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able forest, though it is only hard, dry, and tasteless. Autumn shakes it down, and buries it as an untimely abortion, with abortive leaves, and the dwarf-tree sinks back in despair into the icy arms of winter again, to repeat year after year-until perhaps a hundred are faintly told upon its inner wood-the same mournful process. Not, let us gladly say, on the authority of one well competent to speak, that all the Chinese take pleasure in this cruel freak; for it is well known that some wealthy men-men surely who rightly estimate the blessings of liberty, even if they have not loftier conceptions as to the sensations (?) of vegetable vitality-spend considerable sums in purchasing dwarf-trees for the express purpose of removing them from their earthen prisons, and setting their cramped-up fibres free.

Since the exhibition of one of these starvelings in the Chinese Collection, we have noticed what seems to be an attempt to introduce this perverted taste among ourselves. We have had the pain of seeing a Tom Thumb rose-tree planted in a pot of an inch and a-half diameter, and struggling up to the altitude of three or four inches in its efforts to expand one or two rose-buds to the size of a small sixpence. More recently still, our attention has been caught by some funny little green objects, planted in very fiery-looking pots like big thimbles, and set forth in the shop-windows with a placard reading thus, Real living miniature plants after the manner of the Chinese, imported from Germany.' On closer inspection, we were glad to find that there was no systematic cruelty necessary in their production at anyrate, for they appeared to be simply very young members of the family of the cacti. Many of these little things are full of flower; and being tastefully arranged, put into miniature flower-baskets or upon tiny flower-stands, they have, for those who admire the minute, a pleasing effect. The art of dwarfing, where it has been confined to reasonable limits, where it has brought flowers in the room of foresttrees into the conservatory, or where it has been beneficial in the orchard and field in restraining the excessive vigour of trees and plants, is a valuable handmaid to the horticulturist: need we say when it is made subservient to an idle whim, or to gratify a morbid taste for the curious, we should be sorry to see it practised, or its practice encouraged in an age and time like ours?

HOW TO GET ON?

PENT up in these little islands there are some thirty million human beings struggling and shouldering their way from the cradle to the grave. The means of comfortable living are enough, though not more than enough, for all; but the partition is influenced partly by individual management, and partly by a mystical sequence of incidents, which, in our ignorance of its laws, we commonly set down as chance. It is no wonder that, in this anxious, eager crowd, we hear on all sides the cry, How to get on? By some it is uttered in a tone of earnest inquiry, while in others it assumes the accents of peevishness, indignation, or despair. The unsuccessful complain of the injustice not only of that tyrannical abstraction, Fortune, but of their luckier brethren; the impatient revile those who are before them for standing in their way; the indolent denounce the industrious for taking the bread out of their mouths; some, losing heart, beg humbly of the passers-by for the morsel they cannot earn; and others take by fraud or force what they could far more easily secure by honest ingenuity or resolve. The malcontents array themselves in classes, order arms against order, and the social war never wants fomenters even among those who cannot be supposed to be either blinded by ignorance or goaded by want.

This struggle, notwithstanding its heterogeneous elements, goes on, upon the whole, with great uniformity, and its results are wonderfully impartial. The jealousy of classes originates in a mere delusion. The operatives

think of the masters as if they belonged to a distinct and hostile tribe, forgetting-or rather wilfully shutting their eyes upon a fact which they know of their own knowof which themselves form a part; the masters regard their ledge that the latter rose originally from the same mass gentlemen customers with envy, as persons who have no right to be idle, never thinking that the leisure of which they complain has been bought by work; and the gentlemen look up to a higher gentry or nobility as desertless minions of luck, omitting to carry their gaze a few generations back, when the illustrious line would in most cases be seen to spring from the meanest kinds of service. We might go on to remark, that the analytical follows of necessity the synthetical process; that the greatest aggregations of wealth return in time to their elements; that the myriad wheels of fortune going constantly round in this country differ only in the length of their revolution; and that we are all, high and low, rich and poor, subject interfere with the free agency of individuals; on the conto the same laws of social change. But this does not trary, it shows that we have all a chance, if we will only place ourselves in the way; and it gives force and meaning to the otherwise useless question, How to get on!

There is no want of answers to this question, but they are all more or less visionary and empirical. They usually proceed upon the quack system of nostrums, Some recommend a calm and dogged perseverance as the one thing needful; others a quick succession of energetic attempts; and so on; and all are backed, with equal strength, by proverbs of most respectable antiquity, illustrated and proved by modern instances. It is not easy to find fault with the popular nostrums, for most of them are moral and sensible in themselves; but we all know that a thing may be extremely applicable in a par ticular case, and yet mischievous, or merely absurd, if adopted as a specific. The continuance of the cry proves the emptiness of the answer. We do not get on a bit the better for being told how; and at every new crisis we look with envy and hate upon those who are more fortunate than ourselves, attributing our own misfortunes to the unfair constitution of society. I have persevered,' says one, 'till I have grown gray-haired in poverty; I have laughed at the instability of my comrades, till they have risen into fortune above my head; I have stuck to my business, without turning my eyes to the right or the left, till it has deserted me.' Another declares that he has seized every opportunity of bettering his condition; that he has worked day and night, and tried trade after trade; and that now, when everything has failed with him, he sees by his side the poor drudge, the man of one idea, rising gradually into comfort, and even rank. These are terrible anomalies: they throw the specifics into disrepute; and the cry begins anew, How to get on!

We saw the other day a modern instance' of the injustice of fortune. It occurred in the case of some boys, who were fishing in the Firth of Forth. One little, ragged, bareheaded, barefooted urchin stuck to his post like a limpet; while his companions wandered along the shore, casting their lines at every step. The latter sought the fish, while the fish sought him; the one not finding what they took so much trouble to seek, and the other merely standing still, and securing the candidates for the bait as fast as he could jerk them in. On returning from our stroll, we found this scene at its close. The limpet had unfastened himself from his rock, and was wending homewards with a string of podleys and flukes (young coalfish and flounders) half a yard long; while his wearied and empty-handed comrades were walking gloomily by his side, eyeing him askance, and, we have no doubt, thinking within them

selves that he had some hand in their bad luck. Aha!' thought we, in our wisdom, here is an illustration of the great business of life: steadiness and perseverance are ever sure of their reward!' The next day we passed the same place, and saw with marked approbation our young friend once more upon his rock, while his unphilosophical companions were prowling as formerly along the shore. But somehow or other the result on this occasion was different. No steadiness, no perseverance, could gain the limpet a single nibble, while the peripatetic efforts of the rest were highly successful; and as the boys were going home, we heard the disappointed angler bitterly accusing his neighbours of having drawn away his fish! On this second occasion we were not so ready to draw the moral. It was clear that some under-plot was going on beneath the surface of the water, with the moves of which we were unacquainted-that the fortune of podley-catchers was determined by circumstances of which we knew not the course or nature. It may be that, if we were far enough advanced in science, we might be able to tell, from the state perhaps of the wind or tide, whether our enticements would have most effect if offered from a rock or when wandering along the shore; but in the meantime, it was clear that the podleys thought very little of our aphorisms, and laughed our nostrums to

scorn.

Although it is impossible, however, to twist the incident into an illustration in favour of any universal theory, it may suggest to us that in the bosom of society there are agencies at work as complicated and mysterious as those that govern the Forth. Is there, then, no general rule for getting on' in the world? We think there is. We cannot tell what is coming; but we can hold ourselves in preparation for what may befall. A ship that goes forth upon the ocean is provided with appliances both for catching the breeze and evading the storm; and were it otherwise, she would have no chance of making a prosperous voyage. If we examine the history of men who have risen in society, we find their elevation, although apparently the result of chance, to be due, in reality, to the fact of their being ready to take advantage of the wind or the current. To suppose otherwise is to suppose human beings to be inert logs floating upon the stream, or feathers dancing in the air. When we hear of a man plodding for life at a thankless profession, we may, in nine cases out of ten, conclude him to be destitute of the information or accomplishments which would have enabled him to take advantage of the thousand circumstances which are constantly at work in such

crowded communities as ours.

We are frequently told of persons who have got on by chance; but if we inquire into the particulars of the story, we are sure to discover that they possessed peculiar capabilities for taking advantage of the opening that may have occurred. We knew a lad who was chosen from his compeers for a service which eventually led to prodigious advancement. And why? Simply because this lad possessed, in a higher degree than the others, the accomplishment of penmanship, which happened to be specially wanted in his new employment. The illustration is a humble one; but if we call to mind the character of the age we live in, its varied knowledge, and hightoned refinement, we shall be led from it to conclude, as a general rule, that something more than chance must rule the destinies of the fortunate. To descend still lower; suppose a cobbler working at his stall in a village -industriously, soberly, perseveringly. All, perhaps, will not do. The village is waxing to a town; sanguine cobblers come faster than shoes to mend; and the poor man sinks into destitution. Why is this? Because he was a cobbler who stuck like cobbler's wax to the proverb, and never went beyond his last. Because his mind was imprisoned in his stall. Because he was unable to take advantage of any one of the currents and countercurrents that are rushing and gushing in a rising place, and when his own stagnated, could only drift like a lifeless log.

The way to get on is not to rush from employment to employment, or to worry ourselves and others with our

impatience, but to keep up, as far as circumstances permit, with the requirements of a refined and accomplished age, and thus be ready to avail ourselves of any reasonable opportunities that may offer. If no such opportunities occur, what then? Why, then, we have enjoyed the finer part of success; we have lived beyond our social condition; we have held intellectual association with the master minds of the world; we have prolonged even life itself, by multiplying the spirit of life, which is Thought. As for the notion that we can only extend our mental acquisitions by neglecting our social employment, that is a fallacy which is refuted by the very constitution of the society in which we live. Were this notion correct, there would be no such thing as the constant progression we have described from the lower to the higher ranks: the whole mass would stagnate.

But while openly avowing our disbelief in the old quack nostrums which it has been customary to administer, by way of a placebo, to impatient spirits, we do not go the length of denying to each its own special virtue. Perseverance, energy, prudence, resolution, sobriety, honesty-all are necessary for success; but neither singly nor in the aggregate are they capable of insuring it. If we seek advancement, our minds must expand beyond our present position, whatever it be; and this they can only do by the acquisition of knowledge. It is a simple secret no doubt as simple as that of Columbus when he taught his audience how to make an egg stand on end. But for all that, it is the solution of the grand question: it is the way, and the only way, to GET ON.

A MONSTER UNVEILED. 'POOR thing! I do feel for her. Though she is a person I never saw, yet hers seems a case of such oppression on the one hand, and such patient suffering on the other, that one cannot but'

she often steals out then, when the wretch, I suppose, 'Oh I daresay you'll see her in the morning, for is in bed.'

'But what could have induced a girl to tie herself to such a man?'

'Well, I don't know: the old story, I suppose-false appearances; for no girl in her senses could have married a man with his habits, if she had known of them beforehand. There is sometimes a kind of infatuation about women, I allow, which seems to blind them to the real character of the man they are in love with;

but in this case I don't think she could have known

how he conducted himself, or she certainly would have paused in time. Oh the wretch, I have no patience with him!'

This little dialogue took place in one of those neat, bright, clean-windowed, gauzy-curtained houses, which form so many pretty districts within a walking distance of the mighty heart of the great metropolis, and between two ladies, the one the mistress of the said nice-looking cottage villa, and the other her guest, a country matron who had just arrived on a visit to her town friend; and the object of the commiseration of both was the occupant of a larger and handsomer villa exactly opposite, but apparently the abode of great wretchedness.

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The following morning Mrs Braybrooke and her guest Mrs Clayton were at the window of the parlour, which commanded a full view of the dwelling of the unhappy Mrs Williams, when the door quietly opened and was as quietly closed again by the lady herself.

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There she is, poor soul,' cried Mrs Braybrooke: only look how carefully and noiselessly she draws the gate after her. She seems always afraid that the slightest noise she may make even in the street may wake the fellow, who is now, I daresay, sleeping off the effects of last night's dissipation.'

Mrs Clayton, with all the genial warmth of a truly womanly heart, looked over, and followed with her eyes as far as the street allowed this quiet-looking, brokenspirited wife, investing the whole figure, from the

neatly-trimmed straw-bonnet to the tips of the bright little boots, with a most intense and mysterious sympathy; then fixing her anxious interested gaze on the opposite house, she said, 'And how do they live? How do people under such circumstances pass the day? It is a thing I cannot comprehend; for were Clayton to act in such a way, I am sure I couldn't endure it a week.'

tion of the house, I find,' she said, 'you are a near neighbour of a dear friend of mine, Mrs Williams.'

Mrs Williams!' exclaimed both her hearers, pale with excitement and curiosity; 'Mrs Williams! Oh how very singular that you should know her, poor miserable creature! Oh do tell us about'

'Poor-miserable! What can you mean? You mistake; my Mrs Williams is the happiest little woman in London!'

'Oh it cannot be the same,' said Mrs Braybrooke. I mean our opposite neighbour in Hawthorn Villa; I thought it couldn't be'

'Hawthorn Villa!-the very house. You surely cannot have seen her, or her husband, who'

'It does seem scarcely intelligible,' answered Mrs Braybrooke; but I'll tell you how they appear to do. She gets up and has her breakfast by herself for without any wish to pry, we can see straight through their house from front to back. About this time she often comes out, I suppose, to pay a visit or two in the neighbourhood, or perhaps to call on her tradespeople; and you will see her by and by return, looking up, as she approaches, at the bedroom window; and if the blind be drawn up, she rushes in, thinking, I daresay, 'He!' in her turn interrupted her friend Mrs Ecclesto herself, "How angry he will be if he comes down hall. He a gambler! He is the most exemplary young and finds that I am not there to give him his break- man in London-a pattern of every domestic virtue fast!" Sometimes he has his breakfast at twelve-at-kind, gentle, amiable, and passionately fond of his one-at two; and I have seen him sitting down to it young wife!' when she was having her dinner.'

'And when does he have his dinner?'

'Oh, his dinner; I daresay that is a different sort of thing from hers-poor woman! He dines, I suppose, at a club, or with his boon companions, or anywhere, in fact, but at home.'

And when does he come home then generally?' 'At all hours. We hear him open the little gate with his key at three, four, and five in the morning. Indeed our milkman told Susan that he has seen him sneaking in, pale, haggard, and worn out with his horrid vigils, at the hour decent people are seated at breakfast.'

'I wonder if she waits up for him?'

'Oh no, for we see the light of her solitary candle in her room always as we are going to bed; and you may be sure my heart bleeds for her-poor solitary thing! I don't know, indeed, that I was ever so interested about any stranger as I am about this young creature.'

'Dear, dear! it is terrible!' sighed the sympathising Mrs Clayton. But does any one visit them? Have they friends do you think?'

"I don't think he can have many friends, the heartless fellow; but there are a great many people callingstylish people too-in carriages; and there is he, the wretch, often with his half-slept look, smiling and handing the ladies out, as if he were the most exemplary

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My dear Mary, you have made me quite melancholy let us go out. You know I have much to see, and many people to call upon; and here we are losing the best part of the day in something not much removed from scandal.'

The ladies of course set out, saw all the 'loves of bonnets' in Regent Street; all the sacrifices' that were being voluntarily offered up in Oxford Street; bought a great many things for less than half the original cost;' made calls; laughed and chatted away a pleasant exciting day for the country lady, who, happily for herself, forgot in the bustle the drooping crestfallen bird who was fretting itself away in its pretty cage in

Road.

The next day a lady, a friend of Mrs Clayton, who had been out when she had left her card the day before, called, and after chatting for some time, turned to Mrs Braybrooke, and complimenting her on the situa

'Oh the dreadful, wretched, gambling fellow!' interrupted Mrs Braybrooke. 'I wouldn't know such a man

'My dear Mrs Eccleshall, how can you say all this of a man whose conduct is the common talk of the neighbourhood; a man lost to every sense of shame, I should suppose; who comes home to his desolate wife at all hours; whose only ostensible means of living is gambling or something equally disreputable; who'

You have been most grievously misled,' again interposed Mrs Eccleshall. Who can have so grossly slandered my excellent friend Williams? He cannot help his late hours, poor fellow. That may safely be called his misfortune, but not his fault!' and the good lady warmed as she spoke, till she had to untie her bonnet and fan her glowing face with her handkerchief.

"His misfortune?' murmured Mrs Braybrooke. 'How can that be called a misfortune which a man can help any day he pleases?'

But he cannot help it, poor soul! He would be too happy to spend his evenings at home with his dear little wife, but you know his business begins when other people's is over.'

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Then what, in Heaven's name, is his business?' 'Why, didn't you know? He's the EDITOR of a MORNING NEWSPAPER!'

A VISIT TO THE DERBYSHIRE POTTERIES. THESE works are scattered over a finely-undulating district lying midway between Burton-on-Trent and the classic town of Ashby-de-la-Zouch-the more important being comprised in the villages of Woodville -or Wooden-Box, as the labouring population persist in calling it-and Swadlincote. The neighbourhood abounds in the most essential materials-coal and clay; and the eye, as it roams over the slopes of the hills, is attracted by the gray smoke of distant limekilns-huge conical furnaces smoking like petty vol canoes; and here and there the tall chimney and black creaking machinery of the coal-pits. It is one of the scenes, half agricultural half commercial, so often met with in the midland counties-the greenness of the pastures and hedgerows obscured by smoke, and the fields intersected by numerous black footpaths, or gradually disappearing under the continually-accumulating heaps of refuse. Industrial art, however, is always deserving of attention, whatever its locality; as, apart from the gratification arising out of the sight of the various mechanical or other operations, there are peculiarities originating in local circumstances, and their effect upon the manners and habits of the persons employed.

During a recent sojourn in the north, I was enabled to visit the works at Swadlincote, where I met with a most cordial reception from Messrs Sharpe the pro

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I was first conducted to the stores of raw materialthe clay, which is obtained at distances of a mile or so, in different parts of the valley in which the manufactory is situated. It lies at a depth varying from five to thirty yards beneath the surface, with a seam of coal immediately above it. It is of a dirty gray colour, and when broken, invariably exhibits remains of what appear to have been rushes, among which frequently occur perfect and beautiful impressions of small leaves. In 'getting' this clay, where near the surface, a singular fact has come to light: the overlying bed of coal has been in many places dug away, apparently by human agency, but not the slightest clue exists as to the period when the removal was effected.

number of faces, it is obvious, may be made to vary with the size of the article, and a most agreeable effect is produced by this comparatively slight modification, especially in some specimens where each angle of the exterior was made the termination of a moulded Gothic heading immediately below the rim. In a similar way the edge of a pie-dish is made to present a series of graceful curves to the eye, without at all complicating the task of future cleansing.

After the vessels made by the thrower have undergone a partial drying, they are finished on a lathe by the turner, who also applies the stripes or bands of colour. On the bench before him are seen several close and the spouts terminated by one, two, or more quills. vessels resembling teapots, with hollow straight handles, Each of these vessels contains a colour in solution, and the turner, taking them up in turn, places the quills close to the swiftly-revolving jug or basin, and by blowing into the handle, forces the colour against the clay, on which it remains permanently imprinted. In this way any variety of bands may be produced: and here also due regard has been had to improve and chasten the effect. There is no good reason why a thing should After excavation, many tons of the clay are laid to-be ugly because it is cheap. By the introduction of gether in flat heaps, and exposed to the atmosphere, by black or dark-brown veins transferred from printed which means the hardened lumps disintegrate, and get paper, the appearance of Sienna marble is given to the into working condition: the length of time required finished articles, and a character stamped on yellow for this purpose is about six months. To insure a con- ware qualifying it to take its place among more costly tinual supply, a number of these heaps are kept in dif- clay: in fact marbling raises it to an equality of price ferent stages of forwardness. Their presence upon the with other kinds. Those extraordinary figures seen on ground immediately surrounding the works is one of the sides of yellow jugs and basins, representing a bunch the ugly features of the neighbourhood. of moss or cluster of fibrous sea-weed, are produced by one touch of a pencil charged with colour. These are put on by the turner's assistant-frequently a femalewho takes the vessels away as fast as they are finished, first giving a few rapid touches with the brush. The colour being mixed with tobacco water, runs of itself into the fantastic shapes above alluded to. By and by these will give place to a better style of art, and the vessels which escape breakage may do duty in the museums of posterity.

When ready for use, the clay is mixed and mashed with water, no other ingredient being necessary, as is the case in the Staffordshire potteries, where superior kinds of ware are manufactured. When sufficiently attenuated, it is passed through a fine silk sieve, and falls, perfectly freed from grit and other coarse substances, into a deep brick cistern, from which it is pumped into an adjoining cistern, called the kiln,' not more than one foot in depth, but fifty feet long and five feet wide. While on this kiln, the superabundant water is evaporated by the application of heat, after which the clay becomes surprisingly tenacious, and is ready for the throwers,'' pressers,' or dish-makers.'

The thrower works with a horizontal wheel in front of him. Taking up a lump of the moist clay, he throws it down upon the revolving instrument, and in a few seconds, under his manipulation, the shapeless mass becomes a basin, vase, or jar. In this way jugs, mugs, bowls, garden-pots, and a host of miscellaneous articles, are produced with marvellous despatch-almost incredible to a stranger, and yet essential to the urgent appeal for cheapness. It is interesting to note the instantaneousness with which changes of form are made: whatever be the object in the workman's thought, such it rises before him-jug, mug, vase, or basin-a slight variation in the pressure or application of the fingers produces the required variation. How much in this case depends on tact! Each movement, from throwing down the lump to its separation from the wheel as a finished vessel, can only be acquired by steady practice. Much, too, depends on the condition of the thrower's hands. After a strike, or a long fit of idleness, a short apprenticeship, so to speak, must be served before they again acquire the accustomed ease and smoothness.

Messrs Sharpe have shown that the manufacture of yellow ware, not less than that of nobler products, admits of improvements. In their hands the uncouthly daubed vessels are assuming an ornamental and even elegant appearance, without adding to the cost or diminishing the utility. These changes are of a nature to cause a large development in the moulders' (pressers') branch of the trade. I saw some of the first of the improved articles: one of the alterations consists in giving a decagonal or polygonal form to the outside of a basin without destroying the circular form within. The

After the turning, the vessels are ready for the spouts and handles. The latter are produced by filling a boxpress with clay, and then by a turn of the handle, a strip of clay of the required form, three or four feet in length, is forced out at an orifice underneath. The strips are cut into lengths, trimmed, and bent to the proper curve, and affixed by moistening the points of contact with a little water.

When dried a sufficient time in the atmosphere, or, according to the weather, in a hothouse,' the whole batch of ware is put into the biscuit-oven' to be fired.' Most persons are familiar with the enormous conical structures to be seen at potteries and glass-works. Within the outer wall an inner circle is built up, which forms the oven. The articles to be fired are placed inside of large coarse pans, called 'seggars,' made of fireclay and marl-plate on plate, basin in basin, as closely as possible; and when filled, the seggars are piled one on the other, until the oven, which will contain nearly 3000, is completely occupied. The mouth is then bricked up, and the fires lighted. These are ranged at the bottom of the edifice, and the heat and flame on their passage upwards soon convert the whole contents of the oven into a glowing red-hot mass; the process lasting for three days.

The ware, after this first burning, is called 'biscuit,' and has changed its hue from brownish gray to a delicate cream colour; the yellow tinge is subsequently produced by the glaze and a second firing in the

Glost-oven.' There, however, the articles cannot be so closely placed as in the biscuit-oven, as by the fusion of the glaze with which they are coated, they would, whenever the surfaces came into contact, be inseparably fastened together. A space between them is therefore absolutely indispensable, and the separation is effected by means of 'stilts' and 'spurs;' a sort of small tripod, with pointed extremities, on which the articles rest one

is an approach to abjectness, an absence of a well-to-do expression, which cannot be referred to the nature of the occupation. Perhaps we have here a phase of the labour question, on which it may not be unprofitable to bestow a little consideration.

within the other, so that the points of contact are reduced to a minimum, and the glaze remains uninjured. The Glost-oven will contain about 2000 seggars; when filled with these, the mouth is bricked up, as in the former case, but leaving one small opening, two or three inches square, by which to draw out the The population of the immediate neighbourhood ، trials. These are rings of dark-coloured clay, manu- | comprises about 1000 souls; their habits are migratory, factured expressly for the purpose, and placed in the and many are not natives. The men in the employment interior of the pile opposite the orifice; and their co- of Messrs Sharpe earn from 18s. to L.2 per week; women lour, on being withdrawn at the end of about twenty- from 7s. to 9s.; and in some instances father, mother, four hours, by means of a long slender iron rod, at once and three or four children are engaged at the manufac informs the practised observer whether to stop or con- tory. The hours of labour are from six to six, with tinue the burning. If the former, the screen of brick - | intervals for meals. Now it is a lamentable fact, that work that closes the mouth is taken down, the fires whatever the amount of earnings, nothing is saved. In are put out, the external air rushes in on the glowing too many instances a large proportion of the wages mass; and when sufficiently cooled, the seggars are received on Saturday is wasted in sottish revels before brought out, and their contents, now finished, trans- Monday. With the exception of ninepins, there are ferred to the store-rooms. There is a remarkable diffe- no recreations; the little gardens which in the Stafrence in the effect of cold air upon the heated ware: if fordshire potteries present so pleasing an array of suffered to rush suddenly into the biscuit-oven, every choice flowers, are here carelessly kept or altogether article would be cracked by the lowering of the tempe- neglected. There being no savings' bank in the village, rature. In this there is therefore no withdrawing of the employers on one occasion proposed to some of the the screen or fires, but all is suffered to cool gradually. | workmen that a small portion of the weekly wages In the Glost-oven, on the contrary, no damage ensues should be left towards a fund to be had recourse to in from the sudden admission of air: the glaze, from some slack seasons or in case of illness. Books were procause not clearly explained, appears to prevent the vided to keep the men's accounts, and for a time small breaking. Sometimes when goods are urgently wanted, sums were left as proposed. Very soon, however, every or the men wish to get through their work early, they man claimed the reserved amount due to him, and some will enter the oven and bring out the seggars while it is among them intimated that 'Masters only want to find yet apparently too hot for the endurance of anything out how much money we've got, and then cut us down.' but a salamander-another instance of the wonderful In another instance the employers endeavoured to power of adaptation to circumstances in the human con- establish a library, and to promote the sale among stitution. There are four ovens connected with these their hands of a monthly periodical, in which, at the works; the stock of seggars is 10,000, but constantly | cost of a penny, pleasing information and instruction renewed, as the loss by wear and breakage is from 200 were conveyed. Even this was distrusted by the workto 300 per week. It is sometimes difficult to get rid of people, as a design of the employers to induce sober the rapidly-accumulating refuse; its general destination and frugal habits, in order to their being found able to is to repair the roads. At present it is in demand for live upon some contemplated reduction of wages. The railway purposes. In districts where gravel is scarce, object was thus defeated, and the few who had begun refuse pots and pans may make serviceable ballast. to read soon ceased to pay any attention to books. This dogged resistance to enlightened attempts to ameliorate their condition, is a striking yet lamentable characteristic of the class in question.

Adjoining the store-rooms, where the finished ware is piled away, are the packing-rooms, in which men are continually engaged in despatching crates well filled with goods to order. A singular practice prevails in this department in enumerating the various articles which are sold by dozens: but here a dozen does not always mean twelve; for in order to keep up a uniformity of prices in the accounts, one big jug, which may be worth as much as thirty-six little ones, is reckoned as a dozen; the thirty-six are also set down as a dozen; and so on with intermediate sizes. Dishes and plates, however, and some other articles, are counted twelve to the dozen.

Messrs Sharpe's trading connections are almost exclusively confined to the United States and British possessions in America; and in going through the store-rooms, the visitor is struck by the sight of many articles which seldom or never come into use in this country. Some of these, an exaggerated teapot in particular, are so ugly, as to say but little in favour of backwoods' taste. English hawkers will scarcely take them, even as a free gift. The most characteristic article, however, is the spittoon; this, by recent improvements, is made sufficiently ornamental to appear in a drawing-room. Some are of extraordinary dimensions after a registered model: it has been proposed to call them the Congressional Spittoon.' The idea was suggested to one of the firm while on a visit to the House of Representatives at Washington, by seeing a large square pine box, with a grass turf in the bottom of it, placed at each door of the rotunda: and the new article is his attempt to render the results of a disgusting habit somewhat less repulsive.

While looking at work, attention is naturally drawn to the workers. About a hundred 'hands' are employed in this establishment; and the impression left on the mind, after a review of the whole, is, in spite of a feeling to the contrary, that of a lower class. There

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Great forbearance, it is clear, must be exercised in dealing with such notions-notions as suicidal to the possessor as they are mischievous to others. Take, for example, the simple exchange of work for wages: the employers say to the men, We shall be busy now, and must work hard for the next twelve months.' Instead of seeking to turn this promising state of things to ac count, the men immediately slacken their exertions, and instead of making full time, are content to crawl through about five days a week. On the other hand, in a slack season they are as eager to work as they were before indifferent, and will get through as much in three days as in five days on ordinary occasions. Again, should one of the turners prove to be of a more aspiring and enterprising character than his fellows, he is prevented from rising by absurd trade regulations. It is a rule of this branch of the business, when a certain amount of work is required, to leave the apportioning of it to the men themselves; and, provided the order be completed to time, the masters offer no interference. On the principle of equal rights, the law keeps every one at the same dead level: the turner who could finish his twenty or thirty dozens per day, is not permitted to undertake more than he who can finish but ten dozen. The oppressive nature of such a regulation as this will at once be obvious. In some instances, where men have left off drinking habits, and manifested a desire to get forward, the employers would be glad to encourage the progressive disposition; but the statute steps in, and repels the kindly aid, and dooms the aspirant to a position hopeless as that inflicted by the caste laws of India. It will be long before education, or what is usually comprehended in the word, will reach this and similar evils. Might not a remedy be found in some local legislative influence?

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