among your tenants and the poor folks round
about.

"Does the Duke often come to Reading?"

"No; very seldom."

"I should have thought he would come by the Great Western, and drive
across."

"He!" exclaimed the driver, giving a cut to the near horse by way of
italicising his observation. "He never comes by none of their rails. He
don't like 'em. He posts every step of the way. He's a reg'lar
gentleman, he is, the Duke."

And in the midst of conversation like this, we got to Reading. Through
some wretched streets we drove, and then through some tolerable ones;
and at last pulled up at the Great Western Hotel, a large handsome
house, very near the Railway station; and in a few minutes were as
comfortably settled as if we had travelled with a couple of outriders,
and had ordered our rooms for a month. The sitting-room had three or
four windows, of which two looked out upon the terminus. At these the
whole party were soon happily stationed, watching the different trains
that came sweeping up and down every few minutes; long luggage trains,
pursuing their heavy way with a business-like solidity worthy of their
great weight and respectability; short dapper trains, that seemed to
take a spurt up the road as if to try their wind and condition; and
occasionally a mysterious engine, squeaking, and hissing, and roaring,
and then, with a succession of curious jumps and pantings, backing
itself half a mile or so down the course, and then spluttering and
dashing out of sight as if madly intent upon suicide, and in search of a
stone wall to run its head upon. As to feeling surprise at the number of
accidents, the only wonder a sensible man can entertain on the subject
is, that there is any thing but accidents from morning to night. And
yet, when you look a little closer into it, every thing seems so
admirably managed, that the chances are thousands to one against any
misfortune occurring. Every engine seems to know its place as accurately
as a cavalry charger; the language also of the signals seems very
intelligible to the iron ears of the Lucifers and Beelzebubs, and the
other evil spirits, who seem on every line to be the active agents of
locomotion. Why can't the directors have more Christianlike names for
their moving power? What connexion is there between a beautiful new
engine, shining in all its finery--the personification of obedient and
beneficent strength--with the "Infernal," or the "Phlegethon," or the
"Styx?" Are t