SCOTCH MAIL 



91 



shot the leader of the pursuing chaise some ten miles 

 back, clattering over the rudely paved main street and 

 pulling up at the blacksmith's door ! 



Ah ! times are changed ; now no one stops at 

 Gretna except by creeping trains to which in Bradshaw 

 the ominous syllable ' Gov.' is tacked, and you yourself, 

 sailing along in your sleeping car, to which a king's 

 litter of a past age is for cost and cunning workman- 

 ship but a cheap and tawdry conveyance, are already 

 among the rolling moors of Dumfries, and were you 

 not so sleepy would be craning your neck at the window 

 to catch sight of a brood of grouse rising lazily off the 

 stone wall by the railway, and settling down again 

 upon the nearest heathery knoll, crowing to the sun. 



A second sleep comes over you, veiling your 

 thoughts with delicious visions. Little you reck of 

 the sweating toilers pausing by the great furnaces and 

 glowing cinder heaps of Motherwell to stare as you 

 roll by ; little of the clankings and shoutings, the 

 shuntings and bumpings of inevitable Larbert ; little 

 of the rush through station and town, past castle and 

 cottage, manse and moor ; the rattle of wheels, the 

 clanking of the iron, and the regular pant of the 

 piston-rod have become your lullaby ; and you are 

 enjoying a foretaste of the rest that we are promised 

 in heaven. 



