The King's Time.

Passengers on the trains of 1837 used to see a horseman gallop at full speed into Euston Station—we did not read that he was ever delayed on the way by horse or equipment failing—perhaps romance forbids mention of such a catastrophe. This horseman was an Admiralty messenger. He did not carry sailing orders or secret naval plans—not quite so romantic a person was he—but merely hurrying to hand over to the guard of the Irish Mail a watch which had been set to correct Greenwich time.

The guard took the watch to Holy-head, gave the time to the Kingstown boat, and sent it back by the Up Mail to be readjusted at the Admiralty. In spite of telegraph and telephone, despite electric synchronisation of clocks and the advent of broadcasting, the Irish Mail still brings the King's Time to Holyhead. The messenger does not gallop into Euston, maybe he travels by tube, but he does daily hand to the Overseer of the Travelling Post Office that old fat turnip watch in its leather case, and at Holyhead it is delivered to an official who comes on to the platform to receive it. Laugh if you will! But it is carried to the Post Office, wound up and handed back to the Overseer on the Up Night Mail. The watch goes, but whether or not it keeps good time I do not know. One thing, though, it plays its important part in one of those seemingly insignificant customs which make this country so attractive to those who do not know it and us.—From “The Romance of the Irish Mail,” by G.J., in the “L.M.S. Magazine.”