had driven her home in spite of all
the natural enough, ridicule of her husband and friends at Hale.

Early on the morning of the 15th, an incident occurred, the narration of
which may throw some light on the temper of the times. Mr. Barton, of
Swinton, came to say that a mob was expected to come from Oldham to
attack the Duke of Wellington, then at the height of his unpopularity
among the masses; for just by Eccles three miles of the line was left
unguarded, 'Could Mr. Blackburne say what was to be done?'

'My husband is away,' said the Vicaress, 'but I know that about fifty
special constables were out last year, the very men for this work, if
their licenses have not expired.'

'Never mind licenses,' replied Mr. Barton, with a superb indifference to
form, quite natural under the circumstances. 'Where can I find the men?'

'Oh,' replied Mrs. Blackburne, 'I can get the men for you.'

Mr. Barton hesitated, but soon with gratitude accepted the offer, and
with the help of the churchwardens and constables 'a guard for the Duke'
was soon collected on the bridge of Eccles, armed with staves and clubs
to be dispersed along the line.

This done, she had a tent put up for herself and children, with whom were
Lord Wilton's little daughters, the Ladies Elizabeth and Katherine
Egerton, and their governess. The tent was just above the cutting and
looked down on to it, and they would have a good view of the first train,
expected to pass about eleven o'clock. The morning wore on, the crowds
were increasing, and low murmurs of wonder were heard. It was thought
that the experiment had failed. A few of the villagers came into the
field, but none troubled the little band of watchers. The bright
sunshine had passed away, and it had become dark, with large hot drops of
rain, forerunners of a coming thunderstorm. The people lined the whole
of the way from Manchester to Liverpool, and, as far as the eye could
reach, faces were seen anxiously looking towards Liverpool. Suddenly a
strange roar was heard from the crowd, not a cheer of triumph, but a
prolonged wail, beginning at the furthest point of travelling along the
swarming banks like the incoming swirl of a breaker as it runs upon a
gravelled beach.

Like a true woman, her first thought was for her husband, as Mrs.
Blackburne heard the words repeated on all sides, 'An accident!' 'The
Vicarage!' She flew across the field to the gate and met a sad
procession bringing in a so