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 something, not somebody," 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."