stopping it?" I cried at the top of my voice.

With a shrug at the inconsistency of the sex, he did as he was told, silencing each of the noisy monsters with a sorrowful look as though they had been dear friends whose voices he loved to hear.

"Now we can go back," I said to Ada, and suiting the action to the word, was turning towards the tunnel, when a grimy hand was laid upon my shoulder.

"We have not finished yet," the guide said. "You must come down here;" and unfastening a sort of trap-door, he disappeared from view down a rough ladder which led-goodness knows where! Afraid to refuse, I followed, and Ada came tumbling down almost on the top of me; as she said, a minute alone with the black monsters above would finish her. We landed in another cave exactly similar to the one we had left, but without the machinery; why we had been brought there I could not understand, for there was nothing very interesting to see.

"Wait here," the man said, pointing to a stone upon which we meekly sat down, and watched him clamber up the rocks, looking round for something that was evidently hidden up there. At last he found it,-a heavy stone hammer! Hugging it close to him, and with the torch in his other hand, he carefully picked his way down, and went off with it to the other end of the cave, where we heard him hammering away at some hard substance.

"Keeps coffins in here perhaps," Ada said, with a shudder; then getting up quickly, she whispered: "Suppose we bolt while he is away; we could get a good start now." But I had not a bolt left in me; my feelings seemed quite numbed, and I could only wonder vaguely whether it would be nicer to be murdered outright, or to be left here to die a lingering death from starvation.

By this time the knocking had ceased, and I felt rather ashamed of my misgivings, when the suspected murderer returned laden with lovely pieces of pure white crystal, with which he told us to fill our pockets. "Lick one of

them," he said; and glad to be let off so easily, I nearly choked myself in a desperate attempt to appear amiable. There was another trap-door leading into a yet lower cavern. "Will you come down?" he said, pointing to it.

"No, thank you; I think we would like to go back now." I should also have liked to see the stone hammer replaced in its rocky bed, but I did not dare to say so.

"Very well, miss; then we must go up again."

We needed no second bidding. Up the ladder we scrambled, and upon looking at my watch I found we had been in the mine exactly an hour and a half.

"There are two modes of exit," our guide told us. "You can either go back the way we came, or you can come up the steps, which will let you out at the top entrance, about a mile farther up than the one we came in at."

"How long does it take to get out by the higher way?" I asked.

"About twenty minutes; there are eight hundred steps."

"A sort of treadmill," said Ada. "But I vote we go; anything would be better than that dreadful passage." I was not sure that there would be much to choose between them; for the staircase, hewn out of the rock, did not look inviting. However, we should save twenty minutes by going that way, so we might as well try it.

"You had better pin your dresses up," the man said; "the steps are apt to be wet."

Wet was no word for it! There was a dirty pool of black mud on each of them; the passage was so narrow that the walls touched us on either side, and the ceiling seemed to weigh upon our heads. Still during the first ten minutes or so we got on pretty well; for my part, I was so glad to get out of the mine, that I did not care how we did it. All I thought of was that each step was taking us nearer to the daylight, and I did not mind how steep or how muddy they were; but when we were about half-way up, a dreadful feeling of suffocation came over me.

Suddenly I felt as though I could not draw another breath; everything seemed to press upon me,-the walls, the ceiling, all were so close and damp. Looking down, one saw nothing but a yawning abyss, and above, the ghastly guide mounting up and up, his flaming torch in dreadful proximity to my sister's curly hair. Suppose one of us should take fire in this horrible place: This thought, flashing through my mind already unhinged by all we had gone through, quite finished me. My knees began to tremble; a black star-studded mist came before my eyes; and I had just time to hand my torch to Ada, when I sank down half unconscious upon the stone steps. There was no room for Ada to pass, and she was terrified lest I should faint outright, and slip down into the dark vault below. "Try to keep hold of the handrail," she implored, holding me up as best she could. I made a desperate attempt to fight against the drowsiness that was fast stealing over me. "If only I could get a breath of air I should be all right," I gasped. The man told Ada that if I could manage to climb a few dozen more steps, we should come to a ventilator in the roof. How I managed it I cannot tell, but somehow or other I did; and oh, the luxury of the sweet, fresh breeze that came down to meet us as we neared that blessed ventilator.

"You had better sit here, and take in a good supply of air for the rest of the journey," Ada said, planting me right under the grating. She, poor girl, looked very pale and frightened by this time, and I thought we had better push on while we were both of us fairly able to do so. After what seemed like an eternity, but must in reality have been about five minutes, we came to the end of the steps, and found ourselves in a passage similar to the one by which we had entered, only broader, so that we were able to help each other along.

We were destined to one more fright before getting fairly quit of the mine, and that was when, about half-way down the passage, we heard approaching steps, and saw the flicker of a light in the distance. In another moment a

second man appeared, scarcely less villainous looking than our guide to our heated imaginations. "What a time you have been!" he grumbled, as he took the latter aside, and they stood whispering together, with occasional glances in our direction.

"Of course, this is an accomplice," Ada said. "I see now why the man was so anxious for us to come the high way! He had appointed to meet his friend here, and debate what should be done with us."

I tried to catch something of their conversation. "Anglaises . . . toutes seules. . . courageuses—” was all I could gather. Anything less courageous than we looked, two poor, trembling creatures huddled together against the wall, could hardly be imagined! I almost screamed when, the consultation being at an end, the second villian advanced towards us, but, with a look of curiosity and a bow, he passed on, and we were allowed to resume our walk. Five minutes more, and we were out on the mountain-path again in the blessed sunlight.

"I could hug that sweet man," Ada said, looking towards the guide, "for not having killed us. I know I have suffered at least a dozen different sorts of deaths in the last two hours at his hands."

Ada looked scarcely more huggable than the guide; her face as black is a sweep's, her smock filthy, and her boots a sight to dream of. However, five minutes at the pump in the miner's house made us look more presentable; and when his wife appeared with a blacking-brush, we felt that we should once more be able to face our poor old chaperon. To this day she tells people that a salt-mine is a most delightful place to visit. Two young friends of hers went all over one last winter, and although they said very little about it, she could tell from the lovely crystals they brought back with them what a charming place it must have been; in fact, she had regretted ever since that she had not gone with them.

We listen and smile; but we say nothing.

From Chambers' Journal.

INSIDE JOHANNESBURG PRISON.

When knocking about South Africa lately, in a wild mood, heart threequarters broken, I had occasion to use a couple of times Paul Kruger's prisonhouses of detention as hotels, and this is what I saw and thought. Anyhow, come, please, with me kindly to Johannesburg gaol, the largest and most important in Africa. It is an enormous solid mass of buildings of huge blocks of stone with iron roofing, and looks down on its own pet city from the most commanding of the hills around -namely, Hospital Hill. Rome's glory was reflected by her similarly situated capitol; and now, by a fin de siècle chance replica, the innate genius of Johannesburg is embodied in her palace-gaol. For Johannesburgers, it is slily hinted by those who have met them in business or otherwise, are composed of three classes - namely, (1) those who have been in gaol; (2) those who are now in; (3) those who still have to go there, but have been up to now fortunate enough to escape.

On entering the gaol you are or are not, according to Boer caprice-supplied with its home necessaries authorized by law. Anyhow you are entitled to a plate, mug, and spoon, all of tin, a towel, a bit of soap once a fortnight, and, if lucky, a tin bucket, which you can keep clean for drinking water; also three rugs for bed-clothes, and if your cell happens to have a stone floor, a straw mattress, if you can get one. Half a pound of mealie-meal, boiled to a "pap," served at breakfast, and ditto at night, and at midday one pound loaf of bread and one pound of rough meat, which can be exchanged for Transvaal tobacco with the Kaffir prisoners. Now you have a regular and simple life which will put that of any ordinary hydropathic to the blush, if only the patient can stand it. . . . A cell is usually occupied by four whites or twenty blacks, the latter reposing much like sardines. Flogging, one can see, is necessary to keep Kaffirs in order, but, poor souls, such lashings as they at times get at the hands of the Dutch

are simply hideous. Some Kaffirs, longtime men, told us through the bars separating "white" from "black" yards, that two had lately died after such flogging, and one recently operated on was believed to be dying whilst they were talking to us. The blacks are placed against a sort of leaning ladder, their arms stretched up, and their wrists and ankles firmly strapped. It is wonderful how callous one Kaffir is to another Kaffir's suffering.

The Kaffir yard is similar to, but separate from, the white man's yard. The Kaffirs are fed alternately on mealie pap or the Indian corn boiled whole, and one pound of meat twice a week. For meat they would barter their souls, and you can for a bit of abominable meat always get from them a bit of Transvaal tobacco of the same size, and good too. The ordinary Dutch warder is too brutal and stupid to require description; he only says No! to any request, and when he is not eating his dinner out of an old basin, spends his time half dozing, and, Kaffir guards loving rest also, escapes are frequent. Here is a Scotchman under whose special tutelage I lost whatever valuable personal property I took in. A cleanshaved, clean, smart little grey man of sixty, after years of tramping in absolute want, promoted from driving a baker's cart, he has just married and commenced life as a teetotaler and warder, having at last found an opening in life for the first time. He is already high in command, knowing how to get on. Speak or whistle and you are in the stocks, and no appeal; resist, and you will get three months more, possibly in irons, and twenty-five lashes; so your Uitlander does his thinking to himself. As regards taking prisoners' property, I have no hesitation in saying that the Dutch police are amongst the biggest thieves in Johannesburg; and this, after making full allowance for much exaggeration and falsehood which may be expected from prisoners' own accounts. Quite recently, after a large fire at certain grocery stores, a huge amount of groceries of all sorts were stolen and traced

to the stations and houses of the firebrigade and police, the latter being in charge of the burning buildings, keeping the crowd out, and helping themselves lavishly. Again, the head warder of the gaol, a huge Dutchman, was sentenced the other day to some small inadequate punishment for stealing many hundred pounds' worth of money and property from prisoners in the course of a year or two. It is easy enough to take the money of a prisoner who is inside, safe for a long term of years-some are arrested with very large sums on their persons-and also in cases where the prisoner is too drunk to remember what he ought to have had with him when arrested.

Jovial tramps-"on the wallaby" is the classical term in South Africathese there always are, mostly Irish, who put in their winters in gaol, and in summer beg and steal their way for hundreds of miles, working a little here and there at the farms they pass, but, poor fellows, knowing no trade, and happy with a blanket, some mealiemeal, and a "billy" for cooking or drinking water. They are worse off than Kaffirs, who know roots and fruits good to eat on the veldt as they pass. Reckless, broken-down gentlemen, too, are not infrequent, and may be met scores of miles from any house, striding on in a few rags, two-thirds of a pair of boots, and a “Hallo, comrade, whither away?" to any one they meet in similar case. Desperate and successful criminals these make when

they get into congenial society, or capital fighters in any small native war, should occasion arise. The Kaffirs are daily arrested by scores for being in town without a proper pass, or written authority, good for a month, value one shilling. Now the blacks cannot read, and the Zarps themselves (ZARP, on their tunic, stands for South African Republic Police) in many cases can make only a very poor attempt at it; so as the revenue accruing from the fines is very great, and the black prison labor from those who cannot pay is very valuable, it can be imagined that the poor Kaffir has a bad time. Complaints are frequent of the sapient Zarps trying to read passes upside down, tearing and throwing away valid passes and swearing the bearer had none (for a Kaffir's word is taken as nothing against a policeman's), etc. Your Dutch policeman is simply a raw illiterate Boer taken from a backward farm, scarcely able to read and write his mother tongue, and speaking usually just a smattering of English. He is drilled a little in a backyard, and placed on beat duty, but his knowledge of police duties is "nil," and miserably paid; and he is constantly striking to get pay which has been long since due to him from his lethargic superiors, a curious anomaly altogether in an upto-date English speaking city like Johannesburg. A few Englishmen, however, have been taken into the detective department, by whom all the important duty in the repression of crime is done.

Curious Fish in Lake Galilee.-In the Sea of Galilee or Lake Tiberias, as it is often called-there is a strange fish named the Chromis Simonis, which is more careful of its young than fish generally are. The male fish takes the eggs in its mouth and keeps them in his natural side pockets, where they are regularly hatched, and remain until able to shift for themselves. By this ingenious arrangement the brood is comparatively

guarded against its natural enemies; it is easily fed, too, but it is a puzzle how the little ones escape being eaten alive. A month ago, says a traveller, writing to a religious contemporary, I found in my net a number of Chromis Simonis without eyes. Others of the species, when I lifted them up, dropped a number of little fishes out of their mouths, which swam away hastily.