"No, mademoiselle, not entirely; there is a little window up at the very top, but as it only looks out on a passage near the chapel-door, it soon gets quite dark, long before we want candles here. Well, I had soon to leave poor Sœur Camille,-but she talked peacefully and seemed so full of faith in her Saviour, that I ought hardly to call her poor! I assure you, mademoiselle, if I stay here another moment, it is solely for her sake." "Oh, Justine, you will do what you can to give her a few comforts, won't you?" said Clara. "I can give her love, and interest," said Justine, "and convey messages to you--but that is all. To be sure, I can take the little Bible from you to her and back again!-that will be a comfort to her. What a blessing it is that you had it in your pocket when she was discovered! Now I must leave vou-but trust to me, I'll do the best I can for Sœur Camille." COLLIER TRAITS. BY J. C. TILDESLEY. OWING to the nature of their occupation, miners are necessarily a migratory class, and the phases of their social life depend, to some extent, upon the influence of their surroundings. In the north, for example, where the general intelligence of the native population is over the average, the miners exhibit a greater degree of refinement than those of Cornwall and Devon, while the latter are higher in the social scale than their brethren of the South Wales and Midland coal-fields. There are, however, some characteristics of a more general nature, not limited to particular districts, or moulded by local associations, but found alike in all the varied scenes of mining life. To a few of the more prominent of these traits, we purpose briefly to refer. Entering a colliery village for the first time, one is strongly impressed with its utilitarian aspect. The straggling rows of huts in which the population thrive, display not merely absence of adornment, but absolute deformity, the result of subterranean industry on the part of their occupants. Gazing down the village street, you see one hut in a state of decline, its casements on a level with the muddy footpath; another, like the tower of Pisa in miniature, overhangs the pathway with a threatening aspect; while others are almost rent in twain by huge fissures, and planks of wood or bars of iron firmly screwed against the walls are the only obstacles to an immediate dissolution of partnership. First impressions are not materially altered if we change the scene and examine the interior. The one best room on the ground floor, designated the "living" room, rarely contains more than a deal table, one or two chairs and stools, an eight-day clock, a brown earthen pitcher, and sometimes a multum in parco chest, which, as Goldsmith tell us, "Is so contrived, a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day." In the sleeping apartments, anything but a four-post bed and its belongings would be considered superfluous; the operation of washing being performed at the back door, where a huge laver on an inverted tub is always to be found. It too frequently happens that the dormitories are in constant use, for as one portion of the household are employed by day and the other by night, the beds are no sooner vacated by the former than they are sought by the latter, who, wearied with midnight toil, are wending their way to rest at early sunrise. Colliers are fond of, and as a rule generally obtain, good living, for they will sacrifice any comfort rather than forego their favourite dainties. Their tables display an abundance of meat, cheese, and beer; and at the fireside there is a perpetual brewing of tea and frying of a kind of girdle cake, known among the colliers as "singing honey." A friend of mine, in the course of his professional visits to some colliers of the poorest class, found one family at dinner; and the scene presented was certainly amusing. The room. contained scarcely a single article of furniture; not a solitary chair or table was to be seen; but on the floor, in the centre of the apartment, stood a large earthen jar, filled with a kind of Irish stew, around which the family were squatting or kneeling; and, each being equipped with a ladle, were simultaneously conveying the steaming provender direct from the pitcher to their lips, without the agency of plates, dishes, or any such modern innovations. The collier's home presents its most cheerful aspect after dark, when, as coals are plentiful, huge fires glow brightly on the hearth, hot enough, as an able writer observes, "to roast a refractory master, an exacting creditor, or an intrusive constable." It does not require a very long acquaintance with colliers to discover that they are somewhat inclined to stoicism. It has often been remarked that their home ties are worn loosely, that they bear domestic or personal affliction with great fortitude, and that their grief for a deceased relative usually ends when the blinds are drawn up. Some keen satires have appeared from time to time in the columns of Punch, at the expense of colliers, in reference to this particular trait in their character. One of the most striking represented a collier youth just being informed that his father was drowned, and the grief-stricken heir is made to exclaim: "Hang it and he'd got my knife in his pocket, too." A collier of my acquaintance met a short time since with an accident which totally deprived him of sight. So fearful a calamity would have crushed many a stout heart into despair, but he bears it with a resignation which is truly astonishing. He still follows his employment, being led to and from the colliery by his dog, which seems to be his nearest earthly friend. I often meet him in my morning rambles, and he has always a cheerful smile upon his countenance, and is not unfrequently humming a lively air, as he fearlessly follows his faithful guide. The absence of fear displayed by colliers in times of danger is very striking. In circumstances of the most immediate peril, the greatest recklessness is manifest. When ascending or descending the shaft, it is no uncommon thing to see a group of men and boys riding in the loop, formed by hooking back the chain upon itself at the end of the pit rope, instead of using the sliding cage, which Government enforces all collieries to provide. A gentleman of experience in mining, observes: "I once rode in the loop myself, but felt more than uncomfortable while swinging in quasi vacuo, and in tenebris. Fathers have been seen to ride thus, and bring up on their knees one or two boys asleep, after their day's work in the pit. I once watched a group clustering round, and clinging to the rope end on returning to the light of day, as a pitman expressively said, 'like a string of injins' (onions)." it There is one influence, however, which the collier is totally unable to resist, and that is, superstition. As the ivy clings to the crumbling ruin, so this relic of a dark age clings with tenacious grasp to the decaying ignorance from which it draws its nourishment and power. Driven, cowering and crestfallen, from the light of day, it still finds a lurking place, and rules with potent sway in the dim caverns and mysterious windings of the mine. Conversing a short time since with a swarthy banksman on the Staffordshire coalfield, I was initiated into much of the supernatural lore, associated with underground life. If in times of disaster anything be taken wrongfully from the dead body of a comrade, which is sometimes the case, the spirit of the deceased will haunt the mine until the stolen article is restored to its rightful owner. On one occasion, my informant remarked, with much gravity, a fustian jacket was taken from a mangled corpse, and the thief subsequently wore it. As a natural consequence, his mind was always being disturbed by midnight appearances of his dead comrade in dark passages of the mine, and at length one night, while he was busily at work, the fustian jacket lying by his side, he distinctly saw his deceased comrade take up the stolen garment, carefully put on, and then recline against the wall, staring with fixed and glassy eyes upon the thief. This was too much for him. He instantly confessed his guilt, and made due reparation to the injured family. I have gleaned from other sources that the only charm that will disturb these unwelcome visitants from the spirit world, is a chapter of the Bible read aloud; and it is no uncommon thing for stout burly miners to beseech imploringly some fellow-labourer who is a "scholard" to perform this task on their behalf, that they may have peace of mind. Fancied "presentiments" of future events are very common among colliers, and they delight to relate striking incidents. A very intelligent miner informed me that one day, while at work, it suddenly occurred to him that his "pick" required sharpening. He thought, however, that this must be a delusion, as it had very recently undergone that operation, but the idea was not to be dispelled, and at length it so strongly impressed his mind that he could not refrain from going to the mouth of the shaft, where he could better examine it. Arrived there, he found that his pick was as sharp as need be, and was just starting back, inwardly chiding himself for being so foolish, when he heard a loud rumbling noise, and on regaining the scene of his toil, he found that during his absence a huge piece of rock had fallen just in the spot where he had been working, which but for this singular warning must have crushed him to death. One morning, as a "butty" was about leaving home for the colliery, he suddenly observed to his wife that during the night he had had a fearful dream; he thought that the pit had taken fire, and an inward monitor warned him to keep away that day. It was of importance that he, being the overseer, should be there to superintend his men, and he tried to dispel the thought as an idle fancy, but it grew stronger and stronger, until at length he yielded to its sway. Two hours had scarcely elapsed before sorrowful tidings confirmed the terrible dream, and of ten who had just descended the shaft, only one was brought out alive. But perhaps the most mysterious story is a coal-pit legend, in which many of the miners of the Midland coal-field place implicit faith. In a small mine, which was only worked by day, there was employed a strange-looking man, known by the soubriquet of "Jack the Devil," whom no one could fully comprehend. Instead of working in the daytime with his comrades, he always chose to descend the shaft just before their day's work was over, and remain there all night quite alone. The work he performed was prodigious. He earned as much in those twelve solitary hours as his companions could earn in three days, and no one could fathom the mystery. One midnight, however, the secret oozed out. It had been previously arranged that some one should descend the shaft as quietly as possible, and act as a spy. This was done, and the scene that presented itself was startling in the extreme. Jack sat smoking his pipe with the utmost composure, surrounded by innumerable imps, who were busily at work under his direction. The spy was aghast at the sight, and shrieked in terror. The sound of his voice reached Jack's ear, far up the dim passage of the mine, and he turned round in surprise. The spy instantly signalled to be drawn up, and had no sooner regained the top than a shower of stones, pickaxes, and lumps of coal, all mingled together, and smelling strongly of sulphur, were hurled out at the mouth of the shaft in wild confusion. At daybreak the miners descended as usual to their work, trying to appear as though nothing had happened, but on reaching the bottom of the shaft, all disguise was thrown aside, for poor Jack lay quite dead, and half-buried beneath a heap of shattered rocks. A surveyor who was sent to inspect the mine, was of opinion that there had been an explosion of fire-damp, but the colliers still cling firmly to the belief that the eruption was caused by the imps, who, having been discovered by an ordinary mortal, broke the spell that bound them, and regained their liberty, to the utter annihilation of the unfortunate Jack. There is scarcely a mine with which some wild legend or tale of mystery is not connected, and there can be little doubt that this superstitious fear so general among colliers acts as a powerful preventative of crime. The recreations of colliers, although somewhat diversified, are for the most part of a nature not requiring active exercise, or causing bodily fatigue. Worn down by the long round of hard and cheerless toil, the collier rarely seeks more active employment for his holiday hour than to sun himself at his cottage door, and take mental notes of the passers by; or else, rod in hand, to squat on the brink of a neighbouring "swag," and hook the perch and gudgeon which, strange to say, abound in these stagnant pools. The breeding and rearing of domestic animals is likewise a favourite pursuit, the chief household pets being dogs, fowl, and pigeons. These live together on terms of the greatest mutual familiarity and of friendship with the rest of the family, of which, indeed, they form part and parcel. Passing a miner's door when the family were at dinner, I have frequently seen six or seven cocks and hens gazing up at the eaters |