like Pio Nono, infallible. Scott married Miss Carpenter, daughter of an English merchant, who fell a victim to the French Revolution, at Lyons. His poetical works were first given to the public. Their sale was enor nous, and the general public, as well as the literary world, manifested the most lively interest in their author. Waverley was the first of a series of novels which appeared; it was published anonymously, and attained an immense sale. After publishing several works, Scott commenced to build a mansion at Abbotsford, which when completed was "open-house " to all. In those days, people had not "done" Scotland if they had not visited Abbotsford, where all were sure of a cordial reception from the owner. Scott formed a kind of museum of armour and old relics, which was enriched from time to time by contributions from his admirers. He was created a baronet by George IV., for which monarch he professed the most enthusiastic loyalty, almost the same veneration that he describes his heroes and heroines to be actuated towards the Stuarts. His reckless style of living dragged him deeper and deeper into the slough of debt; and before his death he was obliged to decrease his establishment, and take up his abode in a second-rate street in Edinburgh. It was here that he wrote "Woodstock," for which he received the sum of £8000. He subsequently wrote a life of Napoleon I., for which he received £18,000; but these sums were not sufficient to cover his debts. His health failing him, he was advised to go abroad; but his malady was too deep-seated to be cured by change of air and scene, and he returned to Abbotsford to die in 1832. In spite of the brilliant success he achieved as a writer, his life was a failure ; and why?-he overshot his mark. Not content with multa, he wanted multum, and the result was nil.

A MORNING UNDER GROUND.

IT proved a delightful daybreak, the change since the previous evening being very decided; for then the sun went down amid clouds sombre and angry: he rose revived; the intensity of the light making it seem like a present creation, as though for the first time the rays flashed upon the earth. Faint fleecy clouds floated tranquilly by on the refreshing breeze, seeming to linger, delighted with the grand light, bathing their soft masses in rich brightness. What a power in clouds to beautify any scene however lovely in itself! Something there is very attractive, even in their very changeableness, which gives a special interest to the passing sunset, from the fact that that combination of beauty in form and colouring will never occur again. Thus, a certain feeling of mild regret overtakes us when watching the tints of western clouds, as they deepen from golden effulgence, slowly but surely to the pallid shades of twilight.

But bright and alluring as was the sunlight that morning, we had to leave it; for our business was the inspection of the store. house of the tangible effects of this same sun, where some at least of the energy of its light, and heat, and chemical power was garnered up carefully for future use of men, during the vast cycles of the past.

Will the reader join us as we approach one of the larger coal pits of Shropshire? That whistling fellow we just passed, so darkly begrimed with coal-dust, is one of the drivers of horses which remove from the top of the mine the various kinds of coal to the several destinations in the neighbouring iron-works, of which latter you may hear the subdued roar of the blast furnaces, like the sound of a waterfall at a distance. The careless air of the man has much in common with that of the true collier, who is mostly the same "jolly" fellow, meet him where you will; as certain signs at public-houses generally indicate in the mining districts, "The Jolly Collier" being often seen painted in all his glory. As we come near the actual pit itself, or shaft," as the dark, cavernous hole is called, we see several women throwing huge square hoops of iron about, belonging to the "coal carriages," in a way quite unwomanly, if not manly; great stout women some of them are, who can "bold their own" in conversation with any talkative or abusive companion, and whose loud voices, heard as they sing, will reach

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the ear a long way off. But this surface work is all that women are allowed to do towards bringing coal into the market; their underground work having long been set aside, wisely by Act of Parliament. Having joined the Having joined the charter-master," or contract superintendent of the pit, we are called aside into the cabin to exchange our coat for a more suitable vestment, consisting of a long flannel pilot coat, as thick as a board. This done, and candles handed round to each, we prepare for the descent. Certain chains called "Doubles" being sent up the shaft, we each seat ourselves in a loop of chain, and are at once drawn up a few inches off the movable platform, which is at once rolled from under us. While this is being done, it is a peculiar sensation to know the yawning gulf opening underneath us, even if we do not look down into it. We should say that these doubles in which we are seated, consist of a number of smaller chains hanging in loops from the end of the principal chain, in which loops colliers are won't to seat themselves (if sitting it can be called) in numbers up to ten or more; and thus be drawn up, or lowered down the shaft, like a bunch of onions. After the signal has been given to the engine man, we start on our journey.

From the clanging and clattering of chains, like the sound of innumerable small hammers, and the general din and rattle on the surface, the change to the stillness after a few yards of descent is very remarkable. We had not expected this sudden loss of all

sound. How the walls of the circular shaft seem to rush upwards at a prodigious rate! For a moment or two it is a peculiar sensation, we have, when thinking of the five hundred and more feet dropped below us, and what if we should fall backwards? But there is no fear of that, and the feeling soon goes away. So different from what we expected are the ease and silence of the descent, for nearly all sound is gone, all but what man may himself cause. We have entered on the domain of profound silence; but while reflecting on the stillness of those regious, we hear sounds below us, and see by the walls about us that we are going slower, and I can tell by water dripping on us that we are approaching the bottom of the shaft. Presently we alight on a firm platform of strong timber, forming the apparent bottom of this long well, which, however really goes further down, to form what is called a "sump,' sump," or well to catch drainage water of the mine, which is drawn up, chiefly at night, in large iron buckets.

Thankful to have reached the bottom in safety, we are called to come into an open space cut out of the solid rock to form the stables for the many horses used in the workings;" such stables being always placed near the bottom of the shaft. Waiting here for a time, to let our eyes become accustomed to the darkness of the

mine, we hear something like the following dialogue between the "charter-naster" and one of his men ; and are puzzled not unlikely at some of the expressions used.

"Well, Thomas, how does the 'insett' go on ?"

"Oh, fairish, maester; we wanten some moor rails, though." "Hast had that druggen' mended?"

"Yis, gaffer, her's as tight as a bottle now."

"Who'st got in Sam's place, drawing dans' ?"

"Bob Dale, old Ben's lad; and he's a good 'un at it, Bob is." While thus listening to master and man, our eyes slowly become more used to the darkness of the mine; where black walls, floor, and roof naturally swallow up much of the light derived from a few candles or "Davy-lamps.'

Before starting into the roads of the pit, we have put into our hands a candle, stuck for easy carriage into a lump of clay; which is a very useful plan, because this clay will fasten the candle against any rock on the road, when both hands are wanted free. We have special instructions how to keep this candle alight; more easily said than done, by reason of strong currents of air now and then encountered on the road.

Just remark the thoughtless way that old collier carries his flame; he seems to be swinging it about anyhow, and observing everything but his candle; which, however, burns on all right, when ours has been re-lit many times.

We now start along the road leading to the "workings," as the place of actually extracting the coal is called. This road is a narrow passage, generally about six feet high, and six or eight feet wide; but these proportions vary with the extent and nature of the pit. Great rocks at some places project from the sides of this road, and overhang us from the roof in a way which seems very dangerous to our inexperience. They have been like that for years, we are told. It is remarkable, if true, what these underground men tell us of falling rocks in the mines; namely, that they most frequently fall in the night. The men tell you this confidently; and the comparative rarity of a man or horse being crushed by a fall of rock seems to corroborate the statement. They may be misled in this way; that whereas any rock falling in working hours is at once moved out of the way, the stones that come down and strew the roads at night or Sunday are all there to be seen next day. Still it is well for the perilous work of the collier to be eased by thought of some great care about him and above him ; and more truth may be in this saying of theirs than we can account for by natural causes.

This narrow gallery or road, cut out of hard rocks, leads us on, sometimes ascending, sometimes descending; and our head is liable

to come in contact with the roof here and there, without careful inspection where we are going. There are several of such roads in a large pit, all radiating outwards from the bottom of the shaft to different parts of the same "face," or long line of coal laid bare to the collier's pick-axe.

At length, after a walk of about half a mile, we arrived at the actual workings; where coal is being torn from its natural bed, where it lay securely while change after change, and system after system, passed like a flash over the face of the globe; where mighty forests once grew in tropical luxuriance, and fell to decay in great lagoons, age after age, until some mighty convulsions brought about the changes needed to consolidate these forests into this dense, compact carbon.

At this "face" of the workings we see half-naked men working with a will at the black rock in front of them, curving and twisting themselves about no little as they strike blow after blow at the firm rock or "shale" underlying the coal itself. This shale consists generally of thin measures of clay, called "fire-clay " from its resistance to intense heat, when made into bricks. Into this shale, or "holing " as the men call it, they make with the pick-axe a hollow space beneath the stratum of coal, which then may be made to fall in smaller or larger masses, with or without the aid of gunpowder. It is then removed by men or lads on small trucks to larger ones at a short distance; whence it is drawn by horses to the bottom of the shaft, ready to be taken to the surface. Young lads have often to draw out these small trucks from the "face of the workings," (where the space is often of the smallest,) by means of a rope fastened round their middle, and passed under their legs. This is called "drawing dans," and by no means the pleasantest part of working in the mines. We heard it alluded to by the

charter-master at the bottom of the shaft.