Part 1

WILLY'S TRAVELS ON THE RAILROAD.

INTENDED FOR YOUNG CHILDREN.

BY MRS. MARCET.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1847.

LONDON: SPOTTISWOODE and SHAW, New-street-Square.

CONTENTS.

THE RAILROAD.

THE SPOILED CHILD.

THE TUNNEL.

OLD AND YOUNG.

THE THIRD CLASS CARRIAGES, OR THE MARKET GIRL.

THE INN.

THE ARBORETUM.

CHILDREN'S GAMBOLS.

THE FACTORY.

THE FARM.

TREES.

THE FACTORY VISITED.

THE COUNTRY HOUSE.

THE GARDENER.

THE LITTLE COWARD.

THE LITTLE COWARD (CONTINUED).

THE LITTLE WASHERWOMAN.

THE RETURN TO OLD FRIENDS.

WILLY'S TRAVELS ON THE RAILROAD.

THE RAILROAD.

Willy, when he was six years old, went with his Papa and Mamma to take a long journey. He had but a confused notion what a long journey was; and knew nothing of the railroad by which they were to travel. When they reached the _station_ from which the train of carriages set out, Willy was at first bewildered by the novelty of the scene, and by the bustle which takes place in settling all the passengers and their luggage. He felt a little awed by the strangeness of every thing around him; but looking about, and seeing nothing to be afraid of, he took courage, and began to observe and ask questions as usual.

"You thought we should be too late, Mamma," said he, "but you see we are in very good time, for the horses are not yet put to any of the carriages."

"They go without horses," replied his Mother.

"Without horses!" repeated he; "how can those great coaches go on without horses? There must be somebody to push or to pull them, for they cannot move by themselves."

"There is some_thing_, not some_body_," said his Mother, "which makes them move, and here it comes." Willy at that instant heard a great rumbling noise, and, turning round, he saw a strange-looking carriage full of fire inside, and, as it rolled on, it made a terrible whizzing noise, and a great deal of white smoke came out of it. Willy thought that it was on fire, and he drew his Mamma back, crying out, "O Mamma! it will burn us."

But she answered, "No, no, it will make us go on. Look at the two men upon that carriage, they are not hurt by riding on it, nor shall we be hurt when our carriages are drawn by it."

"What is it, then?" asked Willy; "it looks like a live monster, more than like a carriage?"

"It is only a steam-engine," replied she, "like that which moves a steam-boat, in which you have often been, and what you take for smoke is steam rising from boiling water, just as it does from the tea urn."

"But that is real fire inside the carriage, is it not?"

"Yes," replied she, "and there is real fire in the tea urn, in the shape of a red-hot heater; fire is wanted both in the tea urn and in the steam-engine, to make the water boil, for without boiling water we can have no steam; and without steam we should not be able to get on so fast, either in a boat, or on the railroad."

"And then," said Willy, "we should be like the man and the pig, we should not get home to-night."

"Very true, Willy, you can understand the story of the pig that would not go over the bridge, much better than how a steam-engine can move a boat, or a train of carriages."

Just then a little bell went ting-a-ring-a-ring, and his Mamma told him it was to let them know that the train was going to set off; so the passengers all hastened to take their places. The train at first set off rather slowly, but then it went on faster and faster, till it got to its full speed, and Willy thought that there must be horses to make it go so fast. He looked out of the window, but the train was so long he could see neither the beginning nor the end. He saw only the houses and trees and fields, looking as if they were moving.

"I know they do not," said he; "but in the railroad, I think every thing seems to be moving. And do, Papa, look, how little the cows are in that field. And are those sheep? they seem to be no bigger than lambs;--and I declare those houses," said he, pointing to them, "look almost like baby houses at the toy shop."

"Those houses are really small," replied his father, "but not so very small as you suppose, for they are large enough for people to live in; every thing seen from the train when it is moving fast, appears smaller than it really is; but I will not try to explain the reason, because you could not understand it."

"But, Papa," continued Willy, "the steam-engine must be stronger than horses, to be able to move the train."

"Much stronger than one horse," replied he; "the engine which draws this train is one perhaps of thirty-horse power, which means that it has the power or strength of thirty horses."

"But I wonder that thirty horses should be able to draw so many carriages along, such large carriages too, much bigger than our chariot, and so many people in them."

"They are, indeed, a great deal larger," said his father; "for each carriage will hold eighteen persons."

"But there is only room for six in this carriage," observed Willy.

"True; but this is only a part of the carriage; it looks like a whole carriage inside, but if you saw it from the outside, you would find that there were two others joined close to it, to make a whole carriage."

"I think, then," said Willy laughing, "that the whole carriage is like a house with three rooms in it, and that we are riding in one of the rooms; indeed it is so large that it looks almost as big as a little room."

"Just so," replied his father. "Now, can you tell me how many people there are in the whole carriage?"

"Yes," said Willy, carrying on the joke, "if there are three rooms and six persons in each, there must be eighteen in the whole house; for three times six makes eighteen in the multiplication table. But I should like to know how many people there are in the whole train, and that cannot be in the multiplication table, I think."

"No," said his father; "there are, I believe, ten of these carriages, and eighteen times ten makes one hundred and eighty."

"But," added he, "there are a great many other carriages of a different kind belonging to this train; they are called the second and third classes, and are cheaper, so that the common people can afford to go in them. The second class is not so well fitted up as this carriage (which is one of the first class), and is more exposed to the air; and the third class, which is the cheapest, is quite open."

"Oh, then, I should like that best," said Willy; "for I like open carriages so much, you can see the horses;--oh no, not on the railroad," added he; "but then you see everything around you, without the trouble of looking out of the windows, and then the fresh air blows so nicely about you."

"We will try them before we get to the end of our journey," said his father.

"But," asked Willy, "how can one steam-engine be strong enough to draw all these carriages; for it is not alive? I know that men are strong, and horses are stronger, and elephants are stronger still, but they are all alive; I never knew anything strong that was not alive; did you, Mamma?"

"Yes," replied she, laughing, "I once saw a little boy blown down by the wind; now the wind must have been strong to blow down the boy, and yet it is not alive. Then don't you remember when you bathed in the sea last summer, how strong the waves were? you often told me that if the bathing woman had not held you tightly, they would have thrown you down."

"Oh yes," cried Willy, "and the waves are not alive; though they move about and froth so much, they are only sea water; but I am sure they are strong, very strong indeed. And is there anything else strong that is not alive?"

"The steam from the steam-engine, which looks so light that you took it for smoke, is strong enough to draw this long heavy train. But observe, it is not the steam which you see flying about that moves the train, but that which is kept close inside the engine and cannot get out. Then the carriage wheels rolling on this smooth iron rail move more easily."

"I thought," added he, "that iron rails always stood upright as they do in the railing before our house. I never saw an iron rail lying on the ground as these do, unless it was broken or thrown down."

"Any bar of iron," replied his father, "is called a _rail_, and may be used either upright or lying on the ground, or in any way in which it is wanted; but it is more commonly called an iron bar when it is not used as a railing. The iron bars which fasten the window shutters are not called rails."

The train now slackened its pace, as it was near the station, where they were to stop for passengers.

This station was a very pretty looking building in which several persons were waiting the arrival of the train; as soon as it stopt, many passengers hurried out, and many others got in. "I think it is like playing at puss in the corner," said Willy.

"Yes," replied his mother, "and sometimes a passenger is too late, and then he is really puss in the corner, for the train sets off without him, and he loses his place."

THE SPOILED CHILD.

Willy and his parents had had no one in their carriage but an old lady, who wore a very old-fashioned black bonnet; but now the door was opened, and there came in a lady with a pretty looking little girl, and immediately afterwards the ting-a-ring bell gave the signal of departure. "Here we are off again," cried Willy, "whiz, whiz, whiz: and look at the pretty curling smoke, oh no, the steam I mean, which is going all the way with us. Well, I think a railroad is very funny after all, though it does frighten you a little sometimes." Willy now looked at the little girl, and thought she would make a nice little companion for him; but though he tried all he could to get acquainted with her, she would not say a word. He asked her what her name was, but her Mamma was obliged to answer for her that it was Harriet; then how old she was, still she was dumb; and her mother said five last birthday. At last Willy thought of another way of getting the better of her shyness. A school-fellow of his had given him a very pretty ball as a keepsake just before he set out on his journey; this ball was in his pocket, and he took it partly out, so as to tempt the little girl to look at it, and wish to see more. She wondered what that pretty looking red and yellow round thing could be; it could not be an orange, because it was half red, and it could not be an apple; so then she smiled, as much as to say, Show me the whole of it. Willy, seeing she was pleased, took the ball quite out of his pocket, and asked her to catch it. She immediately held out a pretty little apron she wore to catch it, and then she threw it back again, and so they got quite well acquainted, and went on playing at ball for some time, till unfortunately Harriet, who was a little awkward in taking aim, threw the ball so that it fell into the old lady's lap; this made her grumble at troublesome children, and throwing the ball back to them, she declared that if it came in her way again she would throw it out of the window. The children took more care, but their spirits rose as the game went on, the ball was tossed higher and higher, with less attention, till in an unlucky moment it fell plump on the old lady's high-crowned bonnet, and as it was only made of silk, pushed it down, so that the bonnet was in an instant changed from a bonnet with a remarkably high crown, into a bonnet which looked as if it had no crown at all. This struck the children as so funny, that they both burst out laughing; it certainly was wrong, because it was very rude, but the laughing burst out before they had time to think of that. However, their gaiety was soon at an end, for the old lady, after having had some trouble to find the ball, which had, as it were, hidden itself in the crown of her bonnet, kept her promise, and threw it out of the window. Upon this the little girl began to cry, and screamed out to her Mamma, to stop the carriage in order to pick up the ball; but her Mamma told her that was impossible, but promised to buy her a ball when they came to the end of the journey; but this was far from pacifying little Miss, she almost screamed herself hoarse, because her Mamma would not stop the carriage; and then frowned rudely at the old lady for spoiling her game at play. Willy looked at her with astonishment; the very pretty little girl was become ugly from her passion. Her Mamma, half scolding, half coaxing, took her on her lap and gave her a piece of barley sugar to stop her crying, but she sobbed so violently, that it almost choked her when it was first put into her mouth; at length, quite worn out, she sunk on her Mamma's bosom, and sobbed herself to sleep.

The mother made the best apologies she could to the old lady, but could not help observing that it was very hard to throw away the children's ball. The old lady replied, "she had given them warning, so it was their own fault." The child's mother declared that she was the best child in the world when not put in a passion, but then she really could not manage her; she hoped she would outgrow it.

"Her passions will grow stronger as she grows older," replied the lady, "if she is not corrected in time. I believe if you punished her instead of giving her barley sugar, when she is in such a rage, it would do her more good. And you, my little fellow," added she, speaking to Willy, "you did not cry, though it was your ball that I threw out of window. Come here, and I will try to make you some amends." If the truth must be told, Willy had felt the tears start to his eyes when he saw the ball fly out at the window; it not only broke up the game, but it was his dear Harry's parting present: however, he had learnt how to command himself, and made no complaint. He crossed the carriage and went up to the old lady, though not without showing some signs of reluctance: she said, "I treated you as you deserved by throwing away your ball, because it is proper that children should be taught how to behave in a public carriage towards strangers. But you behaved very well in not crying, or saying anything saucy about it. Now," continued she, "I have a pretty picture-book in this bag, and I will lend it you to look at." The book was full of beautifully coloured prints, with a few lines in verse at the bottom of each, so easy, that Willy could both read and understand them. He amused himself with this book extremely, and thanked the lady; indeed, he was nearly saying that it amused him better than the ball; but he did not, because he thought that would not be fair towards Harry.

The mother of the sleeping child, seeing Willy so much pleased, observed, it was a pity that the lady had not thought of this book of pictures before; for it was the very thing that would have amused and pacified her little girl.

"I should not have shown the book," said the old lady, "had the little girl been awake. I like to amuse children when they are good, but it is right they should be punished when they are naughty. I have had a great many children," continued she, "and a great many grandchildren, and I never once rewarded them for crying, and when they found crying was of no use, they left it off. A child would much rather laugh than cry, when he can get nothing by crying. But when a child knows that it will get either the thing it cries for, or something else to pacify it, like the piece of barley sugar, it will cry if it has any sense."

Willy thought the old lady was rather severe; he did not recollect his own Mamma having ever punished him for crying; but then he could not recollect having cried for any thing: when he cried, it was from a fall; and then his Mamma laughed at him, if it was a fall which only frightened him; or, if he was hurt, she applied something to ease the pain, and then bade him bear it like a man, and not like a baby. Willy thought he should like to know the grandchildren of the old lady, they must all be so good; but he wondered whether they were fond of their grandmamma, and he ventured to ask her how many she had. "Why, I can hardly tell you," replied she, "I have so many; and my memory is very bad, now I am so old, that I cannot well reckon them up. But look at this pretty bag," said she, "it was worked by three of my granddaughters." This was the bag from which the picture-book had been taken; it was very pretty, there were three broad white velvet stripes on each side of it, and these were separated by stripes of green velvet; the green stripes were plain, but on the white ones beautiful flowers were embroidered; there were roses, and jessamine, and jonquils, and violets, and I know not how many other pretty blossoms, with their bright green leaves, and they looked so fresh and so gay that they almost seemed to be alive and growing.

"Well, now," said the old lady, "each of my three granddaughters worked one of these stripes, and their Mamma had the bag made up, with a nice handle, as you see, and a pretty lock and key, and then they sent it to me on my birthday. You may suppose how much I was pleased, and what a nice letter I wrote to thank them for the present; and now I am going to see them in the country, so I thought this was the time to use my travelling bag, for it is meant for a travelling bag, to keep all I want on the road safe and snug; so I put my purse and my spectacles, and my pocket-book and handkerchief, and two or three books I was reading, into it, and yet the bag was not half full; then I thought of a nice way of filling it. I took it to the bazaar, and there I bought a number of toys, and all sorts of things I knew the children would like, which filled it to the brim."

Willy stared and thought the cross old lady was becoming quite good-natured, and he longed much to see all the things in the bag.

The lady guessed his wishes, and said, "As you seem to be a careful child, I will trust the bag to your hands; take it to yonder corner of the carriage, where there is an empty seat, and you may look over the things."

This was a treat, indeed; and I never should have finished, if I told you all the bag contained. The first thing that Willy saw was a dissecting puzzle, but he was too impatient to look at the other things to stop to put it together; besides, he was afraid he might drop some of the pieces, and that the old lady might grow cross again. The next was a box of paints. The different colours were so beautifully arranged that they looked very pretty, though they were only colours to paint with. Then there was a little palette to spread them on, and a number of brushes, of different sorts and sizes, to paint with. Next came a work-box, which did not please Willy so much as the painting-box, because he knew nothing about needlework; and if the truth must be told, he did not know much more about painting; but, as he sometimes daubed over with colours a drawing his Mamma made for him, he fancied he understood something about painting.

Then there was a large doll carefully wrapped up in silver paper, so nicely dressed and so pretty, that he thought he should like to play with it, as well as a little girl could do; but he was afraid of crumpling its dress, so he only turned it round, and looked at it all over. Then there was a portfolio for writing, fitted up with pens, ink, and paper, sealing wax, and in short every thing that could be wanted for writing. This, he guessed, was for a little boy, for though a little girl can write as well as a little boy, she does not write so much, having needlework and other things to do, that do not belong to little boys.

When Willy had finished the examination of the bag, and put all the things back in their places, he returned it to the lady, and thanked her.

THE TUNNEL.

Willy was lying at his ease and resting himself after having done so much business, when he suddenly heard a loud and harsh sound which frightened him; he crept close to his Mamma, saying he had never heard such a horrid screeching noise in his life.

"It is only a signal for something," said she, "but for what, I cannot tell."

"I dare say it comes from that terrible fire carriage," said Willy.

"It does," replied his father, "a little steam is let out through a very small hole, and the difficulty the steam has to force its way through the hole makes this disagreeable whistle."

"You complain of my little whistle sometimes, Mamma," said Willy, "but I am sure it does not make half so disagreeable a noise as this."

Very soon after, to the great astonishment of Willy, it became suddenly dark, so dark that he could hardly see his Papa or his Mamma, though the sun had shone brightly a minute before. He laid hold of his mother's hand, and asked what was the matter.

"Nothing, my dear," said she, "we are only going through a tunnel."

"A tunnel? what's that?"

"It is a long hole made in the ground through a hill, that the train may go straight through the hill instead of going over it, for it is not easy for trains to go up and down hill."

"Then it must be a very long hole indeed! When shall we get through it, and see daylight again?"