LONDON AND BIRMINGHAM RAILWAY.

We have availed ourselves of an opportunity afforded us of travelling from Boxmoor to London by this magnificent conveyance. The whole undertaking is so truly national and interesting, and also so novel in this part of the country, that we think it may not be unacceptable to our readers, to convey to their minds some of the impressions which were made upon our own. Let them imagine themselves, then, discharged from their own vehicles, or from the omnibuses which ply in the vicinity, into the Boxmoor station. This building will impress them with a very proper conception of the large scale of the company's operations. The order of the whole, and the number of persons employed, seem to prognosticate that something is about to be developed in connection with travelling, very different from what usually results from the noise and confusion of an inn yard. And very different it is! as we shall be able to demonstrate, and as we hope all our readers will speedily ascertain for themselves.

At ten o'clock, the hour fixed for starting, the engine which was to escort our train of carriages had not arrived from London, and a brief delay was the consequence. This gave us an opportunity of seeing on terra firma the advance of a train filled with passengers. Our arrangements were speedily made, and in a few minutes we were moving with great rapidity in our course to the metropolis. Now was the time when the interest of every intelligent passenger must have been aroused to the highest pitch. The elevated position of the road; the length of the train of carriages yoked to each other; the furious, though temporary hissing of the engine; and the rapid flitting of the living natural panorama around;-produced a more than ordinary degree of excitement. Beside all this, a bright summer sun was gilding every object; and the mind was held captive by those numerous thrilling reflections which

it is the privilege and the glory of intellectual beings to en- ! gage in. It was difficult at such a moment, not to compare the present with the past, and both with the future, and to resist the speculations respecting the march of intellect in future years. Then the commercial bearings of the affair presented their claims on our notice, and also the probable success of the experiment in a pecuniary point of view. These mental exercises, conjoined with the new physical emotions which were excited, placed us in a pleasing position, and gave time additional speed.

The most rapid motion is to be preferred, as there is then less jarring of the carriages themselves, and the quickest speed does not in the least diminish the interest derived from the surrounding scenery. To us, this brisk movement of the landscape had a peculiar charm, and greatly increased the pleasure with which we contemplated it. The eye was never fatigued; if it rested on sterility it had not to stay there long, and the prettiest spots left a better impression by unfolding their beauties only for a moment. We mention this especially because an opinion has gone forth, that the celerity of railroad travelling destroys the interest of the prospect. This is by no means the case.

But the tunnels? What have you to say about them? will be asked by many hypochondriacal and nervous subjects. Why, we have to say, that the passage through the Watford tunnel is worth a day's journey at any time. First there is the rapid transition from brilliant light to pitch darkness; this cannot be seen when we please, with our eyes open. Then there comes a mighty roaring like the anger of the sea in a stormy day. This inlanders cannot always have. Further, you are treated to a cold-bath without expense, or the trouble of undressing; such a quick change from heat to cold and vice versa we never met with. Then lastly, followed all the mass of conflicting thoughts and feelings; such as, suppose an accident should happen in this cavern?" &c. &c. together with the romantic conviction that you were going at the rate of twenty miles an

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hour, at the mercy of a hissing fiery monster, whose glare alone threw one ray upon the darkness. The signal uttered by the engine must not be forgotten, when it was emitted in these gloomy caves. The lines of Collins were sugges

ted by it

"He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down
And with a withering look

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe!"

Nothing could be in better keeping than this screech, with the tunnel passage. This completes the thing, and leaves you nothing to wish for, except-that you may quickly regain the light of day.

Studious men will like the railway, as it allows them to read with far greater ease than in a stage-coach. Besides, the convenience of studying human nature is so great. You may look on a hundred faces, from that of the bluff over-fed cockney who promises never to go so far from Bow bells again to that of the man of spirit and intelligence, whose soul sparkles in his eyes, and tells you how he loves the matter. Between these there may be discovered every shade of character, indicated by the vacant stare, the selfconceited position of the person, or the pointless and witless observation. Much of life and manners may be detected during an hour's excursion on the rail-road.

Arrived at Euston Square, no language can describe the total impression made by the costly and curious arrangements of the company; they literally defy our powers of portrait-painting, and we leave our readers to look for themselves. If they want a treat they will speedily follow our example, and fly to London by the LONDON AND BIRMINGHAM RAILROAD.

REVIEW.

Adventures of a Journey over land to India, by way of Egypt, Syrin, and the Holy Land. By MAJOR SKINNER, author of "Excursions in India." In 2 volumes. London: Richard Bentley.

It has often been observed, that the ideas we have formed of the persons of distinguished characters are by no means realised on actual acquaintance. How far a phrenologist could predict the cranial developements of men from their actions or writings we know not; it is most certain that the science of physognomy will not admit of such à priori conclusions. "How different a person from what I expected to find him?" is the exclamation continually made by those who, for the first time, come in contact with greatness.

The beautiful portrait of Major Skinner, perfixed to these volumes, will illustrate the observation just made, since it by no means fulfils the expectation formed of one who has endured all the difficulties and privations attending "an over land journey to India." Presuming that the likeness is correct, its owner appears better qualified to tread the scenes of luxury and refinement, than to encounter the mortifications of such a tour. The journey was, however, undertaken, and its inconveniences endured, with a fortitude and equanimity most admirable, causing us to turn from the narrative to the portrait with frequent wonder.

A night's lodgings at Caifa is thus described :

"The house of father Simon was in excellent repair, and consisted of two capital rooms, into the upper one of which I was very soon installed, and, excepting from the abundance of fleas, which like myself, must have been driven to the only refuge in the town, I should have been most comfortable; but alas! my arrival was a jubilee to these implacable tormentors. Worn out with fatigue and exhausted with hunger, I stretched myself upon a carpet, until the mother and sister of Michael, who were very officious on my behalf, should give me a specimen of their cookery; when, "I smell the blood of an Englishman!" was muttered among the fleas, and to the charge they came,

with so much vigour that I was forced to fly into the court of the house, and seek some ease from the rain. What a night I had in prospect! I was not disappointed, and rolled about on my carpet for some hours without the least hope of sleep; when, hearing voices in the room below, I sought relief by mingling mine with theirs." * "I sought my carpet above once more, when I underwent a more than earthly torture until day broke to relieve me. I fancied a thousand demons were stabbing me with redhot bodkins, while my feverish imagination transformed my tormenters into every diabolical colour and shape. A window casement that opened to a narrow terrace, let in the light, and, squeezing myself through it, I sought the pure air with the avidity of a newly liberated prisoner. The sea was before me, as wild as possible, and the rain was still pattering away; I was on the roof of the kitchen, which being only of wattle, with a thick coating of mud to it, was not calculated to uphold me many moments. In affecting my retreat, I so shook the fabric, that I received an earnest appeal from the two women against such indulgence of my fancy for pure air in future.”

As these volumes have much to do with the Holy Land, our readers will probably expect to be led with slow and solemn steps to the scenes consecrated by prophets and martyrs. But, although the author is by no means deficient in sentiment, the exuberance of his wit everywhere appears, so that there is frequently a strange combination of the solemn and ludicrous.

"I set out this morning, accompanied by Padre Camillo, to visit the Valley of Martyrs and the Garden of Elias. We took with us a man armed with a hammer, and carrying a bag to collect the petrified fruit that it produces, or rather, I should say, produced; for, according to the tradition of the convent, the petrifactions found on this spot are of fruit cursed by Elijah into stone. In two hours we entered the Valley of Martyrs, a very narrow dell, open to the sea, through which ran a clear stream. It was rich in verdure on each side, and many sweetscented flowers. Carmel has scarcely a tree of any size upon it; it is thickly studded, however, with shrubs. The convent of St. Bertoldo stood near the head of the valley, and, although built in the eleventh or twelfth century, has many portions strongly cemented together yet remaining. From the summit of the still standing buttress may be caught a glimpse of the sea. The holy fountain of Elijah is close to this. The cistern seems to have been hewn in the rock, and is, I dare say, six feet deep, full of the clearest and most delicious water possible. "During our slow progress up the vale, the Superior dwelt with great pathos upon the sufferings of the martyrs, who had by their death