The morning call., 1895-01-20

in front Of Victoria station. A solid stream
of men, women and children was pouring
in at the gates to the platforms where the
trains stand. Long lines of people were
waiting in front of the windows in the
booking-office. Trunks, bags and boxes
fairly rained into the luggage-room; but
the porters-short, stout fellows-picked
them up and bore them away as red ants
run away with crumbs at picnic.
To the train titled people came in car
riages, behind splendid horses, with coach
men in high hats and footmen in yellow
trousers. American milEonaires came
also in coaches and tallyhos, and mingled
with the plain English nobility.
You can tell the American women by
their smart dresses, and the English by
their heavy boots, red cheeks and heaps of
hair. You can tell the London swell from
the New Yorker, for there is something the
matter with one of his eyes. And you can
pick out the duke and the lord, for they are,
in most cases, plain and modest men.
There is a noticeable absence of poor peo-
pie, for the train is not going to the hop
fields of Kent, but to Paris and the Riviera.
Mr. Thorne, the American representative
of the London, Chatham and Dover Rail
way, in a shining silk hat a snow-white
cravat and blood-red boutonniere, and Mr..
Green, the station-master, are busy as
signing small parties of Americans to COM
partments and larger parties to saloons.
The Englishman travelling in his native
land makes little trouble Tor any one. He
usually has his luggage aboard and his
porter dismissed with scowl and a three
pence, while the foreigner with smile and
a shilling awaits his turn. All the Eng
ishman asks is to be let alone, and surely
that is not too much. They tell here of
man entering a compartment with an
Englishman and remarking that it was
nice day.
"Dash it," shouted the other, "aren't you
getting your share of it?"
The faded carriages that stretch away in
a long line toward the locomotive look
singularly small to those who are accus-
toned to seeing the heavy trains OF
America.
And now we come to the locomotive.
The stoker touched his cap when 1 stepped
aboard, and 1 noticed that he did this
every time he addressed me. If asked
simple question he invariably touched his
cap before he answered.
The absence of pilot or "cowcatcher"
as it is sometimes called, makes the Eng
lish locomotive look awkard and unfin-
ished to an American. There are no cyl
inders, crOss-heads or main rods in sight,
and at a first glance she reminds one of a
well-made stationary engine. Even her
beautiful high wheels are half covered with
steel. Like a well-dressed Englishman, the
Locomotive har
knees up.
Above her running board she is scrupu-
lousy clean, bright and interesting. But
even here she has vacant look. There is
but one steam dome and no sand box or
bell. She looks as though she has been
driven under low bridge, had her back
swept bare, and then had had nothing re-
built but one dome and the stack.
In the cab, where ought to be comfort
able seats for the driver and stoker, there
are high boxes that come nearly to the
window-sills. No matter how long he re-
mains on duty, the driver must stand up;
nor has the stOker, who, in descending a
long bank, might get moments rest, any
place TO sit, but must stand the whole way
on his weary feet. This is simply
disgraceful. The precious lives of thou
sands Of people are placed in the hands of
the engine-driver, and yet no thought is
given to his comfort. l read with consid-
cradle amusement an article in an English
journal urging the Board of Trade to pro-
vide medals as reward to engine-drivers
''for duty ably DONE" I would suggest
better wages and seats in cabs. Medals are
all right as mark, but even titles are no
good when we are dead. Think of a man
spending years in learning a trade and
then doubling the road between London
and Dover, 100 miles, for ISL rs, or ninety
miles for $1-just So less than an engineer
gets for covering the same distance on
mountain road in the United States. The
risk is about the same, for the English
driver runs four times as fast as the noun
taineer.
Engine II, designed by William Kirtley,
locomotive superintendent of the London,
Chatham and Dover Railway, was attached
to the Paris train, and when we got the
signal to 90 she started the eleven light
carriages, all filled with people, as easily as
a good horse starts a hanson. The fog
that hung over the city in the early morn
ing had all blown away, and the sun shone
brightly on the glistening steel. Our en-
CINE was nearly new, and l saw before we
had gone mile that she was a good easy
rider. She had not the exaggerated, eight
foot English wheels, and was all the better
for it. She was smart, and had her train
going so that the rear car dashed out of the.
station-shed at fifteen miles an hour. The
furnace door was ingeniously arranged so
that by pulling lever the door parted in
the middle. The tirebox was not more
than four feet long, but long enough to
make plenty of steam-and with about 20
per cent less coal than an American engine
of the same size would consume. There
was nothing to look out for but the signals,
as the Ioadways in England are all walled |
in, and the driver dashes right away to the |
sea. The track is not straight, and soon
found 1t necessary to hang on to the cab as |
she swung around the corners.
Out through the ragged edge of London,
over the Thames and down the rail our
steel steed whirled us at a rapid rate The
English driver does not run with his |
hand on the throttle and his eye on the /
road, as We are wont to picture loco |