ture which surely destroys all life remaining in the
mine.

From familiarity with danger, miners become disdainful of it and
careless to a degree that is well-nigh incredible. They will hold
dynamite caps in their mouths for convenience, a risk which pales into
nothingness the ancient simile of the weaned child who plays on the den
of the cockatrice. He is a poor man of low-funk spirit who does not
believe himself quick enough to cross a cage after the signal to ascend
has been given. To run this venture is, to them, a matter of no
moment. I have seen more than one miner caught and crushed through a
slight miscalculation in this respect, but these accidents are so
quickly forgotten that they do not act as deterrents to any noticeable
extent. In truth, there seems little reason to doubt that most of the
sudden catastrophes which result in the loss of many valuable lives,
are the result of some insane risk taken by one man. If these risks
were not among those things which the Deity is said to "wink at," all
miners would have been killed long ago.

If you feel inclined, you might stop awhile and look at the
skeleton-like tipple of the mine, by which I mean the wooden framework
above it; at the automatic self-dumping skips and at the rocking
screens which sort the coal into the kinds known as lump, egg, and nut;
but the tempestuous torrent of coal from the hopper bottoms of the cars
would drown our talk and assault our eardrums, so, on the whole, it is
just as well to take these things for granted.

One's first descent into a mine is an experience rather than a
pleasure. To leave the sharp intensity of the sunlight and to be
suddenly dropped into a horrible pit, is to feel oneself rolled into a
tight little ball, with every nerve as hard as a nail. You hope, you
pray, that the long, lithe cables which hold the cage are stronger than
they look. You wonder if you will come out feet foremost in Australia,
and if it will hurt very much. After a second or third experience, the
sensation is one of swift adventuring, but few people care to inure
themselves to this frame of spirit. Arrived at the shaft bottom, you
are made aware with the aid of your cap lamp, of huge square timbers
around you and of a "sump" or well, underneath. It is into this sump
that all the entries of the mine are drained.

Without realizing it, you will have lowered your voice, for the
darkness and stillness oppress you as though you were bear