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a small boat to the rescue. It was too late for either to stop or turn aside. The spectators held their breath in apprehension of what seemed fated to prove a triple tragedy. Happily the Doctor's head and body missed the boat, but as he plunged underneath the water one of bis legs fell heavily across the gunwale, upsetting the boat, and throwing its occupant into the water. Before the boatman could recover himself, Dr. Tasker bad caught the drowning girl, and was paddling to the side as well as he could with one arm and one leg.
Of course bis leg was broken, but he made light of it until the little girl bad been attended to by the surgeons present. He then allowed bimself to be lifted into a cab and driven to the town infirmary, where he lay for some days in doubt whether or no he should lose his leg. The little girl speedily recovered, and I have heard the Doctor say he never felt so happy in his life as he did on the first day that dear little girl was able to pay him a visit in the infirmary, and thank him, in her own simple way, for saving her life. At last the Doctor was discharged quite well, but he was never the same active man again, and the injured leg was ever afterwards a little shorter than the other.
Before you again speak slightingly of the Doctor's limping, recollect how he got it. With love from us all, your affectionate father,
Letter No. 20.
High Street, Woodbourne,
May 18th, 187– MY DEAR BEN,–
As we are having jur Easter holidays, and have no lessons to prepare, I can find time ti write you a good long letter.
I am glad you playeu those fellows such capital tricks, even though young Instone was too sharp to get caught mnch. But I say, Ben, you weren't very smart to let them find out who put the snow in the boots. I wonder you did not have to fight them all round.
I wish I could have been with you to “knee you up" in that fight with that bullying fellow Caswell-you know I have done it before. I'm glad to see you keep the Woodbourne credit up, and do not intend to let them walk over you.
I am surprised your father did not approve of your fighting, for it was only last week that I was fighting a fellow in a meadow by the side of the Tinbury road, when be rode up, asked me how it began, and then told me to pitch in and give him a good thrashing.
It occurred in this way. Old Peter, who runs errands for all Woodbourne, had been sent to Tinbury for sometbing, and was coming back at his regular limping speed, when he met a butcher's
apprentice going home. Of course everybody knows Old Peter has get a screw loose in his head somewhere, so this young fellow began asking him questions and laughing at him. The harmless old fellow answered him civilly enough in his foolish way, and the chap began to take further liberties—asked him what he had been for, and tried to take a parcel out of his greatcoat pocket.
Now, however foolish Old Peter may be, he has sense enough to know that he must take care of what is given him to carry, and that he must not tell tales, or else he would soon lose his occupation. So when the butcher lad began pulling at his pocket, Old Peter lost hi temper, and at last gave him a tap with his slick. On this th Tinbury fellow struck out at him, and Old Peter would have got the worst of it but for George Wasdell and I coming up at the time.
We saw at once what was up, and so I told the young butoher he ought to be ashamed of teasing a poor fellow who was not well able to take care of himself. This made him saucy, and he said he should tease any body he liked without asking my leave. “Not while I was by,” I told him. “ Yes, he would—what did I think he cared for me? -did I want to fight ? I said I was not anxious to fight, but to oblige him I didn't mind. So we stripped off our jackets and were walking round each other for the first blow, when your father came up. He watched it all through-it didn't take long to give the butcher enough-and then rode off smiling.
We have had pretty well of fun this Easter. On the Monday we had the hounds out again, and this time we had a capital run without getting into any scrapes. The master joined us, and was one of the hares. I expect that accounts for our not getting into mischief. But he gave us plenty of work, I can tell you.
I am working bard now for the midsummer examination. I hope I shall make a pretty good figure in it, for I suppose that will be the finish-up of my schooling.
Father and mother send their kind regards to you, and I remain, your affectionate friend,
Letter No. 21.
From Ben BARLOW to DR. BARLOW.
23rd May, 187—. MY DEAR FATHEB,
I am so much obliged to you for the story about Dr. Tasker. I think you have cured me of thinking lightly of lame people for the future. "I shall always think that perhaps they got crippled in doing some noble deed.
We were having a game of football in the playground yesterday, and the Doctor was out watching us. I was just resting a bit for “wind " near where he was standing, and he said, “Ah, Barlow, I've seen the time I could have gone into the thick of the scrimmage with
any of you.” I said you had told me about his being at one time strong and active, and also that he had been lamed in saving the life of a little girl. He looked pleased, and said, "Should you like to see the little girl I rescued ?" I of course said “ Yes,” so be beckoned me to follow him to the house. He led me into the back parlour, and there sure enough was a bright little girl playing with her doll. looked at her for almost a minute before it occurred to me that a little girl when the Doctor was a young man must be a woman now, and I then saw there was a lady in the room to whom the Doctor was introducing me. " Annie, my dear,” he said, " this young gentleman is wishful to see the little girl I got out of the water so many years ago." The lady-Mrs. Tasker he called her, so she must be his son's wife—was very agreeable and chatted some time. When I got up to go, she told me always to follow the Doctor's advice, for he was a wise and good man, and recommended me always to use my skill and strength in doing good, and never waste it in fighting or wrong-doing. I wonder if she had heard of my fight with Jack Caswell ? Please give the enclosed note to mother. From
Letter No. 22.
From BEN BARLOW to MRS, BARLOW.
May 23rd, 187– My Own DEAR MOTHER, —
I was just writing to father, when Ted Instone burst into the room with my linen basket just arrived from the railway station, and insisted on my opening it at once to see if the usual cake were inside. I did so, and, of
had not forgotten me. That being settled, Ted would have me cut it, to see if there were raisins in it as well as currants. As there were, be desired me to write to you at once, and present the compliments of Edward Instone, Esq., of Regent's Park, London, and Waterside House, Worcester, together with his grateful and altogether inexpressible thanks for the confectionery he so regularly receives. He humbly ventures to express a hope that in future, as on the two last occasions, both raisins and currants will be used in the manufacture.
This reminded me that it had been a long time since I did write to you, so I decided to cut father's letter short, and spend the rest of the time in writing to you. I can't tell you what a treat your cake is. I thank you very much, and so does Ted too, but he puts it in a queer way. He is not a bad sort of fellow, though he makes fun of most things. Not all though. I was quite surprised at him at the Cathedral on Easter Sunday.
We got permission to attend Morning Service. The music was
grand, and all seemed joyous and jubilant, but in such a large place you cannot hear all that is said, and I thought I liked our own quieter service better. But Ted Instone was like one enchanted. Šis face seemed to glow with pleasure as the choir were singing their grand choruses. All day afterwards he seemed to be hearing them over again, and we could get him to talk of nothing else but organ peals and ballelujahs. He says it reminds him of St. Paul's Cathedral and Westminster Abbey. He would like to attend the Cathedral every Sunday if the Doctor would let us, but, for my own part, I would rather have some good old tunes that I can join in. I suppose that shows my bad taste.
How do the hawthorn bushes look round you? They have been in full bloom here for a week past, and in some of the gardens are hawthorns with pink-flowers, some being double and of two shades of colour.
I hope my live stock are going on all right. Give my love to dear Clara and Helen, and to Bob, and accept a big slice a whole cake indeed, for yourself, from your affectionate son,
BEN. P.S.--l am working pretty hard at my lessons.
PAPERS FOR THOUGHTFUL BOYS.
BY THOS. STONELEY.
that it is particularly valuable, that it is connected with
brought our island within the boundaries of the civilised world. It was the ores of tin that attracted the Phoenicians, an ancient people of Asia, to Britain, of which they related the most fearful stories, in order most probably to keep other persons from visiting the barbarous island. The commerce which was thus originated seems to have have attained no inconsiderable proportions. It was , maintained by the Romans after they had established their supremacy over England, for we find that they obtained tin from Britain in order to form their bronze helmets, weapons, shields, &c. ; and in certain parts of Cornwall there still exist the mouldering remains and déb is of old furnaces, and slag or dross. The old furnaces are curiously termed " Jews' works,' and the heaps of slag, or melted earthy matter derived from the smelting of the tin ore, " Jews' attal.” There is one remarkable heap, called “ Attal Saracen,” as if tin had been melted at one time for people who traded with the Saracens, or that the metal had been prepared for those who warred with those brave descendants of Ishmael.
Spain, in the Roman period, also furnished to Europe and Africa considerable quantities of this metal; but its mines were abandoned and filled in when, after the invasions of the barbarians, it became the battle-field alternately disputed and occupied by the conquering hordes of the North and East. Since then the Spanish tin mines have never recovered their former importance. A movement has been set on foot of late years for the scientific extraction and treatment of the ores concealed beneath the surface of the Peninsula, but hitherto it has failed in its object.
About the middle of the thirteenth century Germany began to turn its tin mines to account, and soon acquired, in this branch of metallurgical industry, a superiority which induced Queen Elizabeth to import German engineers and workmen to improve the imperfect processes of our English mines.
But undoubtedly the richest and best-worked mines in Europe, even at the present day, are those of Devonshire and Cornwall, though it is said that their production is declining. The annual amount raised exceeds sixteen thousand tons of dressed ore, or nearly eleven thousand tons of the metal.
A certain quantity of tin is brought from Asia, and especially from the Island of Banca, in the Indian Archipelago, belonging to the Dutch Government. The mines of Banca were accidentally discovered early in the eighteenth century, and they exceed in wealth even those of Cornwall. The ores of tin are called
Containing tin, copper, iron, Tin pyrites, or sulphide tin sulphur, and earthy matters,
and sometimes zinc. Tin-stone, or bi: oxide of tin, and Containing tin, iron, and wood-tin, or Cornisn tin ore
oxygen, with a little siliceous
matter. Tin ore is found in veins, from which branch lesser veins, like the boughs of a tree, until they become as fine as threads. It is also found in floors or layers, and in grains and small masses, in the natural rock. Tin mines are not as deep as others; but in a few places they have been carried far under the sea. In these mines the roar of the waves sounds like thunder, and the water sometimes streams through. Great care is necessary to prevent its breaking in in such quantities as to drown the miners. Upon the discovery of a spot containing tin ore, the miners sink a pit or shaft, and follow the vein underground in levels or galleries, about six feet high and four feet wide. These are driven horizontally along the course of the vein or veins, one below the other, at intervals of from ten to twenty or thirty fathoms; and if these should be extended to any considerable distance from the original shaft, it becomes necessary, for the purposes of ventilation, to sink another shaft, which is made, as is also the first, to strike across the different levels or galleries. In the