pipe, and
the supply of steam is assured.

Watford, named from the Roman road "Watling Street," which ran from
Dover through London northwards, is near St. Albans, renowned in English
history. But the "Wild Irishman" will not wait for us; he rushes through
the tunnel and by Berkhampstead to Bletchley, where he pauses for a
minute or two. We have scarcely time to look about when we are off
again, past Wolverton, where the North-Western Company make their
railway carriages, and where they used to repair their engines. We run
not very far from Naseby after a while, and think of the great battle
between Charles and Cromwell's troops. What would they think of our
"Wild Irishman"? I wonder.

Rugby is passed; Atherstone, near which was the great Battle of Bosworth
Field, lies behind us now. The struggle for the crown between Richard
and Richmond may be recalled, but we have no time to examine the field
seven miles away. We have to get to Crewe at eleven o'clock, and so we
shall. We run through Stafford-on-the-Sowe, a town celebrated as the
birthplace of Izaak Walton. The castle was demolished, like many others,
in the Civil War.

A long whistle warns us that Crewe is in sight, and before long we enter
the station, through which more than 200 trains pass daily. Here are the
celebrated Locomotive Works, which employ an army of workmen, for whose
children there are schools and playgrounds, with church, library, and
assembly-room for the whole railway working population.

A visit to Crewe to see the great engines will repay any little folk who
like machinery.

From Crewe to Chester is half an hour's run, and as we approach the old
city on the Dee we feel wrapped in history. Such a history has Chester
that we are afraid to enter upon it for fear we should be carried away,
and lose ourselves wandering around the dear old walls, towers, gates,
and ramparts. The Danes came here; the Saxons made it a port. Hugh
Lupus, at the Conquest, resided here. The city was made the
starting-point for expeditions against the Welsh by Edward I. Besieged
by the Parliament--but no more; the "Wild Irishman" whistles, and we
must go to you, my lad.

Hawarden Castle is close by. It was at one time of importance as a
fortress. It now derives its celebrity from its owner, Mr. Gladstone,
for the castle itself has almost disappeared. We soon pass Holywell, so
called from the holy well which sprang from the place where Princess
Winifrede's head fell.