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without a light, and also the presence of a certain
amount of oxygen gas, or atmospheric air,
which contains the requisite quantity. The
gas is light, and remains in the dome as sure
as water will remain in a basin into which it
has been poured. My suggestion is, not to
alter or amend any of the usual precautions
as to ventilation, but to bore in addition an
Artesian wellto make a hole of a small
diameter in the earth, above the centre of
each goaf, and continue boring until it pierces
into the goaf. It might be effected by means
of boring-rods. Then there would be a vent
through which the gas would rise, and be
dealt with, as thought proper, on the surface
of the ground, by burning or otherwise, like
an immense gas light. That it would do so
is already tried, for at one of the Wallsend
pits, near Newcastle-upon-Tyne, gas is
continually burning from a large pipe brought up
the shaft.

The above is the whole suggestion. It is
not proposed to relax any of the ordinary
precautions, but only to make use of an
additional means of getting rid of the gas. It
surely merits a trial; and the expense of
boring through to all the goafs in the kingdom
would be nothing in comparison to the
saving of life. In the present day, when
inspectors are appointed by Government, every
means likely to lessen the frequency of
explosions should be tested, and, if found to
be effective, ought to be adopted by all

If you think this suggestion worthy of
notice, you will perhaps give it publicity
through the medium of your widely-extended
Journal. Make it " as familiar as Household
Words," and it may catch the eye of some one
who has the opportunity of giving it a trial,
and who might report the results in the same
manner, for the good of the suffering miner.


New Year! New Year! come over the snow,
A thousand songs call to thee!
A thousand circles wait thee now,
A thousand firesides woo thee!
The night is listening for the bells,
The doors are wide where the poor man dwells,
The cottage glows, the mansion gleams,
And dusky red o'er the deep snow streams.
Old Time sits mute in his silent place,
They watch his motions, they mark his face,
He starts! he calls!;and a merry, merry din
Of voices and bells brings the New Year in.

Happy New Year! Happy New Year!
Give us all things kind and dear,
And when thou art laid in earth
May thy death be as blithe as thy birth.

Old Year! Old Year! sink down in thy vaults,
All nature doth eschew thee
Lie buried with all thy meeds and faults,
For nothing can renew thee!
Light are the feet that dance thee dead.!
Merry the music that rolls o'er thy head!
Die with thy last, loving glance on them,
Whose joyance is thy regimen.
Farewell, farewell, all good or ill
That thou hast sown, will thy son fulfil;
Give him a last word now, to heed
The good and shun the evil seed.

Farewell, Old Year! Farewell, Old Year!
Many a bright eye owes thee a tear!
Thou wilt never again have birth;
Hush thee calm in the bosom of earth.

Now Year! New Year! come sit at the feast,
A thousand hands prepare thee!
This night shall all men call thee guest,
This night may all men share thee:
Soon may we know thee tried and true;
Give to the student his wreath in view!
Give to the lover his yearning bride!
Soon may we know the true and tried
Make free the slave, and make the free
Learn all the duties of charity;
Let pride die off, let love increase,
And prosper all the ways of peace!

Happy New Year! Happy New Year!
Give us all things kind and dear,
And when thou art laid in earth
May thy death be as blithe as thy birth.


I was born at Sawley, where the shadow
of Pendle Hill falls at sunrise. I suppose
Sawley sprang up into a village in the time of
the monks, who had an abbey there. Many
of the cottages are strange old places; others
again are built of the abbey stones, mixed up
with the shale from the neighbouring quarries;
and you may see many a quaint bit of
carving worked into the walls, or forming the
lintels of the doors. There is a row of
houses, built still more recently, where one
Mr. Peel came to live there for the sake of
the water-power, and gave the place a fillip
into something like life; though a different
kind of life, as I take it, from the grand slow
ways folks had when the monks were about.

Now it wassix o'clock, ring the bell,
throng to the factory; sharp home at twelve;
and even at night, when work was done, we
hardly knew how to walk slowly, we had been
so bustled all day long. I can't recollect the
time when I did not go to the factory. My
father used to drag me there when I was
quite a little fellow, in order to wind reels for
him. I never remember my mother. I should
have been a better man than I have been, if I
had only had a notion of the sound of her
voice, or the look on her face,

My father and I lodged in the house of a
man, who also worked in the factory. We
were sadly thronged in Sawley, so many people
came from different parts of the country to
earn a livelihood at the new work; and it
was some time before the row of cottages I
have spoken of could be built. While they
were building my father was turned out of
his lodgings for drinking and being disorderly,
and he and I slept in the brick-kiln; that is
to say, when we did sleep o' nights; but,