upon coming in contact with the steam-jet it is cooled, and it is still further cooled by the introduction of three gallons of water per minute, let down the pipe in conjunction with the steam-jet and carbonic acid gas. The rate of discharge per hour may be judged of from the following facts: The furnace consumes 250 pounds of coke. The whole contents of the steam-boiler, at seventy pounds per inch, go down. The gas-flue evaporates sixty gallons of water. The discharge of water, in addition, is 180 gallons. The temperature of the gas at the end of the flue and top of the shaft is 600 degrees; at twenty feet below the jet it is 190 degrees; at the bottom of the shaft (which is thirty-six fathoms) it is 170 degrees. The open pipe at the one only upeast-pit where the chokedamp is blowing off is 80 degrees. These are the figures and the precise facts for the mechanic and student to meditate and calculate upon. The result of this interesting process cannot be ascertained for some time to come; but some conjecture may be formed, and they are that the object of extinction will be ultimately secured. On looking through the stoppings in the mine, the whole space is found to be occupied with carbonic acid gas: but there is a marked deficiency of air at the upcast-pipe. The reduction of the temperature by sending down water is very extraordinary, and the water is all driven into spray. Daily records of the proceedings are kept, and all is carried on with regularity, and we hope with a full prospect of putting out the fire in the mine, and thus leaving our canny neighbours some coals to put into their grates. Putting out a fire is a much more difficult matter than most people would imagine. The process of excluding atmospheric air from the fire would be thought to be effectual, and yet it is frequently a dangerous remedy, owing to the explosion of the gas which is distilled by the fire from the coal. You cannot always put in the water and exclude the gas; and putting in the water may be the wrong course. Again, the filling of the workings of the mine with water is attended with considerable cost, and should only be resorted to in extreme cases. For you may perhaps put a small fire out by putting a large quantity of water in; but when you have put out the fire you have need to put out the water also, and it is a much cheaper process to pump water into a mine than to pump it out again. In some instances too, after the water has extinguished the fire, spontaneous combustion takes place in the coal, probably owing to the deflorescence of the pyrites in the coal occasioned by the damp in the mine.

Mr. Hedley tells us of a mine which took fire from an underground engine-flue, and which had been slowly burning some time before it was discovered. When the fire burst into a flame it spread rapidly along the roof. The first step taken for extinction was to endeavour to subdue the fire with powerful jets of water. The pumping engine was kept working to serve new pipes, and supplied water at a pressure of about eighty pounds on the square inch. Before water was poured on the fire, pillars of the coal (cannel coal) at the roof of the mine for more than thirty yards along the levels, were

*These particulars are from a Giasgow journal.

on fire; and in some places the fire was so intense as to vitrefy the strata above the coal. Water was poured on the fire by several jets for three weekɛ, until there was no appearance of fire in the outskirts of the locality where it existed. This portion of the mine was then closed up, and remained closed for some months. Shortly after it was reopened, the fire again broke out, but not so extensively as at first. Mr. Gurney's method of forcing in de-oxydised air was then resorted to for a space of three weeks, when that portion of the mine was again closed up. Three months after it was thus closed it was again re-opened, when little fire was visible, which was extinguished with water.

Mr. Buddle, a great Newcastle agent, adopted the plan of extinguishing smaller fires by concus sion of the air. When the pitmen could not "doust" out a small flame of lighted gas, a cannon was discharged in the direction of the burning gas, and commonly succeeded in extinguishing it. Gas burning on the surface of the coal, and inaccessible to ordinary attempts, may be often extinguished by concussion. Mr. Buddle himself told us some singular instances.

Thus have we shown how they put air in a mine, why they put it in, in what quantities, by what agencies, for what purposes; and how they measure its amount, and direct its tortuous course. Lastly, we have shown how they put fire out, as well as air in the mine. We hope the general reader will be instructed on this dark subject, as well as amused by our labours. He will now probably rise from his seat and stir the fire; when he does so (if his wife permit him) let him remember us and the poor miners!

We may just add that the attentive visitors to the Great Exhibition will remember many objects of interest in connexion with the subjects of these papers. Some will remember the large mine-ventilating machine in the machinery department. All ventilating machinery for mines is looked upon rather unfavourably, both on account of expense and bulk. There are several machines, such as Struve's and others; but, for ourselves, we do not see their necessity in a well-arranged pit; and the steam-jet of high-pressure steam is far simpler.

There was a model of a coal-mine in the machinery-department, and among the mineral products were numerous suites of specimens of coal. &c. The large masses of coal at the western entrance (outside) afforded a good idea of the masses to be found in thick seams; and the high pillar of the Staffordshire nine-yard seam was very instructive.

Some will call to mind the large chair (garden chair) cut out of smooth cannel (or parrot) coal, near the machinery, and exhibited by his Royal Highness Prince Albert. We are vain enough to think that if the reader of our papers would, after perusing them, inspect models, he would find an additional interest in all his researches into what we may term the black art, an art which, black as it is in its products and in its workmen (so that the pitmen are familiarly called black diamonds), is nevertheless the source of brightness in the parlour, on the family hearth, and in the heart of the family!

And as one wandering long in mazes vast,
In vain pursuit of clues that break and fail,
Or spreading on the deep a breezeless sail,
Sickens at last-

Who, having such a Janus-fronted Time,
And having asked of that which is to be
Vain questionings of world's futurity
And the soul's prime-

I turned for answer, wandering through the past,
Century by century, to the infant years,
Cradled wherein the mythic form appears
Of things which last.

Ransacking in their dust for buried gems,
To bring from out the grave, in living guise,
The heroes of the past, and realise

Historic dreams.

Yet pleasant were't, methinks, some autumn eve,
When all the business of the world seems done,
To sink to slumber with the setting sun,
And take our leave,

And sleep away the centuries, while speeds
The world, with all the passions of our time,
And wake again to see its nobler prime
And loftier deeds;

And sleep again, to wait another leap
Of the world's progress in the coming time;
Triumphs of Science, Poet-souls sublime,
Walking the deep!

Fearing no tempest mid the calm, wide seas
Of the world's brotherhood. The people's cause
In harmony at length with Nature's laws,
And Man's with these.

Or find perchance, as has been, the stern hand
That marks world-progress on Time's awful dial
Turned back; and see again the age of trial,
The martyr brand;

The shadow following upon the light;
The winter of the ages, with its sere
And shrivelled leaves, its blight, its chill, its fear,
Its rayless night.

And yet not rayless all; some starry beam
Still glimmering in its darkest, there foretelling
The nearer spring's awakening, the dispelling
Such dark-born dream.

Pleasant, even this, looking with calm, pure eyes,
And sense of over-ruling ministerings,
On such, as but the shadow of love's wings
'Neath which all lies.

Love, all-embracing as the universe;
The atmosphere, wherein is heaven's life,
Wherein will drown all struggle and all strife,
All passions fierce.

While, like a summer sea, its living calm
Rests never, gushing upward as a deep
Whose voice of many waters skyward leap
In joyous psalm.

Vain! vain! A dream!-perchance with truth inwound,

Worth sleeping to dream on; worth death's dread sleep,

And wormy pillows of the bed, grave deep,
And morn beyond!

And what if, comet-like, our future runs

Through all the eternities, from sphere to sphere,
Watching, with brooding centuries, appear
Secrets of suns;

The science of the worlds, from star to star,
And all the souls of them, the onward press
And upward reaching unto happiness
Undreamt before.

An inexhaustible, unwearying chase,
Love's labour sateless, endless, without toil;
Joyous as reapers o'er the harvest spoil,
Victors in race.

Methinks, even then 'twere pleasant to look
If but in wonder at such blindfold souls
In strange disguise, unconscious of our goals,
Or star-paved track;

To think, perchance, of yon quaint antique town,
As of the larva cocoon whence such grubs,
Bright-winged and beauteous in heaven's own
robes,

Sphereward have flown;

And smile how all their human griefs and woes Shall mar as much their entrance on God's gladness,.

As cradle-tears augment the brave man's sadness, Or dim life's close.

In many market-places, where that instrument of the mild justice of our forefathers, "the Stocks," was wont to stand, may be seen a pole, having one end fixed firmly in the earth, and the other perpendicularly pointing to the skies. For what purpose it was originally planted there scarcely two persons have been known to agree. One will have it to be an index to draw farmers to the spot when the weighmaster should set up his scales, and the corn-buyers hold their exchange. Another, judging by its frequent proximity to the pigs quarter, concludes it to have been planted for a directing, and, upon occasion, a scratching-post for that luxurious tribe. A third believes that it was designed as a climbing-pole for the boys of the village, who use it pretty freely in that capacity; and there are surmises among the learned about its probable derivation from feudal times, when Justice held her sittings under the broad canopy of heaven, and punishment was administered on the spot, in face of the open court. According to this supposition, this post of honour may have been a whipping-post, or mayhap a portion of a more gruesome implement.

Whatever were its uses in past ages, it no longer serves any precise purpose. In one village it seems to preside over the pigs, in another over the potatoes. Here it is the rallying-point for sheep, there rows of squatting females who deal in eggs and poultry are gathered round it. It has no defined or generally recognised object, but still it maintains its place conspicuously, and bears its head aloft over the crowd, so as to be seen far and wide by all who approach the market.

This now inutile lignum is denominated in the Irish language a "Stalko-warroga," that is to say, a stake in the market; and hence, by a figure, it has been used to designate a class of persons who

were but a short time ago, unfortunately for the country, infinitely more numerous than marketpoles, but not half so harmless. As the race is gradually disappearing off the face of the earth, like that of the red-men before the advance of civilisation, a short sketch of their natural history may not be without interest.

The human Stalko-warroga, or Stalko, as Miss Edgworth in one of her dramas abbreviates him, is an Irish walking gentleman, a creature stuck up in society, without aim or occupation, to attract observation and provoke the very puzzling question, What is the use of him? Your true Stalko must be a gentleman born; that is to say, his father before him must not have followed any industrious calling in a small line of business, nor been engaged in a derogatory employment, such as a tutor, or a clerk, unless in a public office. To have served the Government, however, in any situation, no matter how subordinate, is an authentic mark of gentility, were it but that of a letter-sorter in the Post-office. The cadets of country squires divide with all the sons indiscriminately of beneficed clergymen, dispensary doctors, and half-pay officers, the honour of this name. A youngster so descended, having arrived at man's estate without any other inheritance, and scorning to attach himself to an industrious plan of life, becomes, ipso facto, a walking gentleman; and whether he plods the earth on foot, or can raise a trot upon a half-fed hackney, he is still among the most obstinate obstructions to the wholesome course of society that the spirit of modern improvement has to contend with.

The dolce far niente is as essential a part of nature in him as it is in the original proprietors of that motto. From his birth he is an idler. If ever he were sent to a public school, that has been

the be-all and the end-all of his education. Having passed his two or three years there, and been signalised as the best cricketer, the best racketer, the greatest dunce, and sometimes the most accomplished smoker and drinker of his time, he goes home finished at sixteen, and sets up for himself. From that period, no public meeting, no social circle are free from his frivolous and vexatious presence. The young are constantly exposed to his pernicious conversation and example. The aged are bored by his affectations and absurdities. Shopkeepers are victimised by him, tradesmen bilked, and servants tormented. His life is a perpetual outrage upon good taste; and his habits, wherever he is privileged to indulge them, are always at variance with the pursuits of industry, the acquisition of knowledge, and the comfort of everybody.

The Stalko-warroga is a sort of noxious Will Wimble. He is the Cæsar of field sports; that "world was made for him." From the first salmon in February to the last partridge in January, he pursues God's free creatures with unrelenting hostility, poaching without scruple where he has no leave, and destroying without mercy where he has. In the spring-time he invades even the hen-roosts, and strips the breast of Dame Partlet to feather his barbed hooks. One of the tribe came to me once to ask an important favour. He prefaced his request with so many excuses and earnest protestations of obligation, exhibiting such a lively sense of the expected favour, that it became quite alarming. Blame me not, reader, if I suspected a design upon my pocket, and had predetermined, like Yorick, not to give him a single sous.

Anything I can do, my dear friend, you know you can command ; but the times are hard, and if it is a loan of half-a-crown you want

"You would shell out, of course," he cried, adroitly stopping the rebuff. "It is quite unnecessary to assure me of that, but I am flush. It is something that money cannot buy, but which friendship may grant. There is a noble Spanish cock in your mother's poultry-yard”

66

True; but one which she values beyond his weight in coppers."

"And justly too," said Stalko," for he is worthy. Long may he crow, and long live she to hear him! What I ask, however, is a simple thing; but little things are great to little men. There are two feathers in that bird's tail of inestimable price when the black hackle is in season; and if you could only introduce me to the roost while the family are at rest, so that I may possess myself of those, I will draw them out without pain, and I am yours for ever."

In country towns which are rich in a barrack and the head-quarters of a regiment, the Stalko is sometimes a great family auxiliary. He serves for a stalking-horse to the walking gentlewomen of the house; and both on the parade-ground and in the ball-room performs what they at least consider good service. In procuring partners for a sister, and keeping rival belles occupied while she is making play with the red-coats or other eligibles, he can render effective aid where the

most skilful matron is powerless. He takes his post, and retains it, beside a formidable beauty, pestering her with his civilities, so as to keep less pertinacious though more sincere admirers at bay. The art is so well understood, that young men who have good-looking sisters are carefully shunned in all mixed societies by the ladies of other families. Yet their insidious attentions are most difficult to be evaded; for effrontery is an overmatch for any passive resistance which the softer sex can oppose to the unscrupulous boldness of such advances.

This mode of check-mating is a game at which two can play; and if there are brothers at both sides, it is rarely attempted. But woe to the damsel who takes the field unprotected, against an adversary provided with a family matériel sufficient to outflank her.

There was a time when the pistol was brought into contentions arising from more trivial causes than these; and the Stalko, being the member of society who had least of other business to mind, was the most expert and ready in that vocation. But now (as Dean Gready said, when informed of a report, which he did not believe, touching the death of his diocesan)," there is not that much good in him." The hard times and the growing good sense of the world have taken the conceit out of our Irish fainéant. He blows nobody's brains out; not even his own. To do him justice, indeed, he never was given to the latter extravagance.

To view the Stalko in the perfection of his character, you must invite him to your house for a week or a fortnight. He is the most restless and fussy of mortals, disturbing the whole household a hundred times a day about an infinite deal of nothings. Well did Swift say, "A bee is not a busier animal than a blockhead." In the excess of his idleness, he must ever be doing something, and always in the way of those who have something to do. No such thing as regularity can exist under the roof which covers him. He begins the day by keeping breakfast on the table long after the accustomed hour of the family; and should the weather be unfavourable to the ordinary subdiurnal methods of murdering time, he worries you by stalking every five minutes from the fire to the window, and back again to the fire, where he stands over you, with one elbow resting on the mantel-piece; whilst now he whistles a bar of "Vi Raviso," and now assures you, for the twentieth time, that he never saw such constant heavy rain in all the course of his precious life. The Stalko-warroga's boots creak in a peculiar manner, distinguishable from all other boots; and he walks with a heavy tread, which denotes how time hangs upon him with a weight that is perfectly idiosyncratic. If you are engaged with a book, or writing a letter, he seizes the newspaper, which he ceases not for one moment to ransack in seeming search of something on which to fix his rambling attention; but the wicked spirit within him seeketh news and findeth none, and his real study seems to be how to keep the paper in a perpetual rattle, like peas in a canister, till he has you so fidgetted that, like himself, you 'gin to be a-weary of the sun.