Mr. S. began to read:
"Horrible and Fatal Accident.—It becomes our melancholy and painful duty, to record the particulars of an accident that occurred at the lower mill, in this village, yesterday afternoon, by which a human being, in the prime of life, was hurried to that bourne from which, as the immortal Shakspeare says, 'no traveler returns.'"
"Du tell!" exclaimed Mrs. S.
"Mr. David Jones, a workman, who has but few superiors this side of the city, was superintending one of the large drums—"
"I wonder if 'twas a brass drum, such as has 'Eblubust Unum' printed on't," said Mrs. Slocum.
—"When he became entangled. His arm was drawn around the drum, and finally his whole body was drawn over the shaft, at a fearful rate. When his situation was discovered, he had revolved with immense velocity, about fifteen minutes, his head and limbs striking a large beam a distinct blow at each revolution."
"Poor creeter! how it must have hurt him!"
"When the machinery had been stopped, it was found that Mr. Jones's arms and legs were macerated to a jelly."
"Well, didn't it kill him?" asked Mrs. S., with increasing interest.
"Portions of the dura mater, cerebrum, and cerebellum, in confused masses, were scattered about the floor; in short, the gates of eternity had opened upon him."