and disposed of as much of its contents about
his person as he could remove ; finally, he must
have refastened the tarpaulin, and got back safe
and unseen to his own carriage. Encumbered
with a somewhat bulky portmanteau, he quitted
the train at the next station, unsuspected.

By mail train there arrived one night at a
certain station in the north of England, a large hamper
booked as containing a live dog, and
addressed to a clergyman in Lincolnshire. The
hamper was taken into the parcels' office, to await
the departure of the train by which it was to go
forward. The clerks, as soon as they had ten
minutes to spare, being curious, as it became them
to be, concerning the breed and culture of dogs,
unfastened the hamper, which was merely tied
with a piece of thick string. No sooner was the
lid fairly opened, than the specimen, with a loud
snarl, and a yell of as much terror as anger, sprang
clean out of the hamper, cleared the office in
two bounds, and sped away down the platform
at his swiftest. Chase was immediately given,
joined in by all the guards and porters about,
out the dog was irretrievably gone—swallowed
up by darkness—far away in two minutes
among sidings, and waggons, and dead engines,
where pursuit was useless. "What was to be
done ? The dog had certainly been received,
and it would not do to send the hamper forward
empty.

Blank despair overwhelmed the clerks, till
a whisper of suggestion came at length from
one of them: "Why not send Nipper?" Nipper
was a rough and venerable animal, of all
sorts of breed, who lived by prowling round the
station, taking all the kicks he got in hope of
victuals. He was a desperate old thief, and he
looked as disreputable as he was. But the case
was an extreme one, and accordingly Nipper was
hunted up from his snooze in the cloak-room, was
feasted sumptuously, and was decorated with a
pink ribbon fastened round his neck, and tied in
a bow under his chin, to show that he was out
for holidays. Thus prepared for travel, he was
carefully packed up in the hamper, which was
forwarded to its address by the next train. No
complaint, we believe, was ever made to the railway,
and we hope that, for the sake of the friend
who did not send him, Nipper died in clover,
after having won, as the clergyman's dog, respect
throughout his parish.

Let us turn from these incidents of Railways
made, to glance at a few Railways, making or to
be made.

Certain columns of the Times newspaper, at
this season of the year, contain the announcements
of all those joint-stock companies who
are prepared to apply to parliament in the
next session for power to carry out their
designs. These long blocks of words are put
into the smallest advertising type, are headed
with the least attractive of titles, and are drawn
up in the driest legal style of English composition.
There is nothing in their form or
preamble to induce a general reader to examine
their contents; and the result is, that projects
more revolutionary in their effects upon persons
and places than an Indian rebellion or a Parisian
riot, are able to give that "preliminary notice"
of their birth which is required by parliamentary
regulations, without disturbing even the timidest
and oldest inhabitant amongst us. Whole
parishes are threatened with demolition, venerable
churches and landmarks are to be elbowed
on one side, half-buried monuments of
antiquity are to be ploughed up, like the decayed
stump of an old tooth, ground into powder,
and scattered to the four winds; the ancient
ways upon which our forefathers stood, made
bargains, drank, feasted, and trained their children
are to be deserted, closed, built upon,
transformed, or utterly destroyed ; grand, gloomy
stacks of time-honoured mansions— the
traditional abode of kings— the known dwelling-
places of old London's merchant-princes— are
to be plastered over with the bills of some
authorised auctioneer, to be sold as " old
rubbish " to the sound of a wooden hammer, to be
torn to pieces by eager labourers, who totter
on falling rafters, and risk their lives that not a
moment of the precious time shall be lost, and
to be carted off in a hundred waggons, leaving
not a trace behind.

It seems that we are to be allowed no rest
from railway engineering operations, until the
great idea of a central station in the City
of London is made to take material shape.
Every railway, at present condemned to have
its terminus in the outskirts, is looking wistfully
towards that coveted spot within the shadow of
St. Paul's, and making signs to its brethren to
join hands and help in drawing the circle
together. The Eastern Counties Railway is not
content to remain at Shoreditch; the Great
Western is dissatisfied with Paddington; the
North-Western and the Great Northern are not
happy at Euston-square and King's-cross; the
Brighton Railway is discontented with Southwark,
although it has stretched out in a roundabout
direction, and has succeeded in crossing
the river at Battersea, and in reaching Pimlico;
the South-Eastern has already taken steps to
push on to Hungerford-market by the way of
the Suspension-bridge, where it expects to be
joined by the South-Western Railway, which is
fretting down in the hollow of the Waterloo-
road; and the Greenwich, Chatham, Southend,
and other lines, are all directing their eyes to
one common centre. Where this centre will be,
yet remains to be seen. At one time public
report, as well as engineering projectors, pointed
very decidedly to the open space in Farringdon-
street, where formerly stood the famous
Fleet Prison. That area seems now to be given
up, and every eye is turned to Finsbury-circus.
This neighbourhood of Greek merchants,
institutions, and chapels—if parliament and railway
shareholders prove willing—shall become the
home of the great central railway station. The
project involves connecting lines of railway above
and below ground, the appropriation of many
existing streets and alleys, and the construction of
new thoroughfares. Many people will shake their