he was unusually luxurious,
the addition of a Cornish pasty; and his drink was water. To an
inexperienced eye the man's work would have appeared not only hard but
hopeless, for although his hammer was heavy, his arm strong, and his
chisel sharp and tempered well, each blow produced an apparently
insignificant effect on the flinty rock. Frequently a spark of fire was
all that resulted from a blow, and seldom did more than a series of
little chips fly off, although the man was of herculean mould, and
worked "with a will," as was evident from the kind of gasp or stern
expulsion of the breath with which each blow was accompanied. Unaided
human strength he knew could not achieve much in such a process, so he
directed his energies chiefly to the boring of blast-holes, and left it
to the mighty power of gunpowder to do the hard work of rending the rich
ore from the bowels of the unwilling earth. Yes, the work was very
hard, probably the hardest that human muscles are ever called on to
perform in this toiling world; but again we say that David Trevarrow did
not think so, for he had been born to the work and bred to it, and was
blissfully ignorant of work of a lighter kind, so that, although his
brows frowned at the obstinate rock, his compressed lips smiled, for his
thoughts were pleasant and far away. The unfettered mind was above
ground roaming in fields of light, basking in sunshine, and holding
converse with the birds, as he sat there chip, chip, chipping, down in
the dusky mine.

Stopping at last, the miner wiped his brow, and, rising, stood for a few
moments silently regarding the result of his day's work.

"Now, David," said he to himself, "the question is, what shall us do--
shall us keep on, or shall us knack?"

He paused, as if unable to answer the question. After a time he
muttered, "Keep on; it don't look promisin', sure 'nuff, an' it's poor
pay; but it won't do to give in yet."

Poor pay it was indeed, for the man's earnings during the past month had
been barely ten shillings. But David Trevarrow had neither wife, child,
nor mother to support, so he could afford to toil for poor pay, and,
being of a remarkably hopeful and cheery disposition, he returned home
that afternoon resolved to persevere in his unproductive toil, in the
hope that at last he should discover a good "bunch of copper," or a
"keenly lode of tin."

David was what his friends and the world styled unfortunate. In early
manhood he had b