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318
The Royal Mail: Its Curiosities and Romance
·
James Wilson Hyde
56
"And
down
he
sinks
Beneath
the
shelter
of
the
shapeless
drift,
Thinking
o'er
all
the
bitterness
of
death,
Mix'd
with
the
tender
anguish
Nature
shoots
Through
the
wrung
bosom
of
the
dying
man,
His
wife,
his
children,
and
his
friends
unseen.
...
On
every
nerve
The
deadly
winter
seizes;
shuts
up
sense;
And,
o'er
his
inmost
vitals
creeping
cold,
Lays
him
along
the
snows,
a
stiffened
corse,
Stretch'd
out,
and
bleaching
in
the
northern
blast."
--THOMSON.
We
who
are
accustomed
to
the
comforts
of
railway
travelling,
are
nevertheless,
in
regard
to
accidents,
very
much
like
the
ostrich;
for
though
we
do
not
purposely
close
our
eyes
to
danger,
we
are
nevertheless
placed
in
such
a
position
that
we
are
unable,
when
shut
up
in
a
railway
carriage,
to
see
what
is
before
us,
or
about
to
happen.
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