No blossoms, wild and fair,

From the cold sods are peeping,
Violets, with blue-veined eyelids,
'Neath the brown turf are sleeping;
No brier-roses shower

Their wealth in vale or glen;
No cowslips, Spring's gay heralds,
Peer forth from mossy fen.

Silence is in the forest,
And silence in the vale,
Save when my rustling footsteps
Startles the timid qual;
Save when the air rëechoes
The crow's discordant jar;
Or, through the mountain passes,
Rolls on the rumbling car:

Or a brook its fetters sunders,
And madly goes its way,
Dashing, in tameless frolic,

Its curling wreaths of spray;
My languid spirit wakens,

I seek His sheltering arms, Who gives each varying season Its own peculiar charms.

HYMN.

The merry darting squirrel
Leaps on the leafless tree;
His bright round eye is watching
My movements anxiously;
Like some coquettish maiden,
He flies from spray to spray,
Then turns to note his triumph,
With cool yet shy delay.

The ice-clad boughs are glistening
On the margin of the stream,
As, in torch-lighted caverns,
The sparry crystals gleam;
Garlands of partridge berries

Are on the brown sods lying,
And fairy trees, of snow white moss,
With sea-born coral vying.

Fair in their sculptured outline,
Stand the shorn forest-kings,
While at their foot the lichen,

With crimson beaker, springs;
Deep gladness thrills my spirit,

Forth swells the impassioned prayer,
TO HIM who makes each season
His own peculiar care.

A VISIT TO THE LACKAWANA MINES.

"THUS far into the bowels of the land
Have we marched on!'

SHAKSPEARE.

Ir is remarkable, that notwithstanding the vast quantities of anthracite coal which are used in our cities, there should be so little curiosity manifested to know its origin. While many of its consumers sit in their parlors, enjoying the cheerful grate, how few of them ever think, with any thing like interest, of the manner in which its fuel is obtained; how few imagine the mighty obstacles which human ingenuity has overcome to procure it! Doubtless it would require an effort of credulity, in many of our worthy citizens, who perhaps every year burn tons of American coal, to believe that it once constituted the herbage of summers long gone by; that Time, for untold ages, has changed the fern, the reed, and the wild flowers of primeval seasons, to a substance hard as the rock, and secreted it far beneath the surface of the earth; and yet this is but one of the curious geological facts connected with these mammoth curiosities. To the naturalist, who loves to search into the by-ways and hidden places of Nature, an opportunity is here offered to penetrate into the very bowels of the land,' and to explore the recesses that for centuries have never been visited by the light of heaven. As the importance of the Lackawana mines is yearly increasing - at least to us who, in time, must depend almost entirely on them for our supply of fuel- the writer

has thought that a brief sketch of them might not be uninteresting to the public.

The coal mines of the Lackawana, equal in extent and importance to any other in Pennsylvania, are situated in the village of Carbondale, in the north-eastern corner of the state. The coal-beds, however, are found to extend beyond the valley of Wyoming, and through the country for many miles around, increasing in depth as they approach the Susquehannah, until at Wilkesbarre the veins are opened from twenty to thirty feet in thickness. The Lackawana, an unimportant stream, flows through the village of Carbondale, and gives its name to the coal found near its banks. Some fifteen or twenty years ago, this place was a cold and uninviting wilderness: the discovery of the coal-beds in the vicinity was the first cause of its settlement; and it owes its present prosperity wholly to its mines. Soon after their fortunate discovery, the Delaware and Hudson Canal Company' was formed; and a large district of coal land having been purchased, a canal was constructed, connecting the waters of the Hudson and Lackawaxen, a distance of about one hundred miles. The rest of the country being too mountainous to continue the canal, a rail-road, sixteen miles in length, was opened between Carbondale and Honesdale, the commencement of the canal.

Since that time, the works have been every year increased and improved, under the care of a skilful engineer; and the mines have been enlarged with the demand for their produce, until their extent, considering the time they have been in operation, is utterly aston ishing to a stranger.

While sojourning in the village of Carbondale, in the course of the last summer, the writer was one day invited to join a company of ladies and gentlemen, about to visit the mines. The superintendent had courteously proffered his services as cicerone, and, attended by him, we proceeded on our way. Stopping at the Company's office, each of the party was equipped with a lamp; thence a short walk brought us to the spot; where, at the foot of an inclined plane, the commencement of the rail-road, was an irregularly-shaped hollow, several hundred feet in extent. It was partly natural, yet had been much excavated, to allow the mines to enter the earth in a lateral or slanting, instead of a perpendicular, direction.

On two or three sides of this hollow, there was a side-hill, of con siderable height, into which several openings had been cut, between ten and fifteen feet square. These were the mines. They frowned black and dismal, and we almost shrank at the thought of entering. Where the rock was not sufficiently strong to support the immense weight imposed on it, it had been propped up with large posts of timber. Into each mine there ran a small rail-road, some two feet wide; and on these there would emerge, every few moments, a mule, drawing a train of cars, of proportionate size, laden with coal, and driven by a boy. These were immediately weighed, emptied of their contents, and sent back into the mines; while the large cars, which received the coal from them, were drawn up the plane, and despatched on their way to the market.

It was a busy day, and the scene was one of the greatest animation. Several hundred men were busily engaged at their various kinds of

work. Some 'dumped' the small cars into the others; some labored at the turning platform; and some were sawing trees into props, to support the excavated chambers; while the whole air resounded with the loud and unceasing cries of the Welsh boys, who drove the mules, and who are thus accustomed to direct them. These imps, smutted with dirt and grease, dressed in rags which were so saturated by the oil from their lamps, that they were in constant danger of catching fire and burning up alive, presented an appearance almost revolting. They seemed, however, to enjoy their life, and yelled, and capered around, in high glee, every time they emerged from the mines.

By the direction of the superintendent, the box of a car was removed, and its place supplied by some clean boards, on which several comfortable seats were fastened. To this a mule was attached; and all being seated, the driver, by dint of yells and blows, forced the animal into a gallop, and we commenced our journey into the earth. The entrance of the mine was frightfully low, and had an overhanging aspect, that seemed momently threatening to fall; and although it was so securely propped that there was little danger, yet it was not without a tremor, to say the least, that we passed under it. The roof, which was so low at the entrance that we could almost touch it with our hands, gradually rose, until it reached a height of eight or ten feet, which is its average throughout; dependent, however, on the course of the vein which had been followed; and this being very undulating, while the rail-road was nearly level, it was at times extremely low, and at others so high that we seemed in some vast

cavern.

The air was of a mild temperature, and by no means so difficult or disagreeable to breathe, as we had anticipated; and although, at some places, there was a continual dripping of water from the roof, it seemed not too moist to be healthful. It always preserves an equal temperature; and this is probably the cause of the health enjoyed by those who labor in the mines. We crossed one or two little rivulets of water, during our passage; but this being the driest of the mines, the quantity was but small. In the others, however, particularly one or two which have been extended under the bed of the Lackawana, the springs which have been laid open are so fruitful, that pumps, moved by the above-mentioned stream, are kept working night and day, to free the mines.

On each side, wherever the top had threatened to fall in, huge props, each the size of a tree, had been placed to support it; and whereever these were old and decayed, there grew on them a kind of fungus, remarkably beautiful in appearance. It was of the purest and most delicate white, and hung in large drops from the decaying posts; and, contrasted with the extreme darkness that enveloped every thing around, shone like lustrous gems, as we passed swiftly along. It has often been gathered as a curiosity; but experiment has proved that it cannot be preserved. It is nourished by the darkness and damps of the gloomy mine, and shrinks away, and dies, when exposed to the light of day. Our guide pointed out to us, as we passed on, the 'old chambers,' as they are called; these are spaces of considerable extent, on either side of the road, whence all the

coal has been removed. They have been successively left, as soon as excavated, to cave in, or be filled with culm,' as the refuse coal is termed. While working in the chambers, the miners leave large pillars of coal to support the roof; but when they have exhausted that part of the vein, they dig away the pillars, and let it sink in.

After travelling in this manner for about three quarters of a mile, as our guide informed us, the signs of recent work began to appear; and in a few moments we saw the distant glimmering of lights. We soon arrived at the spot. Here the rail-road separated into different branches, which either led to the other chambers, or communicated with some other mine. We descended from the car, and having trimmed our lights, prepared to follow our conducter on foot. the part of the mine we were about to visit was considerably higher than the main road, an inclined plane, some two or three hundred feet in length, had been made between them. On this the empty cars are drawn up by the loaded train, their motion being regulated by a machine, which retarded the swiftness of the latter.

As

Following up this plane, we picked our dismal way along, stumbling, ever and anon, over heaps of slate and culm, and at length arrived at the end. Here was the chamber. It was a large irregular apartment; the space once occupied by the coal being dimly lighted by the miners' lamps. Every few feet, there were large props, to sustain the roof; and at greater distances from each other, were columns of coal, several feet square. Some twenty or thirty men were engaged in the different parts, either mining or loading the cars, each one provided with a little tin lamp, which he either hooked in his cap, or placed by his side.

The miners are chiefly Welsh. They are large, iron-framed men, and have been accustomed to the mines from earliest childhood. The boys drive the mules, until large enough to work with their fathers, and then commence their dismal trade. Though they are said to be very healthful, they seldom live to old age, but generally die in their prime. Their life is one of constant danger; and without great care, they are liable to be blown up by the powder which they use in blasting, or to be crushed by the masses of coal which they undermine. Notwithstanding this, however, and although such accidents do frequently occur, they are much attached to their occupation, and refuse to work at any other trade.

The vein which they were then working, was between four and five feet in thickness, and formed one of the sides of the chamber. About a foot from the bottom of every vein, there is a layer of earth, or soft slate, a few inches in thickness. This divides it into 'footcoal' and 'upper coal.' The upper coal is, I believe, removed first, leaving the other as a floor. The miner drills a hole for blasting, in the top of the vein; this being done, he lays himself on his right side, and commences undermining. With a sharp pick, he digs away this layer of earth, for several feet under, propping up with blocks of wood the mass of coal that overhangs him. Having undermined it sufficiently, the blast is put in and fired. Several tons are thus often blown down at once.

We stood for some time, and watched the progress of a miner, from the time he 'set his drill,' until the blast was fired, and the large

VOL. XV.

14

fragments were blown from the top, and rolled down into the midst of the chamber. Our feelings, howbeit, were by no means those of ease. For the first time in life, we were far in the interior of the earth, with tons of rock piled above us : and although the hardy miner laughed at our fears, yet the awful gloom of the place, that made every step uncertain; the flickering of our lights, which made the darkness seem still more intense; the clicking of the pick, and the noise of the blast, all conspired to chill us with an undefined terror. Imagination could easily have changed the place into a haunt of demons, or of one of those fearful conceptions of old Superstition. What marvel that, in the days when the fire, the water, and the clouds, and every element, had its respective kings, there should have been conjured up a' Monarch of the Mine?'

Not sprang art thou from mortal blood,
Nor of old Glengyle's lofty line;
Thy dame the Lady of the Flood,

Thy sire, the 'Monarch of the Mine!'

We were filled, too, with awe, as well as fear, at standing in places which had been entombed in darkness for centuries, yet were now open to the rapacity of man, from which even the depths of the earth

cannot escape.

On the roof, where the coal had separated from the slate which surrounded it, we saw impressions of the plants that once flourished on the surface of the earth, and which, yielding to those mysterious laws that still govern our planet, have been gradually changing, through the course of countless years. Stamped deeply in the rock, were the forms of reeds, as large as saplings, and the leaves of mammoth ferns. Perhaps they grew in the waters that nourished the Saurian monsters, or in the fens where basked the huge Iguanodon! We endeavored to detach some of them from the rock, but they broke as we forced them off. In the Company's office, however, we saw some fine specimens, which had been preserved unmutilated. In these, every fibre and every leaf are as distinctly defined, as though the impression had been taken in wax; and at one glance, the naturalist may tell the species to which the plant belonged.

At length, having seen all the wonders of the mines, and satisfied the curiosity which had brought us so far into the interior of the earth, we prepared to return. We retraced our way down the plane, and again took our seats on the little car which had brought us in. The Welsh boy renewed his shouts and blows; the mule trotted off briskly; and after riding for a considerable time, a sudden bend in the road brought us to the mouth of the mine. Our eyes had become so accustomed to the darkness we had just left, that at first the light was painful, and they were dazzled by the brightness of the day. But it was only for a moment; and we then proceeded to the Company's office, where we left our lamps, and arranged our dresses. Then, after many thanks to our urbane guide, we turned our faces homeward.

J. W. S.

EPIGRAM.

ALL flesh is grass, they say; all grass is green;
But thou 'rt the greenest blade I've ever seen!