to, Tregarthen cast a long look at the sea and sky.

"Well, I should say, considering the state of the tide and the
threatening appearance of the sky, we may expect to see them at six
o'clock, or thereabouts."

"That leaves us nearly a couple of hours to spare; how shall we spend
it?" said Oliver.

"Go and have a look at this fine old town," suggested Tregarthen. "It
is worth going over, I assure you. Besides the town hall, market,
museum, etcetera, there are, from many points of the surrounding
eminences, most superb views of the town and bay with our noble St.
Michael's Mount. The view from some of the heights has been said by
some visitors to equal that of the far-famed Bay of Naples itself."

"Part of this I have already seen," said Oliver, "the rest I hope to
live to see, but in the meantime tin is uppermost in my mind; so if you
have no objection I should like to have a look at the tin-smelting
works. What say you?"

"Agreed, by all means," cried Tregarthen; "poor indeed would be the
spirit of the Cornishman who did not feel an interest in tin!"

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

TREATS OF TIN-SMELTING AND OTHER MATTERS.

There is something grand in the progress of a mechanical process, from
its commencement to its termination. Especially is this the case in the
production of metals, nearly every step in the course of which is marked
by the hard, unyielding spirit of _vis inertiae_ on the one hand, and
the tremendous power of intelligence, machinery, and manual dexterity on
the other.

Take, for example, the progress of a mass of tin from Botallack.

Watch yonder stalwart miner at work, deep in the bowels of the mine.
Slowly, with powerful blows, he bores a hole in the hard rock. After
one, two, or three hours of incessant toil, it is ready for the powder.
It is charged; the match is applied; the man takes shelter behind a
projection; the mass is rent from its ancient bed, and the miner goes
off to lunch while the smoke is clearing away. He returns to his work
at length, coughing, and rubbing his eyes, for smoke still lingers
there, unable, it would seem, to find its way out; and no wonder, lost
as it is in intricate ramifications at the depth of about one thousand
five hundred feet below the green grass! He finds but a small piece of
ore--perhaps it is twice the size of his head, it may be much larger,
but, in any case, it is an apparently poor return for the labour
expended. He adds it, however, to