at it was to suffer. Many of them had
carried little ones to the grave; they had often seen strong men like
themselves go forth in the morning hale and hearty, and be carried to
their homes at evening with blinded eyes or shattered limbs. Life had
lost its gloss to them, but it had not lost its charms. There were
loving hearts to work for, and a glorious end for which to live, or, if
need be, to die--so, although their countenances were sedate they were
not sad. The old men--of whom there were but two or three--were jolly
old souls. They seemed to have successfully defied the tear and wear of
life, to have outlived its sorrows, and renewed their youth. Certainly
they had not reached their second childhood, for they stepped forth and
held out their hands for their pay as steadily as the best of the young
ones.

When about one-half of the number had been paid, a woman in widow's
weeds came forward to take up the pay due to her son--her "wretched
Harry," as she styled him. All that was due was seven-and-sixpence. It
was inexpressibly sad to see her retire with this small sum--the last
that her unsettled boy was entitled to draw from the mines. He had
worked previously in the neighbouring mine, Wheal Owles, and had gone to
Botallack the month before. He was now off to sea, leaving his mother,
who to some extent depended on him, to look out for herself.

The next who came forward was a blind man. He had worked long in the
mine--so long that he could find his way through the labyrinth of levels
as easily in his blind state as he did formerly with his eyesight. When
his eyes were destroyed (in the usual way, by the explosion of a hole),
he was only off work during the period of convalescence. Afterwards he
returned to his familiar haunts underground; and although he could no
longer labour in the old way, he was quite able to work a windlass, and
draw up the bucket at a winze. For this he now pocketed two pounds
sterling, and walked off as vigorously as if he had possessed both his
eyes!

Among others, a wife appeared to claim her husband's pay, and she was
followed by Zackey Maggot, who came to receive his own and Penrose's
money.

"How does Penrose get on?" inquired the cashier, as he handed over the
sum due.

"Slowly, sur," said Zackey.

"It is a bad case," said one of the captains, who sat close by; "the
doctor thinks there is little or no chance for his eyesight."

Poor Zackey received his pay and re