The morning call., 1895-01-20

and the driver gave her steam, the fifteen
carriages refused to start. Here ! wit
messed, for the second time in my life, the
working of the slowest, clumsiest piece of
machinery in use to-day in any civilized
Countrywide reversing wheel" l had
seen it once before, when the London and
Northwestern prize engine was leaving
Chicago. When the locomotive fails to
start her train, it is always necessary to re-
verse her to get what there is of slack be-
tween the cars. In this way the engine
starts a car at time, so that by the time
the last car is started the locomotive has
made a quarter of a turn or more and the
front part of the train is in motion. With
a woodworking reverse lever this is ac-
complished easily; but with a wheel that
must be given from seven to eleven revo-
lutions to reverse the machinery, the pro-
cess is painfully slow, without the saw
ing grace of being sure. As the wheel
revolves the locomotive creeps forward,
stealing the slack from car after car so that
by the time the machinery is in the forward
motion the slack is gone and you are just
where you were before you began to re-
verse. There was serious collision on the
Great Northern not long ago; a double
head express train dashed into goods
train that was being shunted, and if the
locomotives had "wheels" the wonder is
that more people were not killed.
From Herne Hill, where we got the last
four carriages, it is seventy-five miles to
Dover and we were to make the run with
out stop. Just about the time our smart
steed got them going she dashed into a
tunnel half a mile long. The great drivers
hammering the rails and the rattle of the
carriages made deafening roar, and to
add to the torture the driver pulled the
whistle. The English locomotive whistle
is the shrillest, sharpest, most ear-splitting
instrument of torture ever heard. 1t is
as musical as Chinese fiddle accompanied
by lawn mower.
How bright the sun looked-for l had
been in London four weeks-when we
leaped out of the other end of the tunnel.
Although it was now the middle of Octo-
Der, the sides of the cuts were beautifully
carpeted with green turf. The whole right
of way was perfectly clean, and here and
there were neat brick and stone stations
between the up and down tracks.
AS the smoke of London began to grow
dim in the distance, beautiful panorama
OF fields and farms opened up before us.
As far as the eye could reach, on either
side, We're rolling meadows and brown
fields, dotted with thatch-roofed stacks.
Ii the speed slackened as we assembled
long 'bank'' these rural pictures claimed
my attention and made me forget for the
moment that we were at the front of the
Paris express. But, when we had reached
the summit, and the world began to
slip beneath US till the keen air cut
our faces, we were made to realize
that we were not losing any time. Now
we were rolling along the top of high
hill, from whose fat summit we looked
down the chimney-pots in the village
houses; and now dashing into deep cut,
where flocks of frightened quail rose up
and beat the bank, or, caught by the eddy
ing wind, were dashed against the sides of
the flying train, as man standing near
the track and grown dizzy throws himself
beneath the wheels.
a sharp curve throws our train out On
the brow of gentle hill. Below, through
a green valley, winds a lazy-looking river
the Midway. This is the old town of
Rochester, the land of Dickens, and beyond
the river stands the old Norman castle.
Away, away, the engine flies and the dull
town is Left for the sunny fields. We are