Full of these and similar reflections, partly
induced by the quietude of the village, and
partly by the fading hues of autumn that
surround it, I walk mechanically onwards,
towards the flour-mill. It is a water-mill,
turned by the Colne. Green meadows are
around it. But what a quantity of linen is
laid out to bleach upon the meadow nearest
the mill! Why, there must be an acre and
a half of sheets, and table-cloths, and
jack-towels! While thus gazing, the sky becomes
overcast, and a dark and threatening cloud
comes rolling and unrolling itself this way,
See, from one of the lower doors of the mill,
a crowd of people rushing forth into the field!
They are not millers—they cannot be
laundresses. There are sixty or seventy of them,
men and boys. They hurry to the field, and
each one seizes something he can carry, such
as a jack-towel; but two go to a table-cloth,
and three lay hold of the corners of a sheet.
What wonderful thing has happened to the
bleaching linen? Each piece is not only as
stiff as a board, or a barn-door, but appears to
be as heavy. The men and boys carry these
curiosities into the mill, and then hurry forth
for the remainder, so that the field is cleared,
and now lies in all its natural greenness,
ready to receive the shower.

A terrible shower it seems to be that is
about to descend. I have no umbrella, and I
make for the mill-door. There, I am met
with the repelling announcement, painted up
—"No admittance, except on business". I
ask to see the foreman, and frankly tell him
what my business is—it is to get out of the
rain. He smiles, but shakes his head, and
points to a little inn not far off. Before
departing, I inquire the cause of the extraordinary
weight and stiffness of the table-cloths,
and sheets, and jack-towels, that have just been
carried into the mill.—" They are nothing of
the sort, sir," answers the foreman; " they
are pieces of paper."—" Of paper?"—"Yes".
—"Not to write letters upon?"—" No, sir;
to make a boat."—"For whom?"—"For the
Pasha of Egypt."

Hearing this, I at once found that I had
some business in the mill. I explained
to the foreman that I was not a rival
paper-manufacturer, nor a boat-builder, nor a
prying speculator, nor a government officer of
any kind, but simply a Household Word;
whereupon I was presently admitted. The
threatening shower passed over soon after
this, and out again sallied the troop, bearing
their respective shares of "paper," to lay
down upon the grass, as before. They were
placed there to dry, in the air and sun.

I found the interior of the mill, with its
adjoining house, divided and appropriated in
a very ingenious manner. The business of
the mill, for grinding corn, was carried on, as
it always had been; but its present owner was
Mr. Charles Bielefeld, the papier-mâché"
manufacturer, of Wellington Street, Strand,
London; and he had taken a lease of the mill and
premises, in order to try the experiments of a
new invention, and to carry on a new branch
of his business, in pursuance of this invention.
To this end, one room in the mill ground corn;
another, ground rags; one, had the machinery
of the flour-mill,—another, that of his papier
mâché. The bedrooms of the house adjoining
were half-filled with picture-frames, having
all the appearance of the richest carvings in
oak, maple, mahogany, ebony, and the boldest
or most intricate filigree or scroll-work in iron
and bronze,—but every morsel of it paper, or
rather mashed rags. The lower rooms of the
house were nearly all appropriated to painting-
rooms, where several Italian artists, of superior
talent and skill, were employed upon great
slabs, that had every appearance of polished
marble, but were of the same homely composition
I have mentioned. Even the kitchens
had to contribute their share to the "great
work"; and I saw a carpenter's planing elbow
advance and retreat in alarming proximity
to a leg of mutton roasting.

From the foreman, whom I found very
obliging, and from one of the artists engaged
in painting a ferocious tiger on a delicate blue
enamelled ground, I obtained the following
elucidation of the amusing and no less
interesting scenes, the outlines of which we have
just hastily sketched.

The Pasha of Egypt—having found that
richly-painted panels in his pleasure-yacht
were continually splitting or warping with
the heat, and that fine carvings in wood, and
other decorations and works of art in that
material, and also in plaster, frequently
cracked and fell to pieces from the same action
of the climate—suddenly bethought him of
papier mâché, not only for the ornamental
work, but to form the main substance of the
whole interior, fore and aft, of his yacht.
Panels, bulk-heads, staircases, partitions, he
wanted to have them all of papier mâché.
Without inquiring if such a thing had ever
been seen before, or if paper had ever yet
been wrought to any such consistency— as,
indeed, it never had, or anything approaching
to it, in the magnitude required—his
Highness sent word to certain opulent and
intelligent Greek merchants now in London,
making known his orders, and taking it for
granted that somebody would be found in
England to execute them. The merchants
having carefully examined all the works in
the above-mentioned material which were sent
to the Great Exhibition, were of course very
much struck with the colossal column and
Corinthian capital manufactured by Mr.
Charles Bielefeld, together with other works
of his, showing great originality and a perfect
command over the material. To him, therefore,
they applied, making known the wishes
of his Highness the Pasha, and in the event
of the thing being found practicable, proposing
a contract.

Mr. Bielefeld accordingly made some
experiments, and models, both with papier mâché,