“Over the rails they go and back. Over the miles of gleaming track.’

Scene at old Auckland Station,

Engines—the small boy's dream, the father's secret vice. Engines—that hold their charm against the onslaught of the years. The early aspiration to be master of one of those splendid masses of iron and steel, gleaming brass and whirring wheels, most often fades away into the limbo of the great unrealised. Yet there are those who before the years fall thickly on them, snatch the passing moment and follow their ambition through. They are the men whose hands are to-day on the controls of the railway engines that daily skim over the face of New Zealand, whose eyes peer down the trail ahead, who plunge into dark caverns and emerge again into the light of day, to the ceaseless tattoo of racing steel and belching smoke-clouds. Men who caught the dream and saw it through.

But he has his apprenticeship to serve, this eager youngster, not twenty, with the long look in his eyes. Instead of an engine he is handed a cleaning-rag, and the night and a foreman cleaner claim him. He must serve before he can control. Along with his young fellow-cleaners he is required to attend for duty at any hour of the day or night, to give at least six hours service each day. He is now servant to the ponderous things that have captured his imagination, that come panting into the sheds after a long run over the sweep of countryside, stained with the grease and grime of miles. Now the cleaner joins his comrades in swarming over their bulk, like Lilliputians on the recumbent forms of so many Gullivers, bringing back to his charge the sparkle of its brass and the silky sheen to its sides. Then on to the next with his industrious rag, until, in his zeal, he has gathered unto his person sufficient grime to make him resemble the young chimneysweep in Charles Kingsley's “Water Babies.” Indeed, he truly becomes a water baby when the night is over and his most urgent need is a hot bath. And so to home and ablution the cleaners hie, like benevolent demons.

Climbing Higher.

A year or two passes. The cleaner is now brought in and examined as to the duties of a fireman. Successful in the test, he goes up another rung, as Kingsley's young sweep would climb from the sooty regions of his chimney towards the wonder of the sky. The one-time cleaner knows his engine now, and has a working knowledge of signals, rules and regulations. His services in his new capacity are utilised according to the play of circumstances for a few years, after which time he is appointed a regular fireman on, shunting engines. In due time it falls to his lot to go out as fireman on more important runs, such as passenger trains, mixed and goods trains. After another three or four years, at last he becomes a driver. Several years have passed since he was a water baby with a cleaning rag. Now he has become a driver on shunting work, goods trains, and short passenger runs. Five years or more may pass before he is examined for first-class driver's duties, but his goal is attained and his certificate in his pocket, he steps into the cab of an express engine with its charge of human lives. Certainly older, possibly a little grey, but he has got there.

Under him is an engine that cost £6,000 to build, a noble thing throbbing with power. He knows its mechanism, its capacity and its needs. Arriving on duty an hour before the scheduled time of departure, he sets about placing his engine in running order. He ascertains if there is a sufficient supply of sand to spill on a greasy track along a heavy grade, when the wheels churn and scream; he oils necessary parts, checks the supply of water and coal in the tender, makes sure that the fire box is free of all foreign matter, checks the smoke box and axle boxes, inspects the pistons and valves, screws, bolts and plates, and determines that the engine's great white eye is shining true. As a companion he has his fireman, who attends to his own particular duties.

Last Minute Orders.

When all is in readiness, a call is made at the office of the foreman by both the driver and fireman to learn if there are any special orders that concern them on the run they are about to undertake. Although safety is assured under the signalling system, there may be special instructions regarding speeds over certain sections, owing to slips or some other such trouble. Too, there may be special trains running which disturb the routine of the track. Forewarned and forearmed, the driver runs his engine out into the yard. It is like a groomed and spirited horse ready for the test. It takes air and is coupled up with the carriages that have been marshalled in the meantime by the shunting gang. The adjusting of the Westinghouse brake is watched by the train examiner, who makes sure that the brakes are thoroughly released so that there will be no extra drag on the wheels caused by faulty adjustment.

It is necessary also that “the man with the hammer” shall do his part by “ringing” the tyres of the wheels of the train in search of flaws, since a loose tyre may be the cause of a big derailment. As he goes about this job he feels with one hand the axle boxes that may be overheated.

Passengers are now taking their seats and bidding last farewells with all the last minute rush that is generally the case on a railway station. “All seated, please!” A clanging of gates, a closing of windows, a scream from the engine, and the long journey has begun, the “Limited” is away.

The Fiery Cabin.

Up in the engine cab are the two men who have worked for years to win to where they are now. The driver, dungaree-clad, his peaked cap low over his eyes, leans out of the window, his hands on the controls, watching the endless path that is being flooded with light ahead of him. The ships and the sea and the long line of breakwater fall away. Furious gusts of smoke, alive with leaping glow-worms, mount into the air. The open furnace door takes great gulps of coal from the fireman's shovel and throws a ruddy aura against the sky. The engine responds to the mounting head of steam and gathers up its power like a runner his muscles. Dark shapes in the outer darkness rush up and flash past as if they are the hurtling denizens of a dream. Through it all runs the rhythmic tattoo of the flying wheels.

There are no speed gauges on the railway engines of New Zealand, since early devices of the kind proved unsatisfactory. Instead, the engine makes its way on the “speed sense” of the driver (which years of practice have developed to a remarkable keenness), under the limits imposed by a carefully worked-out schedule which has taken full account of grades and curves. Although it is necessary for him to observe different speed requirements during the course of a journey, he is able to gauge the progress his engine is making, and he brings the train into a station right up to time, or within a fraction of a minute of it. Each time, where the tablet system is operating, he changes his tablet before setting out for the next station.

And so the miles are eaten up under the guidance of the driver in his fiery cabin. The men have need to watch their supply of water, which has to be replenished at certain stations. The fireman's shovel works more quickly on the heap of black diamonds in the tender, as the engine gasps for the fuel that will help it up a heavy grade, which it then conquers spiritedly to roar down with zest into a tunnel's mouth. And whether the skies are starry or whether the storm-god screams, the railway engine zooms confidently through the heart of night, with a schedule as its pride.

But even a first-class engine-driver can tire, and the journey is by no means over when the driver and fireman, arrived at one of the stations en route, swing down from their cabin and hand over the next lap to others, while they themselves seek rest. When they have slept, they take charge of a

“Where flowers degenerate man cannot live.”—Napoleon. The station garden at Mosgiel, Otago, South Island.

train going in the opposite direction, and re-traverse the route back to their homes. And it is to these men and the rest of their division, who have to watch and work while others sleep, that wifely solicitude is the first of life's blessings.

Giants in Mid-air.

But they also need attention, these great engines. When an engine has done 75,000 miles it is considered to have earned an overhaul, and that is when it goes to the workshops to be strung up in mid-air like a helpless giant. Since an express engine covers up to 50,000 miles a year, it is not long before it is taken off to be doctored. Her boiler, axle boxes and running gear in trim once more, she is ready for the road again. The cost of repairing an engine may run into £1500 or £2000. The average life of an engine is about thirty years, and when that time has passed the engine goes to the honoured graveyard of the stalwarts of the road. And then her driver steps into the glowing cabin of a new companion, whose flying wheels strike up for him anew the old, old song of the track.

The Old Adventurers.

Some of the hardy old pioneers of the West Coast survive to tell of their moving ‘scapes by flood and forest in the brave days of the gold rushes. Away down the surf-bound coast at Okuru, two hundred miles south of Hokitika, lives the daddy of them all to-day, the venerable Sam Fiddian. He has been there for sixty-four years. It is just about as far out of the world as one can get in New Zealand; down there where the only road from the north is a horse track, where no one ever sees a motor car, where the only ship seen is a small vessel from Hokitika or the Grey three or four times in the year.

Sam Fiddian arrived at Okuru, which is just to the south of that formidable snowy river the Haast, in the year 1867, in an open boat, all the way from Riverton, in Southland. There were thirteen others in the boat, which was only 28 feet long; they were all young fellows, eager for the great adventure of the day—gold-digging on the Westland Coast. Their voyage round the rugged south-west corner of New Zealand was a series of thrilling escapes, knocking about in gales of wind, running under a close-reefed sail for shelter in one or other of the Sounds. Chalky Inlet was one of their havens, many-islanded Dusky Sound another. It was eight weeks before they were off the entrance to the Haast River, where they intended to land, but it was so rough that they had to get ashore at Okuru. Most of the crew who had shared those perils made their way up north to the big diggings from Bruce Bay to the Grey, but Sam Fiddian dropped anchor for good in bushy Okura, and did not wander more. He had had all the adventure he wanted.

Good Hunting.

They may talk of their deer-stalking and its spell for the hunter, but there is considerably more excitement for the sportsman in the chase of the wild boar. Witness an episode in the Taranaki bush the other day, on the head waters of the Patea River, when the quarry of a party of settlers was a big porker which, when killed, was found to be nine feet long and weighed nearly a quarter of a ton. That monster, which it took many bullets to kill, was a veritable king of the wilds.

The strenuous exercise and thrill at the end of it, with always the chance of a nasty mishap, there is nothing in these parts to equal a brisk pig hunt in the fern hills or the bush.

On one long-ago backblocks tramp we were in the heart of the great forest that then extended for nearly a hundred miles between where the North Island Main Trunk railway now goes and the Taranaki outsettlement of Stratford. Our Maori companion, with his two pig-dogs started a pig-hunt in the thick timber alongside a creek. The boar was brought to bay against a big rimu tree, and he took the aggressive, charging each of us in turn. One of the party just escaped a jab from the tusker by shinning up a slender ponga fern tree. It broke with his weight, when he was yelling advice to one of his mates, and the next moment the tree and occupant were down on top of the old boar and the two pig-dogs. One of the dogs had the grunter by an ear, the other was attacking him in the rear, and the merry hunters were dodging about trying to get a shot or a whack at him with an axe. The row we all made in that bush may be imagined.

At last one clever sportsman, aiming a blow at the pig with the axe, chopped off the poor dog's nose and part of its jaw instead of the pig's snout. We had to put it out of its misery with a shot. The other dog bolted in horror, and we saw it no more. The pig was killed, but he was such a tough old boar that he added nothing to our commissariat. The sum total was that we were deprived of two good dogs for the rest of the expedition, and the sorrowing Maori owner had to be compensated. We certainly had all the excitement we craved that day.

The Lost Terraces.

Have the White and Pink Terraces, which formed the great scenic glory of our thermal regions, been lost irretrievably and for ever, or is there some faint hope that they may yet be unearthed, or unwatered, for the delight of all who tour our Geyserland? The topic has been debated of late by many who know Geyserland well, and some who don't.

It is contended by some well qualified to judge that the lowering of Rotomahana's level by 120 feet or so, by means of cutting a channel through the ash and mud deposit to Lake Tarawera, might reveal one at any rate of the beautiful terrace formations. Explorations made immediately after the Tarawera eruption and the blowing out of the original bed of Rotomahana seemed to show that the Terraces had gone. This probably was the fate of the White Terraces, but there is some reason for the theory that the Pink terraces, so renowned for the exquisite delicacy of their colouring, may not have been shattered to fragments but may have been covered with mud and ash, which the unwatering of the hill face below the Hape-o-toroa range may reveal.

Certainly there seems to be a case in favour of the simple and inexpensive engineering work suggested. By making a cut which will restore the old Kaiwaka channel, the pre-eruption outlet of Rotomahana, the level of that lake would be lowered by considerably over a hundred feet, and would still leave it more than four hundred feet deep. The release of the great weight of water from the active thermal area along the Pink Terrace side of the lake would stimulate geyser action there and make the place intensely interesting for travellers. The experiment at any rate would do no harm, and it is worth the trying.

To Our Artists.

Lord Bledisloe has been counselling New Zealand landscape painters to pay more devotion to the fine dramatic features of our scenery–the forests, fiords, lakes and mountains. His suggestions are fitting and needful. Too many of our artists fritter away their energies, paint and canvas on subjects not worth a second glance. They are dazzled, a few of them, by the freakish foolishness of cubism, which permits an artist to dispense with accuracy of drawing and colouring and to perpetrate in all solemnity the infantile efforts we proudly produced when our parents gave us our first sixpenny box of paints. We have some artists who refuse to take refuge in this sort of lazy-man's picture-making, and who try to reproduce something of the real colour and form of our landscape glories. But they are all too few.

Another notable deficiency in our art exhibitions concerns our national history. Not one of our artists of to-day ventures to depict the stirring and inspiring episodes in New Zealand's story. What a wonderful field is there for really great pictures! Subjects come crowding to the mind. And how New Zealanders, and visitors from beyond our shores, would welcome the sight of a painting or a drawing that indicated a spirit of artistic research and an appreciation of the nobility of theme that so many chapters of our history hold. The material is there in endless variety; the brains and the brush are needed to interpret it.

“No Good to Our Bush.”

A veteran North Island sawmiller, who has had to do with the bush all his life, was discussing with me the other day the importance of the inter-relation of forest and native bird life. “Birds,” he said, “are absolutely necessary to the life of our indigenous trees; they destroy immense quantities of insects and grubs which are injurious to the timbers. And anything which interferes with the birds interferes also with the trees. There is the opossum; though it is protected for the sake of its skin it is absolutely no

A Charming Holiday Resort In The Sunny Northland. (Rly. Publicity photo.) Picturesque Russell, twenty miles by launch from the rail terminal at Opua, Bay of Islands, New Zealand.

good to our bush. It eats the young leaves and the berries on which the birds depend for their food, and it also interferes with the nests and eats the eggs and nestlings when it gets the chance. It should not be tolerated any more than the stoat or the weasel; it should never have been introduced.”

From a Grateful Parent

How a possible fatality was averted through the promptitude of one of the Department's bus drivers, is told in the following letter of appreciation sent by Mr. Geo. Eyton, Wellington, to the General Manager of Railways, Mr. H. H. Sterling:–

“My son, Phil. Eyton, met with an accident on 12th September, while competing in the 50-mile road cycling championship. He was injured through coming in contact with one of the Railway Department's buses—driven, I am told, by Mr. W. Platt. Well, Sir, I wish to convey, through you, to Mr. Platt, my compliments and congratulations for his skilful and clever driving, for from what those who saw the accident informed me, had not Mr. Platt been exceptionally alert in handling the bus in the emergency, my boy would have been killed. I wish, therefore, to express thanks to Mr. Platt and to compliment the Department in having so capable a driver in its employ.”

In his present contribution, covering recent railway developments in Britain and on the Continent, our special London Correspondent makes interesting reference to the summer holiday season in England, and tells what the railways, through the medium of attractive publicity, are doing to stimulate increased holiday travel by rail.

Holiday-time in Britain.

While New Zealanders are enjoying the indoor delights associated with cold weather, in England the immense annual exodus from the cities to the sea is in full swing. Although money is comparatively scarce at the present time, almost every city dweller seems to be making a special effort to raise funds for his summer holiday this year. This should spell not only better health all round, but also good business for the railways. To meet prospective heavy demands upon their service the four big group lines have made special plans for augmented travel facilities of every kind, with the added lure of really cheap fares to the leading coast resorts.

For some weeks now, there have been prominently displayed on the railway station bookstalls, in the publicity bureaux of the different lines, and in the various tourist offices scattered throughout Britain, holiday booklets galore, describing in attractive fashion the joys of this and that resort, and telling how to get to any particularly fancied corner of Holidayland, what to look for on arrival, and where to put up during the stay. The most ambitious booklets issued by the Home railways for the guidance of the holiday-maker are the hotels and apartments guides, brilliantly planned and beautifully produced volumes, running to as many as one thousand pages, and sold to the public at sixpence per copy. To take but one of these publications as an example—the “Holiday Haunts” annual of the Great Western Railway for 1931—this has a captivating coloured cover design introducing a sun-tanned “bathing belle” sporting on a west-country beach. The territory served by the line is dealt with in seven sections, and a beautiful series of some 400 photogravure illustrations shows what a wealth of scenie grandeur Britain holds for holiday-makers. Among other features, this thousand-page directory of Great Western resorts contains a coloured frontispiece depicting Plymouth as seen from historic Drake's Island. There is also a large folding map of the Great Western Railway, and seven sectional maps of the principal holiday areas. A large proportion of the volume is devoted to a very comprehensive list of holiday apartments and hotel accommodation. After twenty-five years of success, “Holiday Haunts” is this season an even more fascinating sixpennyworth than ever.

Prosperous Times Ahead.

Distinct signs of trade revival in Britain foreshadow the return of more prosperous days for the railways. During the past month or two, there has been convincing evidence of the country's emergence from the trough of industrial depression; optimism is the order of the day throughout the Home business world; and the railways, in common with other leading industries, now feel that brighter times undoubtedly lie ahead.

With increasing traffic the Home railways will feel justified in putting in hand many improvement works that have of necessity had to be pigeon-holed during the period of bad trade. Not the least important of these improvements are those associated with main-line electrification. During the past

For Main Line Passenger Haulage. A new type of 2-6-0 express locomotive on the Southern Railway of England.

few years there has been steadily proceeding in Britain the building up of a comprehensive chain of interlinked electric power stations for the manufacture of current for industrial and railway use. This plan for bulk production of electric power has now reached the stage where practically unlimited supplies are available, and there is today no necessity for any Home railway to give thought as to how cheap power may be obtained for electrical operation. Big scale electrifications may shortly be put in hand, among these works being the conversion of the steam-operated London suburban tracks of the London, Midland and Scottish and London and North Eastern lines, and the west-going main-line of the Great Western Railway between Paddington Station, London, and Reading. Another stretch of steam-worked track which may shortly be converted to electric operation is the section of L.M. and S. main-line between Crewe and Carlisle, once the property of the historic London and North Western Railway, and now part of the Anglo-Scottish trunk route between Euston Station, London, and Glasgow.

Electrification Developments.

At present there are some 400 route miles of electric railway at Home, this representing only 2 per cent, of the total railway mileage of the country. Switzerland, of course, is the European leader in the electrification field. In this mountainous corner of the Continent 32 per cent, of the railways are electrified, and big financial savings have been achieved in this way.

The advantages of electrification in the main lie in lessened operating costs, better running schedules, improvement of terminals, betterment of employees' working conditions, and cleaner and more attractive service generally. Against these advantages have to be placed high initial expenses in the provision of track equipment, sub-stations, transmission lines, locomotives, motor and trailer cars, and so on. In Europe electrification has been found a decidedly paying proposition, from the economic viewpoint it having given complete satisfaction in Switzerland, Norway, Sweden, Holland and Italy. In Britain, on the the Southern Railway, there has been built up the world's biggest suburban electrification system, which is also a decided financial success and a big asset in meeting the competition of the road carrier. A good deal of doubt still, unfortunately, exists as to the ideal system of electrification. Direct current has been adopted as standard in Britain, and is also employed extensively in the United States, France, Italy and Holland, at voltages varying from 600 to 3,000. Elsewhere, three-phase and single-phase current is favoured, at varying periodicities. There seems a great need for the technical experts to get their

Feeders Of The Railway Train. A fleet of L. and N.E.R. motors operating in Durham.

heads together on the standardisation question, and the establishment of definite standards would probably do more than anything else to speed up railway electrification throughout the world.

High-power Steam Locomotives in Britain.

Electrification developments may everywhere confidently be looked for in the next few years, but there will, admittedly, for a decade or two continue to be a demand for steam locomotives of high power for drawing long-distance passenger and freight trains. In Britain many new high-power steam locomotives have been introduced recently, and in a paper read the other day by Mr. H. N. Gresley, Chief Mechanical Engineer of the L. and N.E. Railway, before the Institution of Mechanical Engineers, progress in high-pressure locomotive design was very ably reviewed.

Pointing out that the purpose of the novel forms of locomotive recently introduced was to effect economy, principally in fuel, Mr. Gresley dwelt upon the importance of keeping maintenance costs down, the expense incurred in maintaining locomotives being equal to the cost of the great quantity of coal consumed. There was an immense field for economy if both cost of fuel and maintenance could be reduced. While high steam pressure gave greater fuel economy, it demanded complication in design, and care had to be taken that the economies in fuel were not absorbed in the increased cost of maintenance of the boiler and the machine as a whole. Simplicity of design was an important factor: simplicity usually spelt accessibility. In all the latest high-pressure locomotives reciprocating pistons had been adopted, this form of conversion of energy appearing the most advantageous for meeting all conditions which a locomotive had to fulfil. Owing to the high range of temperature and the consequent losses by condensation in a simple engine, the use of a compound, or “Uniflow” system, was essential. It was interesting to note that in the high-pressure locomotives produced at Home within the past five years, two, three and four-cylinder compounds had all been adopted.

The Railways and the Road Carriers.

With a view to consolidating their position, and ensuring effective co-ordination between rail and road, the Home railways are steadily proceeding with the acquisition of financial interests in the leading road carrying concerns. Existing road carriers of repute are being induced to combine with the railways on a fifty-fifty basis, this being the most satisfactory mode of tackling the problem in view of the impossibility of taking off any established road services directly in competition with the railways. The position, of course, is that if by agreement with the co-ordinated road carriers one of these competitive road services was taken off with the idea of forcing the passengers back to the rail route, some other road carrying company or private individual would at once commence a road service to cover the route vacated, and the consequences would be worse than ever from the railway viewpoint. Wherever there is a public demand for road services, this demand has to be met, and the railways might just as well profit from this demand.

It is clear that railways all over the world have definitely lost for good much of their short-distance business, both passenger and freight, the only exception to this being in cases where intensified electric services are run. This is serious, but the situation is one that railways, with their characteristic adaptability and enterprise should overcome successfully. Short-hauls are not particularly profitable at the best of times, and when the handling of short-haul business entails expensive new works in congested city areas all the gilt is taken off the ginger-bread. One feature of Home railway enterprise that is to be commended is the effort that is being exerted to make every railway depot the traffic centre of the city, all connecting bus services being as far as possible run to and from this point and the railway waiting-room, thus serving a dual need. Thus, the idea that railways are not merely “railways.” but rather “transport-ways” in the fullest sense of the term, is being developed, and the public mind prepared for the new era when the “Iron Way” will really be a comprehensive carrying undertaking, covering movement of all kinds by rail, road, sea and air.

Holiday Traffic In The Homeland. A summer scene at the L.M.S. Central Station, Glasgow, Scotland.

Knock-ons and Knock-outs.

Existence, like golf, is a game of mischance, or a series of drives into the unknown by the unknowing. But existence is played with a ball with a bias and a two-way club which is as liable to deliver a knock-out as a knock-on. The caddy is a tee-potter in his cups, and is as likely to hand one the raspberry as the mashie.

As in golf, Bogey is the power behind the groan, or the hand that caps the handicaps. Every man's bogey is his ego with the shivers, and is as much a part of him as his hocks or his slacks or anything that is his. Some men's bogeys are imaginary or bogus bogeys, while others are “menaganerie” or apeish bogeys, being more zoological than logical. Trains run on bogies, but humans try to run from them. “Everyone has at least one. Some of the better-known bogeys are: the old-age bogey or rogey bogey, the suspicion bogey or roguey bogey, the timidity bogey or boggle bogey, the fear bogey or bogey bogey, and the depression bogey or boggy bogey. Some are fogged and bogged in bogeys, while others keep one or two for the sake of companionship.

Bogey Boy.

I've got a bogey with whiskers on its chin, A bogey dour and doughy that follows me like sin;

I don't know where I got it—that bogey blue and drear, I only know my bogey is everlasting near. I wonder if my bogey has got a bogey too, As drear as mine is dreary and blue as mine is blue? Oh, why are bogeys bogeys and why are bogeys drear? I fear that all the bogeys are fearful fears of fear. I fear that all the bogeys that hammer on our brains, Are not the sort of bogies supporting railway trains, But rather boggy bogeys without the power of speed, A bunch of bogus bogeys whom those who run may read. And once they're read they're finished, and dead as Uncle Tam, For nothing kills a bogey like showing it's a sham.

The average bogey is only average, and can be frozen out with the cold shoulder or curled up with a bright outlook. There should be a law against consorting with bogeys, and bogeyism should be punishable like incendiarism, rowdyism, dogmatism or depressionism, Depressionism is a bilious bogey with a sawn-off mind and a black outlook, like a nigger in a crow's nest. Depressionism, if permitted to lodge in the brain cells, is likely to become a permanent boarder.

“Golf is a game of mischance.”

A permanent boarder of this order is not a paying jest; all jests are paying jests even if payment is deferred, for a jest is a note of hand which is always good for a trick. If successful living depended on gloom we all would wear elastic stockings to prevent our understanding from expanding.

Laughter and After.

There is a destiny that shapes our ends, but there is also a hilarity that sharpens our beginnings. Destiny is the effect to-morrow of the cause to-day, or the advance agent of Life's Circus. A laugh to-day waits round the corner until its owner catches up with it. Gloom is the hall-mark of cold feet or mud on the passage of time, but merriment is the elevator to the beauty parlours or the escalator to ecstacy. The world sometimes mistakes solemnity for solidity, and silence for prescience, when the goods are not in the van. The human mind is a goods van. There is always something fresh being dumped into it, and something else being shot out of it to make room for something fresh. We take in the goods and deliver the goods, but if the door is kept locked we have no goods to deliver because we have failed to take them in. Everyone takes a run up the main trunk of Life, but those who do it with a closed van might as well have rusted on the home siding.

A Run of Luck.

Next to running a circus or a boarding school for bolsheviks, running a railway is the most attractive attraction in traction. A railway is a run of luck.

The average citizen or “man in the seat,” imagines that all one requires to run a railway is a good head of steam, a brass hat, and a bell for starting something. As a matter of fact railway-running is more difficult than rum-running. Yet there are people who think that a railway is nothing more than speed without heed or parallel lines ruled by the whim of chance. They imagine that trains are supported by faith, hope and charity, or, like poets and pheasants, can keep running without support. Or they picture the chief steamologist strolling into the iron hostlery, or engines' boudoir in the morning and remarking, “well boys, what's the betting for the nine-fifteen?” and the iron-horses’ bridle-grooms giving him the dope straight from the iron-horse's fire-box, e.g. “She is good for twice the distance boss, and if she doesn't finish first I'll swallow the oil can and cotton waste and get lit.” No, dear reader, if it were as simple as this, railways would be as plentiful as wail-rays, sting-rays, or groanologists.

Propositions and Prepositions.

A railway is rather a preposition than a proposition for, according to the book of Webster, a preposition “is put before another to express relation, quality, action, etc.” As a matter of fact the railway train is “put before another,” and all others becauseuthere is nothing else on wheels that can catch it. It “expresses relation” because it is the chief relation between town and country, town and city, town and town, and man and man; it is man's closest relation because he bore it and nurtured it and trained it. It does not express “quality and action,” for it is quality and action. It is the action of quality, the

“A run up the main trunk.”

quality of action, and the sublimity of traction. Without the railway the land would be a bare garden. The railway is the “tie that binds.” What would New Zealand be without a tie? For, nowadays, without a tie one is practically nude, and without the railway New Zealand would be denuded and deluded. While the rail rails there will be reaping and railing, and the land of the free will be fertilised with free fertiliser; the farmer will rail his railings and his pailings, and the merchant will shake out his balance-sheet and scud before the wind of fortune. The traveller will not travail nor wail, but will bless the bliss of the kiss of spring—seats. “Seats for all and all for seats, and call for eats,” will continue to echo in the land. “For eats are eats and wets are wets, and ever the twain shall meet,” is admirably applicable to our railways.

My heart goes out to the residents of the Sahara, the Great Wall of China, and the dreaded Gobi, where no trains go by—except camel-trains, which are humped and often go dry. On the Great Wall of China the Chinks are chinkless because they have no coin to chink, simply because the march of progress has not reached them in the “permanent way.”

But New Zealand, too, without rails would be derailed and bewailed. Let us imagine our isolated isles bereft of the link that binds and all that. In modern blank verse, which is more blank than verse, the situation would be not unlike the cry of an anguished sandwich which has failed to land the mustard. Thus:

Despatching The “Goods” On The Railway

Not a train! Oh, my brain Whirls in pain. Am I sane? Everywhere, I'm aware. If I dare, to compare, Tangled growth—oh, my oath! It is stiff—that is if. What I see, is the key, To the me, that is ME. All the land—it is banned, Undermanned, understand! Quick, a beer! do you hear? I will swoon, mighty soon. All is black, like a sack Full of soot—shake a foot! All is dead—oh, my head! Not a toot, nor a hoot, Not a scoot—and to boot There's a chill, on the hill, And a hush, in the bush— Dead as mush, not a rush, To the farm—keep me calm!! All is dead, in my head, Or instead, I am lead, Full of pain—not a train— What again! Am I sane? Where's the rail? What a tale! I am pale—quick, regale Me with sack, for alack We are back to the pack, And we're stiff—that is, if– Half a jiff! That's a whiff Of a train—I am sane, Son of Cain—it's a train!

That, dear reader, is an ejaculatory ejaculation of the emotions of one bereft of locomotions whose loco emotions have been stirred to motion—and aren't we all?

Editorial Sarcasm.

An editor received from a lady some verses daintily tied up with pink ribbon, and entitled: “I Wonder if He'll Miss Me?”

After reading them, he returned the effort to the sender with the following note: “Dear Madam,—If he does, he ought never to be trusted with firearms again.”

* * *

Irish Railway Humour.

Dublin Porter (announcing the departure of an express train): “This train shtops no where at all!”

* * *

Pussy's Outing.

“Sorry madam, you can't take the cat into the pictures. You must leave him with me.”

Lady (indignantly): “I shouldn't dream of it. Pussy particularly wants to see ‘Micky the Mouse.’”

* * *

True Service. Mary had a little lamb, Her father shot it dead, And now it goes to school with her Between two chunks of bread.

* * *

The Saving Clause.

“Yes,” said the commercial traveller, “we have had letters of appreciation from England, Wales and Ireland—and a postcard from Scotland.”

* * *

Large Teacher: “Can any boy tell me what a canary can do and I can't?”

Small Boy: “Please, Miss, have a bath in a saucer!”

How's That?

Esau Wood saw a saw saw wood as no other wood-saw Wood saw would saw wood. Indeed, of all the wood-saws Wood ever saw saw wood, Wood never saw a wood-saw that would saw wood as the wood-saw Wood saw saw wood would saw wood, and I never saw a wood-saw that would saw as the wood-saw Wood saw would saw, until I saw Esau Wood saw wood with the wood-saw Wood saw saw wood.

* * *

The teacher was examining the class in physiology.

“Mary, you tell us,” she asked; “what is the function of the stomach?”

“The function of the stomach,” the little girl answered, “is to hold up the petticoat.”

* * *

“Sam, Ah jes' seen a alligator eatin’ our younges’ chile.”

“Sho’, nuff? You know, Ah thought sump'n been gittin’ our chillun!”—Life.

“The Irish Express.” “Oi've often t'ought if there were no trains stopping as they rush through the stations, there'd be no stations, and then where would we go to catch the trains?”

Calmly he sits in the well of the cab, Waiting the signal to start.

What makes a driver? From the time his little heart could thrill, His little ears could hear the magic train—

The movements in the shunting yard, the engine's whistle shrill—

His soul was tuned to love the driver's game.

“The tree grows as the twig is bent.”

His games were all of trains— He shunted round the kitchen chairs at home.

And when at last to school he's sent, “Expresses” rule his brains. (In vain for other “sense” his teachers comb.)

School done, he seeks a Clearer's job, and loves it from the start.

The healthy smells of oils and waste cheer his full-engined heart.

Delight he feels in ponderous wheels, in steam-dome burnished bright, In “pinching” engines round the shed, and setting fires alight.

Next, as a Fireman, to and fro, full proud, the shovel swings, Develops speed, the “rhythmic throw” that rich combustion brings.

So grades he to the Driver's seat—supreme control of trains;

A Master Driver certified—nerve, judgment, vision, brains.

Songs of the Wheels.

Open up the throttle wide. Give her lots of coal.

“Fireman, stir the fire! we'll eat up steam!”

Ours the heavy work to do, the nation's load to bear. (Watch the motors carry off the “cream!”)

“S over T equals V.”

Time into Space equals Speed. This the equation that he Who runs the Express has to heed.

“A mile a minute!” There's nothing in it So long as you pin wit and judgment together.

The nearer you reach it The more will you teach it To bring you home safe when you drive “hell for leather.”

On the Road.

The ocean greyhound scents his way across the charted sea. (A simple code of signals answers he.)

The motor-car honks round the bay, and toots a passage free! (The earth was made for him and such as he.)

But the engine-driver, driving on the midnight fast express, Has a harder job than even he can tell—

His every sense is keyed up to the highest pitch of stress From the moment that he hears the starting bell.

The airman has free movement through the air dimensions three—

The joy-stick in his hand gives full control.

Above the world, the clouded blue calls him to “come and see,” And, answering it, he scours heaven's upturned bowl.

But the engine-driver driving on a heavy, bumping “freight,”

When the track is overcrowded and he's running rather late, Knows well that if one signal's missed or he misjudge the rate The pounding wheels could hurl his train to desolating fate.

The liftman has his ups and downs within his close-walled pen— A simple life composed of starts and stops,

Of opening doors and shutting them, and pressing levers when The “floor” bells click in factories or shops.

But the engine-driver driving through the roaring shunting yard Has excitement every moment of his “trick.”

There are waving lights to guide him, there are smoke screens to obscure, And a maze of movements when the traffic's thick.

This unique photograph depicts the only place in the world where three trunk line trains may cross each other at the same time, and over their separate tracks. At the top is shewn a passenger train of the Chesapeake and Ohio Railway leaving Richmond for the Upper James River Valley; just beneath is a train of the Seaboard Air Line Railway leaving the Main Street (Union) Depot for the South, and below this again, a train of the Southern Railway coming into Richmond from West Point on the York River. (Photo., courtesy Mr. S. Fahey, Featherston.)

Yet when the day is breaking, and the night “shifts” all depart— Calmly he sits in the well of the cab, Waiting the signal to start.

The Fastest Train in the World.

Running over a network of lines and threading its way through a maze of other trains pouring into and crossing its track at eleven different points, the Cheltenham Flyer to-day regains for Britain the world's record for the fastest “start to stop” express.

Its previous record of 66.2 miles per hour was beaten in April by a Canadian Pacific Railway train, which raised the figure to 68.9 miles per hour. Now the Flyer has been retimed, and from to-day will continue to do the 77 1/4 miles between Swindon and Paddington in 67 minutes, at an average speed of 69.18 miles per hour. The fact that this speed is achieved in the ordinary course of everyday railway operations, without any special preparations to track or engine, and in daily competition with thousands of other trains, puts it foremost in the world of speed records,—C. S. Lock, in the London Star, 14/9/31.

Conserving Supplies Of Oil And Coal.

How economy in the use of oil and coal may be practised by enginemen and firemen with an appreciable saving in the Department's annual expenditure account, is told in the following brief article by a New Zealand Railways engine-driver of over twenty years' experience on the road.

During the year ended 31st March, 1931, the sum of no less than £2,345,239 14s. 9d. was expended by the Department on the purchase of stores and material, locomotive supplies constituting a considerable portion of the above expenditure. As the influence of economy upon the general welfare of every member of the service has been stressed in a recent circular issued by the General Manager, it may be opportune at the present time to indicate ways and means by which drivers and firemen in the performance of their respective tasks may assist the Department in its campaign for the elimination of waste.

By way of introduction, we will take, in the first place, the question of preparing an engine for the road. Long experience has convinced the writer that a considerable saving in the quantity of oil used for this purpose may be effected if this work is done in a strictly methodical manner—that is, to oil the side rods first, then the axle boxes, and lastly, the motion gear, before starting on a run.

When oiling the side rods, don't fill the oil cups to the point of overflowing, because when the corks are inserted the pressure forces the oil out, where it runs over the rods and on to the ground. The same principle applies with the slide bars, piston and valves. It is not necessary to fill these cups above the syphon pipe. If this is done (I have seen many drivers do it), when the lid of the cup is closed, the oil will splash out and over the side, so causing much preventable waste. Use the same care in regard to axle boxes; don't fill them up until the oil is running over. It must be remembered that a spot of oil in the right place is worth more than gallons in the wrong place, and every pint of oil wasted is a loss to the Department amounting to many hundreds of pounds in the course of a year.

When on the road have confidence in the engine and yourself; don't get down to oil round at every stop. If an engine can run fifty miles on a non-stop run without oiling, it can do the same distance on a stopping train. Drivers should pay particular attention to oil feeders. It is waste to have feeders with inefficient springs, as a great deal of waste in oil is due to this cause. Don't carry the oil feeder round the engine like a walking stick; there is a right way to carry it to prevent oil wastage.

In the utilisation of coal a saving can be made if drivers use judgment in the matter of allowing their engines to drift into stations instead of steaming them right up (or close) to the stopping place. It is surprising how much coal can be saved if this practice is adopted. In those cases, too, where the schedule can be maintained with light steaming, a saving in coal may be effected if this fact is borne in mind. Another important factor in fuel conservation is to run the engine in a consistent manner. Irregular running means a heavy loss in coal, and is a very bad practice for drivers to adopt, especially when they run ahead of time and have to stand at stations waiting for the departure signal. When the engine is kept standing, unnecessarily, at stations, the temperature in the firebox is reduced, and when starting again it requires more coal than would have been necessary if consistent running had been made, to bring the temperature up to perfect combustion point. The fireman should never put five shovelsful of coal on the fire when two or three would do. It is not necessary to fire heavily when the driver is running with light regulator.

Much saving in coal may also be made if the fireman pays particular attention to the road. It does not require the same amount of coal to work a train on the flat or down grade, as it does to climb a grade. Overloading the tender is another frequent cause of coal wastage. Besides the waste occasioned by this practice, it may cause the tender axle boxes to run hot. Moreover, the coal that falls on the footplate when running should be used in the firebox and not swept out on to the ballast.

Savings effected along the lines suggested in the above brief article would be a definite gain to the Department. After all, it is worth remembering that if a job is worth having it is worth looking after.

N.Z.R. Signal And Electrical Inspectors' Conference, 1931. (Rly. Publicity photo.) Back row (left to right): Messrs. J. O'Connor, T. Gallagher, M. Stratton, T. H. Noble. Centre: S. G. Sargent. M. J. Gallagher, J. N. Munro, J. H. Michelle, W. J. Wray, T. A. Walsh, D. H. Jones, E. H. Pritchard, L. Fahy. Sitting: W. H. H. Grapes, C. W. Hollis, C. R. Lovatt, M.Sc A.M.I.R.S.E. (Asst. Engineer), G. W. Wyles, M.I.R.S.E., A.M.I.E.E. (Signal and Elect. Engineer), C. A. Mackersey, A.C.S.E., A.M.I.E.E., (First Asst, Engineer Elect.), and R. G. Mysrscough.

Automatic Signalling

Another promising German development of the selenium cell in railway service, making automatic signalling possible even where steel sleepers are employed, is known as the Hampke arrangement, employing the so-called “point” or intermittent system of signalling. Previous arrangements of automatic signals without track circuits possessed no sure automatic means of indicating when a train with all its vehicles complete had passed out of the block section. Hampke's apparatus solves this problem by an arrangement which makes it possible to observe the passage of the tail end of a train past a fixed location. The arrangement calls for a tail light detector consisting of a lamp bulb throwing an intense concentrated ray of light on to the train, and a selenium cell forming part of the circuit of a line relay. A special mirror is fitted to the red tail light of the train, this mirror being similar to that employed in the Baseler apparatus. Immediately the rear of the train passes the selenium cell detector, the mirror directs the ray of light back into the selenium cell and renders it conducting, so that the circuit through the relay is closed.—(From Our London Correspondent.)

Colours in Your Home.

Do you ever feel that a house has a personality about it—that is not merely a building of wood or brick to shelter its inhabitants from sun and rain and to provide a sanctuary into which they may retire, away from the eyes of men? There are many such houses in our cities—houses which even to the casual passer-by possess no personality. They have provided a refuge for hundreds of restless humans, have lent them the privacy of their kindly walls; have warmed them; have listened to their tragic or comic stories; have witnessed in silence countless dramas of life enacted in their kitchens, passages and dining rooms; but they remain untouched and aloof, for not one of their dwellers has given to the hungry house a fragment of his personality—a little scrap of his love and care. And houses must be loved before they will respond and become sympathetic, beautiful and restful; they demand attention, thought; they make a direct appeal to the “home instinct” of man, an instinct which urges him to establish himself firmly—to see himself wherever he looks, to observe his handiwork, and to whisper to himself “This is mine!”

Our lives in the twentieth century are such a chaos of tumbled ideas, frenzied activity, constant, bewildering changes that we have little time to devote to the making of a home. Indeed, such a great part of our days is passed in the heart of cities among other rushing, infinitely busy humans, that as long as we have shelter for a few hours of sleep we are contented. No longer do we depend on our homes for comfort and peace as in the old days, Perhaps that is why so many of our children seek their pleasures elsewhere, in some gayer and brighter place; for it is the nature of youth to love beauty and colour. They refuse absolutely to act their part in life before a drab, grey, sordid background, and if you appeal to them you will find eager and enthusiastic helpers in beautifying your home. Do not allow your children to grow up wanderers, ignorant of the happiest of home life, show them that houses have an atmosphere, and that hundreds of minute things co-operate to produce it.

There are many women who worship cleanliness who think that if a house is kept spotless, if dust is never allowed to invade it, if floors continually shine and taps sparkle, then they have done their bit and made the home a habitable and comfortable dwelling place for “the breadwinner” and the scampering, untidy, joyful youngsters. We must allow them praise for this, and all honour is due to the conscientious housewife whose meals are always punctual, whose saucepans stand in dazzling array, whose linen cupboard displays neat piles of fragrant

linen. But all too often her house is devoid of beauty, because she has not studied it as a house. No one is too busy or too poor to give to their homes a certain atmosphere; an indefinable something, so absolutely their own that the tradesman at the door will be aware of its subtle presence, and the stranger within the gates will know at once that he is in a home and not a mere house. A great deal of this charm can be acquired by colours. Have you ever thought what an important part they play in life—gay, warm young cheap, and your room will repay you for your consideration.

Kitchens should be bright, cheerful, white places—no heavy, hot colours, no darkness and shade, but businesslike, efficient, happy rooms. Where you eat, there you must have colour, gay and beautiful—nothing is more depressing than a barren, cheerless, living-room—and here you will put flowers to give some of their beauty to yourself and your room, gladden you with their perfection and brighten your table. Books could well be colours full of vivid life; soft, shaded, tranquil colours full of dreams; sad, grey, blurred colours full of ghosts and tears.

The Social Side Of Railway Life. A Flashlight Photograph Of Members Of the Hillside (Dunedin) Workshops staff and their ladies, who took part in the social function held in the Workshops Social Hall on 19th August, 1931—being one of many successful social evenings arranged this year by the Workshops Social Committee.

Study the colours in your house; they are vitally important. Let them express yourself and your family, and when buying something new, think of the colours already in your room and be kind to them.

Bedrooms should be softly coloured, restful and fresh looking—remember this when having them repapered. There is a great vogue at the moment for coloured sheets—delicate mauves, egg-shell blues, apple-greens; white beds, chairs and dressing-tables—but it is not within the powers of most of us to indulge in this fancy. But we can exercise care in our choice of colours for quilts, curtains and covers; materials are so written on the importance of colours in the home, although to some it would seem a trivial matter.

Remember that your house has a tremendous effect on you, and that you can do a great deal towards making it a “thing of beauty and a joy for ever.”

* * *

November fashions

Why not make yourself a “chic” little coat and skirt for the warm days to come? It is time now to think of summer, of the holidays and of sunshine, and you suddenly feel a great desire to have something very sweet and fresh and young to express the mood which we all feel when winter slips away into the shadows, and our thick skirts and woollen jumpers are gladly hidden in wardrobes. So many of us will be tremendously “hard-up” this summer; the slump is demanding the strictest economy, and many of our visions of spring frocks will have to remain “castles in the air.” We have to study utility, and the business girl will have to consider what is going to be most useful to her. She needs something smart, inexpensive, and simple; something which will allow her to look well dressed for a reasonable price. Here is the very thing for office wear, for shopping, and for the city, in December and January—a linen costume, which you can make for the sum of one pound! Buy four yards of Liberty linen, soft, uncrushable stuff, artistically designed in the most attractive colours and patterns. Make a sleeveless blouse with a cross-over wide colour; then a flared or pleated hip; yoke skirt, moderately long. There is your frock for indoors, tennis or picnics; add a little straight coat of the same material and you have your costume, fresh, dainty and useful. You can wear a wide-brimmed straw, a white beret, or a “bowler” and you will be clad for almost any occasion.

* * *

Very Nourishing.

A flip is excellent. Just mix two tablespoons of cold milk in a cup with two teaspoons Ovaltine and eat it with a spoon. Ovaltine is delicious this way, and one does not tire of it. Children love it in place of sweets. For an egg-nog, fill a glass with hot or cold milk, whisk one egg and pour into the milk, add two teaspoons Ovaltine, and stir until dissolved.

A little sprinkled over helpings of bread pudding makes the latter much more attractive and improves the flavour at the same time.

A Delicious Gingerbread.

Here is a very simple recipe for a family gingerbread—the kiddies will love it:—Four ounces butter, 4oz sugar, 1/2 cup golden syrup, 1/2 cup milk, 2 eggs, 11/2 cups flour, 3 teaspoons ginger, 1/2 teaspoon baking powder, 1/2 teaspoon soda, 1 teacup sultanas.

Method. Cream butter and sugar; warm syrup, mix with milk and add to creamed mixture. Beat in eggs, and sift in flour and other ingredients. Bake in large flat tin for three-quarters of an hour in moderate oven.

* * *

Wedding Bells.

On the eve of her approaching marriage, Miss McCluggage, of the Chief Accountant's Office, New Zealand Railways, was met recently by members of the staff. Mr. W. Bishop (Assistant Chief Accountant), in the unavoidable absence of Mr. H. Valentine (Chief Accountant), made pleasing reference to the manner in which the guest had carried out her duties, and on behalf of the staff presented her with a dinner set. Mr. Gillies (Assistant Chief Accountant) and Mr. Boult (Divisional Officer) endorsed Mr. Bishop's remarks, wishing Miss McCluggage every happiness and future prosperity. Mr. Vennimore responded on behalf of the guest.

* * *

Rough Hands Made Soft.

It is a pity to let your hands get so roughened and red through neglect, when by rubbing in a little Sydal you can keep them velvety, soft and white. Sydal is used for chapps, redness, rough skin, cracked lips, sore eyes, etc. Men use Sydal before shaving.

(Written for the “N.Z. Railways Magazine” by H. Collett .)

There is a small insect, about one-quarter of an inch in length, well known to most people, and whose presence is greatly resented by them. In fact, so great is this feeling of resentment, so deeply rooted, that all possible means for getting rid of the insect's presence and attentions are made use of. It is the bete noir of the careful and thrifty housewife owing to its marked predilection for starched articles of wear such as collars, shirts, curtains and the like; this, strangely enough, when we consider that sugar is the insect's main diet; this will be explained later on. At times this deep aversion is carried to extremes, and, to quote an authentic case in point, one that ended in an action-at-law, to a ridiculous degree.

A “flat” was rented by a tenant, who, on entering into occupancy, found the premises infested with these creatures. So alarmed was he at the discovery, that he got out and went back on his agreements in refusing to pay any rental.

This pest appears to be ubiquitous in habitat, being prevalent in all parts of the world. How it came by the name of “silver fish” is difficult even of conjecture, as the insect does not possess a single “fishy” attribute.

The best known variety, generally, is the “silver fish,” Lepisma Saccharina (figure 2), which confines itself to “homes,” and is, in consequence, most frequently met with. It has many aliases—I use the term as it is a silent worker and non-advertiser—“Bristle tail,” sugar louse,” “sugar fish” and “silver witch.” Of these “sugar louse” and “sugar fish” seem the most appropriate from the dietary—“sugar.” This is procured in a round-about or second-hand fashion, from the underneath of linoleum, the back of wall papers, book-bindings, and starched clothes that are put away in drawers and dark places. There is enough “sugar” contained in the above-mentioned articles to suffice the insects' need; and it is owing to this method of obtaining their staple food supply that we consider them destructive enough to class as very undesirable, something to be destroyed or got rid of.

Another variety, not so well known, is the “fire bratt” (Thermobia Funorum), that infests bakehouses and ovens, and have received their name—again erroneous—from bakers. These greatly resemble Lepisma, and procure their “sugar” from flour, dough and paste.

These little creatures belong to a most primitive and interesting form, Thysanura, from which most of the world's insects have “evolved.” The mouth is most simple, as is also the breathing system; the body minutely and entirely scaled, giving the insect a soft silky and silvery appearance. Wings are completely absent, while the bristle-like objects at the tail are to be found in the lower insect types; in higher types these are developed into forceps.

The three forms touched upon in this article are Lepisma Saccharina, Thermobia Funorum, nd Campodea Staphylinus.” Of all these, Lepisma is certainly the most advanced.

The “scales” of Lepisma (figure 2) achieved fame for these insects; for, to meet the requirements of examination, the lenses of to-day's microscope were brought to their present perfection. As in moths and butterflies, these scales are of a hairlike formation, the surfaces broken up by lines and ridges from which the light-rays are turned, giving the bearer its metallic silver gloss.

The “fire bratt” (Thermobia Funorum) has already been sufficiently mentioned.

We now come to Campodea Staphylinus (figure 1), the most important and primitive member of the group, and fairly common throughout the globe. It lives in decaying and moist wood, under stones, in fact, whereever

(Figure 1.) Campodea Staphylinus (Most primitive of all insects.) (Figure 2.) Silver Fish (Lepisma Saccharina.)

the ground is soft and damp. Very little is known to entomology of this strange creature; this, no doubt, is to be accounted for owing to the extreme fragility of its body construction. So great is this peculiarity indeed that to even touch one with the fingers is to destroy it completely. In order to emphasise more thoroughly this fact it may be mentioned that to procure a specimen, even with the aid of a soft camel-hair paint brush, without shattering, is well nigh impossible. Again, even if this may have been accomplished, death occurs very soon after capture. The body cannot be kept for “dried specimen” purposes even though it will provide a “microscopic” preparation.

These fragile insects have no organ of sight, and may, therefore, be deemed blind; they entirely avoid and shun light of any description, and their delicate bodies are soft and white; the breathing tubes simpler even than those of Lepisma. Yet, in spite of this extreme fragility, they flourish and multiply where “higher” insects of hardier form die out or become extinct.

In The Old Days

The old time-tables of the pioneer railways carry evidence of the virtues of road-rail co-ordination, and the faith of our forefathers in those virtues. In the first time-table issued by the Great Western Railway of England, in 1839, it is recorded that no fewer than sixty-four stage-coaches were carried by rail each day between London and Maidenhead, twenty-five miles distant, to continue their journey by road from Maidenhead to Oxford, Bristol, Gloucester, Hereford, Monmouth and other distant points. In the reverse direction, stage-coaches arriving at the London rail terminus from Maidenhead took to the road at Paddington and proceeded as omnibuses to points in the City and West End. Other old railway time-tables contain references to the movement by rail of omnibuses and road vehicles carrying general merchandise, furnishing proof of early belief in the worth of rail-road co-ordination.—From Our London Correspondent.