must
take more in the way of genuine recreation. He wrote me from France
about this time: "Before I went away I had certainly worked myself into a
damaged state. But the moment I got away I began, thank God, to get
well. I hope to profit from this experience, and to make future dashes
from my desk before I need them."

It was while on his way home after this trip that he was in the terrible
railroad accident to which he afterwards referred in a letter to a
friend, saying, that his heart had never been in good condition after
that accident. It occurred on the ninth of June, a date which five years
later was the day of his death.

He wrote describing his experiences: "I was in the only carriage which
did not go over into the stream. It was caught upon the turn by some of
the ruin of the bridge, and became suspended and balanced in an
apparently impossible manner. Two ladies were my fellow-passengers, an
old one and a young one. This is exactly what passed--you may judge from
it the length of our suspense: Suddenly we were off the rail and beating
the ground as the car of a half-emptied balloon might. The old lady
cried out 'My God!' and the young one screamed. I caught hold of them
both (the old lady sat opposite, and the young one on my left) and said:
'We can't help ourselves, but we can be quiet and composed. Pray, don't
cry out!' The old lady immediately answered: 'Thank you, rely upon me.
Upon my soul I will be quiet.' We were then all tilted down together in
a corner of the carriage, which then stopped. I said to them thereupon:
'You may be sure nothing worse can happen; our danger must be over. Will
you remain here without stirring while I get out of the window?' They
both answered quite collectedly 'Yes,' and I got out without the least
notion of what had happened. Fortunately I got out with great caution,
and stood upon the step. Looking down I saw the bridge gone, and nothing
below me but the line of rail. Some people in the other two compartments
were madly trying to plunge out at a window, and had no idea that there
was an open, swampy field fifteen feet down below them, and nothing else.
The two guards (one with his face cut) were running up and down on the
down-track of the bridge (which was not torn up) quite wildly. I called
out to them: 'Look at me! Do stop an instant and look at me, and tell me
whether you don't know me?' One of them answered: 'We know you very
well, Mr. Dickens.' '