THE

WILLENHALL MAGAZINE.

Our First Journey by Rail.

BY MARY GRUNDY.

It

THIS, to us, very memorable event, occurred not at any remote period. was in the autumn of 185-, that we were informed by our medical attendant that the sea air was necessary for the recovery of the invalid member of the family-his patient. The announcement was received with considerable dismay, inasmuch as it entailed so formidable an undertaking as a journey by rail. Our party numbered seven persons. There was an old gentleman, nearly arrived at threescore years and ten, but still hale and active, and thoroughly conversant with all kinds of locomotion, except this whizzing, rattling, abominable railway. He had been habitually accustomed to equestrianism, from the little pony, on which he rode to school, to the noble hunters, on which he used to follow the midland counties' hounds, and join in the hunt of stag, fox, and hare; in short, in all a country gentleman's amusements he excelled. But what availed him this knowledge now? not one whit; for he was a novice in the art of railway travelling. His wife was, like himself, an ignoramus in this species of itineration; but anything, however difficult, would they both have gladly attempted, with a chance of restoring to health their only child, a girl of thirteen years, who had been suffering for some time from hooping cough. Ellen's governess, Miss C-, two little girls who studied with her, and their papa, Mr. P-, completed the party. I wasbut n'importe, I'll not say which member of the party I was, suffice it that I was one of them.

Friends and acquaintance, with the utmost consideration, endeavoured to banish our fears, by kindly admonishing us to use every precaution, and look out for an adventure.

The bracing, invigorating qualities of the Welsh coast receiving the preference Rhyl was fixed upon, and all arrangements having been completed, the party set forward. We reached the station, some seven miles from our home, just in time. We'll pass over the bustle, confusion, and terror, incident to the arrival of the much-dreaded train; when it again started we were congratulating ourselves and each other upon being safely in it. I need not trouble my readers with our first impressions at the strange motion, or the general complaints at our not having time to see the crops, a sore grievance to us country folk. We were not to exchange trains until we arrived at Chester, we had therefore made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit long before we reached Shrewsbury; refreshment baskets and satchels, umbrellas (which from long usage of open equipages we had learned to regard as indispensable), cushions for Ellen, and a multitude of cloaks were all strewed about in a most nègligé manner; and the weather being very warm, Mrs. G— had relieved herself of her shawl, and sat with bonnet strings unloosed and floating on the breeze.

Such was the free and easy state of affairs when we arrived at Shrewsbury;

our carriage had jolted miserably, and here, to our extreme consternation, the door was thrown open, and we were coldly requested to evacuate our present position and seek other quarters, for the wheels of our carriage were unsafe. What a scramble ensued! Everything was seized upon in the direst confusion, each one manifesting the utmost activity in escaping from the insecure vehicle. At length the migration was safely accomplished without loss of bag or baggage. "Well," we soliloquised, upon regaining our composure, "is this our adventure, or only the commencement of disasters?" The remainder of our journey alone could answer that question.

The lovely scenery of the vales of Llangollen and Chirk were not passed unnoticed, but received their full share of the admiration of those of us who were able to abandon ourselves to such a contemplation of their beauties, as the hasty passage through them would afford. The risibility of the party was ever and anon excited by some effusion of drollery from Emmeline, the youngest member of it; only once, however, did these ebullitions excite a smile from a gentleman ensconced in the corner, who apparently regarded his fellow travellers with evident distaste. If, as was very probably the case, he deemed us verdant, in extenuation for our rusticity, I humbly submit that we might perhaps, with all due regard to modesty, have laid claim to a small share of originality, which being now-a-days so rare a commodity, merited his appreciation, if he possessed any taste for the original.

Mr.

All the traps were duly collected as we approached Chester; here we had an hour and five minutes to stay, and the rest was gratefully looked forward to, for the fatigue was telling upon the invalid, who seemed well nigh prostrated, and of course increased her parents' desire to reach their destination. She was carefully carried into the waiting room, and laid upon a couch made for the occasion from the cushions and cloaks brought for the purpose. P― was procuring fresh tickets and superintending the luggage, and Mr. G-, after seeing his daughter safely deposited, left her and her mother to try to be of use to his friend. Scarcely had he quitted them, when Mr. P— hastily entered with some porters, and announced the immediate departure of our train, the one we arrived by having been an hour behind time. It was in vain Mrs. G― urged our inability to proceed; uncourteous trains wait for no one, and had we not gone then we should have had to remain several hours, and then have reached a watering place at night, without having apartments secured for us. A pleasant alternative! We were literally carried, I know not how, to the train; just as we came to it, lo! the terrible truth burst upon us, that we had lost Mr. G—! A simultaneous impulse caused Mrs. G- and Ellen to exclaim, "Oh, my husband," "My father." "We cannot go without Mr. G-," energetically declared the former, addressing Mr. P―, who had not before noticed his absence. What a scene followed! Miss C- and her youngest pupil were unceremoniously bundled, rather than assisted, into one carriage, whilst in spite of all the resistance they could offer, Ellen, Amy, and lastly Mrs. G were put into another. The last mentioned personage unconsciously kept loudly exclaiming, "Oh, my husband! my husband!" Poor Ellen hysterically chiming in with "Oh, my father! my father!" Suddenly, at the very far end of the platform, Mrs. G-descried the ruddy benevolent face of her truant spouse; he was quietly strolling along, surveying the busy scene, blissfully ignorant of the profound sensation his absence was causing; his leisurely movements contrasting strangely with

the hurrying, bustling crowd surrounding him. "There he is, there he is," shouted Mrs. G— vehemently, at the same time pointing out his whereabouts. "That gentleman with the blue coat and gilt buttons, bring him," called Mr. P- who caught a glimpse of him in the direction indicated. "The gentleman with the blue coat and gilt buttons," repeated the officials; "Blue coat and gilt buttons," echoed others farther off. How fortunate that he wore so distinguishing a mark by which he could be recognised among the throng, in the shape of his favourite old fashioned blue coat with gilt buttons. Two stalwart porters caught hold of him on either side, and proceeded to hasten his steps; he indignantly endeavouring to repel the rude attack upon his liberty. "It isn't me you want, I tell you it isn't me," he gasped unheeded. Happily, he was allowed neither time nor breath for expostulation or resistance, but was hurried onward with accelerated speed. What a moment of suspense was this! The bell had ceased ringing, the train was moving. Oh! must we go without him? Surely not. The combined strength of two or three additional officials and our friend Mr. P-, bore him toward us with great impetus; and coming alongside, they impelled him forward, and Mrs. Gjoyfully seizing upon him, hauled him in, so violently, that quite exhausted, he sank upon the seat, overwhelmed with astonishment at finding himself among us for deluded by the belief that we had an hour to tarry here, he was labouring under the erroneous impression that he was the victim of mistaken identity, in fact, that he was being run away with. How thankfully we hailed his advent; but alas! no sooner were our fears on this head abated, than they were again aroused lest Mr. P was left behind. Poor Amy's quiet grief was depicted on her lugubrious countenance, which notwithstanding the predominant sadness, presented a very comical appearance, from her bonnet having become accidentally bent into a wonderfully contorted shape. At the next station we were set at ease by the momentary apparition of Mr. P-to assure us of his safety. We will now leave these, trying to recover their tranquillity, and describe what meanwhile occurred in the adjoining car. Emmeline had shared her sister's anxiety before her papa joined them, and she added a still more ludicrous feature to her sorrow by rubbing her pretty face, all bedewed with tears; and happening at the time to wear black kid gloves, her physiognomy assumed quite a startling look, and when her parent's presence brought back her smiles, the effect was still more extraordinary.

Immediately as Mr. P- gained his seat, he espied upon the now rapidly receding platform two of our carpet bags; the porters, in obedience to his hail, rushed in desperation to pitch them through the window sans cérémonie; they came in quick succession, and well aimed, flew in, and (oh unhappy mortal!) alighted upon the by no means insignificant person of a stout elderly gentleman, seated on the opposite side. "Ugh! ugh!" saluted the first, with a vain attempt to elude the second edition. Upon recovering his dissipated breath, as might be expected, he hesitated not to freely express his antipathy to railway carriages in general, and his intense disgust for this carriage and company in particular.

Returning to the occupants of the other carriage, whose equanimity was by this time partially restored; Mrs. G- suddenly discovered that all the articles employed in the formation of Ellen's couch were left behind in the waiting room at Chester untouched, but we readily consoled ourselves

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for the loss of these by the reflection that Mr. G- was with us. Our appetites reminding us that some slight refreshment would not be at all inappropriate, we forthwith found that in the skirmish our baskets had become exchanged, so that the party in one carriage had the water, whilst those who preferred that had the wine, and vice versa the same with the bread and biscuits. At length we reached our destination without further discomfiture; thankful were we to retire to rest that night, at the comfortable lodgings we were fortunate enough to obtain. To rest, did I say? Oh! dear me how dreadfully oblivious I must have been of the unceasing "thump," thump," 'thump," during the letter stamping process, (for we were located at the Post Office) which, together with the agreeable (?) baby overhead, did their best to scare away sleep; happily their efforts were ineffectual, for we were too weary to heed them over much now. But in the quietude of a succeeding night, we were startled from our slumbers by a sudden bump on the floor above us, followed by an unmistakable burst of grief, which at once proclaimed the source whence it emanated: the unfortunate little being before referred to had unluckily tumbled out of bed, and alighted on its head.

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Our missing articles were all recovered, and the return trip was effected without any remarkable mischance; and not being deprived of our promised stay at Chester, we availed ourselves of the opportunity it offered for a pleasant ramble through the interesting old city. Two years subsequently, the same route was again traversed by the same party. Frequently has the joyous laugh resounded at the recital of our deplorable misadventures upon our first journey by rail; the chief actors in that scene never failing to join right heartily in the mirth. I can only hope it may prove as amusing to my readers. But never again will our laughter be so blithe, in any future description of the incidents herein related; the merriment will be subdued and mingled with a tone of sadness; for since then the Great Reaper, in obedience to his commission, has more than once used his sharp sickle among that happy little party. The young sufferer, whose life then hung by so perceptibly fragile a thread, is yet mercifully spared; while the kind hearted doctor, the hoary headed beloved father, and the young man in his prime, have each been summoned hence. Can it then be wondered at that the reminiscence is tinged with melancholy to the bereaved survivors? Lapley, September, 1862.

Chillington:

A STORY OF THE GREAT REBELLION.

BY JOSIAH TILDESLEY.

CHAPTER XI.

IT is a solemn thing to see the dead borne homeward, in any time and place. Have you never paused in your haste after business or pleasure as the mournful procession swept by? Said you not then, "Is this the end; this the sure close of the stateliest and goodliest life? O pomp! O riches! O fame! O praise! Where be your glories now? Where be your boastful promises that tinselled the morrows of life? Alas! alas! poor humanity,

lifted for a while unto a level with angelhood, yet stooping so soon to the dust like this."

Solemn is a funeral in the crowded city, where the crowd is hushed for a while, and young men and old pause and gaze with a touch of reverent pity on one, lately as themselves, but now utterly helpless and still, recking not at all their gaze as he is borne graveward in such guise as this. But in the country, amid fields and woods, and the murmur of brooks, and the songs of birds, death seems out of place, where all is so bright and gay.

'Twas in the spring time, too, that there came from Chillington Hall some robed in mourning garb, bearing a lonely sleeper to his abiding place. The fields and woods were decked in glittering green; the birds were learning new choruses for the coming season; the lambs were skipping in the meadows; the flowers waking from their graves; and so the funeral looked very sad. They carried old, Squire Giffard to the grave of his fathers. A requiem was sung o'er the tomb, a mass was said for the soul, then the mourners went homeward. All but one. Agnes Overton walked under the trees in the churchyard, then sat in a quiet seat, and that afternoon she felt almost alone in the world. She had left Boscobel, closed up the house, and had come to live at Chillington again, tending the old man as his weakness grew. She had watched how a year or two of anxiety and sorrow had changed his mien and form; once stately and strong, that form became bent, and the step tottering and fearful; and no wonder. The loyal-hearted cavalier, the good old English gentleman, had seen his king dethroned and beheaded; his king's son, heir to the throne, outlawed and exiled; and his religion contemned and trodden down by bigoted and cruel fanatics, under whose stern rule the land now lay. War was over, 'tis true, but 'twas a most pitiful truth, for war were better far than such ignoble peace as this. So, sorrowing for these things, and for the loss of his darling son, an exile with his king, the old man weakened; and at last came a day in this spring, when, though the glorious sunshine filled the little room where he lay, yet he said to Agnes, "Come here, child, let me kiss thee yet once more. How dark it grows; pray move the curtains from the window, that I may have a little more light," and the ministering one felt a thrill of anguish as she rustled the curtains to comfort the dying man, for the golden light so gushed through the wide open windows, that scarce even the eyes of death could be sealed against it. Then he said, "I thought it was morning, but the night must have come. Good night, now; wake me if I sleep late in the morning." So he slept, and many mornings came and went, but the old man never woke more. And Agnes felt her loneliness as she sat in the churchyard, looking absently at the antique memorial stones.

Several years have passed since she sat side by side with Richard Wentworth at Boscobel, and yet he and Ralph Giffard were exiles still. After passing that night at Bentley Hall, Wentworth and Charles had arrived safely at the sea coast, and thence got over to France in a collier ship. Ralph Giffard and his friend had afterwards joined them, and there seemed little hope that they would ever return to their own country. 'Tis true, that at long intervals, Agnes had received from Richard Wentworth missives full of love and of calm abiding hope. With these also came sometimes greetings in a strange handwriting, from "An unknown friend," which was always a mystery Agnes could not unravel. Ralph also sent fervent blessings for Jane