CHAPTER X.

Visit to the Euston Terminus-The Station-The Great Hall-Parcels Delivery Office -Lost Luggage Department-"A Curiosity Shop"-The Down Train-The Platform-First, Second, and Third-Class Passengers, their Races and Habits-The Camden Station-Passenger and Goods Engine Dépôt-Cattle Platform-Goods Department-The Up Train-The Ticket Platform-Refined DiscriminationArrangements for the Up Train-The Up Platform-The Arrival-King's Cross Station-Intermediate Stations-Chester Station-Scenes at an 66 Intermediate "Buildings and Arrangements-Waiting for the Train-The Approaching TrainProcesses on the Arrival of the Train--The Deserted Station-The "Arrivals "-Crossings-Sidings-Chocks-Station, Auxiliary, and Junction Signals-Time Signals-Electric Telegraph Signals-A Novel Contrivance for Signaling, and its Results -Fog Signals-An Amusing Experiment-Carriage Department-Carriage Cleaning -Refreshment Establishments-Wolverton-Practical Economy at Tonbridge Station -Swindon-Optical Illusion-Vehicular Establishments at Intermediate StationsA Cross Country Journey-Scenes by Night at a Station-Battle Station-Woburn Station-Level Crossing Stations-The Personnel of a Railway-The London Railway Clerk-Duties of the Clerk-Policemen-Official Propriety-Porters-Guards -Duties of Guards-Incident-Duties of Engine-Drivers and Firemen Unique Position of the Drivers-Wages of Drivers and Firemen-The Station MercuriesAnecdotes.

ERE you are, Sir! is the somewhat selfcontradictory exclamation of the sturdy, but officious cabman, who anticipates the wish of an approaching pedestrian to avail himself of the advantages of "the stand." Philosophic minds have attempted to discover the means by which the cabmen of the modern Babylon are enabled to distinguish with preternatural accuracy between "fares" and the common run of travellers; but the only conclusion appears to be that that unique race of Jehus are gifted with a capacity of intuitive perception, or an intentional consciousness, as the Germans have it, denied to other mortals. Without detaining the reader with any metaphysical analysis of the arguments advanced in the support of so momentous a conclusion, or pointing out any of the principles which might be legitimately deduced from such premises, it will be sufficient to request him to seat himself in the vehicle, and to pay a visit to the Euston and Camden stations of the London and

North Western Railway. "Nimble as a bee," the driver snatches away the piece of sacking that is supposed to retain the caloric in the loins of his horse, and instantly goes through a series of evolutions in order to bring his cab alongside the kerb-stone, which could not be adequately described without the aid of diagrams, and which the uninitiated observer would probably conclude was for the purpose of driving the horse in at the open door of the vehicle instead of putting the passenger there. In a few moments, the traveller is rattling over the stones in the desired direction.

The cab enters the Euston station under the propyleum, which has been erected after a Grecian model, and has Doric columns of the largest size constructed in modern times. The outer vestibule of the great hall, at which the vehicle pulls up, has a beautifully designed mosaic pavement, constructed of patent metallic lava within a border of Craigleith stone, and from it the vestibule is entered. This is more than 125 feet in length, and sixty in width and height, and, as respects both size and grandeur, is, it is believed, unsurpassed. At the northern end is a noble flight of steps leading to another vestibule, in which are doors conducting to the general meetingroom, and the board and conference-rooms, while a variety of galleries and staircases communicate with numerous offices.

The buildings are in the Roman-Ionic style of architecture. The ceiling of the vestibule is divided into panels deeply coffered, and is lighted by windows above the entablature. There are pillars at the head of the stairs, painted in imitation of dark-red granite, which have a very handsome appearance. The hall is warmed by hot-water pipes, due regard being paid to ventilation. Eight bas-reliefs adorn the columns in the corners of the halls, having symbolic representations of the characteristics of the cities and towns of London, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, Carlisle, Chester, Lancaster, and Northampton, through which the line passes.

Several departments of the Company's operations are carried on at the Euston station, which are well deserving minute observation; but a brief allusion must here suffice. One of these is the Parcels Delivery Office, whence an immense quantity of small packages of all shapes and sorts are hourly issued, while an equal number are received, classified, booked, and despatched to all parts of the middle and north of England.

The Lost Luggage Office is a scene of interest. When a train arrives at the termination of its journey, every carriage is scrupulously examined by a searcher, and anything which may be found is conveyed to this office. The description of the article, the day of

the discovery, the train, and the carriage, are noted down by the superintendent of this department with the greatest accuracy; and if anything be discovered that bears an address, if not applied. for within twenty-four hours, it is forwarded to the owner. If it has no

address, and is not inquired for at the end of a month, it is opened, and if it give any intimation of the owner, communication is made with him. If no intelligence can be obtained, it is disposed of by auction, after the lapse of two years from the date of its discovery. In this department is kept a luggage inquiry-book, in which a description of articles is entered which passengers have lost in travelling, and inquiry is then made for them at the Lost Luggage dépôts. All articles found between London and Wolverton are forwarded to the metropolis, and those between Wolverton and Birmingham are sent to Birmingham. If other resources fail, the superintendent of the office writes to more than three hundred stations, with which this office is connected, to inquire after the missing goods; and in the event of this effort being unsuccessful, the seeker receives a final communication on the subject. The collection of articles in the Lost Luggage dépôt is atonishing: innumerable shawls, cloaks, umbrellas, parasols, reticules, scarfs, boxes, bags, eatables and drinkables, may here be seen; while the variety has been amusingly increased by the presence of a pair of leather hunting-breeches, a boot-jack, a knapsack, a regimental coat, a Scotchman's bagpipes, and a pair of crutches.

Passing from the offices of the station to the "down platform," a train is about to start, and we may linger a few moments to witness the interesting spectacle. The sun's warm rays gleam from above, and show the web of interlaced rods, bars, and bolts, that support the immense area of plate-glass which forms the roof. On the dozen pairs of rails that divide the up from the down platforms are strings of carriages, some of which have been collected into the train which we now behold. Porters bustle about with luggage of all kinds and shapes on their shoulders, or they trundle little mountains of baggage to the vans in wicker-work trucks, which have the appearance of something between a clothes-basket and a badlyconstructed cradle. One man endangers the heads of the public generally by the clumsy manner in which he conveys a huge box towards the luggage van; while another, who is propelling a heavilyladen truck, seems to feel perfectly justified in knocking any one down or bruising their shins if he has first sought their permission by muttering the mythic and mystic words, " By y'leave."

The train is now rapidly filling, and the luggage is deposited in, on, or under, the several carriages in which the passengers travel, or

is put into the break. While these arrangements are progressing, we may take a momentary glance at the passengers.

There is a first-class carriage with its characteristic assortment of inmates. The middle seats are occupied by two stout gentlemen, one of whom is nearly hidden behind a copy of a morning paper he is reading, while the other is almost, and will soon be entirely, asleep, having already stowed his head in a cap which comes down nearly to his nose. Their travelling companions are a young member of an old family in the north, a lady and her daughter. The "sprig" will soon find, most unaccountably, that the view from the window on the other side is far more attractive than that on his own, and will consequently prefer to direct his attention that way; and the young lady might doubtless be considered to be reading the novel which she has just purchased at the book-stand, were it not that she will not turn over a leaf above once in half an hour.

The second-class passengers are another genus. One, who is a commercial traveller, puts on a red cap while the train is alongside the platform, and will be nearly asleep before it is out of the yard, for he is an old stager, and economises his strength. The people here are more communicative, and are sometimes even facetious. The chances are that they will joke about the engine, say that they prefer having their backs to the horses, talk about a "feed of coke," or when the engine whistles they will exclaim pathetically “Poor creature!” These puns, mild as they are, are laughed at by the good-tempered passengers as if they had never been heard before, instead of it being the five-hundredth or the five-thousandth time. Others of the travellers, having a turn of mind for the agreeably tragic, will point out on the journey the precise spots where certain dreadful accidents happened, with the idea, it is presumed, that such recitals give a pleasant piquancy to a journey. The terrible disaster of the mail train, which left York for London on the night of the 30th of February last, and has never since been heard of, will be listened to with appropriate feelings of pity for the unfortunate sufferers! These allusions, of course, produce a very gratifying effect on the mind of "the old lady," who is always to be found in one of the second-class carriages of every train. We particularise her, because she is invariably there. She is first found in great distress about her box, which is a thing perfectly unique; and which she is afraid may be pocketed by some one, (though it weighs a good half-hundred-weight), in its passage from the omnibus to the platform, while she is obtaining her ticket. Then it is a source of the deepest anxiety to her because it cannot be put under the seat,

and will not go into the locker of the carriage in which she is to travel, and it is finally put in a remote van, where the old lady would like to go too. Her ideas of steam-power are peculiar, for she looks upon the engine as something between clock-work and gunpowder, and as altogether a very dangerous thing to play with. The engine, she also imagines, has an innate and inveterate propensity to run away by itself, and to rush from the rails in the middle of the highest embankments on the line, for mere purposes of self-destruction.

In reference to the second-class passengers, it may be safely predicated of them, that there is one topic on which they are all agreed, and on which they will not fail to expatiate until their journey's end. It refers to the strong sensation they have of sitting on uncommonly hard seats. Indeed, the theory has been fully discussed, and is popularly regarded as in the highest degree plausible, that the Directors of railways send deputations of skilled carpenters all over the world to obtain the hardest wood which can be found, with which to make second-class seats. The result of their investigations has been most satisfactory to the Companies; the only difficulty arising from a vague misgiving that perhaps the "seconds" may flee to the third class, which cannot be worse.

We cannot on this line point out the characteristics of the passengers who travel-as in the Midland districts—in that unique species of conveyance, the open third-class carriage. But it is worthy of remark, that these vehicles have the peculiar and interesting property,—of always meeting the rain from whatever quarter it may come. On those occasions the carriages are a species of hori zontal shower-bath, from whose searching power there is no escape. It has been well remarked, that a wet, steaming, dripping coach, was a melancholy object enough, swaying through a village with its compact hood of umbrellas, looking for all the world like a large green tortoise lying over the top; but it was nothing to one of these open cars in wet weather. To escape the rain is simply an impossibility. If the traveller turns his back to it, he finds the nape of his neck filled with water; if he faces it, his pockets are turned into wells; if he thinks to protect his hat by his handkerchief, it only augments and prolongs his misery, for the rims become like brown paper, and he is then in a difficulty to know where to put the dab of a handkerchief. It is a fortunate circumstance, that even thirdclass passengers can have covered carriages once every day on all the lines in the country.

But the train is about to start. The "five minutes" bell has rung;