BORING. ore. scended to the bottom of the mine without further stoppages. Here they found a number of men at work, with pick and auger, knocking out the glittering The quartz veins are here seen sparkling on every side with golden sheen. At least so it appears; but the guide dispelled the delusion by informing them that this shining substance was only a sulphuret of copper, the gold in the ore being seldom discernible by the naked eye, except in specimens of extraordinary richness. Several of these specimens he found and kindly presented to the visitors. Having, at length, satisfied their curiosity, and beginning to feel chilled by their long sojourn in these dripping abodes, our friends intimated to their guide that they were disposed to revisit the earth's surface. The question then arose whether they should reascend the ladders, or go up in the ore bucket. The ladders were more fatiguing, the bucket more dangerous, and several miners counseled against attempting that mode. Moyle, however, encouraged them with the assurance that they did not lose many men that way. Crayon settled the question by the following observation: "Sometimes it is prudent to be rash. I'm tired; and, paying due respect to the calves of my legs, I have concluded to try the bucket." When the blasting was over the men returned to their places, and Moyle, having requested his visitors to remain where they were, went to give The bucket is a strong copper vessel about some directions to the workmen. During his the size of a whisky barrel, used to carry the absence, Boston, with the characteristic sharp-ore to the surface. It is drawn up through the ness of his people, commenced prying about shaft on a strong windlass worked by horse-powhim. "What the deuce," quoth he, "is in these bags on which we are sitting?" "Oh, nothing!" replied Crayon, in a listless tone. "But the bags are full," persisted the Yankee; "and I guess there must be something in them." "Salt, perhaps." "I guess they have no particular use for salt down here." "Gold dust, maybe," and Crayon yawned. "I've a mind to see, just to satisfy my curiosity," said Boston, opening his penknife. He quietly slit one of the canvas bags, and taking out a handful of coarse black grains handed them over to Crayon. Our hero opened his eyes, and then put a pinch of the substance into his mouth. He sprang up suddenly as if he had been shot at. "Mind your light! Gunpowder, by Heaven! come, let us leave." "Wait a minute," said Boston, "until I return the powder and close the bag securely." And having done this with great sang froid, he followed Crayon's suggestion. er. The operation is double-an empty bucket descending as the loaded one ascends. One of the risks from ascending in this way is in passing this bucket. Crayon stuck his legs into the brazen chariot, and held the rope above. Moyle stood gallantly upon the brim, balancing himself lightly with one arm akimbo. The signalcord was jerked, and up they went. Slowly and steadily they rose. Crayon talked and laughed, occasionally trusting himself with a glance downward, hugging the rope closer as he looked. Moyle steered clear of the descending bucket, and in a short time our hero found himself at the mouth of the shaft. With much care and a little assistance he was safely landed, and the foreman again descended to bring up the Yankee. As Moyle went down, Crayon, with due precaution, looked down into the shaft to watch the proceeding. He saw the star in the miner's helmet gradually diminish until it became a faint blue speck scarcely visible. Then other tiny stars flitted around, and faint, confused sounds rose from the awful depth. At the signal the attendant at the windlass reversed the wheel, and the bucket, with the men, began to When the foreman returned, our friends de- ascend. While Crayon watched the lights, now grow-| brim rested on the windlass. Boston, to save ing gradually on his sight, he was startled by a his hands from being crushed, was obliged to stunning, crashing sound that rose from the loose his hold on the rope, and throw his arms shaft. The first concussion might have been over the turning beam. One moment more, mistaken for blasting, but the noise continued one step further, and the bucket, with its occuwith increasing violence. The signal-chains pant, would have been whirled over and preciprattled violently, and the windlass was imme- itated into the yawning abyss from which they diately stopped. Loud calls were heard from had just risen. Moyle looked aghast-the nethe shaft, but it was impossible to distinguish gro attendant yelled an oath of mighty power what was said amidst the confused roar. and sprang toward the horse. The movement would have been unavailing, for the horse was on the further side of his beat; but it appears he understood Mumbo Jumbo, and, at the talismanic word, the brute stood still. Cuffee seized his head and backed him until the bucket descended to the level of the platform, and the Yankee was rescued from his perilous position, altogether less flurried and excited than any of the witnesses. "Stop the pump!" said Crayon to the negro. "I believe the machinery below has given way." The negro pulled a signal-rope connected with the engine-house, and presently the long crank that worked the pump was stopped; at the same time the frightful sounds in the shaft ceased. The adventurers in the bucket then resumed their upward journey. When they arrived at the mouth of the shaft Moyle nimbly skipped upon the platform. Boston, who was in the bucket, was preparing to land with more precaution; but the horse, probably excited by the late confusion, disregarding the order to halt, kept on his round. The bucket was drawn up ten or twelve feet above the landing, and its Crayon then ascertained that his surmise in regard to the hubbub in the shaft was correct. At a point about a hundred and fifty feet from the bottom some of the pump machinery was accidentally diverted from its legitimate business of lifting water, and got to working among the planks and timbers that lined the shaft, crushing through every thing, and sending a shower of boards and splinters below. The fracas was appalling, and, but for the prompt. stoppage of the machinery, serious damage and loss of life might have been the result. As they were about to leave Porte Crayon approached the negro. "Uncle," said he, speaking with evident embarrassment, "you have been at some trouble on our account-got us safely out of the shaft. I wish to thank you, and to offer you some remuneration in the shape of a present. If, indeed, you, who are continually up to your knees in gold, would condescend to look upon a pitiful piece of silver." "Silber, Massa?" ejaculated Cuffee, opening his eyes. "Yes, I take the liberty," continued Crayon, "of offering you a trifle," and, with a sheepish air, he dropped half a dollar into the extended palm. "In a place where you habitually tread gold under your feet, I am really ashamed to offer you baser metal." "Silber, Massa!" said Cuffee, grinning from ear to ear, "why I ain't seed sich a sight sence last Christmas ;" and he louted so low that his ragged hat swept the ground. As the strangers retired the voice was heard still muttering: "Think nothin' of silber, eh! I like datdat's money. Dese yaller stones ain't no use to us. Silber! ke, he-dem's gemplums sure enough." Before they parted Crayon formally returned his thanks to the foreman, and delicately hinted at remuneration. The offer met a polite but decided refusal from the manly Englishman. Altogether the visit to the mine occupied about four hours, and the travelers were suffi ciently fatigued to appreciate their beds that night. From On the following morning they visited the works accompanied by the superintendent, who explained to them in a satisfactory manner the whole process of getting gold. In the first place, the ore taken from the mine is broken with hammers to the size of turnpike stone. It is then subjected to a process of grinding in water, passing through the crushing, dragging, and stirring mills, until it is reduced to an impalpable powder, or, in its wet condition, to a light gray mud, which is washed down, and collects in a large vat below the mills. this it is carried in wheel-barrows to the cradles. The cradles are eighteen or twenty feet long, formed from the trunks of trees split in twain and scooped out like canoes. They are laid upon parallel timbers with a slight inclination, and fastened together, so that a dozen or more may be moved with the same power. They are closed at the upper end, open at the lower, and at intervals on the inside are cut with shallow grooves to hold the liquid quicksilver. The golden mud is distributed in the up BARAH JACKSON, AT MOUTH OF BUCKET-SHAFT. per end of these cradles, a small stream of water turned upon it, and the whole vigorously and continually rocked by machinery. The ground ore is thus carried down by the water, the particles of gold taken up by the quicksilver, and the dross washed out at the lower end, where a blanket is ordinarily kept to prevent the accidental loss of the quicksilver. After each day's performance the quicksilver is taken out, squeezed in a clean blanket or bag, and forms a solid lump called the amalgam. This amalgam is baked in a retort, the quicksilver sublimates and runs off into another vessel, while the pure gold remains in the retort. Although this is the most approved mode yet known of sepa-. rating the gold from the ore, it is so imperfect that, after the great works have washed the dust three or four times over, private enterprise pays for the privilege of washing the refuse, and several persons make a good living at the business. These private establishments are less complicated and far more picturesque in appearance than the great ones. The only machines necessary there are the cradles and the motive power, half a dozen lively little girls from twelve to As our artist was amusing himself sketching one of these establishments, he observed the children at a neighboring shed apparently in consultation. Presently the tallest one among them approached him, and after hovering around for some time, at length leaned over and addressed him in a whisper: fifteen years of age. This power, if not so reliable and steady, is far more graceful and entertaining than steam machinery. Although the fastidious might find fault with their apparel, yet the graceful activity of these barefooted lasses as they skip and dance over their rolling stage, with elf-locks waving free, cheeks rosy with exercise, and eyes bright with fun, is far more pleasing to the eye of taste than the strained, extravagant, and unnatural postur- Gold Hill, we were informed, belongs to a ings of your Ellslers and Taglionis that we Northern company. The works are on a more make such a fuss about, excelling them as the extensive scale than at any other point in wild rose of nature does the bewired and painted North Carolina. They give employment to artificial, or-ah !-as the-Crayon suggests-about three hundred persons, and seem to be in as freckles and dirt excel rouge and tinsel. a highly prosperous condition. The working "I say, man, when you've done here, please come up our way and give us a touch." of the mines is chiefly under the direction of Englishmen from the mining districts of Cornwall, and negroes are found to be among the most efficient laborers. All the machinery of the different establishments is worked by steam power except the windlasses for raising the ore, where blind horses are used in preference. Having stuffed his knapsack with specimens of ore, and enriched his portfolio with several portraits of the miners, Porte Crayon with his companion took the stage and returned to Salisbury. "I pray, come crush a cup of wine, rest you merry." What's this? An invitation to a May-day picnic. The earth has already put on her summer livery, wearing it daintily and fresh like a bran-new gown. The southern breeze blows balmily, all perfumed like a sweet damsel just come from her toilet. The birds sing like fifers, and the meads, bepranked with flowers, vie in beauty with our fashionable hotel carpets. Woods, breezes, birds, and flowersall nature joins in the invitation. At an early hour on the third of May a numerous and brilliant company took the cars at the Salisbury dépôt in answer to the foregoing invitation. There was broadcloth and beauty in proper proportions, and a profusion of flowers, wit, and merriment. The disembarkation at Holtsburg developed still further the intentions and resources of the party. Numerous mysterious hampers were transferred from the baggage-car to the platform of the station-house, and a brace of Cuffees, bearing instruments of music, made themselves a part of the company. This couple reminded one of Don Quixote and his Squire done in ebony. Alfred, the fiddler, was a lathy, longarmed, knock-kneed black, with a countenance that vied in ruefulness with that of the Knight of La Mancha ; while Simon, the tambour-major, was a short, wiry, jolly-faced fellow, who thumped his sheepskin with a will. Of these, however, more anon. The idea of "dancing on the green" is eminently poetical, but quite absurd in practice; the managers of the picnic had therefore wisely determined to take advantage of the springy floor of the Holtsburg station-house. This was pleasantly situated near the silvery Yadkin, in the midst of a beautiful woodland, and a more fitting locality could not have been selected. They were at first somewhat disconcerted at finding the station-house entirely occupied with bales of hay; but this untoward circumstance was so turned to account by the ingenuity and energy of the gentlemen that it was afterward esteemed a lucky hit. The bales were rolled out on the platforms, arranged around the room, and piled up at one end, where they served admirably for tables, seats, couches, galleries, and added greatly to comfort and the appearance of the scene. The early part of the day passed most agreeably in rural walks, music, dancing, cards, and conversation. Then the mid-day feast was spread and eaten, of course. Every body pronounced every thing delightful, every body was pleased, and every body was quite right. The bright Champagne foamed in o'erflowing bumpers. The corks flew about like shot in a sharp skirmish. Much store of wit and mirth, which, like the music in the bugle of Munchausen's postillion, had remained congealed by the frost |