lights upon our coasts, saving many a sea-man
from the snares of the ocean, and
giving him years more of life. It is this particular
glass of which all kinds of lenses are
made; and when we think of what is included
in this set of uses, we feel that all the
wonders of windows and glass palaces are of
small consequence in comparison with them.

Passing from thoughts of telescopes, microscopes,
spectacles, and lighthouse lenses, we
go to see some more window-glass—the very
best kind—namely, Crown Glass. We cannot
in the least comprehend how and why the
"metal" we saw treated, becomes the great
and beautiful disc that we beheld it grow
into; we can only relate what the process
is, as we witnessed it. It is considered the
most striking and wonderful of all the spectacles
of this fire-palace. The same sort of
tube that we had tried to blow through, now
took up the same kind of material, in the
same manner as in the case of sheet glass; a
globe was formed in just the same way, and
rolled on a metal table. After many heatings,
and much blowing, the farther side of the
globe was somewhat flattened, by pressing it
against an upright surface; and then a boy
brought a solid rod, with a dab of the fiery
honey upon it, and fixed it in the middle of
the flattened side. As soon as the rod is
safely fixed, the original tube is detached by
a touch of cold iron, and comes away, leaving
a small hole. The workman throws down
his tube, takes the rod, and twirls the globe
like a mop, thrusting it into the furnace very
often, to prevent its cooling. It swells and
spreads, and reflects the flames on its film-like
surface; the hole enlarges, and the edge
curls back, till the globe looks like a vast
lamp-shade. As the twirling continues, the
edge folds backwards, more and more, till it
makes a tubular ring all round. Suddenly,
this ring bursts, and its substance melts into
the flattening material which it surrounds,
and the whole becomes a disc, or circular
plate, of from fifty to sixty inches in diameter,
of the same thickness throughout, except just
round the rod in the centre. The plate is
carried to the annealing kiln, and there is
tilted with a "fork," until it stands on its
edge—the foremost of a regiment of discs,
separated from each other by bars. Window-panes
are to be cut out of it, by-and-bye; and
the thick part, in the centre, is to glaze out-houses
and the like.

The heat from these last-seen furnaces is
tremendous. The men do what they can to
shield themselves from it. They wear masks
—gauze, fastened to the rim of an old hat.
One holds a wooden screen before the face of
another, and all are as quick as possible, both
for their own sakes and that of the glass.
Still, it is a marvel how they can bear it.
We are told that it is by their working very
moderately, as to time—four or five days (of
seven hours) in a week. Thirty-five hours in
a week are considered a fair share of work for
glass-blowers; but, if a pot breaks, they must
work until another is put in. Thus, their time
is spent between arduous toil and leisure;
and this circumstance points to the expediency
of furnishing them with amusement which
may make their leisure harmless. The public-house
used to be a terrible temptation to men
so tired, heated, and thirsty; and to many it
is so still. Of late, reading-rooms have been
opened, which appear to be an inestimable
resource. There the workman may enter at
any hour during the day, and find a good fire,
a table covered with newspapers and other
periodicals, and some comrades reading the
news. There is a good and increasing library;
and the men may take the books home, and
are encouraged to do so, that they may spend
the evenings with their families.

We have still to see how the sheet-glass
becomes smooth and polished. It has to
undergo three processes more;—grinding,
smoothing, and polishing. Probably the first
thing every stranger does on entering the
grinding-roorn is to burst out a-laughing,—
the machinery is so grotesque;—so like being
alive and full of affectations. It is patent
machinery: the exclusive possession of this
house. One sheet is moved about upon
another with a movement like that by a
human arm, scrubbing and grinding; and
the repetition of this, by scores of machines
in rows, produces a most ludicrous effect.
The sheets have been properly squared before
by being cut with a glazier's diamond. The
grinding now, with sand between the sheets,
takes three hours for each side; and they
come out of the process opaque, but without
seams or serious blemishes. They must be
smoothed by hand; and this is done by
women, who rub them with fine emery, and
remove any remaining specks. From forty
to fifty women are employed in this work at
long tables, where their action is very graceful,
as they bend over their work, and use
the steady and equable pressure required.
The polishing is done by machinery, in the
same sort of red apartment, filled with red
machines, tended by red work-people, which
was described in the account of Plate-glass
making, at page 433, of our second volume.
The noise here is horrible. Noise and rouge,
and the tyranny of the rolling presses over
the tortured sheets, bound down immovable,
give an infernal aspect to the place, very
unlike some things that remain to be seen.

We pass through more and more of these
vast rooms, each of which would contain a
house. One is full of glass shades, of all
sizes, from that which would cover a life-size
statue, to such as would preserve butterflies
from dust. In a closet, opening out of this
room, a man is plying the wheeled diamond
with a weight and measure, carefully cutting
the bottom of shades true and even. Here
are bell-glasses for fern-houses, and some
with a trough for water round the edge.
Here, too, are shades made to order, for