Possibly the reformer plumed himself not a
little on his cleverness:—but, certainly Mr.
Howe saw the goodness of his follower's
work. He forthwith laid a claim to part of
the seamstress. Part of the iron lady (said
Mr. Howe) might belong to Mr. Judkins;
but, undoubtedly, the lady's hands—the
needle and the shuttle—were the property of
Mr. Howe. Howe versus Judkins hereupon
joined issue, and the law decided in favour of
Howe. What does the seamstress then, but
appear, like Miss Biffin, without arms! These
were terrible times in the history of the
metallic seamstress. But Mr. Judkins did not
desert the lady in these her dark days. He
forthwith proceeded to consider the possibility
of adapting the seamstress to her work. He
succeeded. She now proceeds to do her
business in a curious, but effective way. She
is, probably, not good at involved crochet-
patterns, and in other mysteries of needlework;
but give her plain work to sew, and
you shall see her make more than five
hundred tight stitches in a minute.

The iron seamstress is composed of a flat
metal surface, about twelve inches square (a
very comfortable little body, as it will be
seen), resting on four substantial legs. From
one side of the lady's flat iron surface, an arm
rises to the height of about ten inches, and
then, bending the elbow, passes over to the
opposite side. From the end of the arm, a
moveable finger descends; this moveable
finger holds the needle. But, the iron lady's
needle is not like the instrument of a flesh
and blood seamstress. Her needle has its eye
only half an inch from the point. The lady's
needle being fixed in the lady's iron finger
(somehow, this is like writing about a
ferruginous Miss Kilmansegg), a reel or bobbin
filled with thread is placed above the lady's
arm, and the thread is passed through the
needle's eye;—for, the iron seamstress cannot
thread her needle herself. To move the iron
seamstress, a wheel is fixed to a main shaft;
this wheel may be turned, either by steam
or by human hands. Once in motion, it
has instantaneous effect upon a lever within
the arm; and the effect of this lever is to
move the needle in the iron finger up and
down, through the cloth and back again,
leaving a loop of thread visible under the
cloth. Beneath the iron surface before described,
are a second reel of thread and
another needle; this needle moves horizontally,
backwards, and forwards through the
loops made by the vertical needle; and in
this way the stitches are formed. But the
horizontal needle also leaves a loop through
which the vertical needle passes in the next
descent; and thus, at every descent, a stitch
is completed by the iron seamstress. It is true
that this stern lady uses two needles, whereas
the human instrument commands only one;
but she works at the prodigious rate of
five hundred stitches a minute! She
certainly requires somebody to be constantly
looking after her. She does not even hold
her work herself. A servant must be in
attendance to guide the cloth forward as the
stitches are made in it, causing the sewing to
be straight, angular, or circular, at his pleasure.

But with all these disadvantages, the iron
seamstress has unquestionable recommendations.
Her five hundred stitches per minute
outnumber those of the human seamstress
beyond all hope of rivalry. In the delicate
parts of work—in those mysteries known to
the erudite as flounces, gussets, frills, and
tucks—in the learned complications of the
herring-bone system, and the homely art of
darning—we imagine that the iron lady is not
proficient. We believe her to be able, at the
present time, to take in only the plainest
needlework. She must cede the graces of
the art, as yet, to her human rivals: content
to stitch and sew anything put before her,
at the goodly rate of five hundred stitches
per minute.

Yet, even now, the friends of human
seamstresses may well begin to consider the effect
this iron rival will ultimately have on human
labour. Will the iron seamstress drive the
seamstress of (not much) flesh and blood to
more remunerative employments? The
answer is not an easy one. Needlework, though
poorly paid, has long been the drudgery to
which women have taken when the strong
arm that shielded them has fallen suddenly
away. It was work easily learned and
abundantly wanted. Poor creatures whose
prospect was so dark that any pittance was a
relief, could always, if they would accept
the hard price, get the work. True, better
times than those of forty-eight have dawned:
and in the future, hope is placed most
confidently by all men. But while we acknowledge
that it is for the good of everybody that
the iron seamstress should ply her double
needles, we may well look around to see what
field of labour may be fairly laid open to helpless
women. We are told that they would
make tender doctors for one another; that
in walks of science and knowledge, there is
room they may well fill; that in the broad
ways of the world there are many honourable
employments for which they are appropriately
fitted. No doubt. Still, if we look to it a
little, while the iron seamstress is practising
her five hundred stitches per minute, we may
take that one effective stitch in time which is
said to save nine.