employers, and think of the danger to the
Iives of others, and of the property at stake at
all times, and more especially in all the more
dangerous "houses." The proprietors of the
various Gunpowder Mills all display the
same consideration for each other, and whenever
any improvement tending to lessen
danger is discovered by one, it is immediately
communicated to all the others. The wages
of the men are good, and the hours very
short; no artificial lights are ever used in
the works. They all wash themselves—
black, white, yellow and bronze—and leave
the Mills at half-past three in the afternoon,
winter and summer.

But we have not yet visited all the "houses,"
and one of them, in particular, Mr. Ashbee
assures us is a very interesting process. To be
sure, it is one of the most dangerous; and
what makes this worse, is the fact that the
process is of that kind which requires the
constant presence of the men. They cannot
set the machinery to work, and leave it for a
given time, as in the case of some mills
previously described; they must always remain
on the spot. It is the "Corning House,"—
sometimes called "Graining," as it is the
process which reduces cakes and hard nobs
of gunpowder into grains—a very nice, and,
it would appear, a sufficiently alarming
operation.

The rain still befriends us. We have been
once drenched, and have dried ourselves to a
comfortable steaming dampness by the fire of
the office at the entrance of the works—
luncheon inclusive. We are now forth again,
and in a fair way of obtaining another soaking,
so that we have every reason to feel as
safe as can be. It is quite clear that we shall
not give off a spark. So, now for the "Corning
House."

Ascending by a rising pathway, we pass
over a mound covered with a plantation of
firs, and descending to a path by the river
side, we arrive at a structure of black
timber, some five-and- twenty feet high, set
up in the shape of ait acute angle. This is a
"blast-wall," intended to otfer some
resistance to a rush of air in case of an
explosion near at hand. There is also a
similar blast-wall on the opposite side of the
river. Passing this structure, we arrive at a
green embankment thrown up as in fortified
places, and behind and beneath this stands
the "Corning House."

It is a low-roofed black edifice, like the rest,
although, if possible, with a still more dismal
appearance. We know not what causes
the impression, but we could fancy it some
place of torture, devoted to the service of the
darkest pagan superstitions, or those of the
Holy Inquisition. A little black vestibule, or
out-house, stands on the side nearest us. The
whole structure is planted on the river's edge,
to which the platform in front extends. We
enter the little vestibule, and here we go
through the ceremony of the over-shoes. We
are then permitted to advance upon the sacred
platform, and we then approach the entrance.
If we have received a strange and unaccountable
impression of a place of torture, from the
external appearance and surrounding
circumstances, this is considerably borne out by
the interior. The first thing that seems to
justify this is a dry, strangulated, shrieking
cry, which continues at intervals. We
discover that it is the cry of a wooden screw in
torment, which in some sort reconciles us.
But the sound lingers, and the impression
too. The flooring is all covered with leather
and hides, all perfectly black with the dust of
gunpowder, and on this occasion all perfectly
dry. We do not much like that: the wet
sliding about was more amusing; perhaps,
also, a trifle safer.

The first object that seizes upon our attention
is a black square frame-work, apparently
suspended from the ceiling. Its ugly perpendicular
beams, and equally uncouth horizontal
limbs would be just the thing to hang the
dead bodies of tortured victims in. We
cannot help following up our first impression.
The men here, who stand in silence
looking intently at us, all wear black masks.
On the left there is reared a structure of black
wood reaching to within two or three feet of
the roof. It is built up in several stages,
descending like broad steps. Each of these
broad steps contains a sieve made of closely
woven wire, which becomes finer as the steps
get lower and lower. In this machine we
noticed iron axles for the wheels, but our attention
was directed to the rollers, which were of
zinc. Thus the friction does not induce sparks,
the action being also guarded against external
blows. At present the machine is not in
motion; and the men at work here observe
their usual silence and depressing gravity.
We conjecture that the machine, when put in
motion, shakes and sifts the gunpowder in a
slow and most cautious manner, corresponding
to the seriousness of the human workers,
and with an almost equal sense of the
consequences of iron mistaking for once the nature
of copper and brass. "Put on the house!"
says Mr. Ashbee, in the calm voice always
used here, and nodding at the same time to
the head corning-man. A rumbling sound is
heard the wheels begin to turn—the black
sieves bestir themselves, moving from side to
side;—the wheels turn faster the sieves
shake and shuffle faster. We trust there is
no mistake. They all get faster still. We
do not wish them to put themselves to any
inconvenience on our account. The full speed
is laid on! The wheels whirl and buzz—iron
teeth play into brass teeth—copper winks at
iron—the black sieves shake their infernal
sides into fury—the whole machine seems bent
upon its own destruction—the destruction of
us all! Now—one small spark—and in an
instant the whole of this house, with all in it,
would be instantly swept away! Nobody
seems to think of this. And see!—how the