The Express.
London, England, 1862-01-29 00:00:00

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LONDON, WIDNESDAT, JAN. 29.

Holum borrow, no less than human happiness,
is short-lived. Forgetfulness grows over it " like
"groan." The world chokes it with the rank
growth of trivial pleasures, vanities, troubles,
cares. Time, heedless time, withers it. Life,
busy life, with its eager and tumultuous stress,
eddies round it, whirls it away, sinks it in secret
depths of consciousness unsounded save by the
plummet of Death. It may be that this acerbity
and transience of grief is a condition inseparable
from our mortal existence, on which every parting
throws a paring shadow of the final separation.
And, in this regard, it is a beneficent infirmity, of
. . . .

which perhaps only the finest minds feel all the
poignancy and the bitterness. But if the most
sacred private and personal grief ia the creature
of change and circumstance, how long a span of
remembrance can we promise to public afflictions
and national calamities "No one is missed,

" wanted, or regretted." _ This is no doctrine of

oafs ; hot thus; ars not days in which good im-
pulses and generous emotions can be said
to " keep." Science, that has girdled
half the globe with an electric chain,
seems to concentrate the force and precipitate the
_ .

current of the events it chronicle, at a flash.

Pitiless and passionless, it writes human history,
not in water, but in lightning that scorches and
blasts into nothingness all earthly things.
It is in the contemplation of those most solemn
scenes at New Hartley and at Earadon that the
sense of the fugitiveness of private, and bow much
more of public, sorrows has struck us with—why
should we deny it 1--almost a jealous peat,
It is good for us all to stand at least in thought
upon that pit heap, and to look upon all that was
mortal of those poor men and lads returning one
by one to the dwellings of the dear ones they
shall know no more. Relieved at last from labour

and duty, and borne by brothers in labour and is
duty, all silent and with a grand humility, each to
his little home, though no martial poet sing peens
over their graves, they deserve to take rank
in the annals of England, et least beside the six
hundred sabres that rode into the valley of
death at Balaclava. The story of the recovery of
the bodies of these buried miners, of the devotcd
courage of their comrades, the hushed multitude
of mourners at the graveyard, has been related
fully but simply in our columns. We have no
desire to draw too near, or to linger in the train
of that forlorn procession. Rather let ns stand
uncovered at a distance, and ponder all these things
in our hearts. They belong to religious silence,
not to rhetorical pathos. It will be long before
the Hartley Pit disaster will be forgotten in that
North Country, though every year as many strong
lives are lost in coal-pits as in a bard-fought ge-
neral action. Readers of military histories often
remark on the comparatively trifling loss of life in
battle. Every descent of a working party into a
coal-pit is a siege, a c:asrge, a storming of masked
batteries. But the burying alive of more than two
hundred human beings has fastened on the public
imagination with all the force of its ►ppalling simpli-
city. There is often a vagueness in the account
of an explosion ; the bursting of a huge beam of
iron is no mystery. Nor is the question of a
double shaft a mystery, though we find a professional
journal treating the expense as an almost insur-
mountable objection. We have yet to learn that •
question of saving human lives is one of expense.
The Hones of Commons, we believe, will regard it
otherwise, when the "movement" which has already
begun reaches the door of Parliament.
Meanwhile, whst is being done for the widows
and orphans: There is a tide in public benevolence
which must be taken at the flood. Public charity is
a pension that has its melting moments, which,
if wasted, harden into apathy. The torrent of
events is too rapid in these times to permit the
future to repair the negligence* of the present and
the past. The course of daily history leaves few
deposits on its stony bed. At the bottom of all
public manifestations there is an immense indiffe-
rence, and the most abounding stream of sympathy
soon rune dry. Even a calamity so unparalleled
as this is easily passed by and lost to sight and
hearing. Now, then, is the time for charity to
bestir itself, and to bring some comfort to thole
bereaved households. If ever there was a case of
distress that called for instant attention and relief,
and appealed to the inmost hearts of an entire
Christian community, surely it is this. From
the tabour of such men as these poor miners,
the City of London and all our great centres of
industry and commerce draw the ways and means
of wealth and prosperity, and all the homes in the
kingdom their moat familiar comfort. Is this not
a case fora national subscription I Nay, we say
it is an occasion for showing that the charity
preached in our churches and chapels, and paraded
by societies and institutions without number, is not
a pompous mockery ; an occasion when every
Christian congregation in the kingdom should be
invited to give freely to those whom Comer loved,
when every hank, and counting-house, and com-
pany, and body corporate, and theatre, and music-
hall, and concert-room should offer willing tribute ;
when the rich should give according to their abund-
ance, and the poor their mite. Indeed the poor
are setting an example to the rich already.
On the scene of the disaster, indeed, rich and
poor have vied with one another in good works.
There, high and low, nobly one and all, have done
their duty to the living as to the dead. Selfish in-
terests, and social distinctions, and petty formalisms
are forgotten in the presence of the great reconciler
of all conditions. Proprietors and employers of
labour, priests of all the churches, and ministers