creetly concluded to indulge in no speculations thereon. We will, therefore, resume our narrative of the observations and adventures of our heroic traveler, Porte Crayon.

At Salisbury, the seat of justice of Rowan County, he found comfortable quarters at the Rowan House. The first object which attracted his attention here was a spry, crockery-colored lad, clothed in red linsey, and tipped off with an extraordinary crop of red wool. This youth has an uncommon talent for handing hot cakes, and, according to his own account, is a cross of the Indian and Red Fox.

THE RED FOX.

Salisbury contains about three thousand inhabitants, and is a well-built, flourishing town. Among other notable objects it contains the office where General Jackson studied law, and the houses which, in earlier times, were respectively the head-quarters of Greene and Cornwallis, as pursued and pursuing they passed through on the famous retreat across the Dan. In connection with this event, an interesting anecdote is related of Mrs. Elizabeth Steele, one of the strong-minded women of that day, at whose house Greene was entertained the evening of the first of February, 1781.

As he arrived, after a hard day's ride through the rain, he said despondingly to Surgeon Reed that he was fatigued, hungry, and penniless.

It was not long before the distinguished soldier was seated at a well-spread table, near a roaring fire, when his hostess entered, the blush of modesty mantling her cheek, the fervor of patriotism burning in her eye. "General," said she, "I overheard what you said to Doctor Reed; take these, for you will want them, and I can do without them." So saying, she drew two small bags of specie, the savings of years, from beneath her apron, and placed them beside his plate.

In the lives of those high-mettled dames of the olden time, the daughters, wives, and mothers of men, the earnest inquirer might find much to elucidate that befogged question of the present day, "What are the rights of women ?"

Even our modern statesmen and patriots might with benefit peruse the proceedings and resolutions of a simple, earnest people, who expected to stand up to what they Resolved, and did not understand legislating for Buncombe, that world-famous county not having been then established.

In the proceedings of the Committee of Safety for Rowan County in 1774, we find the following expressive clause: "Resolved, That the cause of the town of Boston is the common cause of the American Colonies."

From Salisbury Mr. Crayon took the coach for Gold Hill, twenty miles distant. He was accompanied on this journey by a young gentleman from Massachusetts, who, led by a common curiosity, was desirous of visiting the most famous of the North Carolina gold mines. Their road passed through a pleasantly diversified country, budding and blooming under the soft influences of spring. Here and there they remarked heaps of red earth, broken rocks, decaying windlasses, and roofless sheds, designating the spots where men had wasted time and money in searching for "earth's most operant poison."

As the terrapin in the fable won the race by steady perseverance, so the vehicle that conveyed Porte Crayon and his friend at length reached Gold Hill. This famous village contains about twelve hundred inhabitants, the population being altogether made up of persons interested in and depending on the mines. There is certainly nothing in the appearance of the place or its inhabitants to remind one of its auriferous origin, but, on the contrary, a deal of dirt and shabbiness. Our philosophic tourist, however, is rarely satisfied with a superficial view of things if he can find opportunity to dive deeper in search of truth. If this retiring goddess is so partial to the bottom of a well, possibly she may lie in the bottom of a mine.

"But, Mr. Crayon, how can you say with propriety that truth lies any where ?" "Aroynt thee, Punster! Pbeen reading Shakspeare."

LITTLE BRITONS.

you have

Eight o'clock soon arrived, and all parties were met at the place of rendezvous. Moyle and his assistant, Bill Jenkins, looked brave in their mining costume. This consisted of a coat with short sleeves and tail, and overalls of white duck. A round-topped wide-brimmed hat of indurated felt, protected the head like a helmet. In lieu of crest or plume each wore a lighted candle in front, stuck upon the hat with a wad of clay. Crayon and his companion donned similar suits borrowed for their use, and thus accoutred the party proceeded immediately to the mouth of the ladder shaft. This was a square opening lined with heavy timber, and partly oc

cupied by an enormous pump used to clear the mines of water and worked by steam. The black throat of the shaft was first illuminated by Moyle, who commenced descending a narrow ladder that was nearly perpendicular. Porte Crayon followed next, and then Boston. The ladders were about twenty inches wide, with one side set against the timber lining of the shaft, so that the climber had to manage his elbows to keep from throwing the weight of the body on the other side. Every twenty feet or thereabout the ladders terminated on the platforms of the same width, and barely long enough to enable one to turn about to set foot on the next

ladder. In addition, the rounds and platforms were slippery with mud and water. As they reached the bottom of the third or fourth ladder Crayon made a misstep which threw him slightly off his balance, when he felt the iron grasp of the foreman on his arm:

"Steady, man, steady!"

"Lights in the miners' hats, who are working below, Sir."

Porte Crayon felt a numbness seize upon his limbs.

"And are we, then, crawling like flies down the sides of this open shaft, with no foothold but these narrow slippery ladders, and nothing be

"Four hundred and twenty-five feet, Sir, to the bottom of the shaft."

"And those faint blue specks that I see below, so deep deep down that they look like stars reflected in the bosom of a calm lake, what are they?"

of unsubstantial darkness?"

"This is the road we miners travel daily," replied the foreman; "you, gentlemen, wished to see all we had to show, and so I chose this route. There is a safer and an easier way if you prefer it."

Crayon looked in the Yankee's face, but there was no flinching there.

"Not at all," replied he; "I was only asking questions to satisfy my curiosity. Lead on until you reach China; we'll follow."

Nevertheless after that did our hero remove his slippery buckskin gloves and grip the muddy rounds with naked hands for better security; and daintily enough he trod those narrow platforms as if he were walking on eggs, and when ever and anon some cheery jest broke out, who knows but it was uttered to scare off an awful consciousness that, returning again and again, would creep numbingly over the senses during the intervals of silence?

But we can not say properly that they ever moved in silence, for the dull sounds that accompanied their downward progress were even worse. The voices of the workmen rose from the depths like inarticulate hollow moanings, and the measured strokes of the mighty pump thumped like the awful pulsations of some earthborn giant.

Heated and reeling with fatigue, they at length halted at the two hundred and seventy foot gallery. Here they reposed for a few minutes, and then leaving the shaft walked some distance into the horizontal opening. At the end they found a couple of negroes boring in the rock with iron sledge and auger. Having satisfied their curiosity here, they returned to the shaft and descended until they reached the three hundred and thirty foot gallery. Here appeared a wild-looking group of miners, twenty or more in number, who had crowded on a narrow gallery of plank that went round the shaft until it seemed ready to break with their weight. A number of negroes were huddled in the entrance of an opposite gallery, and among them our friends preferred to bestow themselves for better security.

The miners were congregated here, awaiting the explosion of a number of blasts in the main gallery. The expectancy was not of long duration, for presently our friends felt and heard a stunning crash as if they had been fired out of a Paixhan gun, then came another and another in quick succession. They were soon enveloped in an atmosphere of sulphurous smoke, and as the explosions continued Boston remarked, that in a few minutes he should imagine himself in the trenches at Sebastopol.