ting, past Haverstock Hill station, and then with a rush plunged into the murky terrors of Belsize tunnel, which the preceding 10.30 train had filled with vapour, which still twisted and clung to the damp sides in fantastic shapes, rapidly enveloping us as though to hide the Cimmerian terrors beyond. Had Dante been so fortunate as to ride through Belsize tunnel on a locomotive under such conditions, another and a more terrible chamber of horrors would have been added to his pandemonium, in which doubtless a wheeled monster would have figured, before which the most gruesome of his shapes would have flown in terror, crushed and ground in a thick - ribbed region of smoke and steam.

The fire-door is now dropped (with a clang) for the purpose of adding more fuel, and a broad lurid flash of light is flung back on to the tender and the end of the first carriage, showing the piled-up coal magnified and distorted by the masses of vapour which wreathed down from the roof. The rapid pulse-like beats of the exhaust could be distinctly heard as the arched roof hurled back each reeking concussion.

The darkness becomes more profound and wearisome, when a glimpse of light, lost as soon as seen, and gradually enlarging, gives one the impression of looking through the wrong end of a large telescope.

The light becomes larger and more full-orbed, and quickly, with a sense of relief, we rush into the awaiting glories of the day.

Ajax at the dawn, after the night's encounter, never felt more relief than was experienced by the third man on the foot-plate.

Through Cricklewood, Brent, Welsh Harp, and Hendon, houses,

fields, woods, and water trooping past at 60 miles per hour. Now we are breasting one of the first of the numerous gradients which mark the Midland route, and which the accompanying diagram will the better illustrate, both as regards section of road and speed maintained. The spacing between each of the horizontal lines represents 10 miles, the bottom being zero. The rise of for 4 miles to Elstree was hardly felt, the speed never falling below the rate of 56 miles per hour over the top.

In a few minutes we were racing up another 4 miles of sloping ground leading to and beyond St Albans. The changes are no longer panoramic, but become almost kaleidoscopic. So far the wary hand of the driver had never left the handle of the regulator, ready to check the slightest slipping that might be caused by the slippery state of the rails in the tunnels, or to check or stop in obedience to the numerous signals encountered.

After a careful survey of the distant lines he laid his hand on the quadrant wheel (the third time since our commencement) and adjusted it with almost mathematical precision to the second notch in the sector, which I afterwards noticed was divided into eight parts.

The smart clean-faced pressuregauge registered 160 lb. to the inch of pressure, and that, too, with left injector full on (and which was never taken off until our arrival at Nottingham), spoke well in favour of the steaming qualities of the boiler. The light simmering of the steam through the restraining discs of the safety-valves was constant, but never boisterous, a foretaste of scientific driving not to be excelled anywhere, proving the most judicious management of fire and water.

The deflected arms of the signalposts had so far showed a clear road, and the only manipulation indulged in was the regular laying on of a few shovelfuls of coal. The vacuum-gauge had from the first constantly registered 20 inches of vacuum, seven of which were sufficient in case of need to stop our onward course.

We pass St Albans, with its ancient abbey looking fresh after its timely renovation, at a speed of 57 miles per hour, and a few minutes later sweep through Harpenden, with its breezy furze-covered heath to the left, the speed-indicator showing 60 miles (good racing speed), and with an increased speed of 65 miles an hour we passed Luton, the town celebrated for its straw hat and bonnet industries. Another three miles and we had reached the height of 400 feet above mean sealevel, or equal to 328 feet above St Pancras. In twenty-one minutes from leaving Luton by my timepiece (which was carefully adjusted to Greenwich time), we round the curve at Bedford, with steam shut off, at the greatly reduced speed of 15 miles per hour, brought about by a slight touch of the brake-handle.

Leaving clean-looking Bedford (proud of its sedgy-banked river) without effort, we rapidly gain speed, as is evidenced by the rise of the water column in the Stroudley indicator, which, by the by, is snugly ensconced in a corner of the awning.

We glide rather than run through Oakley, and in another 3 miles commence our ascent of Sharnbrook, four miles of one in 120. The task, which carried us to a height of 312 feet above mean sea-level, was not a laborious one, the speed only falling to 50 miles per hour at the summit.

The duties of the men in charge now appear somewhat monotonous, and consist principally in antici pating the distant semaphores that here and there stand out like watchful sentinels of the line. The men in the boxes, as we pass them, by a light touch flash the information of our advance still farther ahead.

We were well up to time; the difficulty was to realise that we were running at the speed indicated, so smoothly and easily was the work done.

Up hill and down dale, the actual work done being faithfully indicated by the pointer affixed to the reversing screw, which marked the position of cutting off steam in cylinders, on the graduated brass plate, the lineal measurement of which showed the percentages, and which varied but little, ranging from 25 to 30 per cent of pistonstroke, and that too, with an expenditure not exceeding 21 lb. of Derbyshire coal per mile.

The analysis of the running by the time-table, and gauged by the principal stations, was punctuality to the minute.

Open country, cuttings, towns, and hamlets approached and fled by; stations were approached and passed with no other regard than the warning note of the whistle to stand clear as we thundered through, in some places. like a sweeping hurricane.

The stranger would indeed be as dead to influence and sensation as an unpolarised magnet, or the proverbial door-nail, who could leavo the luxurious and comfortable coupé (where his study has been to kill time by newspaper, or possibly by a round of cards), and exchange it for the exhilarating atmosphere of the footplate, with the freedom of unrestricted vision, and not feel the afflatus. The difference would be almost everything to him. The

novelty and delight in sharing a seeming power of volition, would be enough to inspire the old charioteer spirit. The mystery of the glistening and bright array of handles, gauges, and pipes; the rushing wind; the interminable clatter of wheels and rails; the momentary terror at the sudden swerve from the straight to the curves; the changing and mingling of views; the escarped earthworks and rocks, which rise and fall, and lengthen and change to some new phase of interest; the fervid glowing heat of the fire-box; and the reassuring regularity of the men in performing their duties. No necessity with this special steed to hold fast, no plunging to right or left, but. a steady and snake-like motion, yet quicker than the wind, and by virtue of the bogie system, which has never yet been known to fail, following the sinuous winding of the line with marvellous fidelity and ease, like one of the vertebrata, and racing the banks with more than the speed of the red deer, and developing more power than a regiment of horse.

The vigilance of the driver never decreases, and the fireman, at almost regular intervals of every three to five minutes, carefully lays on his two or three shovelfuls of coal. So far, the pressure had never varied more than two or three pounds on the square inch, so that the pointer of the steamgauge seemed almost incapable of

motion.

Over the summit, which had so far been the most rapid elevation yet achieved, and we skim lightly down the 4 miles with a sleighlike motion. Flitting through Irchester, then a comparatively level stretch through Wellingboro, Finedon, and Isham, at a speed of about 60 miles an hour, trending upwards to Kettering, then over the rolling

VQL. CXLVI.-NO. DCCCLXXXVII.

undulations to Geddington, mount Corby, and again descending, rush another tunnel, pass Gretton in a splendid whirl towards the lowest dip of the valley.

Another climb of one in a hundred and sixty-seven, burying ourselves in the oblivion of a tunnel, nearly two miles long, soon to be followed by another, over the crest and a short declivity. Again, on the rise through Manton tunnel, breasting the bank of one in a hundred and forty, at a speed of 53 miles an hour, over the hills by Oakham and Ashwell, with a splendid running ground of nine miles before us, leaving Whissendine and Saxby behind, we are fairly in the heart of the happy hunting-ground, and sight the old parish church of Melton, with its water-courses, patches of wood, and graceful curve. One more ascent of one in two hundred and twenty (of whose existence I should not have known, had it not been for the chart with which I had provided myself, so easily was it surmounted), then through Old Dalby, Upper Broughton, Widmerpool, Plumtree, and Edwalton

good names smacking of the old Saxon times-bowling along without any apparent effort, we at last see the well-built town of Nottingham, with its handsome villas, picturesquely placed, and crowned by the old castle.

Over the meadows, with steam off, and rapidly reducing speed (the break being lightly and skilfully applied), we run up in grand style, without a hitch, and stop, just as the long hand of the platform clock pointed to five minutes past one, having accomplished the 124 miles in two hours and twenty-five minutes, much the longest run of any in England, since the racing north last year, and of everyday occurrence, without a stoppage.

Y