AN ANGLER'S PARADISE 91 



frequency, it has become, but never commonplace ; 

 for always, when standing by the side of a great 

 express ready to start out on its long northward 

 journey, a vague exultation permeates my being. 



Travelling in a sleeping car by night is a 

 luxurious way of being transported to the north 

 of Scotland. Even if sleep is not to be courted, 

 it is pleasant to feel the pulsations of the great 

 engine, like a living thing, as it forges its way 

 ahead through the length of England. At last 

 the wilds of Westmorland are reached, and the 

 engine pants its way up the long incline to the 

 Shap summit, when one gets the first taste of 

 the exhilarating mountain air. There is no need 

 to look out of the window to see your whereabouts 

 if you know the line well ; you can tell it by the 

 gradient. The engine speaks to you in the night. 

 The wheels of the carriage seem to labour out with 

 difficulty an ever-recurrent phrase, " I think — I — 

 can ; I think — I — can ; I thi^ik — I — can." At times 

 there is something human in it ; again the vacant 

 brain follows the sound as it were some ditty 

 played upon a jigging instrument. The summit 

 reached, the tune is varied, and becomes a rapid 

 and exultant p^Ean, " I thought I could, I thought 



