Among the improvements that have been carried out at Windsor during the autumn, has been an entire alteration in the draining of the Home Park about Frogmore. New drains have been laid, and the waste earth has been used to level the ground. This portion of the Royal domain was almost wild at the beginning of the present reign. It consisted of fields, with low hedges and deep ditches, and was intersected by a road, on which stood several cottages and a public-house. It was quite an eyesore, and Prince Albert was at his wit’s end to know how to convert it into a park and exclude the public, as before this could be done, it was
necessary to make a new road in place of the one it was desired to abolish, and altogether a large outlay was inevitable; and even in those days, it was out of the question to apply to Parliament for the amount required, which, I believe, was about £80,000.
The difficulty, however, was solved in rather a strange way. In the early days of railroads they were looked upon as nuisances, and the authorities at Windsor Castle were firmly resolved that no line should approach the Royal borough, in which resolution they were warmly supported by the equally stupid and short-sighted managers of Eton College. Although the inhabitants sighed for a railway, none was brought nearer than Slough. At this moment, when the park question was being agitated, the South Western Directors brought forward a proposition that they should make a line into Windsor, running along one side of the Home Park, and right under the Castle. This audacious idea was regarded with indignation at the Castle, until a hint was received that possibly, if Royal interest were forthcoming to support the plan, the Company might be able to facilitate the proposed alterations; and it then came out, strangely enough, they had fixed the precise sum needed (£80,000) as compensation for the disturbance of the Royal property. No more was heard of the objections to the scheme, which had been so vehemently denounced a few days before, but, no sooner did it transpire that the South-Western plan was not opposed by the Castle interest than down came the Great-Western authorities in a fever of indignation, for it appeared they had received an explicit promise that, if Windsor was ever desecrated by a railway, they should have the preference. So resolute was their attitude, that so far as I remember, the sitting of Parliament was actually protracted in order that their Bill might be passed; not that they got it without paying, for they gave £20,000 for an old stable and yard which were required for their station, and which happened to stand on Crown property. Things were sometimes managed strangely enough in those days.
—Truth, Dec. 29, 1881.
AN EXACTING LADY.
A lady of fashion with a pugdog and a husband entered the train at Paddington the other day. There were in the carriage but two persons, a well-known Professor and his wife; yet the lady of fashion coveted, not indeed his chair, but his seat. “I wish to sit by the window, sir,” she said, imperiously, and he had to move accordingly. “No, sir, that won’t do,” she said, as he meekly took the next place. “I can’t have a stranger sitting close to me. My husband must sit where you are.”
Gentleman’s Magazine.
AMERICAN PATIENCE AND IMPERTURBABILITY.
About an hour after midnight, on our journey from Boston to Albany, we came to a sudden pause where no station was visible; and immediately, very much to my surprise, the engine-driver, conductor, and several passengers were seen sallying forth with lanterns, and hastening down the embankment on our right. “What are they going to do now?” said I to a gentleman, who, like myself, kept his seat. “Only to take a look at some cars that were smashed this morning,” was the reply. On opening the window to observe the state of affairs, as well as the darkness would allow, there, to be sure, at the bottom and along the side of the high bank, lay an unhappy train, just as it had been upset. The locomotive on its side was partly buried in the earth; and the cars which had followed it in its descent lay in a confused heap behind. On the top of the bank, near to us, the last car of all stood obliquely on end, with its hind wheels in the air in a somewhat grotesque and threatening attitude. All was now still and silent. The killed and wounded, if there were any, had been removed. No living thing was visible but the errant engineer and others from our train clambering with lanterns in their hands over a prostrate wreck, and with heedless levity passing critical remarks on the catastrophe. Curiosity being satisfied all resumed their places, and the train moved on without a murmur of complaint as to the unnecessary, and, considering the hour, very undesirable delay. I allude to the circumstance, as one of a variety of facts that fell
within my observation, illustrative of the singular degree of patience and imperturbability with which railway travellers in America submit uncomplainingly to all sorts of detentions on their journey.