at the bottom in a furnace. This furnace is
never suffered to go out from the hour when it
was lighted, as long as the mine is in active
working, and in need of air.

It consumes full an hour to let down the mass
of visitors to the bottom of the pit. They take
their places eagerly in the cage, like people who
are anxious to get into a theatre, and they are
sent down the hole into utter darkness at the
rate of about eight miles an hour, and in parties
of eight at a time.

After half an hour spent in looking about me,
and especially in regarding a small colony of miners'
houses near the pit, and recalling, in imagination,
the sounds of wailing that must have come
from their open doors and windows on that
February day of mourning two years ago, I
took my place in the cage in front of a pale-
faced gentleman, who looked as if the signal for
letting us down was the signal of death to him,
and he was perfectly aware of it. Not a sound
was heard, nor the whisper of a voice, as we
glided down the perpendicular passage, except
at one point, about fifteen yards from the mouth
of the shaft. The top of the pit being on a
raised platform, the chimney of the shaft is
exposed above the ground for a certain length, and
a window is made on each side, near the point
where the chimney disappears beneath the
surface of the earth, to give a little light during
some portion of the descent. At each of these
windows, leaning on the ledges and grinning
through the grating, were a crowd of brown-
faced orphans, and as the cage passed their
faces, on its rapid road to the black passages
where their fathers had perished, they greeted
it with a combined, re-echoing yell of childish
joy. Not only were all traces of the great
explosion removed from the neighbourhood, but
time had also removed them from these children's
hearts.

When we had descended with giddy speed
about two-thirds of the pit's shaft—a distance
of about one hundred and fifty yards—a sudden
check took place, in order to let us down the
remaining seventy yards with greater care. The
effect of this check was to cause an illusive
sensation that the action of the machinery had been
reversed, and that we were ascending even more
rapidly than we had come down. Wild thoughts
of utter destruction—impending danger—the
intelligence of something wrong being discovered
below—passed quickly through the minds of the
silent, breathless human cargo, and there was
not an adventurous excursionist in that cage
who did not wish himself well out of it. A
few seconds of painful reflection, and instead
of the welcome daylight being seen once more,
a sudden shock was felt—the whole structure
had suddenly touched the bottom of the shaft,
and the travellers were dragged out of the cage
and over a box-ledge by rough and unseen hands,
to stand in the bewildering darkness of the
Lundhill pit.

The next step in this train of pleasure was to
grope your way to the lamp-room and procure a
"Davy" to light you along the passages. Here
the excursionists met in dark crowds, and
celebrated the separation of the qualities by
smearing themselves with oil.

To walk, bent nearly double, in a long straggling
file for more than half an hour, and along
about a mile of coal passages—called workings,
boardgates, or levels—was the next step in this
train of pleasure.

To avoid pinching your toes under the revolving
rollers, for drawing ropes, under your feet,
or striking your head against many projecting
snags of coal above, was another step in this
train of pleasure. Another step was to get hold
of a talkative boy, who was full of stories about
the explosion, and to follow him to a forbidden
part of the pit, called the waste workings, and
see the outstretched mark of a man's form
impressed upon the roof. This man must have
floated up after the pit was filled with water to
put out the fire, and the water was charged with
lime to prevent decomposition in the one
hundred and ninety bodies; and he left a white seal
of himself to be the talk of the miners for many
years. Very few excursionists availed themselves
of this step in the train of pleasure, and
those who did—myself amongst the number—
found themselves almost the last stragglers who
arrived at the bottom of the shaft. We stepped
into the cage to be drawn to the surface, and at
about two-thirds of the ascent another check
in our speed occurred, and we were under the
impression that we were returning to the bottom,
until we were undeceived by being shot out
on the platform. The guard of the train of
pleasure, and the train of pleasure itself, were
waiting to receive us, and when it was believed
that no more excursionists were left down the
pit, we turned our backs upon the black mine,
the miners' colony, the widows, and the orphans,
and went onward to the second of the three
pits—the Edmund Main.

At the Edmund Main another similar descent
of visitors took place, With similar results; and
those who did not leave the Lundhill pit
begrimed with coal-dust, and in the condition of
master chimney-sweeps, had now no reason to
pride themselves upon their superior
cleanliness.

After a moderate delay, the train of pleasure
was again upon its road, to deposit the
excursionists at the third pit—the Oaks Colliery.
Here, all the machinery was actively
employed in raising coal, so that those visitors,
whose rough edge of mining appetite had not
been taken off by the two former pits, were
reluctantly compelled to satisfy themselves with a
mere survey of the surface. The owners and
their representatives were very courteous and
attentive, but the men, who are only paid for
what they actually do, were very properly
determined to push on with their work, in spite of
the crowd assembled to celebrate the separation
of the qualities.

Once more the train of pleasure was got under
weigh, and this time for what is called the black
Yorkshire town of Barnsley. As the King of
Pandemonium is not so dirty as he is painted, I