this is a page made to test iframes, if this page displays properly within the confines of this box, then congrats !
it's doing what its supposed to be doing.


This is the night mail crossing the Border, Bringing the cheque and the postal order, Letters for the rich, letters for the poor, The shop at the corner, the girl next door. Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb: The gradient's against her, but she's on time.