emerged from the ladder-shaft of
Botallack mine, and--after having been five hours underground--once more
drank in, (with a new and intensified power of appreciation), the fresh
air of heaven and the blessed influences of green fields and sunshine.

To many a weird and curious part of the great mine did the obliging
Captain Jan lead me, but perhaps the most interesting part was the
lowest depth under the sea, to which my wife accompanied us. This part
is reached by the Boscawen shaft, a sloping one which the men descend in
an iron car or gig. The car is let down and hauled up by an iron rope.
Once this rope broke, the car flew to the bottom, was dashed against the
rock, and all the men--eight in number--were killed.

In 1865 the Prince and Princess of Wales descended this shaft, and
Captain Jan was their amiable, not to say eccentric, guide. The Captain
was particularly enthusiastic in praise of the Princess. He said that
she was a "fine intelligent young lady; that she asked no end of
questions, would not rest until she understood everything, and
afterwards undertook to explain it all to her less-informed companions."
A somewhat amusing incident occurred while they were underground.

When about to begin his duty as guide it suddenly flashed across the
mind of poor Captain Jan that, in the excitement of the occasion, he had
forgotten to take gloves with him. He was about to lead the Princess by
the hand over the rugged floors of the levels. To offer to do so
without gloves was not to be thought of. To procure gloves 200 fathoms
below the sea was impossible. To borrow from the Prince or the Duke of
Sutherland, who were of the party, was out of the question. What was he
to do? Suddenly he remembered that he had a newspaper in his pocket.
In desperation he wrapped his right hand in a piece of this, and, thus
covered, held it out to the Princess. She, innocently supposing that
the paper was held up to be looked at, attempted to read. This
compelled Captain Jan to explain himself, whereupon she burst into a
hearty fit of laughter, and, flinging away the paper, took the ungloved
hand of the loyal but bashful miner.

CHAPTER SIX.

THE LAND OF THE VIKINGS.

To this romantic land of mountain and flood I paid four visits at
various times. These were meant as holiday and fishing rambles, but
were also utilised to gather material for future books.

Norway, as every one knows, was the land of the ancient Viki