midday no trace of broad gauge was left. | through to come on active duty on Monday The new track, puny and insignificant by morning. Indeed, so excellent were the contrast, had taken its place. At one o'clock on Saturday the distant smoke of a locomotive was seen in the distance, and shortly afterwards the first narrow gauge engine on the main line of the South Devon Railway made its appearance, creeping along cautiously on the new road not yet fully consolidated. In less than ten hours from the start it was possible to run vehicles of the new pattern over the line, a striking testimony to the strength and diligence of the platelayers. The weather, also, was all that could be desired, excellent light, fine weather, without excess of heat, and with a refreshing breeze, permitting every exertion to be made. Much, however, had still to be done. The cant of the curves had to be readjusted in consequence of the alteration, the screwing up of the ties to be completed, points reconnected, ballast put back, and defective parts of the new line repacked, so that some work still remained to be completed on Sunday. The broad gauge stock which reached Swindon on Saturday occupied many miles of sidings, temporarily laid down in readiness for the occasion. These were filled by a serried mass of passenger carriages, goods wagons, and in another part, silent and deserted engines, from the big Dragon to the little four-wheeled Owl. Passenger carriages, built as narrow gauge ones, were lifted in a few hours from their broad gauge bogie trucks and lowered upon new ones of smaller width, and these were running again at the beginning of the week. A good many of the hermaphrodite engines-built to serve for either gauge were also converted in a few days and equally promptly restored to active service. On Saturday and Sunday special arrangements were in force for the carriage of the mails, and the night mail-between Exeter and Plymouth ran over the London and South Western metals. West of Plymouth mails were conveyed by steam er. Some narrow gauge rolling-stock was also brought to Plymouth by the Okehampton route for service on Monday.* Shortly after midnight on Sunday, thanks to the engineering feat which had been so successfully performed, the re-occupation of the line took place, train after train of empty vehicles in swift succession passing A small quantity of narrow gauge stock had also been conveyed westward in "crocodile," trucks - ones with very low bodies. arrangements made that all the usual trains ran on time on that day as if nothing had happened, and Mr. Foxwell - not easily satisfied in the matter of expresses-was able to record in a London newspaper that one of the principal up-trains was even checked for being before time.* New rolling-stock of a very comfortable pattern was brought into use, and Midland and North Western carriages appeared at Torquay for the first time on Monday. An extra service of narrow gauge trains was called into requisition on Tuesday to convey home the additional force of platelayers and gangers who had arrived the previous week in broad gauge trains. Out of the whole number fortunately only three casualties were recorded. Accustomed to judge our army by the appearance of the noisy and disorderly striplings left behind at home, instead of the full-grown and well-set-up men on service abroad, the accumulation in one locality of so large a body of disciplined men in a few hours was a significant plea for long service. The fatiguing work performed with so much will and alacrity by these vigorous fellows, laboring for nearly seventeen hours at a stretch, showed what reserve material exists in the country in event of any contingency, and it is greatly to their credit that not a single man was met with noisy, quarrelsome, or drunk. These men, whose average of age appeared about thirty, were drafted from different parts of England and Wales served by the Great Western, and some of Mr. Foxwell's letter to the Pall Mall Gazette was couched in the following words: "It has been said that sudden conversions are never to be relied upon. No one would assent to this proposition after travelling in the up Cornishman to-day. This train is timed to leave Considering the extraordinary character of the line from Penzance at 11.10, and to reach Paddington at 7.50. Penzance to Exeter (132 miles), this represents a sufficiently hard task. To-day, therefore, being the first on which the Cornish express was to run narrow gauge, over a track which had just been changed from broad gauge in the twinkling of an eye, no one (except the at any rate along the section from Truro to Plymouth, drivers) thought it possible for the train to keep time, which is composed (or discomposed) of incessant curves and thirty-three trestle viaducts. "However, it was on this section that we did best, for at each stopping station we had to wait till our time was up, and then we ran into North Road too soon. road so recently relaid. Finally, after being snubbed Not once were we checked by any weak spot in the all the way up for being too forward, we shut off steam two and a half miles outside Paddington, and stopped at the platform at 7.46 - that is, four minutes before our time. "In spite of all temptations to belong to other nations, I am content to be an Englishman just now. Yours truly, "E. FOXWELL." "May 23. them had never seen the sea before; one man, indeed, was overheard to express some indistinct ideas about the time of the tides being controlled from the general manager's office at Paddington, and was told instead that the times were fixed by the Admiralty ! Further alterations are on foot in South Devon which will permit shortly of improvements being made in the service of trains. The line was originally laid out for the atmospheric system, by which a temporary success and very high speed of travelling was attained on a single line, and the campanile towers at some of the stations still remain conspicuous landmarks and relics of a most ingenious scheme which broke down with the untimely death of its chief organizer Samuda before the perfecting of its operations.* The gradients beyond Newton are consequently not originally designed for locomotive traffic, and in Cornwall-from other causes, the configuration of the ground and lowness of the bankers' balance during the period of construction there are also steep banks to be met with, as well as the picturesque bridges stepping boldly across ravine and valley (once a tracery of woodwork spars and now being gradually replaced by more solid and less artistic granite). quent alternating gradients. Hence the fast trains constantly pant up one side of a hill and then rush down the other, with an amount of oscillation very trying to nervous people). It is more than ever imperative now that the fast trains on the western line should cease stopping at Swindon,* and a further convenience might be afforded by the starting of the night mail trains an hour later from London, Penzance, and Milford. Indeed, a great portion of this time could be recovered upon the journey without much effort or danger of irregu. larity. The extra" third rail" between Exeter and London, already alas, rusty, remains a few months longer the only evidence of the magnificent travelling of the past, but the great works of Brunel at Maidenhead, Hanwell, Box, Chepstow, Saltash, etc., remain as an imperishable monument to his genius. Another great work has also since been added in the link of communications, that of Hawkshaw and Walker, the Severn Tunnel. R. B. From The Argosy. LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON. Progress is being made at several points, though much slower than it should be, with the doubling of the line on the east of Plymouth, and no doubt before long a heavier class of narrow gauge "mountain engine "than the ones temporarily in EVERY one had always agreed in sayuse will be adopted. The catlike agilitying that Major Wodehouse was an excelof the Hunchbacks, as the short-wheel-lent father. From the day of his young based broad gauge locomotives in use wife's death he had devoted himself to his west of Newton have sometimes been son. He had been a young man himself called, on the steeper gradients with a then, but he had not thought it beneath heavy load has to be matched by equally his dignity to go into all the minutia conpowerful narrow gauge engines of similar cerning the child's food and clothes; and weight. the smart officer playing at horses with his baby boy, and a little later instructing him in the art of cricket, was considered quite a pretty sight at Aldershot. As the London and South Western are now entering Cornwall from Launceston, and approaching Bodmin and Truro, with running powers even to Penzance, this point is worthy of consideration, inasmuch as that company has of late years reconstructed its locomotive stock upon very powerful lines. (The great difficulty which the L. S. W. R. has to contend with is in the original building of the line, which resembles the teeth of a saw in its freIt is, however, open to much doubt whether the action of the weather and of constant wear and strain on the apparatus could be counteracted. In the South Devon line the last was exceptionally great, as there was then no telegraph to give notice of the approach of trains, and a constant vacuum had to be kept up. And the major had met with no disappointing rebuffs at the hands of his off spring. Jack Wodehouse loved his father heartily, and from the time when he toddled by dadda's side in a white frock and a scarlet sash, through the schoolboy stage when he had confided all his escapades and troubles to the governor, to the days of his full manhood, his father was his best and dearest friend. Jack, indeed, had refused to go into the army because he would not leave his father; for by the time the lad's profession began to be a matter of discussion, the major had retired from the service, and had settled at a pretty place called Uplands in the village of Staunton, and Jack preferred to be articled to a solicitor in the neighboring town and stay at home, than join the finest regiment in the world, and quit the man who had been to him father, mother, and brother all in one. "I am exceedingly sorry to miss Mrs. Layard," he said. ("So far, so good," thought Jack.) "I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing her another day. But my call was really upon you, Miss Layard. I heard you say you were fond of picotees, and I have brought you two or three, if you will honor me by accepting them." Kate was charmed. She thanked the major in the prettiest way imaginable, and looked at the scented blossoms as if she loved them. Then she poured out the tea, chatting brightly. showing her own hand. So she inserted the tiniest soupçon of deference into her manner towards the major, and just the suggestion of pleasure-in-his-company into her way with Jack, and she satisfied neither, and filled both of them, for the first time, with ugly thoughts. There had always been perfect harmony between these two; they had never had what people call words; no breath of dissension had ever marred their happiness. Nothing, indeed, had ever occurred to It would have been impossible to say disturb their beautiful relations till one which gentleman Kate preferred, or if insummer day when they met on the thresh- deed she preferred either. She was used old of Mrs. Layard's house, each with to society, and she was seven or eightflowers in his hand. Jack was two-and-and-twenty, and she knew quite well how thirty now, handsome and popular; and to entertain a father and son without the major, who was twice his age, was handsome and popular too tall, erect, with eyes that were still keen, and a moustache that was thick if it was irongrey. The major's flowers had been tied by the gardener into a stiff bouquet; Jack's roses had been thrust æsthetically into a little basket. They were both evidently offerings, and as evidently offerings to be made to Mrs. Layard-a recent arrival in the village or to her pretty daughter Kate. For the first time in his life Jack glared at his father, and for the first time in his life the major frowned at his But they had no time to speak, for the servant came quickly to the door and ushered them both into the drawing son. room. Mrs. Layard's drawing-room was cool and pretty, and full of sweet scents, partly of Indian fans and cedar-wood boxes, and partly of mignonette and pinks; and Miss Kate, coming forward to receive the gentlemen in a white gown with a rosebud at her waist, was a cool and pretty and sweet object. "How good of you to come! I am so sorry my mother is out," she said, with a smile for both. "Let me give you some tea." Now, thought Jack, was his father's opportunity. Would he express regret at Mrs. Layard's absence, and say that he had brought her some flowers? "I have brought you a few roses, Miss Layard," said the young man in blunt haste. "I don't know if you care for roses, but if you will accept "Indeed, I love roses!" she interrupted him. "How good of you to have thought of me! And how pretty they look in that basket!" Then it was the major's turn. The major took his leave first, and it would have been noticeable to any one who had known them long that his exit was unnatural. Usually when the father and son paid calls together, the former would arise and say, "Well, my boy, I think we must be going," and Jack would respond cheerily and jump up willingly. But to-day the major said hesitatingly, "I don't know if you are coming, Jack;" and Jack, who had been listening vaguely to the chatter of Miss Kate's young brother, replied, "No, I'm just going to see this youngster's guinea-pigs, if Miss Layard will allow me." So the major went home alone, heavy hearted, and that was a dismal evening at Uplands. Even the servant who waited at table marked the constrained conversation, and told the other domestics that "something was up." A great mountain of formality seemed suddenly to have sprung up between the two men. They talked certainly, but they talked as if they had been acquaintances. They were polite, and, being good-tempered men, they were not surly; but all the frankness and the fire had gone out of their intercourse. After thirty-two years of the closest affec tion, Love the Beautiful had stepped in and struck a discordant note. After dinner, Jack murmured a few words about business, and withdrew to his own sitting-room. It was not a very comfortable apartment because, as a matter of fact, Jack never used it. His father's so called study had been the general living. room of the two ever since Uplands became their home, and there they had made themselves snug, and accumulated all their precious litter, and steeped the air with tobacco smoke, and been inordinately happy. But on this evening Jack felt that he must be alone, and he therefore stalked across the hall to the room which was called his, shut the door after him with a decided hand, and threw himself down in a leather armchair in no enviable mood. The major did much the same in the room opposite. He, too, shut the door upon his sorrow, and sat down sadly to ponder the situation. At eleven o'clock, when the house was quiet and all the servants in bed, Jack presented himself in the study. Father," he said. "Yes, my boy," replied the major, without looking round. Somehow the major looked older. He was seated low down in his easy-chair, and his spare form seemed shrunken; his voice even sounded thinner. Jack stood and looked at him pitifully. "Father, which of us two is to go away?" he asked at last. "We will settle that to-morrow, my boy," replied the major. Then he rose and drew himself up to his full height. If anything, he was taller than Jack, and he was very dignified. "It is a misfortune, my boy," he said gently, "and, as you say, one of us must go away. We will settle which to-morrow. Now good-night, and God bless you!" He bent forward and kissed Jack as if he had been still a little boy, and Jack returned the embrace. "My dear, dear father!" he murmured. "God bless you!" said the major again. Then the two men lighted their candles and went up-stairs, parting at the major's door with a close hand-clasp. An hour later the major softly opened his door and came down-stairs with a Gladstone bag in his hand. Entering his study, he wrote a short note, and, leaving it on the table, he cautiously opened the window and went out into the warm summer night. Three hours afterwards, Jack also emerged noiselessly from his room and descended the stairs. He carried a small portmanteau, and in one hand he held a sealed envelope, which he deposited on the hall table. Then he let himself out into the fragrant morning air and disappeared rapidly down the drive. When the servants came down the next morning, they found the front door unbolted and the study window open, and a note on the study table directed to Jack in the major's writing, and a note on the hall table directed to the major in Jack's writing. And the bedrooms of both gentlemen were empty, and some of their clothes and other necessaries were gone. The butler hurried off to the station, and there learnt that his old master had left Staunton by the mail-train at I A.M., and that his young master had departed by the 4 A.M. train, and that both had booked to London. In despair, the man telegraphed to the hotel where Major Wodehouse and his son generally slept in town, to their bankers, and to Jack's office. But no one could throw any light upon the extraordinary event. The gentlemen had not been seen or heard of. Only an undated note reached Jack's partner in the afternoon, in which Jack stated that he had been imperatively called away by private affairs and hoped that his sudden absence would not be inconvenient. The astonished servants stood aghast, and they were still more astonished when upon the following day, two letters were delivered at Uplands, one bearing a French postmark and addressed by the major to his son, the other bearing a German postmark and addressed by Jack to his father. It was evident that something had driven the two men apart, but that each believed the other to be at home, and Jack's partner took upon himself to desire the butler to go on as usual, saying that no doubt Major Wodehouse and Mr. John would soon return or communicate with their friends or servants. But this hope proved fallacious. Every day or so letters came from the major to Jack, and from Jack to the major, always with a fresh postmark as if they were travelling without halt, the major's letters always from France, Jack's always from Germany. It was certain that each believed the other to be at home, and was eluding pursuit by constant movement, and by leaving no address at the temporary resting-places. Jack's partner wrote to both at various postes restantes, but got no answer, and presently he gave it up. "It is a mere misunderstanding, not a quarrel," he told the butler. "Any one of these letters would give us the key to the mystery; but we have no right to open them, so long as we are assured by their regular arrival that both gentlemen are alive. Keep the place in order, and be sure one of them will turn up in time.” So a great pile of letters from France | met overhead and the blue sky and the and Germany accumulated; and people sunlight peeped merrily through here and talked a great deal about the disappear- there. But in autumn it was gloomy; the ance of the major and his son, and made many surmises, and suggested numbers of more or less plausible hypotheses; and the summer grew to its height and waned into autumn, and autumn frosts and falling leaves began to herald the approach of winter; and still nothing was heard of the absentees; and as Uplands was situated a little off the highroad, out of sight became out of mind, and the affairs of the Wodehouses were canvassed less and less every day. It was at this time, when the nuts were ripe and the Virginia creeper scarlet and the chrysanthemums in bloom, that Kate Layard began to look pale and languid, and to seem as if she were moped by life in the country, or as if, at all events, the air of Staunton did not suit her. Miss Kate's beauty did not diminish, but it assumed a very delicate character, and her little hand grew smaller, and the color in her cheeks came and went, like moonlight peeping through clouds. She coughed a little, and people wondered if there were consumption in the family, and what Mr. Layard had died of, and some even went so far as to commiserate Mrs. Layard on her daughter's failing health. But Mrs. Layard, whatever she guessed or knew, revealed no secrets. "It was only the autumn weather," she declared. "Kate had been bred in London, and perhaps it was damp in the country during the fall of the leaf. She thought she would send her to Brighton for a week, or on a visit to some friends at Earl's Court." But time went on, and Miss Kate went neither to Earl's Court nor Brighton. She looked fragile; but she was as discreet as her mother, and though she was unhappy and troubled, she always said that she was well, or at least that she only had a headache. There came an afternoon in late October when the white mists hung low above the earth, when the red and yellow leaves lay rotting in heaps upon the ground, when only a robin's voice disturbed the melancholy silence, when all was still and damp, and the year seemed oppressed with the burden of its days. Kate had gone out, as she often did now - for the after pensive evening suited her mood the afternoon tea, and almost mechanically her feet took her along the quiet road that led to Uplands. In summer this road was a cool and bowery place, where the trees path was wet with recent rain, the gaunt, bare trees no longer protected from the heat but shut out the fading day; it was already night in this grove, and Kate felt almost relieved when she reached a gate leading into an open meadow. She went and leant against it, and surveyed the scene. There was Uplands, with its gables and chimneys rising above the trees; the placid fields lay before her; a dog bayed in the distance; the moon, almost at the full, was just rising above the horizon. Everything was unspeakably peaceful except Kate's heart. She glanced towards Uplands and sighed deeply. She had never even owned to herself why she had been miserable since the fair June day, when the major had come to her with his picotees, and Jack with his roses; but there are some things facts of the heart mostly that do not require open acknowledgment. Kate had kept some of the flowers that had been given to her on that day so long ago, and it seemed to her that their faint perfume followed her wherever she went. Perhaps it did, for she looked at the withered blos. soms and fingered them every day. She was still leaning against the gate when she became aware of a footstep that was coming towards her under the trees. She listened. It was a slow footstep, as of some one weary and out of heart, and as it drew nearer, she found that it was accompanied by a laboring breath, which came and went like a profound sigh. As the wayfarer came closer, she stepped out into the road to meet him. She was no coward, and she thought that here was some one, ill at ease like herself, whom she might assist. In the gloom of the trees she descried the figure of an old man, walking at a laggard's pace and carrying a bag. In a few moments he had reached the open space by the gate where Kate stood, which was now flooded with moonlight. It was the major. He was a good deal aged, but Kate recognized him instantly, and with a little cry of joy she sprang to his side. "Oh, Major Wodehouse, is it you?" she exclaimed. "Kate! Miss Layard!" he said, trembling. "Yes," cried she; "it is I Layard!" Kate "Kate Layard!" he repeated. "Yes, Kate Layard. Oh, Major Wodehouse, don't you know me!" she cried. |
