Gents Mag 1868 part 1 p.642

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	Gentleman's Magazine 1868 part 1 p.642 [beau]tiful pleasure spots in England are any the better for the influx, daily, weekly, or monthly, of these spasmodic residents, is a question which will probably be answered in the negative by those to whom the softness and silence of nature are so dear. Fortunately nothing can spoil our mountains, and we certainly are indebted to the railways, not only for taking us to them without loss of time, but for putting in the power of so many to visit them, who otherwise could not do so, so that we must take the good with the bad, and not feel too severe as we hear the engine whistle through the Pass of Killiecrankie. What lovely pictures do the pages of the handbooks bring back to our recollection? Snowdon, with its grand cwms and its (un)Righi-like refreshment rooms; Cader Idris, with its volcanic precipices; the ridges and stern peaks of the Cuchillins, or those wonderful corries of Braeriach and the Cairngorms; the Twelve Pins of Bunnabeola, and the venerable frosted-pate of Helvellyn. Or, if we prefer less exalted and more accessible scenery, there are the Malvern Hills with their fringe of water villas; the hanging woods of Clovelly and Lynmouth; the soft beauties of Loch Lomond, or the more savage ones of Loch Maree; the georgeous purple tints of Killarney and Glengariff; do they not one and all bring back to the mind pleasure of the most charming kind? Even our more homely and prosaic scenery, such as that of the Thames at Maidenhead, the irregular outlines of Edinburgh Old Town, the fresh breezes and swelling ridges of the Sussex Downs, are all things to look forward to, and to look back upon. But the railway system has done more than bring this scenery to our doors, it has given us some of the highest triumphs of modern days. The art of building bridges, which, when road-making was in vogue, was brought to the height of perfection by Telford, is now-a-days joined with the most astonishing originality and boldness; and the English railway-bridges may fairly challenge the world. Stephenson's Britannia Bridge, that carries the Chester and Holyhead railway over the Menai Straits side by side with Telford's work, his high level bridge at Newcastle, Robertson's Llangollen viaduct, the bridge over the Tweed at Berwick, Brunel's Albert viaduct over the Tamar at Saltash, the Crumlin bridge in Monmouthshire, that spans an entire valley, at a height of 200 feet, and more recently the Clifton suspension-bridge, begun years ago by Brunel, and completed by Messrs. Hawkshaw and Barlow, are severally worth a journey to see, and stand prominently forward as the giant works of the age, all emanating from the little locomotive at Killingworth. Not only has a race of engineers been bred up to laugh at difficulties, but we are accustomed to look at such gigantic undertakings as those of the Liverpool docks, the Plymouth breakwater, and the Holyhead harbour, with the same indifference that we shall probably feel ten or fifteen years hence, when the tunnel between France and England is completed. To these, and such as these, will our future historians point as instances of the prodigious growth of the country in ideas and riches, and we cannot be surprised when we see our manufacturing towns and seaports bursting their bonds and spreading in all directions with their ever-increasing population. Leeds, Manchester, and Bradford, although at the present moment suffering with the rest of the land under an exceptional stagnation of trade,
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