Early on the morning of the 15th, an incident occurred, the narration of which may throw some light on the temper of the times. Mr. Barton, of Swinton, came to say that a mob was expected to come from Oldham to attack the Duke of Wellington, then at the height of his unpopularity among the masses; for just by Eccles three miles of the line was left unguarded, ‘Could Mr. Blackburne say what was to be done?’ ‘My husband is away,’ said the Vicaress, ‘but I know that about fifty special constables were out last year, the very men for this work, if their licenses have not expired.’ ‘Never mind licenses,’ replied Mr. Barton, with a superb indifference to form, quite natural under the circumstances. ‘Where can I find the men?’ ‘Oh,’ replied Mrs. Blackburne, ‘I can get the men for you.’ Mr. Barton hesitated, but soon with gratitude accepted the offer, and with the help of the churchwardens and constables ‘a guard for the Duke’ was soon collected on the bridge of Eccles, armed with staves and clubs to be dispersed along the line. This done, she had a tent put up for herself and children, with whom were Lord Wilton’s little daughters, the Ladies Elizabeth and Katherine Egerton, and their governess. The tent was just above the cutting and looked down on to it, and they would have a good view of the first train, expected to pass about eleven o’clock. The morning wore on, the crowds were increasing, and low murmurs of wonder were heard. It was thought that the experiment had failed. A few of the villagers came into the field, but none troubled the little band of watchers. The bright sunshine had passed away, and it had become dark, with large hot drops of rain, forerunners of a coming thunderstorm. The people lined the whole of the way from Manchester to Liverpool, and, as far as the eye could reach, faces were seen anxiously looking towards Liverpool. Suddenly a strange roar was heard from the crowd, not a cheer of triumph, but a prolonged wail, beginning at the furthest point of travelling along the swarming banks like the incoming swirl of a breaker as it runs upon a gravelled beach. Like a true woman, her first thought was for her husband, as Mrs. Blackburne heard the words repeated on all sides, ‘An accident!’ ‘The Vicarage!’ She flew across the field to the gate and met a sad procession bringing in a sorely-wounded yet quite conscious man. She saw in a moment that he had medals on his coat, and had been very tall, so that it could not be as she feared. The relief of that moment may be imagined. Then the quiet presence of mind, by practice habitual to her, and the ready flow of sympathy left her no time to think of anything but the sufferer, who said to her pathetically, ‘I shall not trouble you long!’ She had not only the will but the power to help, even to supplying from her own medicine chest and stores, kept for the poor, everything that the surgeons required.