Little Folks Part 8

xxviii. 11-19).

5. In Ps. xlii. 11; and xliii. 5.

6. In the boat, on the rising of the storm, on the Sea of Galilee (St.

Matt viii. 24; St. Mark. iv. 38; St. Luke viii. 23).

7. In Acts 1. 14.

8. In 2 Chron. 1. 3, 4; 1 Chron. xv. 1; 2 Sam. vi. 17.

9. At Gibeon (1 Chron. xvi. 39).

10. In 1 Kings iii. 4-15; 2 Chron. 1. 3-6.

11. In 2 Kings xiv. 25.

12. "And when _they_ were put to death," &c. (Acts xxvi. 10).

THE CHILDREN'S LIGHT BRIGADE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BUT JACK AND THE OLD UMBRELLA STOOD FIRM, AND KNEW NO FEAR."]

Jack and Willie, and little maid May Went down to the summer sea; And it's merry and gay for a long holiday, But what is their game to be?

They were tired of building castles When serious Johnny said-- "Now what do you say, supposing we play The Charge of the Light Brigade?

"This old umbrella that's been our tent Will serve for a cannon--of course; You two must play the Light Brigade, And I'll be the Russian Force."

Willie and May ran up the beach, Then charged straight down on Jack; But Jack dropped cleverly on one knee, And drove the onset back.

Again and again the charge came on With a rush and a ringing cheer, But Jack and the old umbrella Stood firm, and knew no fear.

"Charge for the guns!" cried Willie once more, There's a crack, and a moment after The Russians (that's Jack) are rolled in the sand, Amid shouts of conquering laughter.

Said Jack as he rose, "This isn't quite According to the story; We'll have this play again some day We've done enough for glory."

ROBERT RICHARDSON.

SOME FAMOUS RAILWAY TRAINS AND THEIR STORY.

_By_ HENRY FRITH.

II.--THE "WILD IRISHMAN."

The "Wild Irishman" is the train which carries the Irish mails, the American letter-bags, from Holyhead to London, and _vice versa_. There are four "Irishmen," two in the daytime and two at night. The morning Irish mail from London leaves Euston Square at a quarter-past seven, and it is by this train which we have elected to travel, as we shall see the country better.

Here we are at Euston. The engine is already attached to the train--a fine, rather elegant-looking locomotive, with its name on a neat bra.s.s plate on the great "driving" wheel. Perhaps we shall find it called the "Lady of the Lake," or "Rokeby." At any rate, it looks very neat and clean, though not such a giant as our friend the "Dutchman."

If your eyes are sharp and you are fond of engines, and like to "pat"

them, as I do, you will notice that the cranks and piston-rods work outside the wheels, not between them, and underneath the boiler, as in the Great Western engines. You will have just time to look at the wheels and the name when the man on the platform will wave his flag, and the "Irishman" will start very gently. As we are quite invisible, we just step up beside the driver as the engine moves, and he knows nothing about us. Ha! ha! Mr. Driver; but we intend to know something about your "Wild Irishman!"

Our driver and fireman ("stoker," perhaps you call the latter) are very great men. They have a great deal done for them. Do you think they light the fire and polish the engine? Do you think they go and take in coal and water at Crewe, or elsewhere, while they wait for a "return" train?

Oh dear no! Another pair of men are ready, and our "mail-men" go and sit in the drivers' "cabin" and have their tea, and chat till the train is ready to start again.

It is not at all a bad position, though a very responsible one, to be an engine-driver on the London and North-Western Railway, particularly when you have worked yourself up to the "top of the tree." I could tell you many anecdotes of this railway, on which I lived for many years; but we must not forget the "Wild Irishman" has run through Camden Town, and is even now in the Primrose Hill tunnel.

It is very unpleasant being in a tunnel for the first time on an engine.

The noise is very great, and the smoke and water come down at times unpleasantly. The end of the tunnel looks so tiny in the sunlight beyond, and the opening gradually gets larger and larger till the engine rushes out into the pure air again!

On we go! Stopping for a few minutes at Willesden Junction, our Irish horse pulls harder, and bolts with us for Rugby and some intermediate stations. It is just half-past seven a.m., a beautiful day. There is Harrow on the left, we can see the well-known spire, and we recall the days when we came up for the cricket-match against Eton, and how we all went back in a body after the match.

Before we reach Watford, we come to the peculiar water arrangement by which the thirsty engines are enabled to have a drink as they rush along. Between the rails for a considerable distance is a tank, and into this tank a pipe is let down from the tender of the engine. The speed at which the train travels causes the water to be forced up the pipe, and the supply of steam is a.s.sured.

Watford, named from the Roman road "Watling Street," which ran from Dover through London northwards, is near St. Albans, renowned in English history. But the "Wild Irishman" will not wait for us; he rushes through the tunnel and by Berkhampstead to Bletchley, where he pauses for a minute or two. We have scarcely time to look about when we are off again, past Wolverton, where the North-Western Company make their railway carriages, and where they used to repair their engines. We run not very far from Naseby after a while, and think of the great battle between Charles and Cromwell's troops. What would they think of our "Wild Irishman"? I wonder.

Rugby is pa.s.sed; Atherstone, near which was the great Battle of Bosworth Field, lies behind us now. The struggle for the crown between Richard and Richmond may be recalled, but we have no time to examine the field seven miles away. We have to get to Crewe at eleven o'clock, and so we shall. We run through Stafford-on-the-Sowe, a town celebrated as the birthplace of Izaak Walton. The castle was demolished, like many others, in the Civil War.

A long whistle warns us that Crewe is in sight, and before long we enter the station, through which more than 200 trains pa.s.s daily. Here are the celebrated Locomotive Works, which employ an army of workmen, for whose children there are schools and playgrounds, with church, library, and a.s.sembly-room for the whole railway working population.

A visit to Crewe to see the great engines will repay any little folk who like machinery.

From Crewe to Chester is half an hour's run, and as we approach the old city on the Dee we feel wrapped in history. Such a history has Chester that we are afraid to enter upon it for fear we should be carried away, and lose ourselves wandering around the dear old walls, towers, gates, and ramparts. The Danes came here; the Saxons made it a port. Hugh Lupus, at the Conquest, resided here. The city was made the starting-point for expeditions against the Welsh by Edward I. Besieged by the Parliament--but no more; the "Wild Irishman" whistles, and we must go to you, my lad.

Hawarden Castle is close by. It was at one time of importance as a fortress. It now derives its celebrity from its owner, Mr. Gladstone, for the castle itself has almost disappeared. We soon pa.s.s Holywell, so called from the holy well which sprang from the place where Princess Winifrede's head fell. Caradoc, a Welsh prince, wickedly cut it off, and it rolled down the hill. Where it stopped the spring burst forth; and the head being picked up was placed on Miss Winifrede's body again. It became fixed, and she lived for many years afterwards, a little red mark round her white throat being the only token of her decapitation! So the story goes.

We are now approaching Abergele, near which such a terrible accident happened to the Irish mail in 1868. Some trucks had been shunted from a train in front, and they, by some mistake, came running down the hill to meet the "Irishman." The driver saw them, and the shock was not severe, but unfortunately they were filled with oil barrels, which broke open, the petroleum caught fire, and in two minutes all the fore part of the train was enveloped in flames.

Nothing could be done; the poor people in the carriages--lords and ladies and gentlemen--were burned, and with difficulty any escaped. This was a fearful catastrophe, and quite puts aside any ordinary accidents which (not a few) have happened to the "Wild Irishman."

Let us leave the scene and come on to Llandudno Junction and Conway Castle, by which is the first "Tubular Bridge." We have all heard of Conway Castle, founded by Edward I. If you little folk ever go to Conway be sure and see the castle, and go all over the thick walls, which will afford you a pretty view.

But I have something else to tell you about Conway "Tube"--the bridge through which the railway runs over the river.

Once upon a time--a good many years ago--a lady and gentleman got permission to walk through the new tubular bridge, which was then a curiosity. A railway porter was with them and told them no train was expected on that line, so they went into the tube and darkness.

A strange gentleman who had joined them went on first because the lady could not go so quickly, and of course her husband remained to a.s.sist her over the rails, and stones, and the girders which support the sides.

But when the lady and gentleman had got halfway through, the first man was at the end, and saw the down Irish mail approaching on the very line on which his acquaintances were! He called out--

"Take care of yourselves, a train is coming!" and then he waved his hands to the engine-driver.