Year: 1868

that my wife was dying, aud that | mus


return to Reading on the instant, or aban


don all hope of ever seeing her in life
again. My mother had written to me i'm


ploring me to hasten to Mary's side. Hcl


letter was hastily written, and, in some


portions, was unconnected in style; bu


the import of its words was sadly plain Il


me. Mary had been stricken with dis


ease, which at that time prevailed in the
dcnsely populated quarter of the town il
which they lived-a disease which bafil


ed the doctors skill, and from which the
patient would either die or recover il
three days time.


The sun was about setting when | re,
ceiVed my mothers letter. ! went nl
once to the foreman Of the mine at which
! worked, stated the case, and tod him
that it was necessary that should reach
Port Carbon that night in season TO take
the first train for Reading.


The distance was about ten miles: but
it was not this fact that gave me cause for
doubt and anxiety. My path lay across
a bleak tract, SCARED with the remains oi
old mines and interpreted with danger.
Gus pits, hidden by the dark vegetation
which sprang up around the mouths Of
the deserted shafts and concealed them
from view. did not take into consider.
alton the danger which might attend my
steps III crossing this tract of ground, for
my mind was tCo intent upon picturing
TO myself the vision Of Mary's pale face
turned pitcously TO the dou1 awaiting my
coming. In that dark vision / had no
thought Of any personal peril. II the
danger had been a hundred times as
great, still would have perscvcred in
the attempt to reach Port Carbon that
night before the train which would enable
me TO bo in Reading by the next morning
should pass through the village.


There was n great darkness resting
upon the earth when ] entered upon the
lonely waste which was TO cross before
should catch glimpse Of the lights Of
Port Carbon. As / went on, the dark
ness became moro intense around me.
The fading light Of day had hitherto been
Of great service 10 me in enabling me to
pick my way through the many pitfalls
which threatened me on every side; but
now, as | went farther aud farther into
the gloom in front Of me, / felt that my
knowledge Of the locality must bear me
out in safety.


Much as my spirit rcbeled against the
necessity for caution, was forced TO walk
slowly. The ground was rough with the
dirt from the excavations which had been
made years before in the spot, and which
had been thrown aside near the mouths
of the pits. Whenever reached To-
calily of this kind, picked my way care
fully until | was certain that the danger
was passed. So we'll was | acquainted
with the ground over which | was walk
ing that | could recognize-evcn in the
darkness that prcyaled-the chief points
Of the locality as passed them, and by
this means could form a fair estimate as
to the distance which still had to trav-
ersc before reaching the village.


Looking back at the events of that
night. cannot, at this distant day, recall
the first iu,imation of the disaster that
Ioycrtook nc. had fallen into rcyerie,
aud my mind had advcrtcd to the past,
aud was dwelling upon that event which,
a year before, had made me Mary's hus-
band and protector, and / was thinking
of tho dear girls pleasant smile and
cheerful nature. From that reyerie had
awakened to the consciousness that was
near the end Of my tramp, and | was
straining my gaze through the darkness,
and looking out eagerly for the first
twinkling light in the village, when sud
denly felt thrill of horror as I became
aware that was falling, without the pow
er of preventing the catastrophe; and in
the next moment | was lying, bleeding
and stunned, thirty feet below the surface
OF the.carth.


1t was some time before could gath
f er my faculties. When finally did so;
| understood that no power save that ot
Heaven-and had no hopes of special
+ miracle in my favor-conld carry me to
Mary's side before the crisis of her sick
ness should be passed. Even before /
teebly essayed-for my bruises did not
, allow me much case of movement-to
discover, by cropping around the walls OF
, my prision hole, some method of escape,
knew that my labor would be in vain.
For | was aware that this was not an un-
worked mine iuto which had fallen,
but that it was hole about which / had
, frequently heard the villagers speak; a
drcary, desolate man.pit, to which q
mournful history Of sudden death was at.
tached, involving the fate OF man who
had fallen into it century before, and
which had descended from father to son,
; and invested the lonely spot with all the
r horrors of haunted ground in the minds
of the simple country-folks around.
was lying helpless at the bottom o.


6 Dead Mans Pit" aud whore the aid O
} human hands and the sound of human
) voices would never reach me! s


} A brief survey suficed to enable me t.
tlrealize the terrible danger in which Twas
s placed! The side of the pit rose precip
II itously to the surface, and offered no foot
!. hold by which to ascend to the top. The
ground at the bottom was damp and soft
1 and to this feature | owed my preserva
J. tion from instant death


t Weakened by the fall, | lay there 70


awhile uncertain what to do. A fain


hope strengthened me that, by calling 70
+, help, some aid might come to me in tn
g shape of wanderer, belated 10 the dark
IS ness, crossing the bleak, open space o.
e his way to Port Carbon. shoute'
q loudly twice or thrice; but in vain. N
It answer came but the taunting echoes. 0
o the pit And then thought of the tra
III Idition which hung about the place, an
Il u Il ! ~ iuarca1 orodnnoa whic