We fly past idle streams and
ponds, and as the steam swirls over them are disappointed at producing
so little effect; but the ducks, their inhabitants, are well used to such
visitations, and hardly deign to move a feather. Suddenly we plunge into
a series of small chalk cuttings, and on emerging from them find
ourselves parallel with a grand line of downs. We speed by a curve or
two, and find ourselves on the sea-shore; one more tunnel, and with steam
off we go soberly into the last station. But there is one step more. The
breeze blows about our ears. Before us the rails are wet, for the sea
swept over them not many hours since, and to accomplish the last few
yards of our journey the lever controlling the sand-box must be used
liberally, to prevent slipping; the signal is given, and at a walking
pace we make our way to where the steamer is awaiting us. A gentle
application of the brake pulls us up, and the journey is over. It is
difficult to realize, as the engine stands quietly under the lee of the
pier while the driver examines the machinery, and the fire, burned low,
throws out a gentle warmth as we stand before it, that half an hour ago
we were tearing along the line at full speed, while the foot-plate that
is now so pleasant to lounge on throbbed beneath us.
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