repaired. The ponderous work of the men at
the forge and anvils contrasts curiously with
the delicacy of the fabric which is to be
produced by the agency of these masses of iron
and steel. Passing up a step-ladder, we find
ourselves in a long room, where turners are
at work, making the wooden apparatus
required, piercing the "compass boards," for
the threads to pass through, and displaying to
us many ingenious forms of polished wood.
While the apparatus is thus preparing below,
the material of the manufacture is getting
arranged, four stories over-head. There, under
a skylight, women and girls are winding the
silk from the hanks, upon the spools, for the
shuttles. Here we see, again, the clouded silk,
which is to make plaid ribbons, and the bright
hues which delighted our eyes at the dyeing-
house. This is easy work,—many of the
women sitting at their reels; and the air is pure
and cool. The great shaft from the engine,
passing through the midst of the building,
carries off the dust, and affords excellent
ventilation. Besides this, the whole edifice is
crowned by an observatory, with windows all
round; and no complete ceilings shut off the
air between this chamber and the rooms of
two stories below. In clear weather, there is
a fine view from this pinnacle, extending from
the house, gardens, and orchard of the Messrs.
Hamerton below, over the spires of Coventry,
to a wide range of country beyond.

Descending from the long room, where the
winding is going on, we find ourselves in an
apartment which it does one good to be in.
It is furnished with long narrow tables, and
benches, put there for the sake of the
workpeople, who may like to have their tea at the
factory, in peace and quiet. They can have
hot water, and make themselves comfortable
here. Against the door hangs a list of books,
read, or to be read, by the people: and a very
good list it is. Prints, from Raffaelle's Bible,
plainly framed, are on the walls. In the
middle of the room, on, and beside, a table, are
four men and boys, preparing the "strapping"
of a Jacquard loom for work. The cords, so
called, are woven at Shrewsbury. We next
enter a room where a young man is engaged
in the magical work of "reading in from the
draught." The draught is the pattern of the
intended ribbon, drawn and painted upon
diced paper,—like the patterns for carpets that
we saw at Kendal, but a good deal larger,
though the article to be produced here is so
much smaller. The young man sits, as at a
loom. Before him hangs the mass of cords
he is to tie into pattern, close before his face,
like the curtain of a cabinet piano. Upreared
before his eyes is his pattern, supported by a
slip of wood. He brings the line he has to
"read in" to the edge of this wood, and then,
with nimble fingers, separates the cords, by
threes, by sevens, by fives, by twelves, according
to the pattern, and threads through them the
string which is to tie them apart. The skill
and speed with which he feels out his cords,
while his eyes are fixed on his pattern, appear
very remarkable: but when we come to
consider, it is not so complicated a process as
playing at sight on the piano. The reader
has to deal thus with one chapter, or series,
or movement, of his pattern. A da capo
ensues: in other words, the Jacquard cards are
tied together, to begin again; and there is a
revolution of the cards, and a repetition of the
pattern, till the piece of ribbon is finished.
In the same apartment is the press in which
the Jacquard cards are prepared;—just in the
way which may be seen wherever silk or
carpet weaving, with Jacquard looms, goes
forward.

All the preparations having been seen,—the
making of the machinery, the filling of the
spools, the drawing and "reading in" of the
pattern, and the tying of the cords or strapping,
we have to see the great process of all,—
the actual weaving. We certainly had no
idea how fine a spectacle it might be. Floor
above floor is occupied with a long room in
each, where the looms are set as close as they
can work, on either hand, leaving only a narrow
passage between. It may seem an odd
thing to say; but there is a kind of architectural
grandeur in these long lofty rooms,
where the transverse cords of the looms and
their shafts and beams are so uniform, as to
produce the impression that symmetry, on a
large scale, always gives. Looking down upon
the details, there is plenty of beauty. The
light glances upon the glossy coloured silks,
depending, like a veil, from the backs of the
looms, where women and girls are busy
piercing the imperfect threads with nimble
fingers. There seems to be plenty for one
person to do; for there are thirteen broad
ribbons, or a greater number of narrow ones,
woven at once, in a single loom; yet it may
sometimes be seen that one person can attend
the fronts, and another the backs of two looms.
In the front we see the thirteen ribbons getting
made. Usually, they are of the same
pattern, in different colours. The shuttles,
with their gay little spools, fly to and fro, and
the pattern grows, as of its own will. Below
is a barrel, on which the woven ribbon is
wound. Slowly revolving, it. winds off the
fabric as it is finished, leaving the shuttles
above room to ply their work.

The variety of ribbons is very great, though
in this factory we saw no gauzes, nor, at the
time of our visit, any of the extremely rich
ribbons which made such a show at the
Exhibition. Some had an elegant and
complicated pattern, and were woven with two
shuttles (called the double-batten weaving)
which came forward alternately, as the details
of the rich flower or leaf required the one or
the other. There were satin ribbons, in weaving
which only one thread in eight is taken
up,—the gloss being given by the silk loop
which covers the other seven. On entering,
we saw some narrow scarlet satin ribbons,
woven for the Queen. Wondering what Her