A JOURNEY UNDERGROUND. SMELL of smoke and dust; all round us what seems at first sight a confusion of sheds and rubbish; everything black, and the very air feeling dusty; railway lines and trucks loading with coal; great piles of rough timber beyond; and in the middle of all a huge erection of platforms, and high above that a scaffolding, with wheels turning at the very top, and ropes going down from there to a little house at the other end of a sort of bridge that leads to the platform: and here a noise of steam and machinery greets us. But what is it all about; and where have we got to? We are at the mouth of a coal-mine. Deep down underneath our feet men are toiling day and night to get us coal for our railways and our factories and our bright winter fires. Suppose we go down and see them at work. We first go up to the high middle platform-the men call it the "pit-bank." Now the scaffolding is above us, and just under it there is a great opening down through the platform-down into darkness: it is the "shaft" of the mine. From the wheels at the top of the scaffolding two immense ropes of wire go down into the dark-or rather, as we watch, one is going down and the other is coming up. The ropes passing over those top wheels go away downward, and pass in a window of the enginehouse; the machinery inside is moving them, and the moving wire ropes are all day long lowering men and trucks into the mine, and bringing up the trucks loaded. Here comes a load while we are watching. The wire rope that is running up the shaft lands on a level with the platform a strong iron "cage," in which are, one above the other, two small trucks, or, as the miners call them, "tubs" of coal. Men roll them on to the platform and down a slope of iron, to empty their load on the ground. And now, the "cage" being empty, we are invited to get in and go down. Now down, down, down we go! There is no light, and nothing to be seen if there were; in utter darkness we stand, and hold fast to the bar, with a draughty, airy feeling of going down to nowhere-a feeling of giddiness or a sensation of "sinking into one's boots," while the ropes boom and hum overhead, and the "cage" floor trembles, going lower and still lower! Halfway down something else passes us. We are not sure how we know that it passes. It was the other "cage." There are two cages always going-the one up and the other down. When the one is unloading at the top, the other is loading at the bottom; one rope is always letting a cage down, and the other rope drawing a cage up. We have not been a minute journeying down yet, and here we are at a standstill. We have reached the bottom, and we step out into dim light among a cluster of men-nine hundred feet down. Now, if we have had the prudence to close our eyes during that minute in the cage, we shall be able to see pretty well down here, nine hundred feet underground; but if our eyes have been open, a few minutes must go by before we can see where we are being led. The only light is from little narrow lamps covered with thick wire netting one of them is given to each of us to hang from a button-hole or from the left arm, and every miner we meet has his own lamp. These are the safety-lamps invented by Sir Humphry Davy, and hence called Davy-lamps; and that wire netting prevents the "fire-damp" in the air from mingling with the flame. If by any accident the fire could catch this peculiar air, there would be one of those terrible explosions which we sometimes hear of. 66 But is there any good air to breathe down here? you will ask. That is one of the most wonderful things about a coal-mine, and we may have a word as to the management of the air while we are waiting for our eyes to get accustomed to the dim light. In most mines there are two shafts: the one is called the "downcast shaft" because the fresh air is sent down through it; the other, by which the air goes up, is the "upcast shaft." At some distance up the upcast shaft" there is a great fire always blazing in a furnace: this makes an upward draught, for the hot air keeps ascending in that shaft, and the air runs up from below to replace it. As the air is thus being emptied out of the mine, it must be supplied from somewhere, so the fresh air goes rushing in through the "downcast shaft." But in a mine you must not imagine that there is one great open space below where all the men are at work. That is never the case. There are only passages cut through the ground, one below the other, with very narrow little cuttings branching off these and between them. The large passages are called "galleries," and they are joined by openings from one to the other at both ends. Now, as we carefully follow our guide one by one through these narrow "galleries," we shall find canvas or wooden screens here and there, to keep the fresh air going along in the right direction-along one gallery, and then upward, and along the gallery above, and then upward again, and along the highest passage of all, till, with a great gust and sweep, the current of air turns upward, for the corner of the upcast shaft has been reached. This is the wonderful system by which good breathing air is kept flowing through every part of the mine, here nearly a thousand feet underground. It takes a long time to traverse one of the chief passages, or galleries. We notice in it lines laid down as if for a narrow railway. Presently we have to stand in a corner, out of the way; there is a trampling of hoofs and a heavy noise of wheels, and past go some of the little trucks, or "tubs," loaded with coal, and drawn by ponies. This is fresh-cut coal being carried to the bottom of the shaft, through which it will be sent up in the "cage" to the outer world. But how did the ponies get down here? We are told they were sent down in a kind of leather net hanging under the "cage." Soon we come upon the miners at their work, and we learn what hard toil it involves to get out of the earth the coal. Just as there is no difference of cold or heat in the mine in winter or summer, there being, indeed, no cold so far from the upper air-neither is there any difference between day or night. At distances of every ten or twelve feet between the great galleries the miners hew out small passages, creeping into them, and working on farther and farther as the passage lengthens under the strokes of the pickaxe, and the coal cut out is sent away behind them. Later, the coal between these passages is cut down, the men working backwards, and letting the roof fall in as fast as they move from under it. Blasting with gunpowder is sometimes used, and thus the mine becomes honeycombed with passages, some wide, and some very narrow. In these the miners work, mostly each alone in his labour at the far end of his own passage. Other men carry out the coal, and fill the "tub," and wheel it away. The miner who is cutting it down has seldom room to stand where he burrows in his long dark passage. He sits or kneels; and as there is not space to swing his pick, he gives it force by a drive of the arm. Such is the hard labour by which, bit by bit, the miners cut out the thousands of tons of coal that are sent up from each mine as the long years of work go round. But here we are back at the bottom of the shaft, and the cage is waiting for us. Good-bye to the mine and the miners. And up we go nine hundred feet, from darkness to the light of day! A RHYME OF THREE SKATERS. HREE lasses in state set out to skate, One said that the ice was far too thin! And so you see, these lasses three Went home again as swift as could be! They hadn't skated, but proud and elated, They carried their skates for people to see, All on a winter's day! FLOSS. sharp lesson some day, it would do him all the good in the world. Get out of the kitchen, sir," and she flapped one of her dusters in the face of Floss, who speedily beat a retreat. INQUISITIVE F there ever was an inquisitive dog it was Floss. Nothing came to the house, in the way of a basket, hamper, parcel, or package of any kind, that he did not examine carefully, sniffing round, and rubbing his nose against it, and watching eagerly to see it opened. He knew the butcher's boy, and he knew the grocer's man, and manifested the liveliest interest in them. More especially in the grocer, as Floss was particularly partial to biscuits, and the rustling of the paper bags excited him greatly. He knew quite well that, if he were in the way when they were opened, he should get a biscuit thrown to him, and he was accordingly always on the watch at the proper time. Unfortunately, Floss was too often on the watch, and if no one were near to gratify his curiosity, he would seek to do it himself. This led to many disasters, which placed him in continual disgrace with the cook. "Was ever such a provoking dog known!" said she; "he's always in mischief. If he could have a "What is the matter, Ann?" asked her mistress, who met Floss running at full speed from the kitchen regions. Matter, ma'am," said Ann, "why, Floss has upset the basket of eggs that came in this morning, and half of them are broken. There will be no good done till the dog is well punished." Floss took care to keep out of Ann's way for the rest of the day; but the next morning he discovered a packet on the kitchen table that he had not seen before. To jump upon a chair, and from that upon the table, was the work of a moment. And there was Floss, worrying at the parcel, which had only thin paper wrapped round it. Worry, worry, worry, puff, puff, puff, a tear in the paper, and a white cloud; and then Floss looked like a miller, for he was covered with flour. "The fine flour that was for the best pastry!" cried Ann, as she hurried back to the kitchen, "and what a litter, to be sure!" Then she looked round to vent her wrath on the unfortunate Floss, who, as usual, had crept away when he had done the mischief. But in a few days Ann was avenged. A basket arrived a covered basket-which was placed in the larder, where some water-lilies had also been placed for coolness. By some wonderful instinct, Floss discovered that something fresh had come into the house, and was on the alert for the opening of passage and pantry doors that would enable him to take a survey. was pinching his poor paws as hard as it could, and struggle as he would, he could not get rid of it. So, in abject misery, Floss sat down on his hind legs and howled loudly. Ann was the first to appear. "Ah, my master," said she, "you are served out for meddling at last. I'm not a bit sorry for you. I'm not going to help you, for you're having a good lesson, and I hope it will cure you of your meddle. some ways." But though Ann did not help him, his kind mistress, who heard him crying out, came and released He found his opportunity at last; Ann was busy him from the claws of the lobster, for the black making tarts, and no one was about. Cautiously he approached the basket, cautiously he inserted his paw, and forced open the lid. And then he waited; for two black creatures, such as he had never seen before, began to stir. The next thing that he knew was that the two black creatures had escaped from the basket, and that one was holding on to his fore-paws. "Holding," perhaps scarcely described it-the creature creature who was punishing him so severely was nothing more or less than a live lobster. "You must take warning, my poor Floss," said his mistress," and not meddle with what you do not understand. You may be sure that those who play with fire will some time be burned." Floss slunk out of the kitchen beside his mistress, a sadder and wiser dog, and determined henceforth not to pry into matters not concerning him. LITTLE FINGERS. serge, and a sort of ornamental patchwork was in fashion some years ago, in which braiding and embroidery were applied to these cloth patches. The first-named, as it washes and can be thoroughly cleansed, is, perhaps, the better kind for our purpose, for we naturally desire to make our manufactures last as long as possible, but if the colours be "fast" both the silk and the woollen patchwork can be cleaned by a professional workman. The first thing to do is to fix cn our design-diamonds, squares, octagons, hexagons, ovals, or any of the hundred forms and arrangements of them we may fancy. The next thing is to go to a tinsmith and have the shapes cut out by him in tin (or, if clever enough, cut them out ourselves), so that we may always have an exact model to cut out our cardboard foundations by, which we must cover with the silk and sew together while stiff, so that we may have them quite straight and even, for on this depends the beauty of our work. The foundations are made of old visiting and tradesmen's cards, stiff note-paper, or envelopes which have been already written upon. The sewing together must be very neatly performed on the wrong side. For cotton patchwork it is done with "number forty" cotton, or even finer if very good work be desired. For silk and woollen it is better to employ sewing-silk, to match the patches in colour; and it should be remembered that each stitch shows. After the patchwork is done the quilt or couvrepied must be wadded and lined, and lastly quilted. The latter process can be effected by the hand, if the lining and the wadding be very strongly tacked together, so as to keep the whole even. Very large quilts are quilted in a frame; but for small ones there is no need of this. The backs of cotton quilts may be made of white cotton, print, or Turkey twill, the backs of silk and woollen quilts of black or dark silk, or blue or grey serge. There is another sort of patchwork, which consists in procuring flowered and sprigged pieces of calico to mix with plain white and striped, so as to make quite a pretty pattern all over the quilt. It The is not difficult amongst a number of pieces in a shop to find some from which we can cut the designs we need; and from the pretty new cretonnes, chintzes, and sateens of this last year or two, we shall be able to make a beautiful selection. edge of a superior quilt of this kind is usually scalloped round in button-hole stitch, or finished by a ball-fringe. In this method of making a quilt we take for instance a piece of sateen, with roses all over it, and cut out a number of squares each with a rose in the centre. In sewing these together we alternate them with squares of white. Round them would run a border of a striped calico, and so on; and we should find no difficulty in varying our patterns and designs as we require them. D. DE B. "THEY WERE PUT IN THE COACH." A CHRISTMAS STORY. HEY were put in the coach as the clock struck eight, And then they Till they came to The coach was soon packed both inside and out; Crack went the whip, and away! They heard the dogs bark, and the little boys shout As they drove with much rattle the quaint streets about, Whilst over them reddened the day. Poor little Poppy, wrapped up to his nose, Close to the window, poor Poppy, he crept, And he thought of his mother so mild; But Matty one eye for a watch o'er him kept, And she brought him to sense with a push when he wept : She was truly a masterful child! Whatever she liked and whatever she knew The passengers all must fain hear; For her ways and her thoughts were so clear. At midday they whirled up to Humpledon Gate, A tollgate no more was it now. Said Matty, "Our grandfather's carriage is late, The trunk was pulled down, and the coach rolled away. And they sat on a green grassy ledge, And Redbreast, whose work was to comfort all day, Thought them so lone that he sang them a lay From his twig on the bare hawthorn hedge. It was not too bright with the clouds looming o'er, And Poppy began to lose heart, For his poor little feet were quite chilled by the thaw, When hark! they heard wheels coming near, and they saw No carriage, but only a cart. Old Ned said, in answer to scorn well expressed, "Young Missy, and Master Pop, too, The carriage has gone to the Hall for a guest, |