who merely threw in a word to modify the
purely monologue form of the narrative.

"Ay— and then"—said the manager, accepting
the cue—"we knew we were pretty much
about the level of the gutter; and that was all
we did know, for we were early on the lead, and
no one had bottomed within a mile or so of us.
In fact, it was a toss up; some said we were to
the north of the gutter, and more said we were
to the south of it. Anyhow, the norths carried
it, and we struck out north. Look here"—and
the manager opened a large iron door, embedded
in the northern wall of the chamber. It
disclosed a drive, dark, winding, and water-
dripping—and to all appearances quite deserted.
"You may follow that drive for some half-mile,
if you have a mind to—I haven't: it cost us
too much time, labour, and argument already,
and I hate the sight of it. We spent close on
a twelvemonth over it, for it was all through
slate-rock, and then the norths gave in. Here
is another drive," continued the manager, opening
a second door, and disclosing a second tunnel,
dark, winding, water-dripping, and deserted.
"We spent a pretty tidy time over this one
too: it led to no gutter, but still it wasn't
exactly lost time. After we had gone on some
distance with it, and found nothing promising,
we agreed to branch off at an angle of forty-
five. We hadn't gone long on this tack, when
we found the bed-rock dipping (about the best
sign a miner has to go by) east by south. That
was enough for us—we knew the gutter was to
the south of the shaft, if it was anywhere. We
came back to the chamber, and opened a drive
twenty-five degrees east of south. That brought
us straight across the gutter, and is now our
main drive. We struck the gutter three and
a quarter years after we had turned the first
sod."

"Then you use more than one drive?"

"More than one or two men can't well work
in a drive. We open off branch drives to attack
upper and lower parts of the gutter, when we
know its whereabouts."

Provided with candles, we proceed down
the main drive. The incline was so slight
as to be only appreciable by aid of the spirit
level. The centre of the drive was occupied by
a rude tramway, with rails of blue gum, on
which the trucks conveyed washing-stuff,
headings, &c., to the shaft run. The incline was
sufficient to carry the empty trucks back; the
full ones were pushed forward by the men.
Between the trucks and the damp dripping
walls of the drive there was barely room to
pass. The roof was just high enough to permit
a tall man to stand upright. The whole of
this drive was well boxed, sides and roof. The
close steaming atmosphere became hotter and
hotter (but for the friendly engine, which was
incessantly sending down great puffs of fresh
air along the whole drive, existence could not
be prolonged). The noise of pick and shovel
waxed louder and louder. The drive opened
out into a vast yawning cavern, and we stood
on the verge of the veritable gutter, the much
desired central line of the lead.

Great portion of this gutter had already been
cleared away— cleared carefully down to the
bed-rock, and the hollows, cavities, and crevices
of the rock itself cleaned and swept. In this
manner we were able to cross over from bank
to bank, if I may use the term. It took me
about ten paces to cross over at this point.
Above and below, the gutter remained
untouched, and the men were now employed in
transferring portions of it to the trucks by aid
of pick and shovel. About four feet was
regarded as washing-stuff; the remaining four
feet to the roof of the cavern thus in process of
formatian was accounted worthless headings;
still it had to be drawn to the shaft's mouth to
make room. The precious washing-stuff (I was
given to understand it was very precious, but
any minute inquiries on this point are not
strictly in accordance with goldfields' etiquette)
was nothing very dazzling to look at. It
consisted of the aforesaid thick, putty-like mud,
rounded pebbles of all sizes in the utmost
profusion, and watery ooze, all mixed up
together. In fact, its whole aspect resembled
that of a river-bed which had been covered up
for ages.

Owing to certain bends and turns traced out
in the lead, the company calculated on having a
mile and a half of gutter, and work for the
next eight or ten years. An ordinary week's
washing, I was informed, produced fifty pounds
(sterling) per man. The claim had yielded
fifty thousand pounds up to the period of my
visit. Two thousand pounds would be readily
given for a share—not twenty readily accepted;
in fact, they were not "in the market."

The proposition of the brandy was received
with a certain dignified independence;
nevertheless, the brandy was not rejected.

HAMPTON COURT.

  THE windows of the Fountain Court
    Are glittering in the moon,
  But no more in the palace hall
    You hear the dance and tune—
  No more beyond dim corridors
    Lamps spread a golden noon.

  No longer from half open doors
    Bursts forth a gust of song;
  No longer with a roll of drums,
    Sweeps by a silken throng,
  With diamond stars keen glittering,
    The ribbons blue among.

  No pages bearing each a torch,
    Now scale the lofty stair;
  No ladies trip with wealth of pearls,
    Banding their wealth of hair;
  No white-capped cook, with flaming face,
    Bears up the dish with care.

  The swarthy king with heavy brows,
    Paces no more the court;
  Base Rochester and Killigrew
    Have long since ceased to sport.
  No more fair wantons at the cards
    Think the long night too short.

  Silent the court, and still the hall,
    Lights long ago put out,
  The colour's faded from the silks
    That deck the walls about;
  No longer at the outer gates
    The noisy rabble shout.