through all the needful voyages and travels,
to the burnishing and packing at Birmingham!

We have seen, however, something which
may throw a little light on the prejudice
against Birmingham jewellery. It is not
conceivable that any one should despise such an
establishment as we have been describing.
But, we found ourselves, the other day, passing
through a little dwelling, where the
housewife, with a baby on her arm, and where
more than half-a-dozen children were housed;
and then crossing a little yard, and mounting
a flight of substantial brick steps with
a stout hand-rail, and entering the most
curious little work-room we ever were in. It
would just hold four or five people, without
allowing them room to turn round more than
one at a time. In one corner, was a very small
stove. A lattice-window ran along the whole
front, and made it pleasant, light, and airy. A
work-bench or counter was scalloped out, in the
same way as in larger establishments, so as to
accommodate three workers in the smallest
possible space. The three workers had each
his stool, his leathern pouch on his knees, and
his gas-pipe. A row of tools bristled along
the whole length of the lattice; and there was
another row on a shelf behind. The principal
workman was the father of those many
children below. One son was at work at his
elbow, and the remaining workman was an
apprentice. This working jeweller was as
thorough a gentleman, according to our
notions, as anybody we have seen for a long
time past. Tall, stout, and handsome; collar
white and stiff; apron white and sound; his
whole dress in good repair; his voice cheerful
as his face; his manner open and courteous;
his information exactly what we wanted. We
could not help wishing that some rural grandee,
who avows that he hates all manufacturers,
could see this fair specimen of an English
handicraftsman. As for his work, he told us
that he supplies the factors to order. It
would not answer to him to keep a stock.
The factors would not buy what he should
offer, but dictate to him what he shall make.
Fashions change incessantly, and he has only to
keep up with them as well as he can. It is not
for him to invent new patterns and get steel dies
made for them; but to get the same steel dies
that other makers are procuring. These dies
are, of course, for the metallic part of his work.
The boxes of lockets and hair brooches (now
vehemently in fashion), and devices, and
coloured stones, he procures at " the French
shops " in the town; and he showed us some
variety of these, ready for setting. Then came
out the " Brummagem " feature of the case;
showing us how the gold setting that he was
preparing—perforating and filing—was to be
backed by a blue stone. He observed that it
was not thought worth while to get costly
stones for a purpose like that; for blue
glass would do as well. I certainly thought
so, considering that the stone was to be
only the back-ground of his work. Of the
specimens I saw in that airy little workshop,
some were in excellent taste, and all, I
believe, of good workmanship. These small
masters are as punctilious about employing
only regularly qualified workmen, as any
members of any guild in the country. Their
journeymen must all have served an
apprenticeship; not only because they are thus
best fitted for their business, but because the
value of apprenticeship is thus kept up; and
these small capitalists will not part with the
advantage of having journeymen, under the name
of apprentices, completely under their command
during the last two or three years of their term.

One of the most remarkable sights, to
those who knew Birmingham a quarter of a
century ago, is such a manufacture as that of
Messrs. Parker and Acott's ever-pointed
pencils. Those of us whose fathers were in
business in the days of the war, when the arts
were not flourishing, may remember the bulky
pocket-book, with its leather strap (always
shabby after the first month), and its thick
cedar pencil, which always wanted cutting;
always blackening whatever came near it;
always getting used up; the lead turning
to dust at the most critical point of a
memorandum. There was a fine trade in
cedar pencils at Keswick in those days. It
seemed a tale too romantic to be true, when
we were told of ever-pointed pencils. First,
we, of course, refused to believe in their
existence ;—what improvement have we not
refused to believe in? Then, when we found
there was a screw in the case, and that
the pencil was not ever-pointed by a vital
action of its own, we were sure we should
not like it. We grew humble, and were
certain we could never learn to manage it.
And now, what have we not arrived at? We
are so saucy as to look beyond our improved
pencils; beyond pen and ink; beyond our
present need of a cumbrous apparatus to carry
about with us;—ink that will spill and spot;
leads that will break and use up; pens,
paper, syllables, letters, pot-hooks, dots and
crossings, and all the process of writing.
Perhaps the Electric Telegraph has spoiled
us: enabling us to imagine some process by
which thoughts may record themselves;
some brief and complete method of making
"mems," without the complicated process of
writing down hundreds of letters, and scores
of syllables, to preserve one single idea. All
this, however, is as romantic now as ever-
pointed pencils seemed to be at first; and
instead of dreaming of what is not yet achieved,
let us look at the reality before our eyes.

Here is something wonderful enough, on
our very entrance. Here is a silver pencil-
case,—neat and serviceable, though not of the
most elegant form;—handsome enough to
have been praised for its looks, thirty years
ago. This pencil-case carries two feet of lead.
It is intended to be the commercial traveller's
joy and treasure.' It will last him his life,
unless he take an unconscionable amount of