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he was in was smashed into splinters, and he was shot bodily out of one compartment into another,—and yet he escaped unhurt. It must have been a terrible scene. The dark tunnel was filled with steam, and crushed carriages, and screams and groans of the wounded passengers.' My friend crept out of the ruins of his carriage in the dark; and stepping over the dead and the dying, he reached the side of the tunnel, and then he groped his way slowly by the wall towards the open air. He had not gone far before he was aware of a voice that was following him along the tunnel. It was some poor Lancashire chap who had been at the races; and he was crawling along the wall, on his hands and knees, through the horrible wreck, towards the mouth of the tunnel ; and as he crept along, he muttered in terrified tones-0 Lord, -shall I ever get out o’ this hole alive! Eh, that's another decod un! Eh, good God! yo'n never catch me at th' races again! Oh, by th' mon ! “Our Father, which art in Heaven.” Hello, that's another kilt! Eh, I wish I wur a-whoam! “Give us this

! day our daily bread !” Eh, if ever I get out o'this I'll live a different life !' And so he went on, creeping in the wake of my friend, till he came out at the end of the tunnel ;


but, as soon as he reached the open air, he sprang to his feet, and, clapping his hands, he cried out, 'Thank God, I'm noan kilt!' There happened to be a low stone wall near the mouth of the tunnel, and the revulsion of the poor fellow's feelings was so strong on finding himself safe that he cried out, ‘Ston fur! Here goes!' and then, as an expression of gratitude for his deliverance, he sprang right over the wall. Unfortunately there was a deep reservoir on the other side, and down he went overhead like a stone. Again and again he rose to the top, spluttering and splashing, and crying for help. Just in time, he was fished out by the crowd at the mouth of the tunnel; and then, with downcast head, he silently slunk away through the crowd, in his wet clothes, .and was no more seen.''

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OPHELIA: There's rosemary—that's for remembrance ; pray you love, remember ; and there is pansies—that's for thoughts.

LAERTES: A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted.

OPHELIA : There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you ; and here's some for me : we may call it herb o' grace o' Sundays :-you may wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy ; I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died. They say he made a good end. (Sings.) “For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy."


[Winter afternoon ; snow falling. Two

countrywomen on the road.] T'S a good mon's case, Betty, when

o's said an' done,-it's a good

mon's case.” "I doubt it is, Matty; for o''at there's so mich feaw talk gcoin?.”

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" It's nought else, Betty. I tak no notice o'sich creepin' saints as yon. They known nought what folk han to go through,—an’ they care'n less; an' that's what makes 'em so ready i'th' tung."

“ Talk's chep sometimes, Matty, for sure, wi' folk 'at's noather sense nor feelin'."

“A lot o' camplin', concayted wickstarts, 'at hannot had time to reckon their limbs up gradely. Th' less they known an' th' moore they talken; an' they're never within a lie or two. Sich like are noan fit to be trusted with a tung. An' then, what can yo expect fro' folk 'at never had a finger-ache or a fret,-folk 'at han bin shaded fro' th' sun, an' happed fro' th' cowd o' their days,-folk 'at han bin fatten't, an' filled, an' coozle't, an' foozle't, an' pamper't o' ends up, till they dunnot know who's legs they're walkin' wi', -folk 'at never did a hond's-turn for theirsels sin they wur born into th' world,-folk 'at never missed a meal, an' never knew what it wur to addle one,-mon, they'n no moore notion o' life nor a midge 'at's born into th' morning sunshine, an' dees afore it sets.”

“ They dunnot know 'at they're wick, Matty,-they dunnot, for sure. They mun be harrish't, an parish't (perished), an' hamper't, an' pincer't, an' powler't about th' cowd world fro' window to wole a while,-an' they


mun be druvven to their wits'-end, now an’ then, for a bit of a thin livin', to keep soul an' body together,-an' they mun lie hour after hour, an'neet after neet, tossin' an' frettin' i'th' dark, an' longin' for mornin' yet freeten't o'th' comin' day,--they inun do this, an' then they'n larn summat 'at'll last their time.”

“Ay, ay, Betty, lass; an' they wouldn't be as flayed o' deein' as they are; I know it bi myseľ. ... Well, an' what mak o'stuff han yo bin takin', say'n yo, Betty ?”

“Well, yo known, I've bin havin' baumtay, sweeten't wi' traycle, for a while; but Nanny o' Grout-yed's sent me some dried sage tother day, an' I'm tryin' that now."

Ay; an' it's as fine a yarb as ever grew upo' God's ground! ... Here, Betty, let's tee this hankitcher round yor yed. Yo munnot get cowd into that face. Let's look at that lump again.”

"Ay; just look at it, win yo?... Oh, mind, Matty! It's as sore as a boil ! .. If yo'n believe me, I didn't get a wink o' sleep last neet.”

“Sleep! Bless us an' save us, lass, how ever hasto bidden this ? Sleep; nay, marry; thou'll sleep noan while that's agate! Thou mun have a poultice on,-an' keep thisel' warm. Thou're noan fit to be areawt (out

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