gunpowder rushes from side to side of the
sieves, and pours down from one stage to the
other. We feel sure that all this must be much
faster than usual. We do not wish it. Why
should pride prevent our requesting that this
horror should cease? We hear, also, an
extraordinary noise behind us. Turning hastily
round, we see the previously immoveable
black frame-work for the dead whirling round
and round in the air with frightful rapidity,
while two men with wooden shovels are
shovelling up showers of gunpowder, as if to
smother and suffocate its madness. Nothing
but shame nothing but shame and an
anguish of self-command, prevents our instantly
darting out of the house—across the platform
—and headlong into the river!

What a house—what a workshop! It is
quiet again. We have not sprung into the
river. But had we been alone here, under
such circumstances for the first time, we
should have had no subsequent respect for
our own instincts and promptitude of action
if we had done anything else. As it was, the
thing is a sensation for life. We find that the
whirling frame-work also contains sieves—
that the invisible moving power is by a water-
wheel under the flooring, which acts by a
crank. But we are very much obliged already
—we have had enough of "corning."

We take our departure over the platform
—have our over-shoes taken off—and finding
that there is something more to see, we rally
and recover our breath, and are again on
the path by the water's edge. A man is
corning down the river with, a small covered
barge, carrying powder from one house to
another. We remark that boating must be
one of the safest positions, not only as
unconducive to explosion, but even in case of its
occurring elsewhere. Mr. Ashbee coincides
in this opinion, although, he adds, that
sometime ago, a man coming down the river in a
boat—just as that one is now doing—had his
right arm blown off. We see that, in truth,
no position is safe. One may be "blown off"
anywhere, at any moment. Thus pleasantly
conversing as we walk, we arrive at the
"Glazing House."

The process of glazing consists in mixing
black-lead with gunpowder in large grains, and
glazing or giving it a fine glossy texture. For
this purpose four barrels containing the grains
are ranged on an axle. They are made to
revolve during four hours, to render them
smooth; black-lead is then added, and they
revolve four hours more. There is iron in
this machinery; but it works upon brass or
copper wheels, so that friction generates heat,
but not fire. The process continues from
eight to twenty-four hours, according to the
fineness of polish required; and the revolution
of the barrels sometimes causes the heat of
the gunpowder within to rise to one hundred
and twenty degrees—even to charring the
wood of the interior of the barrels by the heat
and friction. We enquire what degree of
heat they may be in at the present moment?
It is rather high, we learn; and the head-
glazer politely informs us that we may put
our hand and arm into the barrels and feel
the heat. He opens it at the top for the
purpose. We take his word for it. Hosvever,
as he inserts one hand and arm by way of
example, we feel in some sort called upon,
for the honour of "Household Words," to
do the same. It is extremely hot, and a most
agreeable sensation. The faces of the men
here, being all black from the powder, and
shining with the addition of the black lead,
have the appearance of grim masks of demons
in a pantomime, or rather of real demons in
a mine. Their eyes look out upon us with a
strange intelligence. They know the figure
they present. So do we. This, added to
their subdued voice, and whispering, and
mute gesticulation, and noiseless moving and
creeping about, renders the scene quite
unique; and a little of it goes a great way.

Our time being now short—our hours, in fact,
being "numbered,"—we move quickly on to
the next house, some hundred yards distant.
It is the "Stoving-house." We approach the
door. Mr. Ashbee is so good as to say there
is no need for us to enter, as the process may
be seen from the door-way. We are
permitted to stand upon the little platform
outside, in our boots, dispensing with the over-
shoes. This house is heated by pipes. The
powder is spread upon numerous wooden
trays, and slid into shelves on stands, or racks.
The heat is raised to one hundred and twenty-
five degrees. We salute the head stove-man,
and depart. But turning round to give a
"longing, lingering look behind," we see a
large mop protruded from the door-way. Its
round head seems to inspect the place where
we stood in our boots on the platform. It
evidently discovers a few grains of gravel or grit,
and descends upon them immediately, to expurgate
the evil communication which may corrupt
the good manners of the house. A great
watering-pot is next advanced, and then, a
stern head—not unlike an old medallion we
have seen of Diogenes—looks round the door-
post after us.

The furnace, with its tall chimney, by
means of which the stove-pipes ot the house
we have just visited, are heated, is at a
considerable distance, the pipes being earned
under-ground to the house.

We next go to look at the "Packing-house,"
where the powder is placed in barrels, bans.
tin cases, paper cases, canisters, &c. On
entering this place, a man runs swiftly before
each of us, laying down a mat for each foot to
step upon as we advance, thus leaving rows
of mats in our wake, over which we are
required to pass on returning. We
considered it a mark of great attention—a kind
of Oriental compliment.

There is another "Corning House" besides
the horrible one we have previously described.
This is upon the old principle, and consists of