The Royal Mail: Its Curiosities and Romance

"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.