his pursuits; but there was no resisting his
appearance in this new dress, and Curiosity,
Vigour, and myself waited open-mouthed for
him to begin. This he did very pleasantly and
kindly by clothing us in similar fashion to
himself, and by preceding us to the pit's mouth.
We have, in our new dress, severally become
hideous by this time. Vigour looks like one of
the "bold smugglers," who have disappeared
lately, but who were formerly celebrated for
vending choice Whitechapel Havannahs up dark
archways, or at the corners of deserted streets.
Curiosity has become a scoundrel of the
deepest dye-- a man upon whose appearance
any intelligent jury would convict. And I am
worthy of the company I am in.

It is a lovely day, and our courteous young
guide-- the Gnome-- rapidly points out the
leading features in the landscape as we skirt
the hill lying between the town and the pits.
These features are of coals coaley. The country
is obscured by smoke. Huge scaffoldings, like
mammoth witches' spinning-wheels, spring up
to right and left as far as eye can reach, and
each denotes a pit's mouth. The mansions
seen are the residences of coalowners or their
agents, and both the ground we walk upon and
the air we breathe are redolent of coal. Arriving
at the head of the pit, we are introduced to
begrimed men resembling the estimable persons
who deliver coals and count sacks upon the
pavements of dear London. They are deputy
"viewers," foremen, and colliers; and one of
the latter says gruffly, "Them as would go
down a pit for pleasure would go to" (terrific
noun substantive) " for pastime," in reply to
my innocent questions as to the condition of
the " workings" below.

Meanwhile, Curiosity asks questions of two
twins, who are brother viewers, and so much
alike that they seem to have studiously blacked
their faces to the same extent, for when they
smile identical streaks of white are visible.
Vigour, who knows all about pits, and is a
favourite with the men, whispers some
instructions, and, with a mischievous look I
don't half like, bids me come with him in the
cage. It is too late to retract; besides, I am
stung by the contemptuous smiles of the grimy
people clustered round us; so, with a quaking
heart and as resolute a countenance as I can
muster up, I make for what seems to be an
infernal machine close by. Curiosity delivers
cynical and irritating remarks on my appearance,
which I privately vow to avenge, and Vigour
first punches me into a sort of ball (I am neither
tall nor strong), and then rolling me between
his feet, calls "All right" with suspicious
cheerfulness. Curiosity, the Gnome, and one twin
are with us in the infernal machine, and now my
misery culminates. With a tremulous, uneasy
motion the whole apparatus descends, and we
seem to pass down a chimney which has been
recently on fire. The air is hot and
suffocating, as if bad lucifer-matches were
constantly burnt in it. It is pitch dark. Large
flakes of wet soot fall upon my face and
hands and limbs, and over and above the
close stench natural to the place, my respiration
is impeded by Vigour's knees.
Meanwhile the stench and heat come athwart us in
great gusts until I am sick and faint, and
devoutly hoping my tormentors are suffering too,
I ask meekly " whether it will be as bad as this
all the time." " Halfway down," cries Vigour,
as we meet another cage in the darkness;
and my involuntary "Thank Heaven!" is the
signal for exultant chuckles from every one
in the cage. A slight shock, which makes
me start, a great rattling of chains, the tramp
of hoofed feet, lights flashing out from a
dense impenetrable blackness, wild shrieks,
cries, and shouts from boys, the clank of
harness and machinery, come next, and obeying a
kick from Vigour, who then pulls me out as
if I were an opera-glass, I step into an agreeable
quagmire, composed apparently of pounded
coal and London mud. We are at the
bottom of the pit, and behind those closed
doors "the workings" extend round us in
every direction, much as if the maze at
Hampton Court had been buried
underground, and its trim hedges turned into coal.
"The first thing," said the Twin accompanying
us, a stolid man without much pity or humour,
"the first thing is to ' get your eyes,' and
we'll go into the cabin for that." A new sort of
lamp, I whisper to myself, the last improvement
upon Davy, and called "eyes" to
denote its usefulness. But it means that we
are to become partially acclimatised to the
strange darkness before sallying out into it;
so still devoutly wishing myself at home, I
join the rest. We sit mum-chance in a little
kennel, and put our lamps behind us to
make the light resemble the pitchy blackness
outside. This lasts a quarter of an hour, when
we sally out one by one into a subterranean
thoroughfare of coal. The tramway at our
feet rests on coal; the walls at our side
are coal; the roof above us is coal.
Burrowing like rabbits, and occasionally stooping
double for yards, we arrive at the engine-
room, which is as profoundly uninteresting as
engine-rooms always are to me. It is humid,
greasy, and warm; and bells ring, and
"endless chains" are worked, and the pistons
shown us, and we say, " Beautiful, beautiful!"
as people do when they contemplate machinery
they don't understand. Then we are shown
"faults"-- where the vein of coal has
suddenly broken off, and hard stone has taken its
place. Then more chains and horses, and shouting
boys. Empty and laden trucks pass rapidly
to and fro upon the tramway, and the Twin
chooses the narrowest part of the dismal path,
to favour me with an anecdote concerning
some man who was killed last week by meeting
a truck unexpectedly, and " getting flattened to
the pit-side like a pancake."

But my attention never leaves the
demoniacal dark figures who emerge fitfully out of
the blackness as if generated by the coal--
figures which move lightly, utter wild cries,