straining at the brakes close behind;
in front only a few yards to the station, but such long yards! On came
the train, and just as the gentleman rushed from the "tube" and dragged
the lady down, the express came out grinding and growling. They were
only just saved by two yards from a terrible death.

Now let me tell you something else. The year after that nearly fatal
accident, I--the writer of this anecdote--was visiting the "Britannia"
Tubular Bridge which crosses the Menai Straits, and through which the
"Wild Irishman" rushes on its way to Holyhead. I was with my parents,
and we talked to the caretaker at the bridge.

"Yes, sir," he said, "it _is_ dangerous to go into the tubes. We do not
allow it now. Last year a lady and gentleman were nearly killed in the
Conway tube. I was the guard of the mail train; they had a very narrow
escape."

"What became of the tipsy porter who guided them in?" asked my father.

"He lay flat down, and the train went over him--he was dismissed--but
how did you know, sir?"

"Because this lady and myself were the two people who were in the tube,"
said my father. "I assure you we remember the incident very well
indeed."

That is what most people would, call a "curious coincidence," and it is,
moreover, quite true.

But we are nearing Holyhead. Our "Wild Irishman" has not far to run now.
We are through the "Britannia" bridge, upon whose unfinished summit we
have raced on slippery plates of iron, one hundred feet above the
straits, and gazed down into the Menai waters beneath, as the ships
went up almost touching the tube apparently. Ah! this was many years
ago, and even now as we rattle on we can recall the scene and shiver.

Away by Llanfair--something--a long Welsh word--away by the lake and the
river; over the marsh comes the scent of the sea, and then in ten
minutes the "Wild Irishman" walks down the pier. Mail-bags are put on
board the steamer; passengers hurry down; the carriage doors are shut.
The paddle-wheels revolve; we quit the harbour of Holyhead, and lose
sight of the "Wild Irishman."

MASTER TOM'S "RAINY WEATHER."

"Ettie," said Master Tom, "do you like to be naughty or good?"

"Naughty," replied Ettie promptly.

Ettie was five years old, and Master Tom nine.

Ettie and Master Tom were at the far end of the kitchen-garden, going
through the gate that led into a small paddock, when Ettie suddenly
said--

"Pigs."

"Where?" exclaimed Master Tom.

"Poo