mination there was such a shindy as I never before witnessed: old Dullmug was furious, and said he'd never apologize: I declared, if he didn't, nothing should prevent me from bringing my action; the magistrates tried to persuade me, but I was inflexible; and (by Jove! I was very near forgetting the best part of it all) my governor, who was in Court, the moment he found the law was on my side, turned suddenly round, vowed I had been shamefully used, and that, if it cost him every farthing he possessed in the world, he would see justice done me. So the end of it was, that old Dullmug was forced to write the apology; it now lies in my writing desk, and I look upon it as one of the proudest trophies man ever possessed. So, Master Frank, considering all things, I think I may reckon I got pretty well out of that scrape. Ever your affectionate, F.C. P.S.-What have you said or done to render old Vernon so bitter against you? Clara Saville tells Lucy, that, when she informed him of her having met and conversed with you alone in the Park that day, he flew into such a rage as she had never seen him in before, and abused you like a pickpocket, and she says she feels certain that, from some cause or other, he entertains a strong personal dislike to you. Entre nous, I don't think the fair Clara seems exactly to sympathize with him in this feeling. Considering that you had somewhat less than half an hour to make play in, from Lucy's account you do not seem to have wasted much time. Ah! Master Frank, you are a naughty boy; I can't help sighing when I reflect, how anxious your poor dear mother must feel about you, when she knows you're out. "Still the same light-hearted merry fellow as ever," exclaimed I, as I closed the letter, "how long, I wonder, will those buoyant spirits of his resist the depressing effect which contact with the harsh realities of life appears always sooner or later to produce? Strange, what he says about that Mr. Vernon; I am not conscious that I ever met the man till the evening of the ball, and yet I fancied there was something which seemed not utterly unfamiliar to me in the expression of his face. Vernon! Vernon! I don't believe I ever heard the name before-it's very odd. Of course what he says about Miss Saville is all nonsense; and yet there was something in her manner, which made me fancy, if I had time and opportunity-psha! what absurdity, I shall have enough to do if I am to imagine myself in love with every nice girl who says Thank you' prettily for any trifling service I may chance to render her-I am sure she is not happy, poor thing! seriously, I wish I were sufficiently intimate with her to be able to afford her the advice and assistance of a friend, should such be ever required by her. I should take the liberty of asking old Vernon what he meant by his extraordinary behaviour towards me, were I to see much more of him; there's nothing like a little plain speaking. But I need not trouble my brains about the matter; I shall probably never meet either of them again, so what does it signify-she certainly is the loveliest girl I ever saw though! heigho!" and, with a sigh for which I should have been somewhat puzzled rationally to account, I took up my gun, and set off for a day's shooting with Harry Oaklands. Time, that venerable and much vituperated individual, who, if he has to answer for some acts savouring of a taste for wanton destruction,-if he now and then lunches on some noble old Abbey, which had remained a memorial of the deep piety and marvellous skill of our forefathers,—if he crops by way of salad some wide spreading beech or hoary patriarchal oak, which had flung its shade over the tombs of countless generations, (and, as it stood forming a link between the present and the past, won men's reverence by force of contrast with their own ephemeral existence,) yet atones for his delinquencies by softening the bitterness of grief, blunting the sharp edge of pain, and affording to the broken-hearted the rest, and to the slave the freedom, of the grave;-old Time, I say, who should be praised at all events for his perseverance and steadiness, swept onward with his scythe, and cutting his way through the frost and snow of winter, once more beheld the dust of that brother of the east wind," March, converted into mud by the showers of April, and the summer was again approaching. It was on a fine morning in May, that, as Oaklands and I were breakfasting together in my rooms at Trinity, we heard a tap at the door, and the redoubtable Shrimp made his appearance. This interesting youth had, under Lawless s able tuition, arrived at such a pitch of knowingness, that it was utterly impossible to make him credit any thing; he had not the smallest particle of confidence remaining in the integrity of man, woman, or child; and, like many another of the would-be wise in their generation, the only flaw in his scepticism was the bigoted nature of his faith in the false and hateful doctrine of the universal depravity of the human race. bearer of a missive from his master, inviting Oaklands and myself to a wine party at his rooms that evening. He was the "I suppose we may as well go," said Oaklands; "I like trouble of thinking what one shall do with oneself." a positive engagement somewhere,-it saves one the "You can accept it," replied I, "but it would be a waste of time which I have no right to allow myself; not only does it make one idle while it lasts, but the next day also, for I defy a man to read to any purpose the morning after one of Lawless's symposia." 66 66 My dear boy," returned Oaklands, stretching himself, why do you take the trouble to use a long word, when a short one would do just as well? If I could but get you to economize your labour, and take things a little more easily, it would be the greatest advantage to you; that everlasting reading too,-I tell you what, Frank, you are reading a great deal too hard; you look quite pale and ill. I promised Mrs. Fairleigh I would not let you over work yourself, and you shall not either-come, you must and shall go to this party, you want relaxation and amusement, and those fellows will contrive to rouse you up a bit, and do you good." "To say the truth," I replied, "that is one of my chief objections to going. Lawless I like, for the sake of old recollections, and because he is at bottom a well-dis posed good-hearted fellow; but I cannot approve of the set of men one meets there,-it is not merely their being what is termed "fast" that I object to, for, though I do not set up for a sporting character myself, I am rather amused than otherwise to mix occasionally with that style of men; but there is a tone of recklessness in the conversation of the set we meet there, a want of reverence for every thing, human and divine, which I confess disgusts me,-they seem to consider no subject too high or too low to make a jest of." "I understand the kind of thing you refer to," answered Oaklands, "but I think it's only one or two of them who offend in that way; there's one man who is my particular aversion; I declare, if I thought he'd be there to-night, I would not go." "I think I know who you mean," replied I; "Stephen Wilford, is it not? the man they call butcher,' from some brutal thing he once did to a horse." 66 You're right, Frank; I can scarcely sit quietly by, and hear that man talk. I suppose he sees that I dislike him, for there is something in his manner to me which is almost offensive; really sometimes I fancy he wishes to pick a quarrel with me." "Not unlikely," said I, "he has the reputation of being a dead shot with the pistol, and on the strength of it he presumes to bully every one." "He had better not go too far with me," returned Oak lands, with flashing eyes, "men are not to be frightened like children; such a character as that is a public nuisance." "He will not be there to-night, I am glad to say," replied I, "for I met him yesterday, when I was walking with Lawless, and he said he was engaged to Wentworth this evening; but, my dear Harry, for heaven's sake avoid any quarrel with this man; should you not do so, you will only be hazarding your life unnecessarily, and it can lead to no good result." "My dear fellow, do I ever quarrel with any body? there is nothing worth the trouble of quarrelling about in this world; besides, it would be an immense fatigue to be shot," observed Harry, smiling. "I have no great faith in your pacific sensations, for they are nothing more," rejoined I; "your indolence always fails you, where it might be of use in subduing (forgive me for using the term) your fiery temper; besides, in allowing a man of this kind to quarrel with you, you give him just the opportunity he wants; in fact you are completely playing his game." "Well, I can't see that exactly; suppose the worst comes to the worst, and you have to fight him, he stands nearly as good a chance of being killed as you do." "Excuse me, he does nothing of the kind; going out with a professed duellist is like playing cards with a skilful gambler; the chances are very greatly in his favour; in the first place, nine men out of ten would lose their nerve entirely, when stationed opposite the pistol of a dead shot; then again there are a thousand apparent trifles, of which the initiated are aware, and which make the greatest difference, such as securing a proper position with regard to the sun, taking care that your figure is not in a direct line with any upright object, a tree or post for instance, and lots of other things of a like nature which we know nothing about, all of which he is certain to contrive to have arranged favourably for himself, and disadvantageously for his opponent. Then, having as it were trained himself for the occasion, he is perfectly cool and collected, and ready to avail himself of every circumstance he might turn to his advantage a moment's hesitation in pulling the trigger, when the signal is given, and he fires first-many a man has received his death wound before now, ere he has discharged his own pistol." My dear boy," said Harry, "you really are exciting and alarming yourself very unnecessarily; I am not going to quarrel with Wilford, or any body else; I detest active exertion of every kind, and consider duelling as a fashionable compound of iniquity, containing equal parts of murder and suicide-and we'll go to Lawless's this evening, that I'm determined upon-and-let me see I've got James's new book in my pocket. I shall not disturb you if I stay here, shall I? I'm not going to talk." Then, without waiting for an answer, he stretched himself at full length on (and beyond) the sofa, and was soon buried in the pages of that best of followers in the footsteps of the mighty genius of the North, Walter Scott-leaving me to the somewhat less agreeable task of reading Mathematics. ON THE TEMPERATURE OF THE BEE-HIVE IN WINTER. WHEN those interesting and laborious little creatures, the bees, have completed their labours for the year, and having harvested the last drop of honey from the flowers of autumn, retire to their hives to sleep away the winter, we feel curious to know how they bear the severities of the season, and what means, if any, are employed to keep out the cold. Upon this subject naturalists have differed greatly in opinion. Réaumur states, that, during the season when the country furnishes no food for bees, they do not require to eat the cold, which deprives our fields and gardens of their flowers, renders the bees torpid, in which state no transpiration takes place. Swammerdam, Huber, and others state, on the contrary, that bees do not become torpid in winter, but that even in frosty weather a full hive can maintain a temperature of 86 or 88 degrees Fahrenheit. This interesting question remained in this condition until a few years ago, when Mr. Newport (who has enriched the science of Entomology with some splendid discoveries) instituted an extensive and profound inquiry into the subject of the temperature of insects. He had long suspected of incorrectness the opinion that the hive is able to maintain a high temperature in winter, a circumstance so much at variance with the habits of insects in this country that, were it so, the hive bee would form a singular exception to the general economy of British insects. The only method, as it seemed to Mr. Newport, of arriving at the truth, was to make such arrangements as would enable him at any time, during many months, to ascertain at a glance the internal temperature of the hive. He placed a common straw hive with its entrance hole in the direction of another wooden hive, which was standing beside it in a beehouse so constructed that the whole of the back part of the house could be removed or closed at pleasure. The proper entrance for the bees at the front of the bee-house was directly into the wooden [hive, from the side of which there was a little covered communication with the entrance hole of the straw hive, to serve as a passage for the bees, and a connexion between the wooden and straw hive. The object of this was to prevent any sudden effect upon the temperature of the hive by changes which might occur in the temperature of the air without. The interior of the straw hive was thus subjected as little as possible to the variations in the open atmosphere, since the bees were obliged to pass through the empty wooden hive before they could reach the open air. In order to make the experiment with the greatest accuracy, it was necessary that the bees should never be disturbed while making an observation, and therefore a small thermometer, with a long free bulb, was passed through a hole just large enough to admit it in the top of the straw hive, about eight inches from the centre, and retained there during the whole of the subsequent observations without being removed or touched. The bees at first seemed a little inconvenienced by its presence, but within two or three days they became accustomed to it, and removed the comb and wax from around it, so that the bulb of the instrument was remaining about an inch within the free space of the hive, and the observations were then made at intervals with the greatest accuracy. The temperature of the atmosphere was taken with a thermometer similar to the one used for the hive. It was thus only necessary to notice, from time to time, the rise and fall of each thermometer, and the difference between them, the temperature of the air being of course taken in the immediate vicinity of the beehouse. By this course of observation it was found that the hive bee during winter does not become absolutely torpid; but, if left entirely undisturbed, it passes into a condition in which its temperature of body and amount of respiration become very greatly diminished, a state of deep sleep in the combs, from which, by a beautiful provision of nature, it is roused by great cold. As soon as the temperature falls considerably, the insect shakes off its torpor and commences breathing with energy, by which an amount of animal heat is produced which exerts its salutary influence on the air of the hive. It is only at a moderate temperature that the insects continue torpid, and, when in this state, it is very easy to rouse them from it by gently shaking or tapping the hive. When this is done in winter the bees wake up, become excited, and soon by the rapidity of their respirations raise the temperature of the hive to a great height. In the case of Huber and others who did not observe the scientific precautions of Mr. Newport, the thermometer was introduced into the hive at the time of making the observation, thereby disturbing the bees, and exciting them to increased vital energy, and consequently to increased animal heat. The effect of a sudden disturbance of bees is strikingly shown in the following observation. On the morning of the 2d of January, 1836, at a quarter past seven, A.M.; when there was a clear intense frost, and the thermometer in the open air stood a little above 17 degrees, that in the hive marked a temperature of 30 degrees; that is, actually two degrees below the freezing point. The bees were roused by tapping on the hive, and in sixteen minutes the mercury rose to 70 degrees, or 53 degrees above the external air. It was found by a long course of observation that the temperature of the hive, when the bees are in a state of repose, varies with that of the atmosphere; but that the change within the hive is never so rapid as in the atmosphere, unless the bees have been disturbed. When the external temperature rises very suddenly, it never exceeds that of the hive by more than one or two degrees, provided the bees are in a state of absolute rest: but if, on the contrary, the temperature of the atmosphere be suddenly diminished, that of the hive will subside also, but much less rapidly. Sometimes the two thermometers stand exactly equal to each other. On the other hand, when the bees are active and respiring quickly, the hive is even then affected in the winter months by great changes in the temperature of the external air, particularly if such changes occur late in the autumn, or at the beginning of winter. But a change in the atmosphere in summer does not so readily affect the temperature of the hive, because in summer, when the general warmth of the atmosphere ranges from 45 degrees and upwards, the bees are always active, and are not themselves so readily affected by sudden changes; while in winter, when the temperature ranges from 45 degrees downwards, the bees are very soon affected by diminished heat, and become disposed to pass into the torpid state, in which scarcely any respiration takes place, and the temperature of the little animals sinks down, or nearly so, to that of the medium in which they are placed, and even to that of the external atmosphere, if there is communication with it. Each bee is probably, in general, from 10 to 15 degrees warmer than the medium in which it lives when in a state of moderate excitement, but its heat is liable to be greatly increased from causes which will be noticed in another article, on the temperature of the hive in summer. air being at 40 degrees, the bees at mid-day maintained the temperature steadily at 57 degrees by their mode of ventilation, the hive continuing all the time to be excited. Although the hive be very much disturbed, and its temperature become greatly increased by exciting the bees in mid-winter, it will soon become quiet again, and its temperature be again reduced to within 10 or 12 degrees of the temperature of the atmosphere within about ten hours. HISTORY OF THE COTTON MANUFACTURE THE mule had not more than thirty spindles at first, but this number was rapidly increased, and doubleframes and spindles introduced, so that Manchester can now show some machines with more than tw What a contrast between such thousand spindles. engines, each forming two thousand threads of cotto at the same time, and the simple spinning-wheel, wit its one spindle, which was upset in the cottage d Hargreaves. Startling, too, is the difference between the tall seven-storied factory, re-echoing with the basy life and ceaseless din of multitudes, and the lone e tage of the spinner, placed on the verge of some Lancashire moor, or in the tranquil depths of a Derbyshire fell. This invention of Crompton gave a mighty impulse to the cotton trade, and enabled the English manufac turers to produce the fine muslins which now vie with the once famed products of the East. The inventor of the mule took out no patent, and sought no exclusive privileges; thus presenting a remarkable contrast to others, whose fierce rivalry attracted the attention of the whole kingdom. He therefore amassed no fortune, and was even compelled to subsist in his old age upon a small yearly pension of sixty-three pounds, raised by the subscriptions of those who saw the brilliant results which had followed the labours of Crompton. Not that the nation was wholly unmindful of its benefactor, as parliament voted the sum of 5,0007. in 1812, to the in ventor of the mule-jenny. This grant was not productive of much happiness to Crompton, who, attempting to es tablish his sons as cotton manufacturers, saw the 3,000 rapidly sunk in the vortex of unsuccessful trade. The mechanical improvements of Crompton did n terminate invention in this department, others having still further developed the powers of the mule. It has been already shown, that a surprising amount of heat may be suddenly developed in the hive even in mid-winter, by exciting the bees. In a second He lived to the year 1827, witnessing the accum straw-hive, which Mr. Newport had exposed to the open lating fortunes made by means of his invention, and air like the common cottage-hives, the internal temper-gazing from his lowly condition on the honours surroundature at 10 o'clock, A.M. of the 2d February, was a little ing an Arkwright, or a Peel; whilst to him the sixty over 48 degrees, being only 14 degrees higher than that three pounds alone appeared as the small reward of a of the external atmosphere. On disturbing the hive by great discovery. tapping, the mercury rose to 102 degrees, or 68 degrees above the temperature of the surrounding air. When the heat is thus suddenly increased during the earlier or latter part of winter, it becomes intolerable to the bees, and they immediately endeavour to reduce it by ventilation, provided the outer cold be not too severe to prevent their assembling near the entrance of the hive. At about 40 degrees, the temperature of the hive is quickly modified by the assiduity of the bees; "I have often," says Mr. Newport, "been amused by observing them after the hive has been disturbed for a short time, although but a few minutes before there was not a single bee on the alighting board, come hastily to the entrance of the hive, and having arranged themselves within three quarters of an inch of the doorway, begin to fan with their wings most laboriously, to occasion a current of cool air through the interior of the hive." On one occasion, when the temperature of the hive had been raised to about 70 degrees, the external (1) The curious subject of the ventilation of the hives by the bees, will be fully noticed in the article on the temperature of the hive in summer. Mr. William Strutt, of Derby, introduced the f acting mules, which may be almost said to execute ther varied tasks without the aid of man, requiring but his word of command when to begin, and how long to work. The multiplicity of their operations, the skilful devices necessary for accomplishing rightly some of the simplest results, and the marvellous order apparent amidst such complexity, are fitted to astonish even the scientific mechanists; and few besides can fully comprehend the beauty of such machines. The lady who unrolls a yard of sewing-cotton from the reel, may not observe the regularity with which the thread is wound upon the bobbin, so that one turn is laid by the side of another all along the whole length, one never falling upon, but next the other. Was not this a simple operation! Far from it; some of the nicest arrangements were essen tial to secure such a regulated side-movement. (1) Concluded from page 263. The finest mechanical appliances, fruits of many a studious | Here our observations on the cotton manufacture might terminate, were spinning, and its connected operations, alone regarded. But it seems necessary to note a few important facts in the history of those machines by which the cotton thread is woven for our use. To enter into any general description of looms is foreign to our present purpose, a few observations on the power-loom, and weaving by steam, being all which is now contemplated. When the spinning-jennys and mules came into full operation, many became apprehensive of the results, and feared lest England should be merely providing foreign nations with superior yarns, from which those rivals might form materials of a quality superior to our home productions. It was clear that the hand-loom could not use up all the twist which the machines of Arkwright and Crompton were able to produce; and, therefore, the surplus must go to the foreign manufacturer. Some now began to speculate on the possibility of moving a number of looms by machine power, and thus creating a means of manufacturing in England the enormous amount of material produced in the spinning factories. Several ingenious persons had experimented on the possibility of producing such a mechanism for weaving, before the time of Dr. Edmund Cartwright, who was the inventor of the power-loom, but their plans led to few beneficial results. Thus, in the reign of Charles II., M. de Yennes invented a loom moved by water-power; but it was regarded rather as a scientific curiosity for the speculation of the studious, than as the element of a vast national power; and was, therefore, neglected. The Royal Society, before which the paper describing the principles was read in 1678, might discuss and argue respecting the details of the new engine "to make linen cloth without the aid of an artificer, by M. de Yennes," but the age was not yet fitted to receive the offered gifts. Still the idea of a power-loom did not disappear from the minds of men; and, in the year 1750, M. Vauconson contrived one to move by the action of swivels. The age had now become more sensible of the advantages to be derived from machinery; the device of Vauconson attracted attention; and a factory for such looms was erected in Manchester by a Mr. Gartside. But of what use was a power-loom, whilst the old-fashioned spinning-wheel refused to furnish more than its very limited quantity of twist, for which even the hand-weaver had frequently to wait? and the power-loom had, therefore, little prospect of more than half work. It was folly, then, to call up a giant to perform the work which ordinary mortals could accomplish by the ancient methods. Besides, these swivel-looms were not attended with any material diminution of human toil, one man being required for the management of each; a fact by no means likely to satisfy those who had fixed their hearts upon machine power as the creator of new wealth and prosperity. frame, and mule, during which conversation some one casually remarked, that hands would never be found to weave the cotton produced by Arkwright's mill only; to which Cartwright, smiling, replied, that the great spinner must contrive a weaving-mill to use up his productions. All declared that such an invention was impossible; and several persons, well acquainted with the weaving process, entered into minute explanations to convince the Doctor of the utter hopelessness of the attempt. He understood little of weaving, and was unable to answer the technical arguments brought forward, but remarked that he did not consider a power-loom of more difficult construction than the automaton chessplayer, which had been lately exhibited in London. He enlarged upon the difficulties which must have been overcome before a number of wires, wheels, and bits of wood could be so arranged as to play through the most complicated games; and, therefore, concluded that the power-loom was not an impossible machine. After the party separated, Cartwright could not forget the nature of his own arguments; thoughts of their truth or falsehood were continually present; and he resolved himself to test the difficulties said to be so insuperable. He saw that in all weaving three different movements were repeated, over and over, till the work was complete. The warp was opened, the shuttle thrown, and the batten, descending, struck home the weft. Surely, thought he, it cannot be impossible to produce three different motions, nor to repeat them as often as necessary. With these reflections he com menced his experiments, and at last finished a machine which seemed likely to effect the intended object. As he understood nothing of weaving, a man well skilled in the whole process was engaged to set the machine to work. Operations began, and, to the delight of Cartwright, proceeded so satisfactorily, that a piece of stout sail-cloth was produced, as the first fruits of the device. But, however pleasing the result might be to Cartwright, he could not fail to note how little the man engaged to superintend the loom seemed to think of its power. Pru Nor was this surprising, every part being constructed upon a mistaken notion of the force requisite in weaying, which he had so over estimated, that all the springs and movements worked with a power far exceeding that which was requisite in an operation demanding more of lightness and regularity of action than power. His newly-produced loom was sadly deficient in these qualities, working with such violence, that two strong men were soon exhausted in the effort to direct its action. This would never do, as a little practical knowledge might have convinced Cartwright. He was, however, so delighted with his success, that a patent was taken out in April, 1785, for working the invention. dence now obtained a hearing, and strongly urged upon the exulting patentee the duty of acquiring some further knowledge of weaving before he committed himself to the manufacture of machines which might be utterly useless to practical men. Cartwright, therefore, began to study the mysteries of warp, weft, and shuttle; and quickly discovered that his invention was, in its present state, little better than a toy. He saw at the same time the source of its defects, and commenced a re-arrangement of the different parts, and an alteration of their form and size. In two years a new patent was taken out; and the inventor, who had now demonstrated the possibility of the power-loom, prepared to seek some solid advantages from his discovery. A weaving-mill was erected at Doncaster; but the perseverance of the discoverer was not united, in Cartwright, with the Many were disposed to question the possibility of knowledge and habits of the trader; the undertaking, constructing power-looms; and such was the prevailing did not, therefore, lead to fortune, or even moderate opinion in the year 1787, when the busy engines of advantages. The truth is, that the new invention Arkwright were producing cotton twist by miles, in required further development and modification, before place of yards. In that year Dr. Cartwright and some it could supply the manufacturer with the desired gentlemen were eagerly discussing the results likely to power; and Cartwright was but another instance of a follow from the recent introduction of the jenny, water- I discoverer bringing his schemes into operation before omitting the various processes of printing, dyeing, &e, which are rather consequent upon, than parts of, the cotton-making art. The much disputed question respecting the advantages or disadvantages of machinery to society, is one into which it would be useless to enter, our object being not to weave theories, but present the facts which have had a commanding influence on human institutions. they had received that finish so essential to the profitable | steps in the history of the cotton manufacture must end, working of machinery. Still he was the first to demonstrate the facilities with which the power-loom could be worked, and to create an unceasing auxiliary of the spinning engines. No fear was henceforth expressed of a too abundant manufacture of yarn, for close at hand stood the loom to receive all that the engine could produce. So sensible was the nation of the great services performed by Cartwright, that Parliament voted him, in 1809, the sum of £10,000, as some compensation for his labours and efforts to develop the idea of the power-loom. Cartwright, as some of our readers are doubtless aware, was distinguished in many respects for his mechanical genius, which was by no means limited to experiments on the loom; but extended to the production of locomotive carriages, and the propulsion of vessels by steam. In these absorbing and useful pursuits, Edmund Cartwright passed his life, far from the exciting and tumultuous scenes in which his brother, Major John Cartwright, was ever engaged. Both were distinguished for a mechanical genius; nor could the political struggles of the major wholly restrain him from such pursuits. The inventor of the power-loom died in 1824, at the advanced age of eighty-one, leaving to his country a power which has, next to the jenny and the mule, advanced the manufacturing strength of England. Since the time of Cartwright, the power-loom has advanced with a rapidity which few could have predicted; for, whilst in 1820-four years before the inventor's death-the number at work was about 14,000, in thirteen years after no less than 100,000 of these machines made the land, as it were, to echo with their ceaseless din. Nor is the increase of number the chief point calling for attention, the command obtained over the engines, and the ease with which they are worked, being even more remarkable. From this perfection of machinery arises that cheapness of cotton productions, which enables the Lancashire manufacturer to sell his goods in the distant provinces of India at a less rate than the native can produce them himself, though having the cotton on the spot, and few expenses by which the cost of his work can be increased. The mule and the power-loom, uniting their energies to the might of steam, have accomplished such results, and now startle the distant Hindoo weaver on the banks of the Ganges, by bringing to his hut a material to supersede the product of his own rude loom. A good hand-loom weaver seldom produced more than forty-eight yards of cotton in a week, but a steamloom weaver is able, with the assistance of a boy, to manufacture nearly four hundred and fifty yards; and this increased quantity shall also, in many cases, be of a quality superior to hand made goods. This result may surprise those who regard the human hand as the most delicate of instruments, not to be equalled, much less surpassed, by any machinery, however perfect. But we must remember, that in the operation of weaving one great essential is uniformity of action, that all strokes upon the weft shall be of the same force, other wise the cloth will vary in thickness, and want that even beauty so attractive in the most highly finished pieces. It is precisely this uniformity which machinery alone can secure; for that, never tiring, performs its task with the regularity which can only be expected from an engine. Where such regularity is required, the hand being affected by the thousand muscular agencies of the body, and the emotions of the mind, can never rival the uniformity of the steam engine's stroke. Various improvements have been made in the power-loom since the days of Cartwright, but these, though important to the manufacturer, are too much involved in minute and technical details for discussion in these pages. Here, therefore, our notice of the more important The factory system does undoubtedly demand the utmost watchfulness and prudence, lest it should issue in the mischief predicted by its opponents; but surely such a moral controul may be applied to those busy human groups crowded in the great hives of labour, as to prevent the disastrous consequences apt to arise from neglected masses of untaught men. Many devices have been adopted in the large factories by which injury to human health is avoided, as may be exemplified in the improved batting machines, which prevent the dust from the beaten cotton escaping into the work rooms; and surely the skill of wise, christianhearted men, can devise some means for preventing much of that moral evil, which has so justly been con plained of in our factories. The old quiet life of the spinner and weaver is gone, probably for ever, since the vast combinations of machinery require the grouping of men in one spot; let us then take the factory system as a thing settled amongst us, and aim to bring it within the influence of sound moral principles. Then we may contemplate with pleasure the tall factories of the North, and view with delight the results of those inventions which will through many an age preserve the names of Wyatt, Hargreaves and Arkwright, with his who called up the mighty power-loom to receive the products of the jenny and mule. Food and clothing are the two great physical wants of man; let us hope that the skilfully contrived ma chinery which provides the one, may not be a source of evil to rich or poor, to England or the world. LIBRARIES. THE newspapers have lately announced the death of Mr. Grenville, a statesman whose name is associated with some of the most momentous events in the modern history of the country, at the extraordinary age of upwards of eighty. And this announcement was followed in a few days by another, that he had bequeathed his splendid library to the British Museum. The cir cumstances under which the bequest was made are of considerable interest. Mr. Grenville, after having filled several important diplomatic appointments, lived for many years in the enjoyment of a sinecure office, the whole income of which, amounting to a considerable sum, he regularly devoted to the formation of a library, which many years before his death had become one of the most valuable collections ever made by any private individual. Its present value is estimated at £42,000; but the sum which must have been laid out in its collection, it cannot be doubted, must have been considerably greater. It is difficult to conceive a more appropriate use of an income so derived. If Mr. Grenville received the public money without rendering any direct services in return, he at least made no selfish use of the acquisition. He was in fact a trustee for the nation, regularly and voluntarily applying a portion of the public funds to a purpose of great interest and importance, which, if left to the public itself, would certainly have been neglected. If sinecures generally led to such results, we should not be disposed very severely to censure the system. An article in the Quarterly Review for May 1843, has |