61
ATALANTA IN THE SOUTH
flickering oil-lamps stand prepared for us, and each of us hastens to take possession of one, eager to keep back the great sea of darkness by the small beacon of a miner's lamp.
"The vaulted roof is upborne by gigantesque pillars sculptured from the living crystal, and we pass down the wide aisles full of a wonder not untouched by awe. Leading the way is one slight figure, which we might well imagine to be that of the genius of the mine,—a young woman, whose graceful form assumes at each instant some new and classic pose. She now holds her lamp high above her head, to show a splendid crystal shining like a diamond on the side of the mine, and again stoops to pick a fragment of rock-salt from the floor. As she pauses and looks over her shoulder at us who follow, she recalls one of the figures which Pompeii has preserved on the walls of its ruined villas, graceful, airy, with the careless, light beauty of Greek art domiciled in Italy. As we turn into one of the branching galleries, a new spectacle meets our view. High up against the roof a faint light glimmers out of the heavy darkness. It grows stronger and brighter, and at last springs into a triumphant glory, illuminating vaulted roof and pillared aisle, floor, and shining walls with its warm glow. It sparkles on the wondrous crystals, and reveals the great drilled holes of the blasts; it throws itself triumphantly down the midnight gallery, and is lost in its distant shadows; it touches the face of a youth, beautiful as a young faun, who bends close beside the flame and feeds it with a steady hand. It is dynamite, this rosy, searching radiance,
