men at work. As I had come so far, I was certainly not going to turn back, and so I expressed my desire to proceed.
“Well, then, sir, I’ll go first,” said Jim, and swinging the bucket over the hole, he called to the men to stand by. When they had taken the handles, he stuck his candle in front of his hat, stepped into the bucket, and told them to lower away. I leaned over the hole, deeply interested in watching a descent, which I was to follow so shortly. I saw the candle glimmering upon Jim’s head, when I could see nothing below it. Presently it passed from my sight, and shortly after the bucket seemed to strike the ground; the rope slacked, and then was jerked,—the signal for drawing up the bucket,—which was soon again upon the surface.
I put myself into it, following my predecessor’s example as to my candle; my legs were strangely ungovernable; but the men were lowering away, and I held on with a tenacity not unnatural to one who knows of nothing more than that which is within his grasp. I had descended about thirty feet, when the bucket bumped upon stone, and thinking I had arrived at the bottom, I was about to step out, when I felt that it was scraping along the stone, and that I was still being lowered, although by a road which severely taxed my muscles. After much jolting the bucket came clear, and I saw at once that there was a turn in the well-hole. Having passed this, I could see the reflection of Jim’s light below me, and soon the bucket was caught by him, and steadied, while he helped me out. There were two men with him. The place in which they were at work was larger than the well-hole by which we had descended to it. I had never before experienced such a temperature as that in which I now found myself perspiring—nor did I again encounter such until some months ago I had a Turkish bath, which operation, minus the shampooing, is not uncommon to the Cornish miners.
The walls of this chamber were beautiful, and where the shining surface had been broken by the pickaxe, looked like stalactite gold, mingled with white quartz. One of the men offered me his pick, to do a little mining for myself. I struck at the rock, and chipped off some specimens, which I have since learned contained about 80 per cent. of copper. Returning the miner his tool, with the addition of a small coin, current even in these “infernal” regions—if I may judge from the miner’s thanks,—we prepared to ascend, and renewed our acquaintance with the bucket.
I should never have found my way back alone, so innumerable seemed the galleries and passages; however, Jim guided me through the same track by which we had descended, and up the same ladders, which was weary work, requiring occasional rest. At last, after three hours’ absence from the light of day, the flame of our candles grew pale as we stepped out on the surface. Although the sun was shining brightly, my first sensation was one of intense cold, and I became aware that my clothes were wet through with perspiration and muddy water. We ran across the yard to the sheds, and there, to my great delight, were two tubs of warm water awaiting us. I was soon deeply and most agreeably engaged in one of them, and afterwards invested in my own dress, shared with Jim a piece of roast beef he had for his dinner. We spiced some beer, and passed two hours very pleasantly, with the assistance of pipes and tobacco, in conversation about mines and mining. But as I could not stay there all night, and had yet some miles to walk to Truro, I invoked Jim’s knowledge of the country, and setting out under his guidance, was soon upon the high road, having thoroughly enjoyed my morning’s expedition.
THE CONFESSION OF A TEA-KETTLE; OR A HINT TO HOUSEWIVES.
Everybody said so, and we all know what everybody says must be true, especially what every lady says. Now, what every lady said was this, that I was a “love of a tea-kettle.” I’m not a vain kettle; and, although I say it, who shouldn’t say it, in my youth I was pretty. Ah! you may laugh, but you’ll be old some day, depend on it.
Well, I promised you my history, and now I’ll tell it, if you’ll only listen.
I was made of copper, and no sooner was the last polish put upon me, than my owner, a furnishing ironmonger, placed me in a conspicuous position in his shop window. My bright appearance and neat shape very soon attracted the attention of passers-by. Every one admired me, and some pleased me by openly expressing their admiration. One day, a young lady—evidently newly married—declared I was a “love of a tea-kettle,” and having satisfied the ironmonger as to his demand for me, requested I should be forthwith sent to her house. Home I went, and had the satisfaction of hearing both the cook and the housemaid speak favourably of my appearance’; and that’s a great thing, mind, for a kettle. I was very comfortable in my new abode, and each evening, when filled with water, pure and soft, and placed upon the hob by the side of a cheerful fire, soon sang away to my master and mistress’s satisfaction, and my own content.
All went smoothly on, until one day my master having received an appointment abroad, resolved to dispose of his household goods, myself among the rest. A lady residing in a neighbouring village purchased me, and I was soon packed off. Somehow or other I speedily found that, although the water I was now daily filled with was clear and bright—more sparkling indeed than that I had been accustomed to—it made me feel very uncomfortable about my stomach, accompanied with a tight sort of feeling, and a thickening of my inside, together with a great disinclination to boil and sing as I was wont.
My mistress constantly complained of me; and as for the cook, she was positively rude, for on more than one occasion she shook her fist at me, and exclaimed, “Drat that kettle, ’twill never bile!” My ailment increased, and I continued to get worse, and my owner requested the cook to call in a doctor. A smith, residing hard-by, was my medical attendant, and he undertook to effect my cure: he saw at once that it was not my fault
