KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



221 



RAIL ROADS AND STEAM-ENGINES. 



BY REV. J. M. NEALE. 



Water and flame to agreement came, 



And a solemn league they swore, 

 To use such speed and to do such deed 



As never was done before : 

 To be friends to time — to be foes to space, 



And mingle their rival powers, 

 At a giant's pace, in a giant's race, 



To be slaves to us and ours. 



The sign is made, the word is said, 



And the boiler coughs and hoots ; 

 And taught to go, at first right slow, 



The long line onward shoots ; 

 Till with valves that rattle quick, and with steam 

 that volumes thick, 



And with buffers each from others far apart, 

 While the sleepers quake below, and the wheels 

 like lightning go, 



Through the tunnel and the bridge we dart. 



Through the chalk-built hill, by the busy mill, 



By the stream where the waters splash, 

 Through the Kentish hops, through the Sussex 

 copse, 



O'er the breezy heath we dash ; 

 Where the small birds sing, where the sweet bells 

 ring, 



Where the earliest flowers are pluck'd, 

 We thunder away the live-long day 



O'er embankment and viaduct. 



There's a hill before, and we give not o'er, 



But with double speed we fly, 

 And we make no pause at the tunnel's jaws, 



Though we enter with doleful cry ; 

 But the darkness of rocks our engine mocks, 



And mountains are tamed by skill ; 

 Though they fought right hard for their own at Box, 



And harder at Clayton Hill. 



The hour will be past if we pause at last, 



So faster, if faster may be, 

 The clouds that fly through the summer sky 



Are not so swift as we ; 

 There's a whirr in the trees when we pass like the 

 breeze, 



As if all we had done were too slow ; 

 And for breath we must gasp, and the tender-rails 

 we clasp, 



As a mile a minute we go. 



We may hear the bell of our coming tell 



A long long league away ; 

 And the pleasant field to the town must yield, 



Ere we end our toil to-day; 

 For life and for limb our praise to Him, 



And thankfulness let's give, 

 Who guides us aright in our whirlwind flight, 



When we could not go wrong and live ! 



[The last four lines are deserving of especial 

 regard. Our correspondent is right. It is nothing 

 but Providence that now saves us from destruction 

 on the railways. Scarcely a day passes without 

 some truly horrible calamity being recorded in the 

 newspapers. We read, as a matter of course, 

 that some dozen people have been mangled on the 

 rail ; and also, as a matter of course, that some 

 mighty official has been " sent down to see 

 about it!"] 



CATS AND SQUIRRELS. 



We are not aware of ever having seen 

 these two distinct animals spoken of together ; 

 but as we dearly love to record all " curious 

 facts" that come under our eye whilst " stroll- 

 ing" abroad in this great world of ours, we 

 introduce them to-day as a novelty. 



It must not be supposed, because we have 

 from time to time been severe upon cats, that 

 we are therefore cruel haters of the race. No ! 

 Our observations upon cats, as vermin, have 

 reference always to their being kept where 

 birds are domesticated ; and we shall never 

 pity anybody who may lose their birds in 

 consequence of there being a cat in the house. 

 We will never believe that a person can love 

 cats and birds too. It is impossible. 



This paves the way for our offering a few 

 remarks, on the pleasure that might be derived 

 from keeping cats and squirrels. Yes, gen- 

 tle reader, — cats and squirrels ! In early days, 

 the association of these animals caused us 

 much amusement. They played together, 

 slept together, raced together up and down 

 stairs, and lived in all the amity of social life. 

 Our taste, however, outlived this fancy ; or 

 rather, circumstances induced us, on the death 

 of one of our most favorite squirrels, to banish 

 our regret in the substitution of a taste for 

 birds, — and then — farewell to cats ! 



We never could, from childhood, bear to be 

 without some living thing that was fond of 

 us ; and singular to say, the affection was, in 

 nearly every case, equally ardent in both par- 

 ties. Never, surely, were squirrels like ours ! 

 Their tricks and affectionate gambols would, 

 if recorded, fill a volume. Preserved in glass 

 cases, the rogues still catch our eye daily. 



We were reminded of these early fancies, 

 a few days since. Calling on Clifford, 24, 

 Great St. Andrew Street, Holborn, to pur- 

 chase some " model cages," we saw running 

 along his counter three of the most beauti- 

 ful little squirrels that can be conceived, 

 — quite young, and very tame. They were 

 pursued by a black and white kitten, or 

 rather cat, as she is six months old, — and 

 were caught one by one in her mouth. They 

 were all in an ecstasy of enjoyment ; and 

 allowed themselves to be taken into a large 

 cage, the door of which was open. 



By our desire Clifford closed the cage, 

 which had open wires back and front. Then, 

 indeed, had we a rich treat in watching the 

 motherly fondness of that cat. She fondled 

 the squirrels one after the other ; licked them 

 all over with her rough tongue ; and turned 

 complete somersaults over their heads. The 

 squirrels, too, full of antics, did the same 

 thing ; and never, we imagine, was there a 

 prettier tableau vivant of its kind. Then 

 would the.y lie down tired, and curl them- 

 selves up — either on the cat's back or beneath 



