day, because I have so much to say, if
I didn't I should get all behind.--I don't believe you would like going
into a mine a bit!

We seemed to drive through unspeakable dust to a banked-up, immense heap
of greyish green earth, with some board houses on it, and a tall shaft
sticking out; and in one of these houses we changed, or rather dressed
up in overcoats and caps, and were each given a dip candle. Then we went
to the lift. But it wasn't a nice place, with a velvet sofa, but just
about three boards joined together to stand on, with a piece of iron
going up the centre to a cross-bar overhead; no sides or top. And this
hung in what looked mid-air.

Mercedes and I got in first, with Nelson and the Vicomte beyond us, with
their arms tight round us, and our hands clinging to the cross-bar of
iron above. Then we began to descend into the bowels of the earth. It
felt too extraordinary: a slightly swaying motion, and not close to the
sides as even in the most primitive lift, seeing or rather feeling space
beyond. Nelson held me so tight I could hear his heart thumping like a
sledge hammer. It felt very agreeable, and I am sure I should have been
terribly frightened otherwise. Mercedes did not seem to mind, either,
and from what I know of Gaston, he wasn't making the least of the
occasion.

Finally, about eight hundred feet down, we stopped, and got out on to
firm ground and waited for the others, who came in batches of four. The
air was pumped in, I suppose, from somewhere, because just here it was
cool, and not difficult to breathe. We had such fun, but Nelson was
rather pale and silent, I don't know why. When everyone was there we
started on our explorations, and seemed to walk miles in the weirdest
narrow passages, in single file, on a single board sometimes, each
carrying our light. We climbed ladders and had to cross narrow ledges on
the edge of the abysses, and it was altogether most interesting to learn
the different sounds the rock with ore in it made when hammered on, to
the earth rock. They broke off some with a pickaxe to give to each of
us. "High grade," he called, and even the scraps about as big as my two
hands which I have now, they say will produce about sixteen dollars'
worth of gold; so is not this wonderful riches, Mamma? What a great and
splendid country, and how puny and small seem the shallow little aims
of towns and cities, when here is this rich earth, waiting only to be
explored. There, in the s