"Thank ye, sir!" said the man, but without looking in my face; and then turning around he began to grope for something in the matting on which he stood, muttering something to himself all the while. There was something odd, indescribable in the man's manner, and I observed that the fireman looked at him with evident uneasiness, and addressed him not a word.

All this while the speed of the engine was rapidly increasing. The clattering of the opening and shutting valves, as they alternately let on and cut off the steam, grew faster and faster, till they rattled like the continuous roll of a drum. The hedges by the wayside flew by in a long, dusky line, which might have been shrubs, or stone wall, or wooden palings. The swaying motion of the locomotive grew to be a quick, swinging jolt. The white poles which supported the wires of the electric telegraph flew by as though defiling in rapid procession; bridges loomed a moment before us like dark stripes cutting the sky, and then, with a steam shriek and a bound, were left behind. On!-along high embankments -down with a sweep between deep cuttings-past stations, with their neat waiting rooms and high signal poles, and railed platforms! On, on! milestone after milestone flew by. The steam monster seemed instinct with life. It bounded like a mad thing on the rails; the couplings of the tender creaked and strained; the glare from the furnace and the lighter gleam from our big, eye-like lamp, flew like flashes of aurora borealis along the green slopes of cuttings; the red-hot cinders from the chimney went sparkling aloft in the air; and, although not a breath of air was stirring, a hurricane, cold and piercing, such as the eye could hardly withstand, appeared to be tearing by us back into the lonesome night.

So far all was well. We were going at a great, but not unprecedented speed, and I was too well acquainted with railway travelling to feel nervous. I knew the line was clear, and the night was quite bright enough for us to perceive any signal half a mile off.

Meanwhile, Westhorpe stood fidgeting away with the engine, urging backwards and forwards the handles of the levers, as they worked with the mechanism, as though he would increase their speed. He was never still for a moment, and kept constantly stamping and shuffling with his feet. The fireman leant against the rails, clutching them, as it struck me, in an alarmed manner. I could observe all this by the light of a very large and brilliant lamp, which hung on a hook close to the gauge which tells the height of the water in the boiler.

On, on, on!-mile after mile and station after station! On by dark clumps of trees-and past the light of villages and solitary farin houses-and acros long, dim expanses of wild, open country! We might be already from twenty-five to thirty miles on our journey.

car.

"Tartarus goes bravely," said I, making an effort to speak, and shouting the words into Westhorpe's

The fireman came up to us, and listened for the reply.

The engineer looked quickly from one to the other of us, his eye glared like a wild beast's, and then he suddenly exclaimed to his fellow-laborer:

"Coke, Jeffries, coke! More steam, more steam! The gentleman must have more steam! Never mind life!-steam!-steam!"

I was startled by this burst, so was Jeffries, as I found the fireman was called. He hesitated. "Coke-coke!

on the rails!"

shouted Westhorpe. "By the heavens above us, there, do your duty, or you go

The man still lingered with his spade in his hand. Westhorpe kicked open the furnace door. I heard the roar of the fierce fire above the howl of what appeared to be the tornado we were stemming.

interposed.

"I think we're getting over the ground very well," I faltered.

Jeffries made a motion, as much as to say. "There, you see!"

"You don't want to go quicker?" said Westhorpe, speaking low and very fast.

I shook my head.

"Well, I do!" roared the excited man. "Coke, Jeffries, coke!"

And he struck the fireman a violent blow with his clenched fist. For a moment I stood stupefied. I would have given al' the world to be left safe and sound on the dreariest spot of the dreary common we were passing. Jeffries, without a word, took up the spade and threw the black masses into the fire, which crackled and roared again. By its glare, as he stooped, I saw that, under its mask of smut, his face was deadly pale.

And still on, on! The engine appeared to fly. The quarter mile stones seemed to shoot by as quickly as did the telegraph poles a quarter of an hour ago, and the sway was terrific.

"Music!" shouted Westhorpe, "music! We'll have music! Here's my boiling water organ!" And as he spoke, he set on the steam whistle; its scream went through and through my brain. The fireman looked at me. I saw he was trying to catch my eye, and the expression of his face was one of consternation and horror. All at once the horrible whistle ceased.

"I might give warning," Westhorpe muttered; "and besides it's wasting steam,"

I shuddered. Suddenly the engineer turned from the locomotive, and stepping to the tender gazed long and anxiously back. Jeffries took advantage of the motion, and clutched me by the arm. "Hush," he said breathlessly.

"What is the matter with the man?" I said.

"Hush! He is mad. I thought so these two days."

Mad! I felt the cold sweat break out from every pore. A mile a minute with a mad engineer! My flesh crept, and I got sick and faint.

"We must master him between us," gasped Jeffries.

"We can," I said; "it is our only chance. Come on!"

The words were hardly uttered ere Westhorpe sprung-bounded round.

"I heard you!" he shouted; "I did!-treachery, treachery!-two to one! But come, come,

come!"

There was a moment's pause; not one of the three stirred. Then I saw Jeffries' hand gliding towards a heavy hammer which lay close to him. The maniac, for such he was, glared from one to the other of us. I could not fix his eye, but felt that he watched my every movement. I gasped for breath. Jeffries' hand was close to the hammer, when, with a yell which rung high into the air amid the thunder of our onward pace, Westhorpe threw himself upon the fireman. He had observed his manœuvre to gain possession of the hammer.

"You would, would you?" the madman growled out between his clenched teeth,-"then take it!" He flung his arms round the wretched man, who clutched convulsively at any object within his grasp.

"Save me!" he screamed; "save me, for dear God's sake!"

But I was paralyzed. With one superhuman effort Westhorpe tore the wretch from his crouching position, and with limbs which appeared to work and swell with iron muscles, tossed the strong man like a child in his arms, and shouted a maniac-yelling laugh.

66

Help, help!" screamed Jeffries; "oh! oh! my wife at home!"

These were his last words.

"Then go home to her!" shrieked Westhorpe, and, with another demoniac laugh, he heaved the struggling victim high into the air, and I heard the dull, dead, plashy dint with which he was dashed to pieces on the stony ground.

Westhorpe turned suddenly round. "Mad," he shouted at the full pitch of his voice-"Mad!-I believe you!-I am!-I am! mad! mad! mad!" He clenched my collar, and drew me to him-I was a mere child in his arms.

"Mad!" he repeated-"oh, yes!-I tried long to keep it down!-oh, I fought with it!-wrestled with it! And I said to myself, No, I am not mad, when I knew I was! Mad! I believe you!-I am mad!-I feel it now!-I know the pleasure of it! God!-who would be sane!-ha! ha ha!-if he knew what a life a madman's is!"

He unloosed his grasp of me, and I shrunk back into a corner of the tender almost unable to articulate. The paroxysm appeared to pass away for the moment, and he stood muttering. Then catching up the spade, he set himself to trim the fires anew. A thrill of horror again passed through me; we were going at a pace to which all others that I ever travelled were child's play. I tried to compose myself to my fate. If the locomotive did not leap off the rails, it was evident that, sooner or later, we must arrive at the obstruction which would, as with one mighty blow, smite us into dust forever.

Again he turned round to me, and, drawing me towards him, looked into my face. The madman had his mastery. Supporting himself by a side-rail, he gazed at me. Oh, that lustrous, blood-shot eye! That ghastly, working, twitching visage! At length he spoke, slowly, nay, calmly.

"We are now going faster than any mortal man travelled since the world was a world."

He paused, and the frightful swaying of the locomotive, and the rattling-like play of the rattling mechanism, fearfully attested bis words.

"How fast do you think we are going?" inquired the maniac, still speaking with the greatest apparent calm.

"Not much more than a hundred miles an hour," I gasped.

"Full that," he replied. "Now tell me, do you think spirits can fly as fast?"

Never shall I forget the sepulchral tones in which the question was put. He paused, but without, however, appearing to wait for an answer, and looked wistfully at the furnace door, its dimensions marked by four lines of red light.

I imagined that in his present mood I could soothe him down, and regain that moral mastery over him which the sane, by coolness and self-possession, so frequently acquire over the victims of mental disease. Cheered by this gleam of hope, I looked him steadily in the face, and began in mild, coaxing

accents:

"Do you think we need trouble ourselves to keep the engine at such speed?"

"I fear we must," he said, sadly; "there would be danger in a mile an hour less."

I paused, completely puzzled. What were the train of ideas passing in the madman's brains? "You have been ill!" I continued in the same coaxing, fondling tone.

"No, yes, yes-oh, very, very ill;" Westhorpe spoke with apparent langour and difficulty. "Particularly within the last three days," I resumed.

He started back, and exclaimed fiercely, "Ill-no, not ill-drunk!"

"Drunk!" I echood, mechanically; a flash of light crossed me-the man was suffering under delirium tremens.

"Yes, drunk!" he shouted, with all his former wildness. "Drunk! yes!-I've been drunk since her death; I shall be till my own! Drunk or mad-there's little difference. I tell you I must drink

it lays her-it keeps her off from me! She haunts me-she persecutes me, and I must have drink.— drink!"

He darted back, struck his forehead with his clenched fists, and then suddenly producing a small, empty vial, he turned away his head, and in a half-smothered voice said, "Read the label."

I did. "Prussic Acid-Poison!"

He sprung round as though he had been shot.

"I didn't give it to her!-I didn't-she took it of her own accord! Before God she did!—but she took it because I said she should never be my wife. I am her murderer!-her murderer, though I didn't give the poison! I murdered the only woman I ever loved-I did! God help me! Oh, MaryMary Slane!-but you're revenged! You have never left me since! you hung over my bed at nightyou walked at my side in God's sunlight in the streets-you sat with your clammy hand in mine in the theatre-you looked in my face over the glass as I drank the burning spirits-you rode with me on the engine! I have seen you everywhere-everywhere! Ah! ah! I see you now!-you are following us! -following us through the night !-but you shan't catch us! you shant!-you shant!"

And the maniac started up, and with a howl like a wild beast urged on the levers, and, actually screamed with terror, tugged and strained at any portion of the rattling machinery he could reach, as though to increase its speed.

I shrunk down-why should I not confess it?-perfectly cowed. At that moment we flew into a tunnel. The glare of the lantern and the half opened furnace flickered on the vaulted roof as we traversed the dismal passage, amid what appeared a squall of hot, damp air, and showed Westhorpe, his limbs twitching and every feature convulsed with terror, clinging to and struggling on the engine. A moment, and we were again beneath the open night.

The paroxysm appeared to have passed away for the moment, and the maniac again turned to me. "You saw her face, eh? wasn't it ghastly? It was just so she looked out of her coffin-just !” I said a couple of words, I know not what.

"I'll show her something," muttered the madman, after a pause. "I think she'll like to see it." Another pause.

"Open this," he said at length, and I received a carefully tied brown paper parcel from his hand. He turned away when he had given it, as though unable to watch the opening. "Untie it," he said with his back to me.

I did so. The first envelope was one of brown paper; under it was another of somewhat more delicate texture; then came wrapper after wrapper, until I thought as I undid them with a trembling hand, that the whole packet would prove a mere bundle of waste paper. I was deceived, however; I came at length to a carefully folded envelope of silk paper. I tore it open, sheltering it from the rush of air, and, to my utter amazement, found its contents to be-a half-dozen withered blades of grass! An involuntary exclamation escaped me.

"Have-you-done it ?" muttered Westhorpe, gnashing the very words between his teeth. "Grass!" I exclaimed; "here's nothing but grass!"

He bounded round, clutched the withered herbage in his hand, and, holding it aloft in the air, shouted,

"See, Mary Slane, see! Grass from your grave, Mary! Grass pulled by your murderer, Mary! O God! night after night have I passed upon the sod that covered you, and whenever I left it I carried the grass against my heart! O Mary, Mary! mercy-pity! Oh, I loved you! indeed-Indeed, Mary, I did! I would have been a good husband. Mary; but it was not to be-my lost, lost Mary!"

He paused; the moon at the moment burst from behind a silvery cloud, and shone gloriously down upon us, upon the dusky country side, the speaking, gleaming, roaring machine, and the distorted face and foaming lips of the engineer.

As he paused he appeared to listen. I watched him narrowly. The expression of his face changed, he clasped his hands, raised them; and the countenance which, a moment ago, was harrowed and convulsed by mad terror, its every muscle racked and riven, gradually relaxed; a smile stole round the mouth-you could see it beneath the froth which still oozed from the lips; and then every feature became instinct and dilated with a yearning, grateful joy.

"I forgive you; oh-oh, Mary, Mary, say those words again! God bless you, Mary! your face is like an angel's now! Do, do say them again, I forgive you!'"

He listened, and, Heaven help me! I listened, too, for the spirit's voice. I heard but the roaring of our iron race. Not so Westhorpe; his face gleamed, and his eye again sparkled.

"God's thanks, Mary! God's thanks, I am pardoned!" and then covering his face with his hands. he burst into a loud fit of weeping; and in a moment sunk down, a sobbing, quivering mass, upon the engine mat.

Now was my tim-now or never. I looked forth. Ahead of us sparkled the lights of DThey were miles-many miles away; but minutes at our present pace would shoot us in splinters through the walls of the station. Westhorpe lay sobbing hysterically; I had known the mechanical process of shutting off the steam, and, grasping the handle of the lever, I turned the tide of the fierce vapor from the mechanism.

The wheels had not spun round a single turn, when Westhorpe, as if by instinct, sprung up, and with a roar of hoarse fury, dragged me from the machinery. One of his huge hands was clutched round

my throat-I writhed under the workings of his great iron muscles, while with the other he wrenched the lever, and I felt the steam set on again. I groaned faintly. He relaxed his hold of my neck, and grasping me by both shoulders, drew me to him. I made one effort-one struggle. Twining my leg around his, by a sudden wrench I succeeded in flinging him backwards with a heavy crash, partly upor the engine-floor, partly upon a box destined to contain grease, tools, and other useful implements in case of accidents. The advantage was but for a moment; I felt his strength rising beneath my weight like a Titan's. With one bound he was on his feet, grasping me, a struggling mass, in his arms. There, go after Jeffries!" he roared.

My muscles involuntarily contracted, I seemed to shrink into a ball, as I felt by the winding up, as it were, of the muscular power of his arms, that he was almost in the act of flinging me down the high embankment we were then shooting across. A❞ at once he screamed out

there's the lights of D! the station lights-the green signal to stop! the station, we'll go through it! Through-through walls, houses, ⚫

"D! DStop!-ha-ha-hal-stop! D

streets! Stop!-ha-ha-ha-ha!" I held my breath, I was still grasped in his arms. My head spun round and round, blue and yellow flashes appeared almost to illuminate my brain; the quarter-milestones seemed tumbling past, one on the top of the other; the sway of the engine increased, it rocked and bounded, and roared down the incline leading to the station. I saw gleaming past the lights in the baggage and engine sheds, I heard the exulting scream of the maniac, mingled with shouts, and whistles, and the ringing of bells, which seemed to rise on every side. I saw the dusky line of standing carriages; I saw the glitter of the brilliantly lighted station I saw the flying groups upon the platform; I saw pillars, lamps, engines; one mass-one confused, shouting mass; I gasped; then with a yell which seemed to transform all nature into that wild, ghastly death shriek, we-we dashed-on

On nothing.

"Now, then, tickets, please! Gentlemen, get your tickets ready! D- station, gentlemen. Ten minutes allowed for refreshments, gentlemen!"

I started up with a stammering cry.

"Holla! holla! what's the matter with you? You have been groaning and moaning in your sleep for the last half hour."

"Westhorpe! Westhorpe!" I gasped.

"The man's asleep still! What the deuce do you mean by Westhorpe? Rouse up, man, and let us have some stout and sandwiches!"

I sank back.

"It was a dream, then," I muttered.

"Ay, a Railway nightmare, my boy! Did I not warn you of that beefstake pie at Leeds? But what was it all about? You were thinking of some' of your expressing work, were you not?" "I was. Thank God, it was but a dream; as you say, a RAILWAY NIGHTMARE!"

"KISS ME GOOD NIGHT, MOTHER!"-BY JOHN Cebra Boyd.

AIR-Rock me to sleep, mother.

All lonely and weary I paco the wet ground,
While evening her curtain is closing around.
The sorrowful night-bird is singing her lay,
The welcome of darkness, the dirge of the day.
The voices of daylight have sunken to sleep,
And left me to silence all death-like and deep.
But I may not sleep, for the foe is in sight,
Then kiss me good night, mother-kiss me good
night!

I've felt on my cheek the dread rifle-ball's breath,
While comrades around me were falling in death;
I know 'twas thy prayer thro' carnage and strife,
That shielded from heaven thy soldier-boy's life.
Oh! oft have I wished for thee, mother, and home,
When darkness above me was settling in gloom;
But why am I sad, who was wont to be light?
Oh! kiss me good night, mother-kiss me good
night!

The sullen foe's watch-fires gleam wide on the hills,
But what is this coldness my bosom that thrills?
And why do I see all the past that is gone?

O Death! hast thou come for me, weary, alone?
But hold! I must banish this sadness away;
My watch is near ended; 'tis dawning of day;

That flash-I am shot-the earth fades from my sight

Quick, kiss me good night, mother-kiss me good
night!

Thy spirit, dear mother, presides o'er my sleep;
Thy love and thy care seem my footsteps to keep;
Oh well I remember each word that you said;
Thy last warm, fond kiss from my lip has not fled.
Oh, be with me, mother, when life is just past,
When the shadow of earth from my eye's fading

fast,

And the first glimpse of heav'n dawns clear on my sight.

Then kiss me good night, mother-kiss me good
night!

But weep not, dear mother, for death is but sleep:
But longer and sweeter, more calm and more deep;
The spirit away from its prison is borne,
And wakes to the light of a heavenly morn.
When weary and tired of this life, it finds rest,
Oh call it not back from the home of the blest.
Remember, dear mother, when death wins the
fight,

"Twill not be for long that you kiss me good night!

[From BURTON's "Cyclopædia of Wit and Humor."]

HOW I WENT UP THE JUNG-FRAU, AND CAME DOWN AGAIN.

(BY PETER TWITTERS, PHILOSOPHER, CAMDEN TOWN.)

[From his own private Diary, which he kept for publication in the Times, only they didn't put it in.] July 25th.-Determined to ascend the Jung-Frau mountain, which is totally inaccessible and impossible to climb. Difficulties only add fuel to the fire of a Briton's determination. Was asked what I should do when I got to the top. Replied, come down again.. That's what every body does who goes up high hills. Engaged guides, porters, etc. Provided ourselves with necessaries, such as ladders, umbrellas, skates for the glaciers, ropes, brandy, camp stools, etc., and started. Quite a sensation in the village. Landlord of hotel, with tears in his eyes, asked me to pay my bill before I went. Didn't. Began the ascent; ground became steepish, as may be seen by the illustration. Hard work. Suppose such a gradient would puzzle Mr. Stephenson. Talking of Stephenson, the whole party puffing and blowing like so many locomotives. Pulled out our camp-stools and tried to sit

half-melted sludge. fresh with brandy. out and dodge them. we watch our chance

Scrambling out again with much ado, we feel chilly, and reBeing apprehensive of the avalanches, we keep a sharp lookAt one time six huge masses of moving snow fell together, but and slip between them with the greatest dexterity.

Next danger a really dreadful one. Arrive at a fearful precipice, the edge very much overhanging the base, so that it formed a species of cave. Called a council of war. Council of war were for going

home again. 'Rebuked them, and pointing to rough edges of the rock, proposed to try to crawl to summit. Set to work accordingly. Dangerous business, but succeeded. On the top of this tremendous cliff, discovered a vast chasm or crevice, which appeared to bar all further progress. Guides in despair. Much too wide to jump. Looked down. Crevice did not appear to have any bottom in particular. Called another council of war, and at the same moment, a violent squall of wind and snow sweeping by, put up my umbrella, when, horrible to relate, the storm caught it, and lifted me