A young Mouse lived in a cupboard where sweetmeats were kept: she dined every day upon biscuit, marmalade, or fine sugar. Never any little Mouse had lived so well. She had often ventured to peep at the family while they sat at supper; nay, she had sometimes stole down on the carpet, and picked up the crumbs, and nobody had ever hurt her. She would have been quite happy, but that she was sometimes frightened by the cat, and then she ran trembling to her hole behind the wainscot. One day she came running to her mother in great joy; Mother! said she, the good people of this family have built me a house to live in; it is in the cupboard: I am sure it is for me, for it is just big enough: covered all over with wires; and I dare say they have made it on purpose to screen me from that terrible cat, which ran after me so often: there is an entrance just big enough for me, but puss cannot follow; and they have been so good as to put in some toasted cheese, which smells so deliciously, that I should have run in directly and taken possession of my new house, but I thought I would tell you first that we might go in together, and both lodge there to-night, for it will hold us both.

My dear child, said the old Mouse, it is most happy that you did not go in, for this house is called a trap, and you would never have come out again, except to have been devoured, or put to death in some way or other. Though man has not so fierce a look as a cat, he is as much our enemy, and has still more cunning.

A wasp met a Bee, and said to him, Pray, can you tell me what is the reason that men are so illnatured to me, while they are so fond of you? We are both very much alike, only that the broad golden rings about my body make me much handsomer than you are: we are both winged insects, we both love honey, and we both sting people when we are angry; yet men always have me, and try to kill me, though I am much more familiar with them than you are, and pay them visits in their houses, and at their tea-table, and at all their meals: while you are very shy, and hardly ever come near them: yet they build you curious houses, thatched with straw, and take care of, and feed you, in the winter very often: -- I wonder what is the reason.

The Bee said, Because you never do them any good, but, on the contrary, are very troublesome and mischievous; therefore they do not like to see you; but they know that I am busy all day long in making them honey. You had better pay them fewer visits, and try to be useful.

Alfred. How retired and quiet is every thing in this little spot! The river winds its silent waters round this retreat; and the tangled bushes of the thicket fence it in from the attack of an enemy. The bloody Danes have not yet pierced into this wild solitude. I believe I am safe from their pursuit. But I hope I shall find some inhabitants here, otherwise I shall die of hunger. -- Ha! here is a narrow path through the wood; and I think I see the smoke of a cottage rising between the trees. I will bend my steps tither.

Alfred. Good even to you, good man. Are you disposed to shew hospitality to a poor traveller?

Gubba. Why truly there are so many poor travellers now a days, that if we entertain them all, we shall have nothing left for ourselves. However, come along to my wife, and we will see what can be done for you.

Wife, I am very weary; I have been chopping wood all day.

Gandelin. You are always ready for your supper, but it is not ready for you, I assure you: the cakes will take an hour to bake, and the sun is yet high; it has not yet dipped behind the old barn. But who have you with you, I trow?

Alfred. Good mother, I am a stranger; and entreat you to afford me food and shelter.

Gandelin. Good mother, quotha! Good wife, if you please, and welcome. But I do not love strangers; and the land has no reason to love them. It has never been a merry day for Old England since strangers came into it.

Alfred. I am not a stranger in England, though I am a stranger here. I am a true born Englishman.

Gubba. And do you hate those wicked Danes, that eat us up, and burn our houses, and drive away our cattle?

Alfred. I do hate them.

Gandelin. Heartily! He does not speak heartily, husband.

Alfred. Heartily I hate them, most heartily.

Gubba. Give me they hand then; thou art an honest fellow.

Alfred. I was with King Alfred in the last battle he fought.

Gandelin. With King Alfred? heaven bless him!

Gubba. What is become of our good King?

Alfred. Did you love him, then?

Gubba. Yes, as much as a poor man may love a king; and kneeled down and prayed for him every night, that he night conquer those Danish wolves; but it was not to be so.

Alfred. You could not love Alfred better than I did.

Gubba. Well, these are sad times; heaven help us! Come, you shall be welcome to share the brown loaf with us; I suppose you are too sharp set to be nice.

Gandelin. Ay, come with us; you shall be as welcome as a prince! But hark ye, husband; though I am very willing to be charitable to this stranger (it would be a sin to be otherwise), yet there is no reason he should not do something to maintain himself: he looks strong and capable.

Gubba. Why, that's true. What can you do, friend?

Alfred. I am very willing to help you in any thing you choose to set me about. It will please me best to earn my bread before I eat it.

Gubba. Let me see. Can you tie up faggots neatly?

Alfred. I have not been used to it. I am afraid I should be awkward.

Gubba. Can you thatch? There is a piece blown off the cow-house.

Alfred. Alas, I cannot thatch.

Gandelin. Ask him if he can weave rushes: we want some new baskets.

Alfred. I have never learned.

Gubba. Can you stack hay?

Alfred. No.

Gubba. Why, here's a fellow! and yet he hath as many pair of hands as his neighbours. Dame, can you employ him in the house? He might lay wood on the fire, and rub the tables.

Gandelin. Let him watch these cakes, then: I must go and milk the kine.

Gubba. And I'll go and stack the wood, since supper is not ready.

Gandelin. But pray observe, friend! do not let the cakes burn; turn them often on the hearth.

Alfred. I shall observe your directions.

Alfred. For myself, I could bear it; but England, my bleeding country, for thee my heart is wrung with bitter anguish! -- From the Humber to the Thames the rivers are stained with blood! -- My brave soldiers cut to pieces! -- My poor people -- some massacred, others driven from their warm homes, stripped, abused, insulted: -- and I, whom heaven appointed their shepherd, unable to rescue my defenceless flock from the ravenous jaws of these devourers: -- Gracious heaven! if I am not worthy to save this land from the Danish sword, raise up some other hero to fight with more success than I have done, and let me spend my life in this obscure cottage, in these servile offices: I shall be content, if England is happy.

O! here comes my blunt host and hostess.

Gandelin. Help me down with the pail, husband. This new milk, with the cakes, will make an excellent supper: but, mercy on us, how they are burnt! black as my shoe; they have not once been turned: you oaf, you lubber, you lazy loon ----

Alfred. Indeed, dame, I am sorry for it; but my mind was full of sad thoughts.

Gubba. Come, wife, you must forgive him; perhaps he is in love. I remember when I was in love with thee --

Gandelin. You remember!

Gubba. Yes, dame, I do remember it, though it is many a long year since; my mother was making a kettle of furmety --

Gandelin. Pr'ythee, hold thy tongue, and let us eat our suppers.

Alfred. How refreshing is this sweet new milk, and this wholesome bread!

Gubba. Eat heartily, friend. Where shall we lodge him, Gandelin!

Gandelin. We have but one bed, you know; but there is fresh in straw in the barn.

Alfred (aside). If I shall not lodge like a king, at least I shall lodge like a soldier. Alas! how many of my poor soldiers are stretched on the bare ground!

Gandelin. What noise do I hear? It is the trampling of horses. Good husband, go and see what is the matter.

Alfred. Heaven forbid my misfortunes should bring destruction on this simple family! I had rather have perished in the wood.

Gandelin. Mercy defend us, a sword!

Gubba. The Danes! the Danes! O do not kill us!

Ella (kneeling). My Liege, my Lord, my Sovereign; have I found you!

Alfred (embracing him). My brave Ella!

Ella. I bring you good news, my Sovereign! Your troops that were shut up in Kinwith Castle made a desperate fally -- the Danes were slaughtered. The fierce Hubba lies gasping on the plain.

Alfred. Is it possible! Am I yet a king?

Ella. Their famous standard, the Danish raven, is taken; their troops are panic struck; the English soldiers call aloud for Alfred. Here is a letter which will inform you of more particulars. (Gives a letter.)

Gubba (aside). What will become of us! An, dame, that tongue of thine has undone us!

Gandelin. O, my poor dear husband! we shall all be hanged, that's certain. But who could have thought it was the King?

Gubba. Why, Gandelin, do you see, we might have guessed he was born to be a King, or some such great man, because, you know, he was fit for nothing else.

Alfred(coming forward). God be praised for these tidings! Hope is sprung up out of the depths of despair. O, my friend! shall I again shine in arms, -- again fight at the head of my brave Englishmen, -- lead them on to victory! Our friends shall now lift their heads again.

Ella. Yes, you have many friends, who have long been obliged, like their master, to skulk in deserts and caves, and wander from cottage to cottage. when they hear you are alive, and in arms again, they will leave their sastnesses, and flock to your standard.

Alfred. I am impatient to meet them: my people shall be revenged.

Gubba and Gandelin (throwing themselves at the feet of ALFRED). O, my lord --

Gandelin. We hope your majesty will put us to a merciful death. Indeed, we did not know your majesty's grace.

gubba. If your majesty could but pardon my wife's tongue: she means no harm, poor woman!

Alfred. Pardon you, good people! I not only pardon you, but thank you. You have afforded me protection in my distress; and if ever I am seated again on the throne, of England, my first care shall be to reward your hospitality. I am now going to protect you. Come, my faithful Ella, to arms! to arms! My bosom burns to face once more the haughty Dane; and here I vow to heaven, that I will never sheath the sword again these robbers, till either I lose my life in this just cause, or

Till dove-like Peace return to England's shore,
And war and slaughter vex the land no more.

O'er Afric's sand the tawny Lion stalks:
On Phasis' banks the graceful Pheasant walks:
The lonely Eagle builds on Kilda's shore:
Germania's forests feed the tusky Boar:
From Alp to Alp the sprightly Ibex bounds:
With peaceful lowings Britain's isle resounds:
The Lapland peasant o'er the frozen meer
Is drawn in sledges by his swift Rein-Deer:
The River-Horse and scaly Crocodile
Infest the reedy banks of fruitful Nile:
Dire Dipsas' hiss o'er Mauritania's plain:
And Seals and spouting Whales sport in the
Northern Main.

Canute. Is it true, my friends, what you have so often told me, that I am the greatest of monarchs?

Offa. It is true, my liege; you are the most powerful of all kings.

Oswald. We are all your slaves; we kiss the dust of your feet.

Offa. Not only we, but even the elements, are your slaves. The land obeys you from shore to shore; and the sea obeys you.

Canute. Does the sea, with its loud boisterous waves, obey me? Will that terrible element be still at my bidding?

Offa. Yes, the sea is yours; it was made to bear your ships upon its bosom, and to pour the treasures of the world at your royal feet. It is boisterous to your enemies, but it knows you to be its sovereign.

Canute. Is not the tide coming up?

Oswald. Yes, my liege; you may perceive the swell already.

Canute. Bring me a chair then; set it here upon the sands.

Offa. Where the tide is coming up, my gracious lord?

Canute. Yes, set it just here.

Oswald(aside). I wonder what he is going to do!

Offa (aside). Surely he is not such a fool as to believe us!

Canute. O mighty Ocean! thou art my subject; my courtiers tell me so; and it is they bounden duty to obey me. Thus, then, I stretch my sceptre over thee, and command thee to retire. Roll back thy swelling waves, nor let them presume to wet the feet of me, thy royal master.

Oswald (aside). I believe the sea will pay very little regard to his royal commands.

Offa. See how fast the tide rises!

Oswald. The next wave will come up to the chair. It is a folly to stay; we shall be covered with salt water.

Canute. Well, does the sea obey my commands? If it be my subject, it is a very rebellious subjects. See how it swells, and dashes the angry foam and salt spray over my sacred person. Vile sycophants! did you think I was the dupe of your base lies! that I believed your abject flatteries? Know, there is only one Being whom the sea will obey. He is Sovereign of heaven and earth, King of kings, and Lord of lords. It is only he who can say to the ocean, "Thus far shalt thou go, but no farther, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed," A king is but a man; and man is but a worm. Shall a worm assume the power of the great God, and think the elements will obey him? Take away this crown, I will never wear it more. May kings learn to be humble from my example, and courtiers learn truth from your disgrace!

Who is this beautiful Virgin that approaches, clothed in a robe of light green? She has a garland of flowers of her head, and flowers spring up wherever she sets her foot. The snow which covered the fields, and the ice which was in the rivers, melt away when she breathes upon them. The young lambs frisk about her, and the birds warble in their little throats to welcome her coming; and when they see her, they begin their nests. Youths and maidens, have ye seen this beautiful Virgin? If ye have, tell me where is she, and what is her name.

Who is this that cometh from the south, thinly clad in a light transparent garment? her breath is hot and sultry; she seeks the refreshment of the cool shade; she seeks the clear streams, the crystal brooks, to bathe her languid limbs. The brooks and rivulets fly from her, and are dried up at her approach. She cools her parched lips with berries, and the grateful acid of all fruits; the seedy melon, the sharp apple, and the red pulp of the juicy cherry, which are poured out plentifully around her. The tanned hay-makers welcome her coming; and the sheep-shearer, who clips the fleeces of his flock with his sounding shears. When she cometh let me lie under the thick shade of a spreading beech tree, -- let me walk with her in the early morning, when the dew is yet upon the grass, let me wander with her in the soft twilight; when the shepherd shuts his fold, and the star of evening appears. Who is she that cometh from the south? Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, who is she, and what is her name.

Who is he that cometh with sober pace, stealing upon us unawares? His garments are red with the blood of the grape, and his temples are bound with a sheaf of ripe wheat. His hair is thin and begins to fall, and the auburn is mixed with mournful grey. He shakes the brown nuts from the tree. He winds the horn, and calls the hunters to their sport. The gun founds. The trembling partridge and the beautiful pheasant flutter, bleeding in the air, and fall dead at the sportsman's feet. Who is he that is crowned with the wheat-sheaf? Youths and maidens, tell me, if ye know, who is he, and what is his name.

Who is he that cometh from the north, clothed in furs and warm wool? He wraps his cloak close about him. His head is bald; his beard is made of sharp icicles. He loves the blazing fire high piled upon the hearth, and the wine sparking in the glass. He binds skates to his feet, and skims over the frozen lakes. His breath is piercing and cold, and not little flower dares to peep above the surface of the ground, when he is by. Whatever he touches turns to ice. If he were to stroke you with his cold hand, you would be quite stiff and dead, like a piece of marble. Youths and maidens, do you see him? He is coming fast upon us, and soon he will be here. Tell me, if you know, who is he, and what is his name.

Charles. Papa, you grow very lazy. Last winter you used to tell us stories, and now you never tell us any; and we are all got round the fire quite ready to hear you. Pray, dear papa, let us have a very pretty one?

Father. With all my heart -- What shall it be?

C. A bloody murder, papa!

R. A bloody murder! Well then -- Once upon a time, some men, dressed all alike . . . .

C. With black crapes over their faces.

F. No; they had steel caps on: -- having crossed a dark heath, wound cautiously along the skirts of a deep forest . . .

C. They were ill-looking fellows, I dare say.

F. I cannot say so; on the contrary, they were all personable men as most one shall see: -- leaving on their right hand on old ruined tower on the hill . . .

C. At midnight, just as the clock struck twelve; was it not, papa?

R. No, really; it was on a fine balmy summer's morning: -- and moved forwards, one behind another . . . .

C. As still as death, creeping along under the hedges.

F. On the contrary -- they walked remarkably upright; and so far from endeavouring to be hushed and still, they made a loud noise as they came along, with several sorts of instruments.

C. But, papa, they would be found out immediately.

F. They did not seem to wish to conceal themselves: on the contrary, they gloried in what they were about. -- They moved forwards, I say, to a large plain, where stood a neat pretty village, which they set on fire . . . .

C. Set a village on fire? wicked wretches!

F. And while it was burning, they murdered -- twenty thousand men.

C. O fie! papa! You do not intend I should believe this; I thought all along you were making up a tale, as you often do; but you shall not catch me this time. What! they lay still, I suppose, and let these fellows cut their throats!

F. No, truly -- they resisted as long as they could.

C. How should these men kill twenty thousand people, pray?

R. Why not? the murderers were thirty thousand.

C. O, now I have found you out! You mean a BATTLE.

F. Indeed I do. I do not know of any murders half so bloody.

A Goose, who was plucking grass upon a common, thought herself affronted by a Horse who fed near her, and in hissing accents thus addressed him. "I am certainly a more noble and perfect animal than you, for the whole range and extent of your faculties is confined to one element. I can walk upon the ground as well as you; I have besides wings, with which a can raise myself in the air; and when I please, I can sport in ponds and lakes, and refresh myself in the cold waters: I enjoy the different powers of a bird, a fish, and a quadruped."

The Horse, snorting somewhat disdainfully, replied, "It is true you inhabit three elements, but you make no very distinguished figure in any one of them. You fly, indeed; but your flight is so heavy and clumsy, that you have no right to put yourself on a level with the lark or the swallow. You can swim on the surface of the waters, but you cannot live in them as fishes do; you cannot find your food in that element, nor glide smoothly along the bottom of the waves. And when you walk, or rather waddle, upon the ground, with your broad feet and your long neck stretched out, hissing at every one who passes by, you bring upon yourself the derision of all beholders. I confess that I am only formed to move upon the ground; but how graceful is my make! how well turned my limbs! how highly finished my whole body! how great my strength! how astonishing my speed! I had far rather be confined to one element, and be admired in that, than be a Goose in all."

Hen. My dear father, you observed the other day that we had a great many manufactures in England. Pray what is a Manufacture?

Fa. A Manufacture is something made by the hand of man. It is derived from two Latin words, manus, the hand, and facer, to make. Manufactures are therefore opposed to productions, which latter are what the bounty of nature of spontaneously affords us; as fruits, corn, marble.

Hen. But there is a great deal of trouble with corn: you have often made me take notice how much pains it cost the farmer to plough his ground, and put the seed in the earth, and keep it clear from weeds.

Fa. Very true; but the farmer does not make the corn; he only prepares for its a proper soil and situation, and removes every hindrance arising from the hardness of the ground, or the neighbourhood of other plants, which might obstruct the secret and wonderful process of vegetation; but with the vegetation itself he has nothing to do. It is not his hand that draws out the slender fibres of the root, pushes up the green stalk, and by degrees the spiky ear; swells the grain, and embrowns it with that rich tinge of tawny russet, which informs the husbandman it is time to put in his sickle: all this operation is performed without his care or even knowledge.

Hen. Now then I understand; corn is a Production, and bread a Manufacture.

Fa. Bread is certainly, in strictness of speech, a Manufacture; but we do not in general apply the term to any thing in which the original material is so little changed. If we wanted to speak of bread philosophically, we should say, it is a preparation of corn.

Hen. Is sugar a manufacture?

Fa. No, for the same reason. Besides which, I do not recollect the term being applied to any article of food; I suppose from an idea that food is of too perishable a nature, and generally obtained by a process too simple to deserve the name. We say, therefore, sugar-works, oil-mills, chocolate-works; we do not say a beer-manufactory, but a brewery; but this is only a nicety of language, for properly all those are manufactories, if there is much of art and curiosity in the process.

Hen. Do we say a manufactory of pictures?

Fa. No; but for a different reason. A picture, especially if it belong to any of the higher kinds of painting, is an effort of genius. A picture cannot be produced by any given combinations of canvas and colour. It is the hand, indeed, that executes, but the head that works. Sir Joshua Reynolds could not have gone, when he was engaged to paint a picture, and hired workmen, the one to draw the eyes, another the nose, a third the mouth; the whole must be the painter's own, that particular painter's, and no other; and no one who has not his ideas can do his work. His work is therefore nobler, of a higher species.

Hen. Pray give me an instance of a manufacture?

Fa. The making of watches is a manufacture: the silver, iron, gold, or whatever else is used in it, are productions, the material of the work; but it is by the wonderful art of man that they are wrought into the numberless wheels and springs of which this complicated machine is composed.

Hen. Then is there not as much art in making a watch as a picture? Does not the head work?

Fa. Certainly, in the original invention of watches, as much or more, than in painting; but when once invented, the art of watch-making is capable of being reduced to a mere mechanical labour, which may be exercised by any man of common capacity, according to certain precise rules, when made familiar to him by practice. This, painting is not.

Hen. But, my dear father, making of books surely requires a great deal of thinking and study; and yet I remember the other day at dinner a gentleman said that Mr. Pica had manufactured a large volume in less than a fortnight.

Fa. It was meant to convey a satirical remark on his book, because it was compiled from other authors, form whom he had taken a page in one place, and a page in another, so that it was not produced by the labour of his brain, but of his hands. Thus you heard your mother complain that the London cream was manufacture; which was a pointed and concise way of saying that the cream was not what it ought to be, nor what it pretended to be; for cream, when genuine, is a pure production; but when mixed up and adulterated with flour and isinglass, and I know not what, it becomes a Manufacture. It was as much as to say, art has been here, where it has no business; where it is not beneficial, but hurtful. A great deal of the delicacy of language depends upon an accurate knowledge of the specific meaning of single terms, and a nice attention to their relative propriety

Hen. Have all nations Manufactures?

Fa. All that are in any degree cultivated; but it very often happens that countries naturally the poorest have manufactures of the greatest extent and variety.

Hen. Why so?

Fa. For the same reason, I apprehend, that individuals, who are rich without any labour of their own, are seldom so industrious and active as those who depend upon their own exertions: thus the Spaniards, who possess the richest gold and silver mines in the world, are in want of many conveniences of life which are enjoyed in London and Amsterdam.

Hen. I can comprehend that; I believe if my uncle Ledger were to find a gold mine under his warehouse, he would soon shut up shop.

Fa. I believe so. It is not, however, easy to establish Manufactures in a very poor nation; they require science and genius for their invention, art and contrivance for their execution; order, peace, and union, for their flourishing; they require a number of men to combine together in an undertaking, and to prosecute it with the most patient industry; they require, therefore, laws and government for their protection. If you see extensive Manufactures in any nation, you may be sure it is a civilized nation; you may be sure property is accurately ascertained and protected. They require great expences for their first establishment, costly machines for shortening manual labour, and money and credit for purchasing material from distant countries. There is not a single Manufacture of Great Britain which does not require, in some part or other of its process, productions from the different parts of the globe; oils, drugs, varnish, quicksilver, and the like; it requires, therefore ships and friendly intercourse with foreign nations to transport commodities, and exchange productions. We could not be a manufacturing, unless we were also a commercial nation. They require time to take root in any place, and their excellence often depends upon some nice and delicate circumstance; a peculiar quality, for instance, in the air, or water, or some other local circumstance not easily ascertained. Thus, I have heard, that the Irish women spin better than English, because the moister temperature of their climate makes their skin more soft and their fingers more flexible: thus again we cannot dye so beautiful a scarlet as the French can, though with the same drugs, perhaps on account of the superior purity of their air. But though so much is necessary for the perfection of the more curious and complicated Manufactures, all nations possess those which are subservient to the common conveniences of life -- the loom and the forge, particularly, are of the highest antiquity.

Hen. Yes; I remember Hector bids Andromache return to her apartment, and employ herself in, weaving with her maids; and I remember the shield of Achilles.

Fa. True; and you likewise remember, in an earlier period, the fine linen of Egypt; and, to go still higher, the working in brass and iron is recorded of Tubal Cain before the flood.

Hen. Which is the most important, Manufactures or Agriculture?

Fa. Agriculture is the most necessary, because it is first of all necessary that man should live; but almost all the enjoyments and comforts of life are produced by Manufactures.

Hen. Why are we obliged to take so much pains to make ourselves comfortable?

Fa. To exercise our industry. Nature provides the materials for man. She pours out at his feet a profusion of gems, metals, dyes, plants, ores, barks, stones, gums, wax, marbles, woods, roots, skins, earths, and minerals of all kinds. She has likewise given him tools.

Hen. I did not know that Nature gave us tools.

Fa. No! what are those two instruments you carry always about with you so strong and yet so flexible, so nicely jointed, and branched out into five long taper, unequal division, any of which may be contracted or stretched out at pleasure; the extremities of which have a feeling so wonderfully delicate, and which are strengthened and defended by horn?

Hen. The hands.

Fa. Yes. Man is as much superior to the brutes in his outward form, by means of the hand, as he is in his mind by the gifts of reason. The trunk of the elephant comes perhaps the nearest to it in its exquisite feeling and flexibility (it is, indeed, called his hand in Latin), and accordingly that animal has always been reckoned the wisest of brutes. When Nature gave man the hand she said to him, "Exercise your ingenuity, and work," As soon as ever man rises above the state of a savage, he begins to contrive and to make things, in order to improve his forlorn condition; thus you may remember Thomson represents Industry coming to the poor shivering wretch, and teaching him the arts of life:

Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone,
Till by degrees the finish'd fabric rose;
Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur,
And wrapt them in the wooly vestment warm,
Or bright in glossy silk and flowing lawn.

Hen. It must require a great deal of knowledge, I suppose, for so many curious works; what kind of knowledge is most necessary?

Fa. There is not any which may not be occasionally employed; but the two sciences which most assist the manufacture are mechanics and chemistry. The one for building mills, working of mines, and in general for constructing wheels, wedges, pullies, &c. either to shorten the labour of man, by performing it in less time, or to perform what the strength of man alone could not accomplish: -- the other in fusing and working ores, in dying and bleaching, and extracting the virtues of various substances for particular uses: making of soap, for instance, is a chemical operation; and by chemistry an ingenious gentleman has lately found out a way of bleaching a piece of cloth in eight and forty hours, which by the common process would have taken up a great many weeks. -- You have heard of Sir Richard Arkwright who died lately --

Hen. Yes, I have heard he was at first only a barber, and shaved people for a penny a piece.

Fa. He did so; but having a strong turn for mechanics, he invented, or at least perfected, a machine, by which one pair of hands may do the work of twenty or thirty; and as in this country every one is free to rise by merit, he acquired the largest fortune in the county, had a great many hundreds of workmen under his orders, and had leave given him by the King to put Sir before his name.

Hen. Did that do him any good?

Fa. It pleased him, I suppose, or he would not have accepted of it; and you will allow, I imagine, that if titles are used, it does honour to those who bestow them, that they are given to such as have made themselves noticed for something useful. -- Arkwright used to say, that if he had time to perfect his inventions, he would put a fleece of wool into a box, and it should come out broad cloth.

Hen. What did he mean by that; was there any fairy in the box to turn it into broad cloth?

Fa. He was assisted by the only fairies that ever had the power of transformation, Art and Industry: he meant that he would contrive so many machines, wheel within wheel, that the combing, carding, and other various operations, should be performed by mechanism, almost without the hand of man.

Hen. I think, if I had not been told, I should never have been able to guess that my coat came off the back of the sheep.

Fa. You hardly would; but there are Manufactures in which the material is much more changed than in woollen cloth. What can be meaner in the appearance than sand and ashes? Would you imagine any thing beautiful could be made out of such a mixture? Yet the furnace transforms this into that transparent crystal we call glass, than which nothing is more sparkling, more brilliant, more full of lustre. It throws about the rays of light as if it had life and motion.

Hen. There is a glass-shop in London, which always puts me in mind of Aladdin's palace.

Fa. It is certain that if a person ignorant of the Manufacture were to see one of our capital shops, he would think all the treasures of Golconda were centered there, and that every drop of cut glass was worth a prince's ransom. -- Again, who would suppose, on seeing the green stalks of a plant, that it could be formed into a texture so smooth, so snowy-white, so firm, and yet so flexible as to wrap round the limbs and adapt itself to every movement of the body? Who would guess this fibrous stalk could be made to float in such light undulating folds as in our lawns and cambrics; not less fine, we presume, than that transparent drapery which the Romans called ventus textilis, woven wind.

Hen. I wonder how any body can spin such fine thread.

Fa. Their fingers must have the touch of a spider, that, as Pope says,

"Feels at each thread, and lives along the line;"

and indeed you recollect that Arachne was a spinster. Lace is a still finer production from flax and is one of those in which the original materials is most improved. How many times the price of a pound of flax do you think that flax will be worth when made into lace?

Hen. A great many times, I suppose.

Fa. Flax at the best hand is bought at fourteen-pence a pound. They make lace at Valenciennes, in French Flancers, of ten guinesa a yard, I believe indeed higher, but we will say ten guinesa; this year of lace will weigh probably not more than half an ounce: what is the value of half an ounce of flax? reckon it.

Hen. It comes to one farthing and three quarters of a farthing.

Fa. Right; now tell me how many times the original value the lace is worth.

Hen. Prodigious! it is worth 5760 times as much as the flax is made of.

Fa. Yet there is another material that is still more improvable than flax.

Hen. What can that be?

Fa. Iron. The price of pig-iron is the shillings a hundred weight; this is not quite one farthing for two ounces: now you have seen some of the beautiful cut steel that looks like diamonds.

Hen. Yes, I have seen buckles, and pins, and watch-chains.

Fa. Then you can form an idea of it; but you have seen only the most common sorts. There was a chain made at Woodstock, in Oxfordshire, and sent to France, which weighed only two ounces, and cost 1701. Calculate how many times that had increased its value.

Hen. Amazing! It was worth 163,6000 times the value of the iron it was made of.

Fa. This is what Manufactures can do; here man is a kind of creator, and, like the great Creator, he may please himself with his work, and say it is good. In the last-mentioned Manufacture, to, that of steel, the English have the honour of excelling all the world.

Hen. What are the chief Manufactures of England?

Fa. We have at present a greater variety than I can pretend to enumerate, but our staple Manufacture is woollen cloth. England abounds in fine pastures and extensive downs, which feed great numbers of sheep; hence our wool has always been a valuable article of trade; but we did not always know how to work it. We used to sell it to the Flemish or Lombards, who wrought it into cloth; till in the year 1326, Edward the Third invited some Flemish weavers over to teach us the art; but there was not much made in England till the reign of Henry the Seventh. Manchester and Birmingham are towns which have arisen to great consequence from small beginnings, almost within the memory of old men now living; the first for cotton and muslin goods, the second for cutlery and hardware, in which we at this moment excel all Europe. Of late years, too, carpets, beautiful as fine tapestry, have been fabricated in this country. Our clocks and watches are greatly esteemed. The earthen-ware plates and dishes, which we all use in common, and the elegant set for the tea-table, ornamented with musical instruments, which we admired in our visit yesterday, belong, to a very extensive manufactory, the seat of which is at Burslem in Staffordshire. The principal potteries there belong to one person, an excellent chymist, and a man of great taste; he, in conjunction with another man of taste who is since dead, has made our clay more valuable than the finest porcelain of China. He has moulded it into all the forms of grace and beauty that are to be met with in the precious remains of the Greek and Etruscan artists. In the more common articles he has penciled it with the most elegant designs, shaped it into shells and leaves, twisted it into wicker work and trailed the ductile foliage round the light basket. He has filled our cabinets and chimney pieces with urns, lamps, and vases, on which are lightly traced, with the purest simplicity, the fine forms and floating draperies of Herculaneum. In short, he has given to our houses a classic air, and has made every saloon and every dining-room schools of taste. I should add that there is a great demand abroad for this elegant Manufacture. The Empress of Russia has had some magnificent services of it; and the other day one was sent to the King of Spain, intended as a present from him to the Archbishop of Toledo, which cost a thousand pounds. Some morning you shall go through the rooms in the London Warehouse.

Hen. I should like very much to see Manufactures, now you have told me such curious things about them.

Fa. You will do well! there is much more entertainment to a cultivated mind in seeing a pin made, than in many a fashionable diversion which young people half ruin themselves to attend. In the mean time I will give you some account of one of the most elegant of them, which is paper.

Hen. Pray do, my dear father.

Fa. It shall be left for another evening, however, for it is now late. Good night.

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