—National.
WOLVES ON A RAILWAY.
In 1867, “A cattle train on the Luxemburg Railway was stopped,” says the Nord, “two nights back, between Libramont and Poix by the snow. The brakesman was sent forward for aid to clear the line, and while the guard, fireman, engine-driver, and a customs officer were engaged in getting the snow from under the engine they were alarmed by wolves, of which there were five, and which were attracted, no doubt, by the scent of the oxen and sheep cooped up in railed-in carriages. The men had no weapons save the fire utensils belonging to the engine. The wolves remained in a semicircle a few yards distant, looking keenly on. The engine-driver let off the steam and blew the whistle, and lanterns were waved to and fro, but the savage brutes did not move. The men then made their way, followed by the wolves, to the guard’s carriage. Three got in safe; whilst the fourth was on the step one of the animals sprang on him, but succeeded only in tearing his coat. They all then made an attack, but were beaten off, one being killed by a blow on the head. Two hours elapsed before assistance arrived, and during that time the wolves made several attacks upon the sheep trucks, but failed to get in. None of the cattle were injured.”
ARTEMUS WARD’S SUGGESTION.
“I was once,” he remarks, “on a slow California train, and I went to the conductor and suggested that the cowketcher was on the wrong end of the train; for I said, ‘You will never overtake a cow, you know; but if you’d put it on the other end it might be useful, for now there’s nothin’ on earth to hinder a cow from walkin’ right in and bitin’ the folks!”
COACH VERSUS RAILWAY ACCIDENTS.
A coachman once remarked, “Why you see, sir, if a coach goes over and spills you in the road there you are; but if you are blown up by an engine, where are you?”
BAVARIAN GUARDS AND BAVARIAN BEER.
“In England,” says Mr. Wilberforce, “the guard is content to be the servant of the train; in Germany he is in command of the passengers. ‘When is the train going on?’ asked an Englishman once of a foreign guard. ‘Whenever I choose,’ was the answer. To judge from the delays the trains make at some of the stations, one would suppose that the guard had uncontrolled power of causing stoppages. You see him chatting with the station-master for several minutes after all the carriages have been shut up, and at last, when the topics of conversation are exhausted, he gives a condescending whistle to the engine-driver. Time seems never to be considered by either guards or passengers. Bavarians always go to the station half-an-hour before the train is due, and their indifference to delay is so well known that the directors can put on their time book ‘As the time of departure from small stations cannot be guaranteed, the travellers must be there twenty-five minutes beforehand.’” Mr. Wilberforce should not have omitted to mention the main cause of these delays, which appears at the same time to constitute the final cause of a Bavarian’s existence—Beer. Guards and passengers alike require alcoholic refreshment at least at every other station. At Culmbach, the fountain of the choicest variety of Bavarian beer, the practice had risen to such a head that, as we found last summer, government had been forced to interfere. To prevent trains from dallying if there was beer to drink at Culmbach was obviously impossible. The temptation itself was removed; and no beer was any longer allowed to be sold at that fated railway station, by reason of its being so superlatively excellent.
—Saturday Review, 1864.