provided with water, as they were so frequently regards the past, and encouraging as to the driven to do in the great year of disaster. The future." The minute, from which the above is railway stations are now adapted, by a wise an extract, is dated 7th of February, 1863. foresight, for holding out for a considerable length of time, and every one is built over a well-so that the great necessity of all will never be wanting. When General Wheeler held out at Cawnpore-before the massacre-the great want was water, and the only censure cast upon the general for his share in the struggle which cost him his life, was that he neglected this important consideration in selecting the spot. Many were the gallant and good men who were sacrificed in providing for the wants of the garrison; for water could not be dispensed with, and the well could be reached only under fire of the enemy. The consequence was that every bucketful procured, required a forlorn hope to fetch it; and the supply of this very simple article was attended with heroism sufficient to have deserved a dozen Victoria Crosses. Such has been the progress of the railway since the breaking up of the old, and the inauguration of the new system in India, that at the present time there is a line of railway from every principal port in the peninsula, and other lines are in operation or progress, securing connexion between every important place inland. As most of the works are proceeding without intermission, and every week brings us nearer to their completion, the latest information tells us a little less than the truth; but it is sufficient for the present purpose to note the state of things as they were a few months ago. The East Indian Railway, which starts, as I have said, from Calcutta, was to be opened as far as Delhi, a distance of more than eleven hundred miles (including branches), by the end of 1863, with the exception of the bridge across the Jumna, and before these lines see the light, it is more than likely that we may hear of the accomplished fact. The late Lord Elgin was one of the earliest passengers through to Benares, when he proceeded up country in December, 1862. He has left behind him an official minute of his impressions of the undertaking, in which he says: "The distance from Calcutta by rail to Benares is 541 miles. Work was begun in 1851. The line to Burdwan was opened in February, 1855; to the Adjai in October, 1858; to Rajmahal in October, 1859; to Bhagulpore in 1861; to Moughyr in February, 1862; and to Benares in December, 1863. In ten years, therefore, have been opened (including branches) a continuous length of 601 miles, being at the rate of sixty miles a year. This is exclusive of the portion of the line already finished between Allahabad and Agra, in the North-West Provinces, and of the section from Agra to Allyghur, which it is expected will be ready in a few weeks. Including this length, the progress of the last Indian railway has not been short of ninety miles a year; a rate which, if it has not come up to the expectations first entertained, is, under all the circumstances of the case, satisfactory as The most important work on this line is the Saone bridge, immediately below Benares. The Saone is a large river during the rains, but in the dry season little more than a huge tract of sand several miles in breadth, the water being very irregularly distributed. It has been always the great difficulty, if not the great danger, of dâk travellers; for the sand is occasionally shifting, and has been known to engulph men, horses, and carriages, never to be heard of more. In travelling, however, oxen instead of horses were generally employed. On arriving at the Saone the traveller was stopped, and a rather large fee demanded by the presiding authority, in return for which his carriage, his luggage, and himself were lifted upon a native cart. To this were yoked six or eight oxen; and even these were insufficient to do more than just crawl with their burden, the wheels being imbedded about half a foot in the sand, and the animals' feet something like the same distance. The sand was just sufficiently impressed to mark the track, but there was no approach to a hard surface, and the progression was slow and wearisome in the extreme. I doubt whether more than three miles an hour was ever accomplished, and the favourite rate, I fancy, must have been two. In the middle of the day, when I have sometimes performed the journey when pressed for time, the fatigue may be imagined. The heat is intense, as may be supposed from the fact that upon one occasion a bottle of beer which one of my fellow-travellers took from a hamper on the roof of the carriage, intending to refresh his parched throat, broke upon very slight provocation, and what liquid remained was found to be nearly boiling. Drinking it was, of course, out of the question. I would as soon take hot brown brandy-and-water at eleven o'clock on a July morning in England, a proceeding, I believe, peculiar to "travellers' rooms" in commercial inns. Well, the iron horse now courses merrily over the sand and water of the Saone. The bridge is a magnificent work. Almost twice the length of the railway bridge over the Thames at Charing-cross, it consists of twenty-seven iron girders of one hundred and fifty feet each, supported on brick foundations. And every bit of the iron, be it remembered, was sent out from England, and conveyed up country by the bullock train! The most important branch on the line-now in course of construction-is that to Jubbulpore, which is about the centre of India; and here, the East Indian line will meet the Great Indian Peninsular, and so establish the through communication with Bombay. The East Indian line, however, by no means stops at Delhi, which is a little out of the direct road. A little below that city it divides, one branch going to Delhi and the other to Meerut, and joining again a little above. Here the united line joins the one from Lahore, which is already open as far towards Delhi as Umritzur. Up to Lahore, the general direction has been north-westerly from Calcutta; but at this point the line bends downwards, and is now in course of construction as far as Mooltan. Here a steam flotilla already connects Mooltan with Hyderabad in Scinde, and from Hyderabad there is a line, open and in operation, south-eastwards, to Kurrachee-a rising port, which opens the most direct communication with the Punjab. I ceased to be naughty and sarcastic. "And such a dear little Shetland pony," said Willy. "We're going to have a ride on it tomorrow.' How rapidly children make acquaintance! Next morning I had resolved to have a holiday, a day of gardening, fishing, and fun with the children. The children were in raptures; Lucy was quietly pleased after her own dear style. The traveller landing at Bombay, on the The lawn of our cottage sloped down to the western coast-where the majority of travellers Thames, while at the back of the house our long will eventually land, as involving the shortest strip of garden was separated by a paling and a sea voyage, and effecting the greatest saving of laurel shrubbery from the garden of our newlytime as soon as the railway system shall be com-arrived neighbour. Willy had had his ride on plete even in reaching Calcutta-may proceed inland in two different directions by lines in actual operation. If he be bound for the Central Provinces, or the North-West Provinces (which latter, by the way, are the north-east, from a Bombay point of view, and are not nearly so north or so west as the Punjab, and other possessions added to the empire since the North-West Provinces proper were named), he will proceed by the Great Indian Peninsular line, which will take him about half way towards Jubbulpore-where the junction is to be effected with the East Indian-a formerly obscure, but now wonderfully improving place. BRANCHER. WHAT pleasure a City man feels when he turns his back on the Stock Exchange, on the street of the Lombards, or on the street of the Threaded Needle, and sets his face towards the country and home. What still greater pleasure he feels when the bus drops him at his cottage, and, as he clicks the garden-gate behind him, he hears his children come tearing along the hall to meet him when he opens the door. It was that pleasure which made my heart beat faster, one June evening, ten years ago, when I alighted from the bus at the corner of our lane at Bybridge (where I had taken a country-house for the summer), and pushed on eagerly for my own place. The great dark elms seemed all in a flutter of pleasure at my arrival. The garden flowers bent their heads gravely towards me. I loved the very gravel that crisped under my feet. How velvety the turf looked, and it was all mine for two months longer! The moment I touched the knocker, out poured Lucy and the children. Willy, Ned, and Charley, took me by storm. He is come," they all cried in one breath. "He? who is He? The earthquake ?" Why, don't you know, papa? The gentleman next door," said Willy. Why, my dear, our next door neighbour, at Willow Cottage," said my wife, with grave reproof. "His furniture arrived this morning. He and his wife, and the children, came in grand style. He seems a most respectable man." You mean a most rich man, Lucy." Now, don't be naughty and sarcastic." the pony, and came racing back delighted, and laden with red and white sugar-plums. Mr. Brancher had been so kind. Charley and Ned grew envious of the march Willy had stolen over our neighbour's affections. My wife, like all mothers, was won by an attention paid to her child; it was an attention paid to herself. "I am sure," she said, "he's a dear kind creature." And I began to think we were very lucky in getting such a neighbour. After breakfast I was busy at work in the garden, nailing up a rather wayward vine, and singing over my occupation the serenade song from Don Juan, when I heard a rustling in the laurels, and a florid good-natured face thrust itself between the shining green leaves. "I trust, sir, that your little boy enjoyed his ride ?" "Extremely," I said, stepping up to the palings in my best manner, "and I have to thank you for your kindness in giving him that pleasure.' "Don't mention it, my dear sir," said Mr. Brancher. "I love children. I am a father myself. I only thought it right to come and apologise to you for offering your brave little fellow a ride without your permission, before we were indeed even introduced to each other. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance," I said. "Allow me to shake hands with you." "I see you are, like myself, fond of gardening," said the worthy man. Hah! what those poor people in towns lose!" At that moment a pleasant female voice called "Henry! Henry!" "Pardon me," said Mr. Brancher, "for there's my wife calling me to set the children their lessons. Au revoir. I trust we shall often meet." I expressed the same wish, and he disappeared. An hour or two afterwards, a burst of laughter in the next garden disturbed me as I sat reading at my study window. Now, my study was a first-floor room, commanding both my own garden and my neighbour's. I rose and looked out. Charming picture of rural domestic pleasure! There was Brancher, drawing a huge wooden horse, spotted black and red, and flowing as to the tail. On it was seated a fine chubby boy, while two little girls, and another boy bearing bulrushes, attended the procession with laughing dignity. Mrs. Brancher, a stout blonde lady, knitting under a beech-tree, regarded the ceremony with matronly delight. I opened my casement, looked out, and nodded. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," shouted Mr. Brancher, his portly face radiant with content as he dismounted his child from his swift but inanimate steed, and tossed him into the air. "We are going out after dinner for an evening's fishing," said I, "children and all. We've got a punt moored ready under the osier bank; will you and your wife join us, and bring the children?" "With the sincerest pleasure," said Mr. Brancher. Half-past three is the time," I shouted again; "it is no use fishing while the sun's hot.' My wife and the children were delighted at the anticipated fishing-party. "It is so important, my dear, to have nice neighbours," remarked Lucy, "and you're so much away, you know, Arthur." beries that had lately taken place throughout England, but chiefly in the midland and southern counties-a daring series of robberies, evidently planned and carried out by a well-organised and dangerous gang of high-class thieves. I spoke of the aids modern rogues derived from railways and the telegraph. Mr. Brancher took a very high tone on the subject, and was vehement in his denunciation of the rogues. He advocated the severest punishments. By Jove, madam," he said, addressing my wife as he paced up and down the punt, "I would root out such scoundrels, at any cost. I would transport the whole lot. I would have photographs of the villains_hung up in the coffee-room of every hotel in England." I suggested the difficulty of obtaining photographs of thieves before their capture. It was delightful to see Mr. Brancher laugh. His fine white teeth glistened-all his face seemed to laugh. "Ha! ha ha!" he said, "what a fool I am-you have me there, indeed. Of course not. Still I do think the police very grievously to blame, for not breaking up such a detestable conspiracy against honesty. You will pardon me, Mrs. Gregson, I have been a judge in the Madras Presidency, and I am a disciplinarian in such matters-not cruel, I trust We had hired a second punt, and put chairs in it for the ladies. The children we divided. Punctually at the prescribed time, the two boats, with their laughing crews, pushed off past the lock at Bybridge, for the osier clump where we-but still a disciplinarian." were to moor. There could not be a more agreeable man than Mr. Brancher, we all thought. He was so amiable, so unselfish, so chatty, so determined to please and be pleased, so well-bred, so anecdotic. He was evidently a travelled man, for he spoke of Calcutta and Lima; his acquaintances were of a high class, for he talked of "my old college friend, Mountcashel." He was not, thank Heaven, what is called "a lady's man"-that detestable mixture of obtrusive self-conceit, fribbledom, and small-talk— but, still chivalrous in his manner, and betraying a good heart in every action. He baited the hooks for the ladies, told fairy stories to the children, related feats in angling for mud-fish in the Baboon river in South Africa. To crown his popularity, he had brought some champagne, and the merry pop of the silvered corks started the swallows round the osier island. We all enjoyed the evening; it was delightful to see the children when a large pricklybacked perch, his broad side striped like a zebra, his transparent fins a golden orange, came struggling up to the daylight. Our neighbour was indefatigable in baiting hooks, plumbing deeps, extracting hooks from fishes' gullets, adjusting reels, and teaching my boys how to strike from the elbow. As the evening advanced, and the white moth came on the water, Mr. Brancher grew audacious in his triumphs. He drew out the fish with the rapidity of a juggler, he caught perch with the eyes of their fellow-creatures, he even caught them with the bare hook. As we punted home, the conversation, somehow or other, fell on the audacious hotel rob My wife was eloquent that night in her praises of Mr. Brancher. "But his servants tell our servants, dear," she said to me, "that he has one fault; he is too fond of rambling; he is perpetually leaving his wife to travel." "On business." "No, on pleasure; he has no business, he has a pension. He is off again, they tell me, tomorrow, early. I wonder, Arthur, he never mentioned it to us." A fortnight later, Mr. Brancher and his wife dined with us; he was very agreeable. In the course of the evening, the conversation fell on the abolition of the punishment of death. The ex-judge was strong against such abolition. "No, ladies," he said, "I am a man of the world, and I know that the rascals who infest the world need to be terrified. The gibbet is a scarecrow for them." I differed from him, but could get no partisans; every one, even my wife, was with the ex-judge. "An excellent fellow," thought I to myself, "but of too severe a cast of thought on these matters." The week after, I and Lucy went and dined at Brancher's. There was to be a little dancing in the evening. It was then, over our wine, that I first discovered Brancher to be a brother mason. This was an additional tie to bind together our growing friendship. The dinner had passed off pleasantly; everything was choice without being vulgarly profuse; the meat was done to a turn; the wine was excellent. There was certainly a little too much of a tall bony gardener, in exuberant white gloves, who cannoned against the other servants, whispered a good deal over the dishes, laughed at our jokes, and stumbled over piles of plates in the hall. The dance went off pleasantly-some nice girls from Bybridge floated about in white muslin -Brancher was tremendous in the quadrilles: being a portly conspicuous sort of whiskery man, he always danced with the smallest and youngest lady, and flirted unconscionably, to his own and everybody's delight. I was the last to leave; Lucy and the children had gone early. Brancher and I lingered over the end of a bottle of specially good dry sherry. "By-the-by, Gregson," said he, as I took up my Gibus to go, "you have never seen my library yet; it is a small collection, and on a special subject, but it is curious and valuable." I followed him into a little room leading out of the library. He opened two cases. To my surprise, the books were legal books. Thieves' Tricks, Old Bailey Trials, and Newgate Calendars. Not my style," I said. "Ha! but you know I am an old judge, and have devoted much thought to these matters." "By-the-by," said I, "before I go, let us arrange a croquet match for the children tomorrow-it is a public holiday. "Most unfortunate," he replied, "but I start to-morrow to spend three days at Derby." The next time I met Brancher, was on the top of a Balbam-hill omnibus. He was both surprised and pleased to meet me. He grew very chatty about the tricks of thieves in the olden times. He explained to me "ring-dropping," chop-chain," "card-sharping," and other mysteries. "Did you ever devote much time, sir, to cipher?" asked somebody on the roof. "I know thirty-two kinds," said Brancher, laughing; "and I flatter myself that there is no advertisement in the second column of the Times for a whole year which I couldn't decipher in forty minutes." "Why, Brancher," said I, "what a detective you would make!" "I think I should," he said, with a smile, "but here's my corner-good-by. Shall see you again on Friday. Kind regards to Mrs. Gregson. Love at home. By, by!" That was Monday. On Tuesday I received a telegraph from Doncaster to say that my brother was dangerously ill of pleurisy. His life was on the balance-would I come. He was a sporting man was my brother George. He had been taken ill during the raceweek. He was lying at the chief hotel. I made up my mind in a moment, packed up a small valise, and drove straight to Euston-square. When I reached Doncaster, late in the evening, I found that my brother was better, and had started for Scarborough. I resolved not to follow him, but to spend the night at Doncaster, go the next day to the races, as I was on the spot, and return on the Thursday. Rather tired of the noisy betting-men who filled the hotel, I supped and went to bed early. It was just at daybreak that I awoke. The blinds were down, and the dim grey light just sufficed to make the blinds semi-transparent, and show me where the windows were. There was the looking-glass rising dark against the window to the left, the window furthest from my bed. There were my clothes lying on a chair, looking like a rough sketch of myself. I tried to get to sleep again, but could not. There was no one stirring in the house (a distant door opening was nothing), but my mind was anxious, and I could not decoy myself back again to sleep. A slight "fistling" noise at the door roused me still more completely. It was evidently some one trying the lock. I lay still, thinking it was the Boots come to fetch my clothes to brush. Next moment the door gently opened, and a man entered on tiptoe. He was barefoot, as I could see with one eye over the bedclothes, and was too well dressed to be the Boots. He must be a thief, I thought, and I watched. The man advanced, with a velvet tread like the tread of a cat, to the chair where my clothes were, and taking up first my coat and then my trousers, felt the pockets; luckily, I had my purse under my pillow. He then stepped to the dressing-table, and quietly slipped my watch into his pocket. I could not see the fellow's face, for he wore a flat fur travelling cap with loose pendent ear-flaps that hid his features. I could not summon up philosophy enough to bear the abduction of my gold repeater in silence, so I turned in my bed, coughed loudly, and groaned and yawned as if I had just awoke. The man started, dropped my watch, and stammering out something about "Come for your boots, sir!" with a drunken gait evidently affected, made for the door. I don't know what impulse it was that made me run to the window and not to the door. I didn't seize the rogue, but I ran to the window, and pulled up the blind so as to let in a stream of cold light upon the man's face. Could I believe my eyes? The thief was Brancher. We both fell back like two duellists who had exchanged mortal shots. "Brancher!" "Gregson!" He gave me a ghastly look, and fled, slamming the door behind him swiftly, but with practised dexterity, for it shut without a sound. I returned to London next day, pondering over the strange event. I could find no clue to Brancher's fall. He could not be a practised thief; yet it was impossible that he could at once have plunged into crime. I thought of his wife and children, and of his pleasant home. A few hours brought me to Bybridge. Lucy received me with rather a sad face. "O Arthur," she said, "dear Mrs. Brancher is in such trouble! Her husband has written to her from somewhere in the North, to sell everything directly, let the house, and join him at Liverpool. Do go in and comfort her." I went into Willow Cottage, and found Mrs. Brancher in great distress. She either would not, or could not, tell me anything about her husband's reason for removing. I went the next day and arranged the sale for her. The sale took place. She came to wish us good-by, and left. We heard no more of the Branchers for two months. One day, when I came from the City, Lucy ran to meet me, with a large letter in her hand. It was closed with a great black seal bearing a coat of arms, of which a palm-tree was the most conspicuous feature. "O, do see what it is, Arthur!" cried Lucy; "I'm sure it is poor Mr. Brancher's writing." I had never told Lucy the story of what had happened to me at the Doncaster Hotel. I stood leaning on my garden-gate, as I opened the letter, and read it alone. It ran thus: Lancaster Castle, Nov. 13, 1853. My dear Gregson,-I dare say you little expected ever to see my handwriting again after our unpleasant rencontre at Doncaster. I write to you, because I know you to be a good, kind-hearted fellow, who once had a regard for me. Fortune has been hard upon me, though not perhaps harder than I have deserved, for to tell you the plain truth, old boy, I am, and always was, a consummate scoundrel; but even scoundrels are, I suppose, sometimes to be pitied, and then, my poor wife and children! I cannot tell you more now, but I beg you to come and see me before I leave England (this is a delicate way of telling you that I am safe to be transported for life). I do not ask you for my own sake, but for the sake of poor Lizzy and the children, to whom you may be of use in a way you are not aware of. Kindest remenbrance to Mrs. Gregson. Believe me to be, yours most truly, HENRY FITZOSMOND BRANCHER. Lucy was paralysed with astonishment at this strange letter, at once so reckless and so regretful. Her curiosity was especially excited by those words of the letter so mysterious to her-"unpleasant rencontre." "What does he mean, Arthur?" she asked, with that cross-examining air not, perhaps, quite unknown to my married readers. But for once I was inflexible. I positively refused to tell her until I should return from Lancaster. mechanical way, I found Brancher sitting on his pallet humming "I remember, I remember," with much nonchalance. He was as florid in manner as ever. He wore a short tail coat of prison grey, and trousers, one leg pepper and salt, and the other canary colour. "No style about the clothes," he said to me ruefully, stretching out his yellow leg, "How do you do, Gregson? Glad to see you, old fellow; sorry I cannot offer you better hospitality; will for the deed." The turnkey left us, and I sat down on the bed near Brancher, who assumed an autobiographical manner, and waved a black-edged envelope in his hand as he spoke. "My dear boy," said he, "when I told you I was once a judge in India, I reserved the important fact that I was driven from my judg ment-seat on an absurd charge of corruption. The man who drove me from it, however, I should not forget to say, was a greater thief than myself, and only hated me because I was his rival. I returned to England almost penniless, and declared war against the richer part of mankind, especially hotel-keepers. I determined to live on rich fools, and never to starve while they had a crust. I had first tried to be honest, tried lecturer, wine merchant, coal merchant, auctioneer, house agent, but failed in all. Tempted in the hour of need, I joined a gang of swindlers, and soon became comparatively rich. We worked grand combinations of fraud, and divided the spoil." As he made this unblushing confession, Brancher kept rolling a small pill, about the colour and size of the seed of a sweet-pea, between his finger and thumb. "Holloway ?" said I, glancing at the pill inquisitively. "No," said he, smiling. "O no; not Holloway. A far better pill. It cures everything -stitches, ague, gout, cramp, brain, stomach, everything. But, as I was saying, our gang prospered. At last we got too daring, and I was caught. But there was one disagreeable condition entailed on all those who entered our confederacy, and who should fall into the hands of the Philistines. That condition I have been unpleasantly reminded of this morning by the letter I now hold in my hand." "And this condition ?" said I. "I cannot tell you. Take this letter, I have Next day, at five o'clock, I stepped out of a resealed, open it to-morrow when you get up, railway carriage on the platform of the Lancas- you will then see, and can act accordingly. But ter station. Driving first to the hotel to deposit enough of that. Why I asked you to come was my carpet-bag (for I meant to sleep in Lancas-this. I shall soon have to start for a distant ter), I got into the fly again, and told the driver country;-transported, in fact. I do not want to set me down at the prison gate. to leave poor Lizzy and the children beggars. I have some money which I wish you to take care of and manage for them." "Money!" I said, incredulous. A prisoner with money?" As I stood waiting at the door until an under turnkey had run to take in my card to the governor, a lady dressed in black, and followed by two children, with faces hidden and bitterly sobbing, drove from the door. I was sure it was Mrs. Brancher and her children. When the turnkey, in his cold imperturbable manner, unlocked the third door down the second corridor, and flung it wide open in a careless "Yes," said he; "a prisoner with money. Do you think an old thief has not two tricks for every one that the thief-taker has? Look." He stooped down, and taking off his heavy soled shoe, picked out one of the sparrowbill |