WAGONER.
Time was when with the dreary load
We slowly journeyed on,
And measured every mile of road
Until the day was gone;
Along the worn and rutted way,
When morn was but a gleam,
And with the last faint glimpse of day
Still went the dreary team.
But no more now to earth we bow!
Our insect life is past;
With furnace gleam, and hissing steam,
Our speed is like the blast
WIFE.
I mind it well,--I loved it too,
Full many a happy hour,
When o’er our heads the blossoms grew
That made the road a bower.
With song of birds, and pleasant sound
Of voices o’er the lea,
And perfume rising from the ground
Fresh turned by labor free.
And when the night, star-lit and bright,
Closed in on all around,
Nestling to rest, upon my breast
My boy was sleeping sonnd.
His mouth was moved, as tho’ it provtd
That even in his dream
He grasped the whip--his tiny lip
Would try to guide the team.
Oh, were not these the days to please!
Were we not happy so?
The woman said. He hung his head,
And still he muttered low:
But no more now to earth we bow,
Our insect life is past;
With furnace gleam, and hissing steam,
Our speed is like the blast.”
“I wish I had a hundred pounds to argue the question on either side,” as
Lord Plunkett said of a Chancery case; for if we have lost much of
the romance of the road, as it once existed, we have certainly gained
something in the strange and curious views of life presented by railroad
travelling; and although there was more of poetry in the pastoral, the
broad comedy of a journey is always amusing. The caliph who once sat on
the bridge of Bagdad, to observe mankind, and choose his dinner-party
from the passers-by, would unquestionably have enjoyed a far wider
scope for his investigation, had he lived in our day, and taken out a
subscription ticket for the Great Western or the Grand Junction. A peep
into the several carriages of a train is like obtaining a section of
society; for, like the view of a house, when the front wall is removed,
we can see the whole economy of the dwelling, from the kitchen to the
garret; and while the grand leveller, steam, is tugging all the same
road, at the same pace, subjecting the peer to every shock it gives
the peasant, individual peculiarities and class observances relieve the
uniformity of the scene, and afford ample opportunity for him who would
read while he runs. Short of royalty, there is no one nowadays may not
be met with “on the rail;” and from the Duke to Daniel O’Connell--a
pretty long interval--your _vis-à-vis_ may be any illustrious character
in politics, literature, or art. I intend, in some of these tales, to
make mention of some of the most interesting characters it has been my
fortune to encounter; meanwhile let me make a note of the most singular
railroad traveller of whom I have ever heard, and to the knowledge of
whom I accidentally came when travelling abroad. The sketch I shall
call--