dress, in these moist regions); we, in our borrowed
garments and brimless beavers, with flushed features and dripping hair.
The miners do not wear the abominable hats, at least "beneath the day,"
that is, in the mines.

"Is this the bottom of the mine?" we inquire anxiously.

The guide smiles grimly as he answers, "We are little more than half-way
to the bottom; but we can descend no deeper in this direction."

Heaven knows we have no desire!

"This is the first working," he continues. "The rest of the mine is much
the same as you have already seen. We have no other means of reaching
the workings than by the stone staircases you have partly descended."

"What are the miners' hours of work?"

"Eight hours a day for five days in the week at this depth," is the
answer. "In the deeper workings the hours are fewer."

"What is the extent of the mine?" we demand.

"I cannot tell. There is no miner living who has traversed them all.
The greater portion is out of work, and spreads for miles under ground."

"And the depth?"

"About two hundred fathoms--twelve hundred feet--the sea level. The 'Old
Hope of God' is sixty feet below the level of the sea."

"Are there many mines like this?"

"There are about two hundred mines in all, with five hundred and forty
pits: in all the mines together there are some four thousand eight
hundred hands, men and boys. This mine occupies nine hundred of them."

"And your pay?"

"One dollar a week is a good wage with us."

One dollar is about three shillings of English money! This seems small
pay, even in cheap Saxony.

"But," we pursue our inquiries, "you have no short time, and are
pensioned?--at least, so says our Fahrschein."

"We are paid our wages during sickness, and are never out of work. When
we can no longer use the pick, nor climb these staircases, we can retire
upon our pension of eight silver groschens a week."

Tenpence! Magnificent independence! This is digging for silver with a
vengeance.

But we are faint with fatigue; and, bidding adieu to the two miners, we
gladly agree to our guide's suggestion of ascending to the happy
daylight. Our way is still the same; although we mount by another shaft,
most appropriately named Himmelfahrt--the path of heaven; but we clamber
up the same steep steps; feel our way along the same slimy walls, and
occasionally drive our hats over our eyes against the same low, dripping
roof. With scarcely a dry thread about us;