again to the lathe, to be made a little smaller
at each end, in order to fit into the holes in
the cross-pieces. Next, the end and the
shank are to be united. A little boy, sitting
at a glue-pot, holds a dauber (as we may call
it), which is made of two rings, answering to
the margins of the two holes in the cross-
pieces. He dabs these holes with glue, and
hands the pieces to a man at his elbow, who
inserts the end of the shank, and puts it in
the way of a sharp rap from a driven hammer,
which fixes it in its place. When both ends
are thus glued on, we have a bobbin; but
with ends that are square, large, and rough.
The bobbin goes to a lathe, where, in turning,
it is met by a stout, three-sided sharp tooth
or blade, which, quicker than the eye can
follow, cuts off the corners, and leaves a
bobbin, perfect in shape. It is still rough,
however; and it must be finished in the
lathe;—rounded at the edges, and smoothed,
and, if necessary, grooved.

Some bobbins, wanted for certain kinds of
spinning, must have their bore lined with a
smoother substance than the ordinary wood.
When they are thus lined, they are said to be
''bushed." Some are "bushed" with metal;
some with box-wood. In some, the "bush"
goes only part of the way through the bore;
in others, the whole way. When the lining
is of box, the bobbin and the "bush" are
fluted, in order to fit more firmly into each
other. All who have examined bobbins may
remember that a circle of lighter or darker
wood appears round the bore. This is the
"bush."

Now we have bobbins before us of various
shapes and sizes; some for silk; some for flax;
some for wool, as well as the myriads for
cotton; and here are also parts of the shuttle of
the Manchester weaver. Does anything remain
to be done? Yes; some buyers like to
have their bobbins dyed; some prefer them
black; some, oak colour; some, yellow. The
black dye is obtained from logwood and from
copperas; the oak from catechu and fustic;
and the yellow from fustic, with a little alum.
The dye certainly gives a finished appearance
to the bobbins; and ladies know that, when
buying sewing cotton. The eye is drawn
towards the neatness of black or oak-coloured
bobbins, in preference to the undyed,—other
things being equal. The dyeing is done by
boiling the bobbins in coppers, with the
chemical materials.

We were tempted to follow the fagots of
poles down to the hooper's, to see what was
doing there. The new-world spirit, which is
found wherever machinery is whirling, has
not made its way yet into the hoopers' sheds
in Ambleside. Here is no head-splitting din
—no cloud of wood-dust, which visibly fills
the nostrils of the turners at the lathe, and
makes the visitor inquire about diseases of
the lungs. Here, half-a-dozen men and boys
are at work, with no newer machinery than
"the horse," "the mare," "the dog," and the
hoop. Do our readers wonder how the
horse, the mare, and the dog can help in
making hoops? The answer is, these are
nicknames, given to the sort of bench on
which the workman sits, in different stages
of hoop-making. To cleave the poles, the
man sits on a raised log, "the horse," and
simply splits the unpeeled wood into two or
four pieces, with an axe. These pieces are
taken possession of by the boy on "the mare,"
who, by a treadle, raises or lets fall a block,
to hold fast his strip of wood, which he thins
and equalises with a two-handled knife, to
render it smooth, and pliable for the "bending"
machine. This machine consists simply
of a pair of rollers turned by a cog-wheel and
a winch: the strip of wood being drawn out
between the rollers.

Next, the strips have to be made into
hoops. A man who sits in the middle of the
shed, with a stout model hoop on his knees,
bends the strip round within the model,
takes it out, and ties it with string, and then
bends within it another and another strip,
(tying none but the first), until he has made a
compact mass of hooping. Nothing can well
be slower, or more primitive.

Still, the business is a profitable one. Hoops
are sent from Ambleside over the far parts of
the globe. The very largest go to Liverpool.
These sell for about five pounds per thousand
(six score to the hundred). In seasons when
copses are scarce, or when the demand for casks
is great, coopers have given as much as nine
or ten pounds per thousand for hoops. This
cannot, however, go on. If it be true that.
by new machinery, a porter barrel can be
made complete, from the tree to the heading,
in five minutes, it cannot be that the slow
and clumsy method of fashioning hoops by
hand can remain, even in the old-fashioned
Lake District.

We may soon be having some instrument
which will rain hoops as a fire-work gives
out sparks, or as rings of luminous vapour
ascend from the chemical lecturer's magic
wine-glass. Meanwhile, "the horse," "the
mare," and "the dog," with their stiff backs
and wooden heads, look as if they did not
mean to budge, and had never heard of
change.

              ROOM IN THE WORLD.

THERE is room in the world for the wealthy and great,
For princes to reign in magnificent state;
For the courtier to bend, for the noble to sue,
If the hearts of all these be but honest and true.

And there's room in the world for the lowly and meek,
For the hard horny hand, and the toil-furrow'd cheek;
For the scholar to think, for the merchant to trade,
So these are found upright and just in their grade.

But room there is none for the wicked; and naught,
For the souls that with teeming corruption are fraught;
The world would be small were its oceans all land,
To harbour and feed such a pestilent band.