's zenith — do the hospitality to 
 
133 
 
 his friends — pipe to them, and overdo himself in the cause; and 
 you'll find him afterwards remorseful, and sad, and irritable, and 
 bitter ; and you may conclude that this is another screw loose in 
 the duodenum, and that the overtaxed gastric department has 
 struck work, on the short hour question. 
 
 I thought perhaps it would be agreeable to you all for Bob 
 to turn up to-day. The shadow of evils that may befall the home 
 circle — a glimpse of the horse-hair by which the sword is 
 suspended, strengthens old ties of love which may have been 
 growing a little weaker through a long season of prosperity and 
 happiness, sometimes. I don't think any of you want many 
 stimulants to stir up the affection that binds you together. The 
 electric wires are all well laid round you ; but some startling 
 evidence of calamity escaped may refresh the battery; and when 
 religion and thankfulness prevail, and the hearts of all are a little 
 softened as yours may all be, the eldest hope is as well amongst 
 you. 
 
 ^th June, 1872. — How my friends and confreres are dis- 
 appearing, and shunting into retirement, — and how the boys I 
 remember are beginning to assume big places ! How distant do 
 early things seem ! How many decades of old recollections rise 
 up in my mind — oldest, older, old ! —and what was but recently 
 new goes galloping into the venerable and shady past at a speed 
 that startles me often. 
 
 I am a farmer, noble sir, on the Grampion Hills, as it were. 
 I bought a cart and harness some twelvemonth ago, and ever 
 since I have been wonderingly gazing upon, or staring at my 
 purchase. I want to know what on earth use it is ! A thing of 
 beauty is a joy for ever; but a cart a'int. Hear ye! I am going 
 to sell it — at a loss — at a loss. The rats kill the goslings, and 
 the calf kicks the bucket ; the lamb gets caught in a doorway 
 and does for itself; the hens addle the eggs ; the horse gets a 
 spavin and is sold — at the precise time that the sow gobbles up 
 nine pigs. Pigeons, also, fall out of their nests and stun their 
 stupid selves ; while the young ducks eat all the asparagus. 
 
 2nd July, 1872. — Yesterday I steered my little ship round 
 '* London's proud city," and to Windsor, and heard part of the 
 evening service in St. George's Chapel — renewed acquaintance 
 
134 
 
 with the beautiful monument to the Princess Charlotte, and 
 looked at the monument to Leopold i st, upon which the Queen 
 has placed an affectionate inscription. Old Windsor looks grey 
 and old. Iremember going to see it at the Eton Montem time. Old 
 Cash made the dresses and bags for the boys to beg, " Salt for 
 the Montem, Sir — salt," meaning money for the exhibitioner. 
 The boys were often rude, and some got drunk. 
 
 To day it is a pleasure to live. The sun shines, and a 
 pleasant breeze makes a stroll agreeable. I wish I were a parson, 
 with no arguments to use about trade, and rates and trains, and 
 no watchfulness to exercise against competitors — nothing to do 
 but to teach people to be good, and to make visits across green 
 fields to cottages and mansions. 
 
 4//1 February^ 1873. — Nuneaton. — The little farm was very 
 pleasurable; it never wouldhave been profitable; but the effect of the 
 
 long walk through the weather we have had this season on M 
 
 decided me to change at once, and we do feel the advantage of 
 being nearer the station. We are much taken with the snugness 
 of our new place. 
 
 We have been greatly shocked at the sudden death of our 
 farm-man Isaac since we left. He was a good- looking, strong, 
 fine young fellow. I sent him as porter to Leamington, and 
 about a week ago he thanked me for the nice place ; but he 
 caught a severe cold, which turned to brain-fever and closed his 
 promising young life. His aunt, who keeps a small farm near our 
 old house, bought my best cow, at the sale. The cow was a 
 beauty, but she lately died in calving : a sad loss to the poor body. 
 So the farming ceased gloomily. 
 
 One of our managers, a young fellow of thirty-four, died 
 suddenly last week, leaving a wife and seven children, and 
 another on the way ; and my oldest friend on the railway, Mr. 
 Lee, engineer of the Chester and Holyhead District, also died last 
 week. Dark clouds these. 
 
 You will perhaps now be little interested to know 
 that the Livock's old house at Hampstead has been cleared away 
 stock and block, and a row of tall houses and shops placed on 
 the site. I am sentimental perhaps, but such changes set me 
 *' a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge." The little neat house, the counting- 
 
■ 
 
 185 
 
 house door, and the familiar figure at the desk ; the cosy parlour 
 the pretty garden behind the upper floor, the weeping tree, and 
 the plot of grass, the roses in the summer-time, and all the 
 figures thereabouts on happy Sunday afternoons ; all obliterated. 
 And of the voices which rang young and clear in the dear old 
 place, some are still, and the rest are growing thin. It is a long 
 time ago to recall, and so much has happened since ; but the 
 memory of those days is mellow and sweet. 
 
 T^rd ytme, 1 874. — The bright, matured, and complete summer 
 is here — all vegetation teeming with its fullness and beauty. It 
 is a joy to live at such a time. The meadows, the trees, and the 
 hawthorn hedges, the sunshine and the soft wind must cheer the 
 saddest heart, and make the veriest grumbler admit the existence 
 of some blessings in this life, or, at any rate, long to he a cow and 
 wade among the buttercups, 
 
 6th July, 1874. — After dinner I made a wreath of beautiful 
 roses and carnations for my Amy's grave. She and her two 
 little ones lie sleeping there; but I think of their dear spirits in 
 Heaven, with others whom I love to muse about, and whom I shall 
 soon join — ah, how soon ! counting by the speed of dreaming 
 years which are gone, even if the Master spare me here the full 
 time. 
 
 Pleasant days these happy Sundays I I read the lessons at 
 Church. Mr. Hands, the son of a late farmer in the neighbour- 
 hood, has recently taken orders, and came to read prayers in the 
 church of his boyhood, for the first time ; a comfort, doubtless, 
 to his poor old invalid mother, our neighbour. Home to supper 
 and the agreeable hour before bed ; and truly, our little service 
 of Scripture and prayer, at the close of such a day as this, should 
 be from grateful hearts. 
 
 \^th July, 1874. — Last night went to see a delightful 
 historical play called "Clancarty," written from an episode of 
 William the Third's reign. It is a pity that the stage is not in 
 all cases true to its mission of teaching elevated thought and 
 noble aspiration, by good plays ; instead of degrading the age 
 by sensational impurities and indecent spectacle. 
 
 3IJ-/ July, 1874. — Letter from old Mr. , hinting for a 
 
 small sum. Extraordinary old gentleman, that 1 Clever at making 
 
136 
 
 it appear that he confers a benefit when he asks a loan. He is 
 
 86 years old, and walks into every day from , and writes 
 
 a firm, steady handwriting-, and lots of it. There has always 
 been something- the matter with the Finance Department of his 
 active brain. Always scheming ; sometimes with plenty of 
 money ; frequently at law ; and sometimes in poverty ; anon 
 ''coming up smiling-; " and always alive and kicking-, up to 86 
 years of age. Commercially irregular, if not downright dis- 
 honest — yet ever religious, trusting in the providence of God 
 with a coolness that has often staggered me ; especially when 
 he has quietly gone into debt, with the full assurance that "God 
 would provide." 
 
 ^h August, 1874. — Returned last night from a, delightful 
 outing to Southampton and Netley, going by way of Leamington, 
 Reading, and Basingstoke. The journey was long, but the 
 weather was bright, and lit up a continued panorama of corn- 
 fields, and woods, and shining rivers — the corn, in luxurious 
 abundance, brimming the green-edged basins which held it, like 
 liquid gold; or lying in sheaves at the feet of the triumphant 
 reapers; or standing in serried rank; the proud tall stalks 
 awaiting the gleaming sickle to lay them low. Surely no 
 country presents a fairer face than this England at such a time. 
 The stately woods, bowing their leafy plumes on the hillside, 
 presenting numberless hollows and ravines, suggesting ferns and 
 bluebells and fragrant smells of fallen leaves and scented firs, — 
 and startled game, and cries and whistles from happy birds ; the 
 river lying molten in the glowing scene, and the cattle all resigned 
 and placid amidst the heat and flies ; white roads marked by 
 lazy teams ; spires and hamlets, stately mansions and snug 
 retreats. Happy country. 
 
 \st September, 1 874. — The busy autumn and winter work has 
 begun on this incessantly labouring Machine of a Railway Night 
 and day, every minute, toil the rapid forces to enable men to run 
 to and fro on the earth. Winter and the late autumn bring 
 endless work to District Managers and all concerned. '' Sharpen 
 your cutlass !" as Admiral Napier said when he went to fight the 
 Russians. I must sharpen myself for new duties, although I fear 
 I am getting an old blade and shall not stand the grinding of 
 many more years. 
 
137 
 
 lOth September, 1874. — Returned home yesterday after a few- 
 days' agreeable holiday by the sea, and on the hills, at Borth. 
 Brought my wife a brooch made from the precious stones found on 
 the beach at Aberystwith. Curious that the sea not only 
 invigorates our jaded bodies by the effect of its mysterious iodine, 
 ozone, etc., but casts jewels at our feet as we tread the shingles 
 which fring-e its restless waves. 
 
 \&h September, 1874. — I had a strange dream last nig-ht. Are 
 these revelations in sleep, which we call dreams, the flickering 
 •remains of the early communications with God ? 
 
 22nd September, 1 874. — Another day of beautiful weather and 
 
 good health. Yesterday most of the home party drove to , 
 
 Lord 's noble seat. It seems to be too full of fine paintings 
 
 and cabinets, and old china, and to have spare rooms, crammed 
 with such valuable things, which are never shown. The family 
 do not appear to occupy the place two months in the year. There 
 is a screw loose in the distribution of these fine things, somewhere. 
 
 26th September, 1874. — Had a fall over the catch of a turn- 
 table yesterday at Rugby, while running to meet the Chairman. 
 Barked my knee severely, and otherwise shook myself. 
 
 2^th Septembei', 1874. — On Sunday Mr. Baxter, an eminent 
 layman, preached in our Attleboro' schoolroom, before a large 
 congregation. He holds the doctrine of coming to Christ, and 
 immediately receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit, and becoming 
 sons of God, so that we cannot in future fall away, but are saved 
 at once and for evermore. This seems to me too bold a view, seeing 
 that many who entertain it do fall from grace and are guilty of 
 many wickednesses, especially of the sin of want of charity 
 towards their fellow creatures. My humble belief is that we 
 shall always be liable to sin in this present life, and that only in 
 the world to come shall we certainly know what is our eternal 
 destiny. Our part here is to strive against sin, both outward and 
 inward, trusting solely in the merits and atoning work of the 
 Lord Jesus Christ, and in the guidance of the Holy Spirit, for 
 victory now and salvation hereafter ; and hoping ever — but not 
 indulging in any overweening confidence, which may degenerate 
 nto vainglory and self-deception. 
 
 %th October f 1 874. — Harvest Thanksgiving in our little church 
 
138 
 
 yesterday. No flowers, no corn, or pretty devices in stars, but 
 special lessons and hymns — the latter trolled forth by the strong- 
 country voices in gladdening- volume, while the words were 
 stirring. We had good and eloquent sermons, both morning 
 and evening, and there was a large collection for the Sunday 
 schools. 
 
 17M October^ 1 874. — Autumn colours come on apace; very 
 beautiful, but very melancholy. 
 
 30M October, 1874. — Weather muggy. I notice that in such 
 atmospheres the crop of disputes and differences, domestic and 
 otherwise, is greater than in the fine or bracing weather, when 
 we laugh at small matters. Meanwhile one should keep himself 
 well in hand and treat all these things as a part of the play. It 
 will soon be over; and then for the fresh air and freedom of the 
 better world ! 
 
 4/A November, 1874. — On Monday night, 2nd instant, died 
 Mr. T. Shaw, of the Angel Hotel, Northampton, many years an 
 agent for cartage, etc., at Northampton, and formerly a coach 
 proprietor for the Midland Counties. A kind-hearted, genial, and 
 honest man ; always my agreeable and hospitable friend, whom I 
 shall miss very much. One by one, old faces disappear from my 
 circle of friends and acquaintances — bidding me reflect. 
 
 24/^ November, 1874. — Fifty-three years of age yesterday. 
 Many thoughts about that long period: a dream, apparently 
 purposeless. God knows why I was born — what object I have 
 fulfilled. I know nothing : an atom among the myriads of human 
 beings on this globe. More knowledge anon, my friend ! A 
 short time more — and then face to face. 
 
189 
 
 PART III. 
 
 POEMS 
 
 (I-) 
 
 Ever thine, 
 
 Like the sweet woodbine, 
 
 Which doth entwine 
 The pleasant hedgerows in the summer prime ; 
 
 For to this mind of mine 
 Friendship is fragrance in the lanes of Time. 
 
 Always thine, 
 
 At every time; 
 
 In Sol's high prime, 
 Or when do shine 
 
 The stars which gem the sky ; 
 In winter's wind and snow ; 
 Amid the tints which glow 
 When Autumn sighs to know 
 Another year must go ; 
 In summer's flower show. 
 When silver rivers flow. 
 And jewelled meadows grow, 
 And golden sunbeams throw 
 
 Their largess far and high. 
 Thine in this pleasant spring 
 With hope in everything. 
 When birds their wooing sing. 
 Making the greenwoods ring, 
 Thine for aye, until we die ! 
 Ever thine, 
 While life is ours, 
 And the fleeting hours 
 
 Speed through the glass of Time ; 
 Until Life's weeds and flowers, 
 And its sweets and sours, 
 
 Cease to be thine or mine. 
 
140 
 
 Yours — still true to you and yours — 
 While the remaining hours 
 Gather the weeds and flow'rs 
 Of this strange life of ours, 
 And the sustaining Pow'rs 
 
 Guide our poor footsteps to the goal, 
 Where the sad race is run, 
 Where all the sorrow's done, 
 Where, through the Mighty One, 
 For us the prize is won. 
 
 And Time, for us, will cease to roll. 
 
 Yours, my friend, 
 Till all shall end ! 
 While yet we wend 
 
 Our footsteps o'er Life's chequered way — 
 
 While here we stay — 
 
 We'll shed the ray 
 
 Of Friendship's light, to drive away 
 
 The clouds which darken Autumn's day, 
 
 And so keep old * dall care ' away 
 
 Until we banish him for aye 
 With purer friendship in the sky. 
 
 Yours, while life is ours. 
 Whether it spits or showers. 
 
 Or rains large cats and dogs — 
 Blows great guns, or gentle breezes, 
 Among the chimney-pots and through the 'treeses' — 
 
 In sunshine or in fogs. 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 While here we ' stays,' 
 
 Though Fortune's ways 
 
 May change with us to-morrow j 
 Beneath the rays 
 Of summer days, 
 Or when our gaze 
 Is dim'd with haze, 
 
 Through wdntry winds or sorrow. 
 
141 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Through the mists of dark disheartening winter 
 
 With smiling vigour thou dost thrust thy way, O Spring ! 
 
 Cheeriest daughter of old Father Time, all Nature hails thee, 
 
 And in her brightest garb adorns the meadows and the trees. 
 
 The young corn creeps through tawny earth and promises abundance 
 
 While the rich grass invites the cattle on a thousand hills. 
 
 With mimic snow the hawthorn decks the hedges, 
 
 And glowing sunshine paints the flowers anew. 
 
 Spring peeps through wiAtry clouds 
 
 And calls the timid buds 
 
 To come and dress the woods 
 
 In hopeful green : 
 The early flowers hail the sound, 
 Creep gently through the melting ground 
 
 And deck the scene. 
 
 The roaring winds — like revellers 
 Whom in the night the sleeper hears — 
 All die away, and Nature bears 
 
 The soft south breeze a-wooing ; 
 And tenderly the zephyrs fling 
 The breath of life o'er everything.; 
 And melody, upon the wing, 
 Ascends in praise, as birdies sing 
 
 And Spring's green leaves are growing. 
 
 Oh, time of Hope, so sweetly fair, , 
 
 In human life or changeful year, 
 Ere sorrow's cloud, or stormy fear, 
 Or worldly cold, or bursting tear, 
 Or treachery's lie, or searching care 
 
 Youth's loveliness hath shorn ! 
 Stay, fleeting Spring, nor hasten on 
 To where so many Springs have flown ! 
 Life's year, with me, is almost gone ; 
 The heat and toil are nearly done ; 
 And I would Nature's youth prolong. 
 To cheer me ere I sink among 
 
 My winter thoughts forlorn. 
 
142 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 Nature's great book of Seasons open lies 
 
 At Summer's bright page. 
 The lark o'er all its beauties gaily flies, 
 
 High in azure cage. 
 
 The corn, the kine, the flow'ring meads, 
 
 In sunshine glowing. 
 The busy insects humming seek their needs 
 
 "With joy o'erflowing. 
 
 The upland woods soft zephyrs quiver, 
 
 Chasing the light gleams ; 
 And in the vale the glitt'ring river 
 
 Kisses the sunbeams. 
 
 All with varied tints and sounds adorn 
 
 Thy Summer pages, 
 Illuminated book of years unborn 
 
 And bygone ages. 
 
 Kindly to man Thy feast is yearly spread, 
 
 The tale repeated. 
 •' Seedtime and harvest," as the Lord hath said, 
 
 In season meted. 
 
 While thus I linger o'er thy lovely scenes 
 
 With grateful pleasure. 
 And drink delight in Summer's waking dreams 
 
 W'ith strolling leisure. 
 
 Tell me thy deeper meaning, wondrous teacher, 
 
 While on earth I plod, 
 Be thou unto my" soul a silent preacher, 
 
 Pointing up to God. 
 
143 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 'Tis Autumn now ; and, far and wide, 
 The bare earth, shorn of cereal beauty. 
 Yields her rifled bosom to the ruthless plough. 
 The flowers fade — the swallow quits the scene. 
 The sighing winds sing dirges sad, to dying leaves, 
 And whisper tales of winter. 
 As charms in death the singing of the swan, 
 The mellow beauty of the coloured woods 
 Doth shed around a farewell sweetness, 
 And the swollen stream 
 Murmurs its sorrow for a summer dead. 
 Anon the tinted Season, standing on the brink, 
 Flings her last garment to the prurient winds 
 And plunges into Winter. 
 The stars in tearless grief gaze out 
 Upon her icy coffin and her pall of snow. 
 The bare ungainly trees wave gaunt and dreary, 
 Moaning their angry sobs to barren landscapes ; 
 While Zero sits supreme. 
 
 HARVEST. 
 
 Behold the harvest field, 
 Adorned with golden yield ; 
 See how the graceful sheaves 
 Embrace in loving wreaths, 
 
 As angels sweet 
 
 Each other greet. 
 
 With bliss complete, 
 When Peace on Earth, and God's good- will 
 
 To sinful Man are granted. 
 Let praise ascend to Heaven 
 For bread to mankind given. 
 Till thankful harmony shall fill 
 The Autumn air, and louder still 
 
 The hymn of joy be chanted ! 
 
144 
 
 (IMPROMPTU WRITTEN IN THE VISITORS' BOOK AT THE 
 " HAND " HOTEL AT LLANGOLLEN.) 
 
 Romantic Dee upon thy rugged strand 
 Fair Hospitality extends her " Hand." 
 Where with wine, ale, or beer. 
 Or other good cheer, 
 You've nothing to fear. 
 Be it cloudy or clear. 
 The hostess lib'ral and the waitress kind ; 
 The harper's music fills each passing wind ; 
 The whisker'd postboy drives a cosy car ; 
 And all things round and near quite jolly are. 
 And so 'twill be when I am gone, 
 This noisy noise will still noise on, 
 And other folk will cross these bridges, 
 And try to climb these great high ridges, 
 For e'en in poverty or riches 
 Our fleeting life at all time '* sich " is. 
 
 TO A SUNDIAL. 
 Thy shadow hand points to the sunny hours. 
 
 But makes no sign for cloudy days or night. 
 Forget we thus the days when Fortune lours, 
 
 And record only those when she is bright. 
 
 BOYHOOD'S HOME. 
 Oh, can this be the long-loved place. 
 
 The treasured memory of years? 
 Do my returning footsteps trace 
 
 The home of childhood but Math tears ? 
 Tears not of pensive joy, but those 
 
 Which manhood sheds with heaving heart 
 O'er loved ones lost in death's repose. 
 
 And golden hopes which now depart. 
 Yon village green, yon house and farm; 
 
 The Holy spire, the purling stream ; 
 The school-house, scene of dread alarm. 
 
 Recall to mind my boyhood's dream. 
 But, sad to tell, at any turn 
 
 My gaze meets no remembered face, 
 And I've come back alas ! to learn, 
 
 On earth there's no abiding place. 
 
145 
 
 HAMPSTEAD. 
 
 Dear Hampstead, how I love thy fields, 
 Thy verdant hills and prospects fair ! 
 
 Each pleasant stroll fresh rapture yields, 
 With some new scene of beauty rare. 
 
 The humble spire amongst the trees, 
 Like some sweet violet, half seen, 
 
 When by the playful summer breeze 
 
 The leaves are moved which formed its screen. 
 
 That modest spire, which gently leads 
 The mind "from nature up to God," 
 
 Bears more of Heaven amidst these meads, 
 Than temples where the great have trod. 
 
 Here have I spent my happiest hours. 
 And here my dearest friendships made ; 
 
 Then doubly dear, like lovers' flow'rs. 
 To me is every heath and glade. 
 
 If Life's rude tide should bear me far, 
 
 With cruel hand, away from thee. 
 In memory's sky a leading star, 
 
 Dear Hampstead, thou wilt ever be ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 How can I marry, Davie dear. 
 Although I love so truly? 
 
 How can I leave poor sister here 
 To pine and die so lonely ? 
 
 Since her Jamie went to sea, 
 And sank beneath the billow, 
 
 Her broken heart has clung to me. 
 And I have soothed her pillow. 
 
 O Davie, Davie, urge no more ! 
 
 I dare not listen to thee ! 
 We'll meet again, when life is o'er ; 
 
 Here love must yield to duty. 
 
 And now the struggle's past, farewell 
 Think of me sometimes kindly ; 
 
 In twilight musing, when the spell 
 Of memory shall bind thee. 
 
146 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 (Relating to my family gathering at Christmas, 1866,) 
 A shepherd I — these sheep of mine 
 
 Are on Christ's birthday found 
 Within my fold — and glories shine 
 
 In blessings all around. 
 For goodness crowning all my days 
 
 Which mercy doth afford, 
 Thy Name to glorify and praise, 
 
 My heart inclines, O Lord ! 
 Unto the Saviour lead the way 
 
 Of this Thy flock and mine ; 
 Oh, guide us here, Lord, that we may 
 
 Join that bright host of Thine ! 
 
 THREE ACROSTICS. 
 Music is sweetest in the Saddest air ; 
 And pleasure keenest when it follows care. 
 Riches are holy when they grief remove ; 
 The sharpest anger oft doth friendship prove. 
 Hatreds are deepest when through love they move . 
 And Kings are strongest when they rule by love. 
 The world is full of reconcil'd extremes : 
 One act distresses and the next redeems. 
 When Adam fell the gracious Promise came — 
 New hope to cheer the sorrow and the shame. 
 So while the rainbow shines on tearful days 
 Ever should mortals seek Life's cheering rays. 
 Nor sink beneath Time's brief, though cruel pain : 
 Dark days but veil the sun — he shines again. 
 
 Calm be thy night of slumber, lady fair ; 
 
 Light be thy resting, till the morning air 
 
 And merry sunbeams bring another day, 
 
 Restoring health and joy to cheer thy way 
 
 And strew thy path with Hope's sweet cheering ray. 
 
 Clear brooklets speed to reach the sedgy stream, 
 Losing their sparkle in the broader tide ; 
 And maidens hasten to life's deeper dream 
 Regardless of the woes to which they glide. 
 Avoid the danger, gentle lady fair ! 
 Content gives happiness beyond compare ; 
 Our present joys are best, though they be few. 
 O'er fancies sigh not, nor for "pastures new." 
 Keep fast those hopes, you need not fear to rue. 
 
147 
 
 ENIGMA.* 
 
 My first is dark, but changes hues 
 
 With moon and stars and weather ; 
 My second unto all is dear, 
 
 And charms the ladies ever. 
 My whole shapes fair the rudest form ; 
 By day I'm cool, at night I'm warm. 
 When I am travelling not, I ride 
 
 Upon the line full often ; 
 A mangled thing I oft become, 
 
 Though not a bone is broken. 
 E'en when the shades of night descend 
 
 I'm still upon the sleepers ; 
 And yet from home I'm ne'er away 
 
 When morn opes pretty peepers. 
 In hall and cottage I reside. 
 When life begins I'm by your side, 
 And seldom quit though death betide. 
 * A Nisrht-dress. 
 
 POEMS WITHOUT RHYME OR METRE. 
 
 DEAF. 
 
 So sadly still ! No sound of voice, no hum of bees, nor song of birds, nor 
 sound of laden cart, nor bark of dog, nor shout of boy, nor clink of gate, nor low 
 of kine. Like funeral plumes, the waving trees sway melancholy ; but the murmur 
 of the wind is not to me. I stalk along oppressed, like some sad ghost; and 
 Nature's face, so beautiful to see, wears mocking silence everywhere. 
 
 NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD. 
 
 I sat within the sacred place, behind men clad in white raiment, who sang 
 praises to God, and I listened to sweet sounds entwined with holy words to stir the 
 soul ; and one of those in white said prayers, in tones akin to song, which rang 
 throughout the vaulted space, and lingered, as though angels bore the words away. 
 Then, when from out the throats of stalwart singers burst the harmonious anthem, 
 softened by the melody of youthful voices, and bade the earth be joyful in the Lord, 
 my heart fell down in grateful praise to Him who made all sound and other things 
 of beauty, and I went forth as from a Heaven on earth, stronger and purer for my 
 worldly way. 
 
148 
 
 BRIDAL THOUGHTS. 
 (L. T.) 
 She pauses on the threshold of her marriage days, to look once more on that 
 dear place she leaves, and in the sweet recesses of her niemoiy a pensive vision of 
 the happy past she sees. The firelight chat in snug vi^arm winter room. The 
 loving laughter and the tender chide — the words of wisdom and instruction rare, 
 from gifted lips — the pleasant ride — the meadow stroll within the fold of his fond 
 arm who guides her now no more. Paternal love, less passionate than his who 
 claims her now, yet oh ! how true. How hard to say, ** No more ! No more ! '' 
 Her girlhood gone, a golden light of love sheds beauty on the common things of 
 life which happened in that homely, happy place ; and treasured in her heart are 
 all the words of her whose anxious care and never-weary hands tended her gi-owth 
 from infancy till now, sorrowed with her sigh, and loved her smile, and gloried in 
 her hope of wedded joy. Ah me ! the chapter's told, and nought remains but 
 recollection ; but she prays that God will grant a leaven of the good she learnt 
 beneath her father's roof, and sanctify her new-made home with peace. 
 
 Voltaire says that everybody is an anvil or a hammer. 
 
 I am content with the patient role of the anvil. Yet a word to the hammer ; 
 It is the regulated stroke which produces the ''harmonious blacksmith." 
 Indiscriminate force may fracture the anvil and destroy its usefulness, as well as the 
 music which sweetens labor. 
 
 FURTHER POEMS, &c. 
 
 (11.) 
 
 As birds unconscious cheer with melody - 
 At eventide a listening mortal's ear, 
 
 So noble deeds in man, with harmony 
 Do from his grieved angel chase a tear. 
 
 Life is like a sleeper's dream, 
 A summer cloud, a rippled stream : 
 But Oh ! some dreams are agony ; 
 And clouds with bursting tears we see ; 
 And streams there are seek eagerly 
 The bosom of the boundless sea, 
 The emblem of Eternity. 
 
 The mighty may steal and the multitude plunder. 
 And call the dark deed a gilt virtue, all brave ; 
 
 But the villain who ventures to steal for his hunger 
 Must surely be crush'd, the world's morals to save. 
 
149 
 
 CATASTROPHE ON REGENT'S PARK WATER. 
 
 A hurrying scene of skating men, 
 
 And shouts of glee prevailed, and then 
 
 A surging heave, and through the air 
 
 Rang screams of panic and despair. 
 
 In yawning gulf, or broken square. 
 
 Of treacherous ice, the hundreds there 
 
 Went down, to strive with death. 
 
 The brave held on, with "bated breath," 
 
 And swimmers swam, and down beneath. 
 
 With struggles fierce, and gnashing teeth, 
 
 Sank those whom aid could ne'er relieve ; 
 
 While on the fatal water's bank, 
 
 With frantic arms and faces blank, 
 
 Ran to and fro a helpless band. 
 
 With eager minds to help and land 
 
 Their friends immersed ; but nought to hand 
 
 Save trifling means and mocking aid ; 
 
 And women wept, and some one said, 
 
 'Twas "No use risking for the dead." 
 
 But bravely plunged some nobler men. 
 
 And fought the blocks, brought children in, 
 
 And did the hero's work. Ah me ! 
 
 We sometimes read of, sometimes see 
 
 Such horror on the stormy sea ; 
 
 But never may it fall to me 
 
 Again to view such agony. 
 
 When the heart by affliction is lowered 
 The soul takes its loftiest flight. 
 
 As steel shines the brightest when scoured. 
 And stars beam the brightest at night. 
 
 ROMANS, I2TH Chap. 
 
 Let not conceit e'er whisper thou art wise, 
 Crush out the will to spite an evil deed, 
 
 Provide things honestly before all eyes. 
 
 Live peaceably, and peace shall be thy meed. 
 
 When hunger presses on a fallen foe, 
 
 With unknown hand relieve his bitter need ; 
 
 Should thirst oppress him, let thine aid o'erflow ; 
 Thy good be greater, though thy wound still bleed. 
 
150 
 
 WE TWO— DARBY AND JOAN. 
 
 The shadows lengthen o'er the lea, 
 
 The sunset gleams on tower and tree, 
 
 And twilight comes to you and me 
 
 In grateful gentle memory. 
 
 In youth we shared Life's thoughtless mom 
 
 Ere yet to us a care was born, 
 
 When Hope and Joy our pathway strewed, 
 
 And Love each day some grace renewed ; 
 
 And time was short, and pleasure long, 
 
 And one was fair, and both were strong. 
 
 Still hand in hand, when noontide came, 
 
 Life's lighter struggles found the flame 
 
 Of loving trust burn steadily, 
 
 To lighten sorrows cheerily. 
 
 Then when the little children's voices 
 
 Charmed the home with tender noises, 
 
 Cared we, the least, whate'er befel 
 
 Our daily lot, so they were well ? 
 
 Contented, busy, careful time. 
 
 Our proud and earnest mid-day prime. 
 
 Can we forget the hour of woe. 
 
 When deep affliction brought us low, 
 
 Or how its fire purified 
 
 Our spirits, as the gold is tried? 
 
 Ah, No ! the darkness might betide, 
 
 But soon appeared the silver side. 
 
 And bade us cast our grief and fears 
 
 On Him who sends or dries our tears. 
 
 For children's children round our board, 
 
 And "troops of friends" in kind accord, 
 
 For peace in our declining days. 
 
 And comfort in a thousand ways, 
 
 Thy Name, O Lord, we bless and praise ! 
 
 Of lives so long and richly blest 
 
 We humbly leave to Thee the rest. 
 
151 
 
 To ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 Noble sympathetic spirit, 
 
 Shout thou to future ages Virgil's fame; 
 And with thy voice harmonious 
 
 Enshrine with his for ever thy fair name. 
 
 When vexations press, 
 And you're feign to confess 
 That the world is a mess. 
 And those whom you love 
 Are as weak as a dove, 
 Or as mild as, say, cream, 
 Then think of the nought of it. 
 Flee from the thought of it, 
 Change the regime ! 
 
 THE WIDOW'S PRAYER. 
 
 May angels guard my daughter's life, 
 Her nights from danger and her days from strife 
 In heavenward paths may she for ever go, 
 And taste that peace the world cannot bestow : 
 So when that He whose hand alone can save 
 Shall call her mother to the silent grave, 
 May He, when thus He shall remove 
 A mother's care, a mother's love, 
 Guard the lone orphan with His heavenly grace, 
 And with His love supply a mother's place ; 
 And when to earth her last farewell is given. 
 May hallowed spirits join our souls in Heaven ! 
 
L52 
 
 GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 By the Church and up the Road, 
 We come upon a white Abode ; — 
 Orchard and lawn and fount and flowers, 
 Fish-pond and grounds, and sylvan bowers 
 Surround the home, where rest and peace 
 Hold gentle court among the trees ; 
 And oh ! what lasting memory 
 Is stored around the red beech tree. 
 Where bowls and quoits are often play'd 
 Beneath the ever-welcome shade. 
 A kindly-hearted couple here 
 Have dwelt for many a happy year, 
 And time so tenderly doth lay 
 His hand on them, — that strange to say 
 It is their Golden Wedding Day. 
 And out of the train. 
 Come pouring like rain, 
 In highest of glee up the steps of the door, 
 A troop of descendants, some forty or more ; 
 The fathers and mothers, 
 The sisters and brothers. 
 The big and the little, the short and the tall. 
 Yet the jolly Old Homestead has room for them all, 
 And while the rooms with kisses ring, 
 This is the Song they sweetly sing : — • 
 We come to hail the day, 
 And greet its Golden ray. 
 To cheer you on your way, 
 
 Loving kind Parents ; 
 To you from whom we sprung, 
 For care when we were young. 
 
 We offer Presents, 
 In helpless infancy. 
 When boys and girls were we. 
 Your arms were round us ; 
 In youth and maidenhood. 
 Your watchful care withstood. 
 
 When evil found us. 
 In many an after year, 
 Advice and wisdom clear. 
 From you were ever near 
 • To aid and guide us ; 
 
153 
 
 And still at every time, 
 Your willing voices chime 
 To help us live and shine, 
 
 With you beside us. 
 God bless the Golden Day, 
 All of us hope and pray, 
 While, from so far away, 
 
 Greeting each other 
 Pray we for happiness 
 All your green age to blesH 
 And with our love caress 
 
 Father and Mother. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Not in the pale sick room. 
 Amidst sad sighs and sorrow. 
 Wishing the day were night. 
 Wishing the night were morrow. 
 
 Not with the groan of pain, 
 With nurse however tender. 
 And leech profound and grave, 
 May I my soul surrender. 
 
 But when some honest work, 
 By faithful truth and duty, 
 Drawn to a pleasant end, 
 Gives to my thoughts a beauty. 
 
 Or when with secret sin, 
 I in remorse have striven. 
 And some sweet hope within 
 Assures me I'm forgiven. 
 
 Then let the bright shaft speed 
 Swift to its waiting centre, 
 Unlock the gates of Life 
 And bid my spirit enter. 
 
 In the year 1890, a terrible domestic calamity befel Mr. 
 Stevenson, and the Directors, " in recognition of his long aftd faithful 
 services'' placed him on the retired list with aii^ g.i iiftle provision 
 for his declining years. — Editor, 
 
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