A JOURNEY SOUTHWARD.

ABOUT a year ago, when the leaves were beginning to fade-that is, in the month of October-I had an invitation to visit a very interesting part of England. The invitation came from a kind friend with whom I had corresponded for many years, but whom I had only seen occasionally for a few minutes. We mutually wished to enlarge our acquaintance by a more extended interview; the journey might do my health good; and there were many remarkable places and pleasing scenes on the line I had to travel.

I left home, as I always do when I go alone, a little dull and low-spirited. Who can help it who has a home worth calling home?-to him it is the happiest place on earth

"A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest."

But, however, the bustle of the railway station soon drove away the pensive thoughts in which I was indulging. Rather rough sort of folks are these railway officers. Little deference or respect do they pay to your sentimentals. They neither know nor care for what is passing in your thoughts. Indeed, I dont see how they can be expected to do so. Like surgeons in a hospital, they must do their work, and do it promptly too, regardless of the thoughts and feelings of the parties.

Away we went, and in less than an hour we arrived at Rugby, an important central station on the Birmingham and London line. Here, no less than four, or perhaps five, distinct lines meet each other. It is a place of great bustle and excitement; trains for passengers coming, or going away, every half hourlong luggage trains passing and repassing-porters running hither and thither-passengers earnest and bustling in securing their places and their luggagebells ringing-and the shrill whistle of a coming

train giving to all unmistakeable and not-to-be-neglected warning that they must get out of the way, or they will be cut in two as with a pair of mighty scissors.

Again we started through a beautiful rural country. Half way to Coventry, we pass, on the right, an old mound on which, in days of old, a baronial castle stood. You may see where the old mote of water was which surrounded the castle; but the castle itself is gone, and only part of an old stone wall remains to tell of all its former feudal pomp and power.

"The works of man inherit, as is just,

Their maker's frailty, and return to dust."

But what is that humble and unpretending building in the adjoining village? A house for God-a place in which divine worship is conducted, and the gospel of Jesus Christ is published, on peaceful sabbath days, by a venerable servant of the Saviour. Happy exchange-delightful alteration! the cheerful sanctuary for the gloomy castle, and the minister of peace for the steel-clad baron. Happy people! no longer trembling serfs, but free to act like men made in the image of God.

In a few minutes we see the towering spires of the Coventry churches, and as we approach this old city, so renowned in English history, we cannot but be struck with the appearance it presents the green fields running close up to the old brick houses on the city wall, some parts of which still remain, with the gates and towers looking almost as it did on that day when Queen Elizabeth paid her celebrated visit to the place. The reason is, those fields belong to the freemen of the city, and so they are not built upon, as they are in the neighbourhod of other large towns. We understand, however, that here, as well as in some other old corporate towns-such as Leicester and Nottingham-a better use is about to be made of

the land, which must be very valuable. A beautiful cemetery for burials has been laid out, water works are erecting, and when these are completed, and the streets are new paved, and certain dens of filth are removed, Coventry will be a very interesting place. At present its streets and pavements are the roughest and filthiest, for a place of its size, in the kingdom.

But the bell rings, and we are off. In an hour we approach the great metropolis of the midland districts -Birmingham. There it is, with its hundreds after hundreds of long, steam-engine chimneys. It is a fine morning, and the sun shines brightly, but the eye cannot penetrate the clouds of smoke. What a beehive of busy industry! what wonderful things they are making there-these artificers in brass and in iron, in silver and in glass. And soon will the works of their ingenious brains and fingers be carried away by men as enterprising as they, to the very ends of the earth!

As we near the great station, what a height is this embankment. As we sit in the carriages, we look down on the roofs of the houses, and into the very tops of chimneys, far above the smoke. Take care and let us get safe in, for we cannot go wrong and roll off here, and live; there, that will do, we are at the station now, and walking safely on the platform.

In half an hour we started again, and on leaving the high embankment, we have, what seldom happens on a railway line, a descent and a rise-a sort of down hill and up hill. But away we go, and in a few minutes we are on the level again.

I had travelled towards Bromsgrove and Worcester before, and remembering the Liky, (do I spell the word right?) a high range of hills above Bromsgrove, I expected that before we descended into the lovely valley beneath, we should have to go

through some long dark tunnel: but in this I was disappointed, though I cannot say agreeably disappointed. For when we reached the summit of the line along which the rails are laid, though not so high as some other parts of the hill, there was the valley outstretched before us, and, instead of a tunnel, an inclined plane of rails above two miles long. And really it looked awful to descend. But we stopped, and six men having adjusted breaks to our carriages, we moved steadily down this long hill, and reached the station at the foot in safety.

On we went past several stations until we arrived at my terminus for that day-the Defford, or Pershore station. I had left home a day earlier, that I might stop here and visit an aged aunt and uncle who resided in that neighbourhood. By some misapprehension the son, who had appointed to meet me there with a conveyance, had not come; so leaving my portmanteau at the station, I set off on foot, and walked quietly along, on that fine autumnal evening, through a charming country. In about an hour I reached Pershore, a clean, respectable looking little town. On reaching the bridge beyond the town, the scene was strikingly picturesque and lovely: the river running silently through the green meadows, with the woods on the back ground, all lighted up and enriched by the last rays of the bright sun, united to form a picture of real beauty such as many might admire, but few describe.

I arrived at the little village where my relatives reside as the shadows of evening were gathering around me, the thick foliage aiding to darken my path, and received from my mother's sister and her aged husband a cordial welcome.

After tea, we sat down and talked till late in the evening, on various matters of family interest. My attention was directed chiefly to my aunt. In her