unfortunate gentleman a distance of about 15 miles in 25 minutes, or
at the rate of 36 miles an hour. This incredible speed burst upon the
world with the effect of a new and unlooked-for phenomenon.

The accident threw a gloom over the rest of the day's proceedings. The
Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel expressed a wish that the
procession should return to Liverpool. It was, however, represented to
them that a vast concourse of people had assembled at Manchester to
witness the arrival of the trains; that report would exaggerate the
mischief, if they did not complete the journey; and that a false panic on
that day might seriously affect future railway travelling and the value
of the Company's property. The party consented accordingly to proceed to
Manchester, but on the understanding that they should return as soon as
possible, and refrain from further festivity.

As the trains approached Manchester, crowds of people were found covering
the banks, the slopes of the cuttings, and even the railway itself. The
multitude, become impatient and excited by the rumours which reached
them, had outflanked the military, and all order was at an end. The
people clambered about the carriages, holding on by the door-handles, and
many were tumbled over; but, happily no fatal accident occurred. At the
Manchester station, the political element began to display itself;
placards about "Peterloo," etc., were exhibited, and brickbats were
thrown at the carriage containing the Duke. On the carriages coming to a
stand in the Manchester station the Duke did not descend, but remained
seated, shaking hands with the women and children who were pushed forward
by the crowd. Shortly after, the trains returned to Liverpool, which
they reached, after considerable interruptions, in the dark, at a late
hour.

On the following morning the railway was opened for public traffic. The
first train of 140 passengers was booked and sent on to Manchester,
reaching it in the allotted period of two hours; and from that time the
traffic has regularly proceeded from day to day until now.

It is scarcely necessary that we should speak at any length of the
commercial results of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway. Suffice it
to say that its success was complete and decisive. The anticipations of
its projectors were, however, in many respects at fault. They had based
their calculations almost entirely on the heavy merchandise traffic--such
as coal,