From Good Words.

A PERSONAL EXPERIENCE OF FIRE-DAMP.

SOME years since I paid a visit in Staf fordshire, and one of the entertainments by which my host sought to make my time pass pleasantly was a descent into a coal mine. I rather liked the idea, as I had never been down one, and at once agreed to go. The mine that was to be honoured with our inspection was that of West B. It was an old mine, of considerable size and depth- the depth of the shaft being, if I recollect rightly, about 960 feet. There were some six or eight in our company, among whom were two young men, the sons of the owner, and a superior work-I do not know his proper technical designation - perhaps underground bailiff; at any rate, something equivalent to what we above ground should call the foreman.

man

I expected that we would go down in a bucket, or box, but there was nothing of that sort; we stood upon something like a small platform and clung to the chain by which we were lowered. I rather repented of my readiness to join the party when I saw the means by which we were to descend, but I had not courage or time to dissent from what seemed the recognised mode of procedure. No one else seemed to mind it, and two or three of those who were familiar with the ways of the place stuck out one of their legs at right angles to stave us off from the sides of the shaft as we descended. "All right," said some one, and away we went. My first sensation was that sort of deliquium or swimming in the head that the reader may have experienced when he dreams that he is falling down a precipice. Fortunately it did not relax the muscles, for as it passed away I found myself clinging to the chain like grim death; probably it was only momentary, as I had time to observe the rapidity with which we passed into total darkness. The story about seeing stars at noonday from the bottom of a coal pit cannot be true, at any rate if the pit is what is called an up-cast shaft. We went down the upcast shaft that is, the shaft by which the air which has entered the pit by the downcast shaft returns to the upper regions, after having circulated through the mine; and looking upwards through this air, we could see nothing of the opening of the pit almost immediately after beginning to descend. I suppose the air was so loaded with impurities, coal dust, vitiated vapours, &c., that, seen in quantity, it was as muddy

and impenetrable to light as the river Thames at London Bridge, although on the small scale both appear transparent. Down, down, we went, and presently we became aware of a little drizzling rain. It was the water, which, pouring or trickling from the sides of the shaft, sparked off from every projection. As we went deeper this got worse, and by the time we reached the bottom we were in a heavy shower.

Suddenly we stopped; we had reached the foot of the shaft. We found ourselves in the midst of a group of horses, one of which, a blind old beast, I remember, came knocking up against me and nearly upset

me.

Some of us were then furnished with lights. I was one of those that were not. When I say that the lights were all naked and without protection, the reader will see that my visit must have been made a good many years ago. Under the guidance of the foreman we then set off on our tour. The main passage, along which we went at first, was what I imagine would be considered a lofty and spacious gallery, laid with rails. It was comparatively broad, and seemed to my eye about nine or ten feet high. We proceeded along this for, I daresay, a quarter of a mile. By-and-by our leaders turned into an apparently unused side gallery, narrower than the main passage, in which the foreman had something about the ventilation to point out to the owners. Hitherto we had seen no men mining; we had met men with horses drawing trucks, and others going about their occupations, but no men working. We proceeded along this smaller gallery for about 150 yards or so. The place was dirty, sloppy, and wet, and, of course, dark; and feeling no particular interest in what the foreman was desirous of pointing out to the owners, I lagged behind a little. I might have been twenty paces behind the rest of the party, when a sudden light started up among them-I can compare it to nothing but the flash with which lightning is imitated in the theatre. The reader knows (or if he does not know, I shall tell him) that this is done by placing a lighted taper-end between the middle and ring finger of the hand, held out with the palm upwards. Into the palm a quantity of powdered resin is poured, not spread out but piled up around the taper. The resin is then chucked into the air, and is ignited in passing through the flame, which then spreads out like a large mushroom. The whole is over almost instantaneously, and the resemblance to sheet lightning, to those who

do not see the operator or the mushroom, but merely the flash of light, is very perfect. Well, this was exactly what I saw with a difference. The difference was, that when the light flashed up to the roof and assumed the mushroom shape, it did not disappear like the other. Instead of being extingnished as instantaneously as it arose, it continued extending and spreading out along the roof on every side. My first idea when I saw the light was, that this was some civility on the part of the owners to show off the mysteries of the place to their visitors, as I had seen the Blue-John Mine in Derbyshire, and other stalactitic caves, illuminated by Roman candles and other lights. That idea only lasted for a second. As the light extended, every one rushed panic-stricken from it as fast as they could run. I guessed the truth in a moment, and turned to fly. There was no difficulty in finding my way, the whole place being illuminated. After flying along for some time I looked back; the whole of the gallery where we had been was one body of fire-not a bright lambent blaze, but lurid, reddish volumes of flame rolling on like billows of fiery mist. Their form was liker that of the volumes of black smoke which we may see at times issuing out of large factory chimneys, than anything else I can compare it to. My notions of explosions of fire-damp were, that they took place with the rapidity of an explosion of gunpowder. But it was not so in this case, at any rate. I do not mean that it was slow, but that its speed was no greater than that of a man. All those who were at the end of the gallery where it took place did, in point of fact, outrun it. Neither was there any noise or sound of explosion; at least, I noticed none, and if there had been I think I must have observed it, for, all things considered, I was tolerably collected. The report must have taken place at the pit-mouth, as from the mouth of a gun. The fire rolled silently along in great billows of reddish flame, one wave tumbling over another, in quick succession. And a curious and a very beautiful thing was the edges of these billows; they were fringed with sparks of blue flame, dashed off like sparks from a grindstone. Even at that dreadful moment I could not avoid being struck by their beauty.

All this I must have gathered at a glance -in an instant of time. In front of the billowy mass of fire rolling on towards me I saw the dark figures of my companions tearing along at headlong speed. Then turning, I again dashed on. When I came to the loftier main passage I heard a voice

behind me cry out, "Down on your face!" and by-and-by one figure after another sprang past me and dashed themselves headlong on the ground. I can liken the reckless, frantic way in which it was done, to nothing but boys, when bathing, taking "headers" into a stream. Without reasoning about it I followed suit, and flung myself into a puddle, and then peering backwards under my arm, waited the approach of the sea of flame, the wall of fire, which was approaching. It had not yet come out of the side gallery, but the glare of its light preceded it. Presently it rolled into sight, filling the whole mouth of the side gallery, from top to bottom. Had it overtaken us in it, not a soul would have escaped alive; but when it entered the larger gallery it lifted, just as one sees a mist lifting on the mountains, and then rolled along the roof, passing over our heads. How much space there was between us and it, I cannot say; I imagine it filled the upper two-thirds, leaving a space of perhaps two or three feet free from flame. Nor can I well say how long we lay below this fiery furnace; it might have been five minutes or a quarter of an hour. Judging from our sensations it must have been hours, but we did not experience so great heat as I should have expected. We felt it more afterwards; probably the anxiety of the moment made us insensible to its intensity.

After the lapse of some time the volume of fire above began to diminish, the stratum got thinner and thinner; it eddied, and curled, and streamed about, leaving the more prominent parts of the roof exposed like islands; then it wandered about like fiery serpents and tongues of flame, licking a corner here, or flickering about a stone there, but ever moving towards the shaft. As it thus abated, presently one head was raised from the ground, then another, until we all began to get up. We then gathered together, but there were no mutual congrat ulations, nor external acknowledgment of thanks to God, however much some may have felt. But I doubt if there was much feeling of that kind, the sense of peril was yet too strong; we had escaped one great danger, but we knew that we were still exposed to the risk of many others which often followed such explosions. The first danger was want of air; the fire had used what was in the mine almost wholly up, and we might perish from want of it. "Follow me," said the foreman, and he started off, not for the mouth of the mine, but for some part of it which, from its connections or position, he knew to be better, or more likely to be sup

plied with air than any other part. The miners knew this too, doubtless, for on our arrival at the place in question, we found them trooping in from different quarters, until there might be above a hundred present; and I was much struck by one thing in them which was not according to my anticipations. I thought that men who were habitually exposed to any danger became callous to it, and faced it with indifference. It was not so with these miners; we, who scarcely understood the magnitude of the danger through which we had passed, were far cooler and more collected than they. Almost every one of them was thoroughly unmanned, and shook in every fibre. I know the ague well (experientia docet), and the uncontrollable shaking which bids defiance to the strongest exercise of the will, but I never saw a worse tremor in ague than in these men. While gathered together in this part of the mine a loud crack ran through the roof above our heads, which so alarmed the already nerveless miners that some of them actually sunk upon the ground. The explanation of this anomaly in men's courage is, I think, that where they see their danger, and can exert themselves to ward it off or escape it, familiarity with it will produce contempt for it; but where they are utterly helpless, and know that they are so, familiarity with it only adds to its terrors. This is the case with earthquakes. No familiarity with them enables a man to meet them with composure; the more he has felt, the more frightened he becomes. I remember seeing another instance of the same kind on board the Tyne, when she was wrecked on the rocks at St. Alban's Head. The sailors on deck were as cool as cucumbers, but the stokers and firemen below were unmanned exactly in the same way as the miners at West B They could not see their death, and they could do nothing to save themselves if the ship had foundered.

After waiting a considerable time in this part of the mine - perhaps an hour- we again started, and made for the mouth of the pit. As we approached it we heard shouts, and presently came upon a body of men, who, having heard the explosion, had been sent down to see what mischief had been done. Although the explosion had travelled so deliberately when it passed over us, it had had sufficient violence when it reached the shaft to blow the roof of the building adjoining the pit-mouth clean off. Fortunately, it had not destroyed the gear there, and we were able to ascend without delay. Right glad was I to find myself once

more in the open air. The explosion had drawn a crowd of agitated men and women to the mouth of the mine. Alas! the meaning of the dull report, and the cloud of smoke, and the fragments of the building at the pit-mouth flying in the air, were too well known in the neighbourhood, and many an anxious heart found relief in a burst of tears when we were able to announce, on our appearance at the surface, that no lives had been lost. We escaped with almost miraculously slight injury for men who had gone through an explosion of fire-damp. I saw one man, who had got a lick from the flame, having his shoulder treated with oil, or some such application, but that was the only casualty that came under my notice. I have never been down a coal-pit since. ANDREW MURRAY.

From the Examiner, 18th May.

RUSSIA.

THE Luxemburg hitch has been got over, but it unfortunately has displayed to the world how much of jealousy and mistrust is between France and Prussia. Before the Luxemburg quarrel it might all be denied, and was denied. The Prussian monarch or Government has never hitherto been in a position to defy or provoke France. The attitude is new, therefore; and the feeling which it excites is felt not only in the breast of the Emperor, but in that of every Frenchman.

Bismarck and Napoleon the Third are, however, wary politicians. Each is a man to consider and prepare before he strikes. Besides, Bismarck's hand is held back by that of his sovereign, who is far more timid, more doubtful of the future, and unwilling to risk his crown in another venture. It does not, indeed, require any great degree of prudence to be unwilling to enter upon such a contest single-handed. Prussia would not do so last year, and has reason to congratulate herself on the alliance she formed. But where is the ally now? Bismark is said to have made a pressing overture to Austria. Fight in your alliance!" answered von Beust. "We did so in Slesvig, and what was our reward? You turned upon us the moment after."

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We believe that there is but one ally possible for either party, and that is Russia. The Czar has thus the fortunes of Europe, and the fate of future wars in his hands.

He is coming through Berlin to Paris, and no doubt will receive the offers and explications of both sides.

For the next year, then, much, in all probability, depends upon the conduct and desires of the Russian Cabinet. Alexander's own character is soft and vacillating, and would, no doubt, incline him to remain friends with both parties. But this is an impossible policy. Russia would gain nothing by it, and would risk the loss of much. For an alliance she can command almost her own terms from either party. And these terms may be little less than the empire of the Levant.

It would be idle to enter into particulars, or attempt to foreshadow what Prussia or what France might give to Russia as the price of her alliance and co-operation. Equally idle would it be to pretend to decide into which balance Russia would definitively throw her sword. All this is for the future. But certain it seems, that the peace of Europe for the next few years depends in no slight degree upon the Czar. The prudent French Emperor is not a prince to precipitate war without a powerful alliance. The King of of Prussia, though not so prudent or so completely master of his actions, still holds by the same principle. He never gave in fully to Bismarck until the latter brought him the Italian alliance.

In the situation of rivalry into which France and Prussia have been brought, it is not alone to foreign alliances that they must look. Were the war between them to be immediate, these foreign alliances would be everything. But towards a more remote war, each Government has to seek strength at home. Strength of what sort? Napoleon the Third certainly sits heavy on the liberal aspirations of Frenchmen, and though the discontent will probably never break out against him personally, yet he is not immortal; still less so is his system.

Whilst the Prussians rejoice at this crevice in French armour, the French regard with no less hope the wide splits in the German panoply. From north to south the land is full of disaffection towards Prussia; and if southern States and populations have abetted in the quarrel just ended, it was more with the hope of recovering their own power and independence in the struggle than from the patriotic desire to make Germany triumph over France. Peasants and gentry, from the Rhine to the Vistula, abhor the Prussian government. Taxes are doubled, military service and oppression ditto. The Customs union, for the present in pieces, will not be put together again with

out being made fiscally profitable to the ruling country. Prussia, in fact, has, by distrust of a liberal domestic policy, made as many foes and grievances as friends or causes of attachment; and it is still a problem how far united Germany would support Berlin in a lengthened war against France. The French, therefore, gather hope from time, as the Prussians do.

From the Saturday Review.

MADAME RECAMIER.*

IN France, where the influence of women has always been exceptionally great, whether as regards the manners, the literature or the politics of any epoch, the salon has at all times had a place approaching that of a national institution. Be it by dint of intellect, wit, skill and vivacity in intrigue, or even sheer beauty of person, it is hard to name a period on which some female leader of society or other has failed to set her mark. With all its changes, the Revolution could only so far modify this traditional feature of French life as to open the doors of the salon to queens of another order. Nor did the women of the new era fall short of the occasion. In the freer play of intellect and action that followed upon the relaxation of etiquette, there was even much to make up for any loss in the more stilted or aristocratic graces of the vieille cour. The brief but bright career of Madame Roland was followed by the still more transient yet brilliant sway of Madame Tallien. The interval between the setting of the star of Notre Dame de Thermidor and the glittering dawn of the Empire was lit by the genius of Madame de Staël, whose enforced eclipse left in turn the firmament of Parisian Society open to the ascendency of her friend and pupil, Madame Récamier. If there was any degeneracy to be detected in the long line of female sovereignty it was in superficial splendour only that the falling off was to be seen. The courtly but prudish graces of the Hotel de Rambouillet, the select gatherings of the little court at Sceux, and the lively coteries of the Marchioness du Deffand were not unworthily represented in the quiet and unadorned parlour of the Abbaye

aux Bois.

With nothing like the talents which im

*Memoirs of Madame Recamier. Translated

from the French and Edited by Isaphine M. Luyster. London: Sampson Low, Son, & Marston.

1867.