the 'curse o' the hungry an you, you ould negarly villain,' says
I; 'the back o' my hand and the sowl o' my foot to you, that you may
want a gridiron yourself yit,' says I; and with that I left them there,
sir, and kem away,--and, in throth, it's often sense that I thought that
it was remarkable."

THE BOX TUNNEL.

BY CHARLES READE.

The 10.15 train glided from Paddington, May 7, 1847. In the left
compartment of a certain first-class carriage were four passengers; of
these, two were worth description. The lady had a smooth, white,
delicate brow, strongly marked eyebrows, long lashes, eyes that seemed
to change color, and a good-sized delicious mouth, with teeth as white
as milk. A man could not see her nose for her eyes and mouth; her own
sex could and would have told us some nonsense about it. She wore an
unpretending grayish dress buttoned to the throat with lozenge-shaped
buttons, and a Scottish shawl that agreeably evaded color. She was like
a duck, so tight her plain feathers fitted her, and there she sat,
smooth, snug, and delicious, with a book in her hand, and a _soupcon_ of
her wrist just visible as she held it. Her opposite neighbor was what I
call a good style of man,--the more to his credit, since he belonged to
a corporation that frequently turns out the worst imaginable style of
young men. He was a cavalry officer, aged twenty-five. He had a
mustache, but not a very repulsive one; not one of those subnasal
pigtails on which soup is suspended like dew on a shrub; it was short,
thick, and black as a coal. His teeth had not yet been turned by tobacco
smoke to the color of juice, his clothes did not stick to nor hang to
him; he had an engaging smile, and, what I liked the dog for, his
vanity, which was inordinate, was in its proper place, his heart, not in
his face, jostling mine and other people's who have none,--in a word, he
was what one oftener hears of than meets,--a young gentleman. He was
conversing in an animated whisper with a companion, a fellow-officer;
they were talking about what it is far better not to--women. Our friend
clearly did not wish to be overheard; for he cast ever and anon a
furtive glance at his fair _vis-a-vis_ and lowered his voice. She seemed
completely absorbed in her book, and that reassured him. At last the two
soldiers came down to a whisper (the truth must be told), the one who
got down at Slough, and was lost to posterity, bet ten pounds to three,
that he who was g