Yock! yock! O chio faliera po! Otock otock tock! o chio chee! o chio chee! Fug! jug! jug ! jug ! Off we go! off we go! And now a thin red streak came into the sky, and perfume burst from the bushes, and the woods rang, not only with songs—some shrill, some as sweet as honey—but with a grotesque yet beautiful electric merriment of birds, that can only be heard in this land of wonders. The pen can give but a shadow of the drollery of the sweet merry rogues that hailed the smiling morn. Ten thousand of them, each with half a dozen songs, besides chattering and talking, and imitating the fiddle, the fife, and the trombone. 5 Niel gow! niel gow! niel gow whined a leatherhead. Take care o my hat! cried a thrush in a soft melancholy voice; then with frightful harshness and severity, Where is your bacca-box! your box! your box! then, before any one could answer-in a tone that said, Little care I where the box is, or anything else-gyroc de doc! gyroc de doc! roc de doc cheboc cheboc! Then came a tremendous cackle ending with an obstreperous hoo! hoo! ha! from the laughing jackass, who had caught sight of the red streak in the sky-harbinger, like himself, of morn; and the piping crows or whistling magpies modulating and humming and chanting, not like birds, but like practised musicians with rich baritone voices, and the next moment creaking just for all the world like Punch, or barking like a pug dog. And the honey thrush, with its sweet and mellow tune nothing in an English wood so honey sweet as his Otock otock tock! o tuee oo! o tuee oo! o chio chee! o chio chee! But the leatherheads beat all. Neil gow! neil gow! neil gow! Off we go! off we go! off we go ! followed by rapid conversations, the words unintelligible but perfectly articulate, and interspersed with the oddest chuckles-plans of pleasure for the day, no doubt. Then ri tiddle tiddle tiddle 6 tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle wires; then "off we go" jug! jug jug jug playing a thing like a fiddle with again, and bow I wow! wow I jug! and the whole lot in exuberant spirits such extravagances of drollery, such rollicking jollity, evidently splitting their sides with fun, and not able to contain themselves for it. When all this drollery and wild fun and joy and absurdity were at their maddest, and a thousand feathered fountains bubbling song were at their highest, then came the cause of all the merry hubbub: the pinnacles of rock glowed like burnished gold; Nature, that had crept from gloom to pallor, burst from pallor to light and life and burning colour r; the great sun's forehead came with one gallant stride into the sky-and it was day!-[From It is Never Too Late to Mend, a most interesting novel by Charles Reade.] At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep, 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark THE ENTOMBED MINERS. AMONG the deeds of heroism recorded in the pages of history, few are worthier to live in the memory of mankind than the noble rescue of the Welsh miners, who for ten days. were entombed in the Troedyrhiw coal pit, near Pontypridd. It was on Wednesday, the 11th of April, 1877, just as the day-shift colliers were quitting the pit, when the catastrophe occurred, Some last incautious blow, some accidental. breach of wall or vein, burst the thin partition holding away from the "workings" a vast concealed reservoir of subterranean water. Filling the lower galleries and the bottom of the shafts, and driving before it the atmosphere from every part of the pit, this mysterious deluge cut off the retreat of fourteen men and lads. Four of these were overtaken by the waters and drowned, but the remaining ten, in two equal parties, fled before the rush of air and water, and escaped from the peril of drowning only to find themselves immured in the bowels of the earth, without any prospect of ever again seeing the light of the sun. The position of the unfortunate fellows was hopelessly terrible; and its desperateness must have been intensified by three terrors. First, the terror of the water; for if that frightful flood did not cease to rise, they must perish more cruelly, because more slowly, than if they had been overtaken by the original rush. Then, when they understood that the water was kept at bay1 by the compressed air of their dungeon, they had reason to dread suffocation in such a close-stuffed and limited supply of air as had been pressed into their grimy grave. Above all was the horror of starvation, for they had only a few candles to serve the double purpose of light and food. THE FIRST RESCUE. When the miners who had escaped mustered above the pit's mouth, it was soon discovered that fourteen were missing. Measures were immediately taken to ascertain if any of them had escaped, and if so, to attempt their rescue. Ere long the friends of the unfortunate men were groping about the watery galleries for a sign of life, when the faint echo of the picks of the captives was heard through the rock. The work of deliverance immediately began. Hour after hour the good fellows of Ferndale, Valley worked at this new "drive" as men never worked at coal-picking before. Gang succeeded gang; night and day, the noble toil went on, the blows from within answering feebly to the thick and heavy strokes from without, until the wall of coal was thinned to a foot of stuff, and through this one of the imprisoned men, William Morgan, suddenly drove his mandril. But it was at the expense of his life. The pentup atmosphere, exploding with the force of a gigantic air-gun,2 and with "the roar of a thousand lions," dashed rock and coal into the faces of the rescuing gang, stunning one or two and covering them with blood and grime; while young Morgan was actually killed by the violence with which his body was dashed into the chasm, "The moment a hole was made in the coal," says one of the party, "the trigger, as it were, of the air-gun was pulled, and the unfortunate man who was in the opening was shot out like a bullet." It is a wonder others were not killed; however, the rest were saved, and they proved to be the poor man's father and brother and two others. The account they gave of themselves was, that they were going leisurely towards the shaft, when they heard the rush of waters and fled. They soon, however, heard another torrent coming in another direction, but succeeded in finding the cavern which had afforded them shelter. They gave themselves up for lost, and took, as they thought, an eternal farewell of each other, after which they sang a well-known hymn in Welsh, frequently heard on the hills of Wales. The following is a translation: In the deep and mighty waters Through the regions of the dead, It appears they were singing this when the welcome tappings of the explorers were heard; “and," said Thomas Morgan, "off went our jackets, and my beloved son, who is no more, worked all night with the energy of a lion. He has passed the Jordan river, and is to-day on the holy hill of the better land." THE SECOND RESCUE. The question now arose-what had become of the other nine? (Four, as we have said, were at that moment dead, but another party of five were still alive.) The walls are anxiously struck here and there, the miners shout and listen with ears close pressed to the black crags of coal, and once again the faint beat is heard of a distant blow upon the walls of the mine. Thirty-eight yards of coal and rock separate them from their buried comrades, but the faint echo of life which has reached them fills their hearts with dauntless resolution. There were still living men behind that barrier, and so the battle to rescue them began-all the manhood of the district volunteering for the work. Toiling by fours in the dark and cramped place, the strongest hands strove like Titans at the business. Steaming with sweat, their wrists and fingers bloody with the labour, driving, riving, raining blows on the cruel wall, one gang would hardly be allowed time to crawl breathless from the passage before another brave detachment rushed at the task. It is said that grim old pitmen shed tears of pride to see these Welshmen working; for never since coal was dug |