lish cotton manufacture, from which 1,040,380,000 lb. were spun into yarn, 211,940,000 lb. going into export as yarn, 698,840,000 lb. as woven stuffs, and 129,600,000 lb. remained in the country for home consumption.

In this great industrial development, as we have seen, Fielden Brothers played a most important part, mill after mill being erected by them, and shed after shed, until the present gigantic concern was the ultimate result. Having been built in so many separate sections, as it were, and with no portion of the older factory buildings swept away, but all still standing as landmarks of commercial history, if not exactly orna ments of the landscape, the Waterside works are not to be compared in imposingness of aspect with many less extensive ranges of factory buildings of a later date. Taking them, however, in their order, as they come, from the first stage to the last, we see each operation of the cotton manufacture being carried on under perfectly convenient conditions, with space enough for all the various processes. There are the Waterside spinning-mill, in which five hundred and sixty-two hands have been employed at one time; the old weaving-shed, containing five hundred looms; the new weaving shed, with about one thousand looms, covering an acre of ground; and quite a number of smaller buildings, in which the earlier preparatory processes are carried

on.

Then, farther away amongst the hills, the firm have other works, including the Robinwood Mill, about a mile and a half off, on the Burnley Road; Stoneswood Mill, on the way towards Bacup; and Lumbutts Mill and Jumb Mill, up in one of the hol

range. At Waterside alone they have three powerful steam-engines one of one hundred and twenty, another of eighty, and a third of sixty horse-power. When in the full tide of their success, Fielden Brothers also occupied mills at Mytholmroyd, Smithy Holme, Waterstalls, Causeway, and Dobroyd; but as time went on, and the members of the firm found their positions well assured, and as fresh inventions brought about a greater concentration of force, they relinquished some of the outside mills, and now confine their operations to Waterside, Robinwood, Stoneswood, Lumbutts, and Jumb.

A rapid glance through the Waterside works will give us some notion of the present nature and.extent of the firm's operations. First, there is the mixingroom, where thousands of pounds' worth of cotton lies piled up in bales just as it arrives from America, and where it is emptied out, looking so full of dirt and rubbish that to the untutored eye it seems as if no machinery in the world could ever make it soft and beautiful; but in its earlier cleansing stages the fibre has some strange and fearful processes to go through. It is estimated that in ninety bales of cotton there are at least 300 lb. of sand, and no end of other impurities; and all this has to be shaken or blown out of it before it can be submitted to the more advanced manipulative operations. First of all, it is passed through a long pipe, into which is introduced a powerful current of air that plays havoc with the dust and dirt. Then we follow it into the scutching-room, where the cotton is put through what is called a scutcher, which has an iron cylinder studded with iron spikes

that catch the fibre and toss it about in the most frantic manner; while a beater, consisting of two iron blades working on an axis, makes violent attacks upon it, the machine making fifteen hundred turns per minute. We now descend to the opening-room, and see the openers at work, with their revolving vertical shafts and projecting discs and arms, and their active fans, and observe the cotton at length rolled upon a beam in the form of a lap. At the next stage we require greater space for our operations. We reach the cardingroom, where rows of cardingmachines are to be seen at work, with their numberless rollers, wheels, and cylinders boxed off for the confinement of the dust; but, do what they will, the dust lies thick in the air, and constitutes a small mist. The cardingmachine is well worth examination. When the box-covering is lifted off, you see a number of rollers of different sizes, each bristling full of teeth made of the finest wire, revolving one upon another, moving at various speeds, and stealing the fibrous material from each other in the most unaccountable way. It is as if they were manipulating a succession of snowflakes. These rollers are in the middle portion of the machine. At one end the beam of 'lap' feeds the machine with fleecy layers of cotton, and at the other it issues forth in the shape of a beautiful gossamer film that passes through a small circular opening, being taken from the final roller by an extremely fine horizontal comb that moves with great rapidity. In passing through the circular opening as sliver,' it drops into an oscillating can, which receives it most tenderly. When the 'lap' enters the machine it moves with extreme slowness, as if reluctant to get drawn into the

·

entanglement of the thousands of teeth that the rollers are anxious to grind it between; but when it has passed the last roller, and has become beautiful white 'sliver,' it hurries off sixty to eighty times as fast as when it entered. A layer of thick cotton one yard long put in at one end of this machine will come out at the other end a layer of eighty or ninety yards in length.

The preparatory processes are now finished. What the remaining machines have to do is to stretch the fibre to perhaps a hundred times its original length, and to impart to it the proper amount of twist. The cotton in its 'sliver' form is very unequal in its formation, and is far from being in a fit condition to go to the spinning-frame. We there

fore see the cans of 'slivers' brought to the drawing-frames. Six ropes of 'sliver' pass together between the rollers of the first drawing-frame, the rollers moving with unequal velocities, and producing, by their combined action, a nearly uniform resultthe six ropes that enter forming one on emerging. Then six of these sixfold ropes of 'sliver' are passed on to the second drawing, and, after the same process has been repeated, the 'slivers' are put through a third frame, each rope of sliver' at the finish being thus two hundred and sixteen times its original strength. One yard has been expanded into thirty-seven yards, and, what is very important, all the fibres are now side by side. The slubbingframe now takes the cotton in hand. Two ropes of 'sliver' are run together between rollers, and the cotton is wound on to open bobbins, being still further drawn out in the process—one yard being stretched to five or six-while at the same time a slight extra

เ

twist is given to it. Then the roving-frames have a turn at it, giving further attenuation and twist to the fibre, and making it ready for the spinning-frame. Many rooms have to be travelled through in inspecting all these processes, and much clatter and buzz has to be endured; but the workpeople seem happy amongst it all, and go through their duties with an activity and a brightness which bespeak anything but oppression.

From this point there are two distinct roads for the fibre. Such portion of it as is intended for yarn (or warp) is carried forward into the throstle-room, where there is a long array of throstle spinning-frames. The bright spindles of these machines run at the rate of four thousand revolutions per minute, and not only perform the winding and twisting processes, but give a further extension of its length by seven times. It is interesting to watch the working of the little army of 'doffers,' as they call the children who, when the bobbins are full, take them from the spindles with military order and precision. From the throstle the yarn is transferred to winding frames, where it is run on to larger bobbins; and then it goes to the warping machines, where the bobbins are placed in a rack, the ends threaded through large needles arranged in a frame, and then wound round a large circular revolving drum to the required length.

When the cotton-fibre is intended for weft it is taken from the roving-frames to the mulespinning. This machine is the most interesting and impressive sight in a cotton-mill. It contains a moving carriage that works on an iron railroad, and runs in and out five or six feet at each journey. There are six hundred

to eight hundred threads on each carriage or machine, and as the drawing, stretching, and twisting proceeds they are wound into the form of 'cops,' and are ready for the loom.

We have now only to follow warp and weft into the large weaving sheds to see the cotton worked up into pieces.' The two sheds previously mentioned --one containing a thousand and the other five hundred loomspresent a most animated appearance. The looms are rattling away at an enormous speed— many of them run at the rate of one hundred and ninety 'picks' or strokes to the minute-and the operatives who tend them have to keep their eyes open and their hands ready for instant action as their machines drive rapidly along. Each weaver has four looms to look after, so there is not much time for loitering. The sight is a very impressive one-a farstretching scene of bustle and din which to the stranger is almost bewildering.

Messrs. Fielden Brothers have always evinced a lively interest in the welfare of their workpeople, and there has always seemed to exist a feeling of friendliness and goodwill between them and their employés. Many of their hands have continued to work for them during a lifetime; they have at the present time men in their employment who have worked continuously at Waterside for over fifty years. Long after the adoption of power-looms, they kept their old hand-weavers with work. Indeed, they had fifty-three of these in their service so recently as 1861; but in that year they relinquished the hand-weaving department entirely, not, however, without pensioning off thirty-five of them; and of this number two are still living and receiving their

6

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

MISS MOWBRAY'S IDEA.

6

MR. MOWBRAY arrived unexpectedly the next day. He was in excellent spirits, and his aunt was delighted to see him. To Pauline his sudden visit was a little startling, and she wished that he had put it off a few days. Ben Dunstan understood that she meant to marry him, and so she certainly did; but it would have been much easier to tell her own people by letter than by word of mouth. It was not so very easy to tell Aunt Lucia that she had changed her mind, that the man she did not even like' was to be her husband after all; but it was sure to be good news to Aunt Lucia; and she was conscious that her father might not be so much delighted, even if he heard at the same time that Ben was to have Croome. Her father was unworldly; he was as sentimental as a woman in his ideas about marriage; and she loved him so much, and cared for his opinion so deeply, that she felt absolutely afraid to meet the incredulous smile in his eyes when she told him that she had accepted Ben Dunstan.

Mr. Mowbray's eyes followed her about the room that evening. He was quite aware that she was pale and distraite, and in the light of his new knowledge he put down these looks to her anxiety to hear of Gérard. If the child cared for him, it certainly

VOL. XLIV. NO. CCLXIII.

was hard upon her that he should have come and gone without her seeing him.

But Mr. Mowbray with great prudence determined to say as little as possible till he had had his talk with Aunt Lucia. When she said, 'So your French friend is gone?' he answered, with a careless air, 'Yes. We showed him all we could. He is gone back wiser than he came;' and then turned the conversation to something else.

He did not see his aunt alone till the next morning, when Pauline, looking out of her window, saw them pacing together up and down the broad walk in the garden, the same walk where, six or eight months ago, Miss Mowbray had told the obstinate and ungracious Ben that she meant to make him her heir. What was happening there now? Pauline watched them for a minute or two from her high window; they were talking with great animation. She turned away and thought of Ben, whom she had not seen since they parted on the bridge. He was keeping away, of course, in obedience to her wish; she now thought he had better come, and tell the elders himself, but she did not know how to summon him.

In the mean time Mr. Mowbray was talking to Aunt Lucia very seriously, and a serious talk between them was a strange thing: they were too much alike to take each other gravely.

'You had our Frenchman here:

MM