much less the only happy one; as a Christian, I am willing to believe that there is a great deal of truth in the following representation given by a very pious writer, as well as excellent man; "To the intelligent and virtuous, old age presents a scene of tranquil enjoyments, of obedient appetite, of well-regulated affections, of maturity in knowledge, and of calm preparation for immortality. In this serene and dignified state, placed as it were on the confines of two worlds, the mind of a good man reviews what is past with the complacency of an approving conscience; and looks forward with humble confidence in the mercy of God, and with devout aspirations towards his eternal and ever-increasing favour."-PALEY. • Father's Instructions; by Dr. Percival of Manchester, p. 317. THE USEFUL ARTS AND MANUFACTURES OF GREAT BRITAIN. THE SPINNING JENNY.— THE method of spinning with the one-thread wheel long continued to impede the progress of the manufacture, when, about the year 1764, was made the first mechanical invention profitably employed by manufacturers in England in spinning cotton yarn. This was the Spinning Jenny, invented by James Hargreaves, at Stand-hill, near Blackburn, in Lancashire, near the print-ground, the first and infant establishment of the father of the late Sir Robert Peel. Hargreaves was a plain, industrious, but illiterate man, a weaver by trade, and who, in common, with others of his class, felt great difficulty in supplying his loom with yarn. The principle of his invention is precisely that of the spinningwheel; its merit is its greater productiveness, and it is said to have occurred to him by one of those socalled accidents, which, when the mind is brooding on one particular subject, frequently occur, and lead the thoughts in the right direction; or perhaps, we may rather say that at such a time the mind is alive to the reception of any incident that may accidentally arise. Hargreaves had twelve children; and it is related that some of them and their playmates were one day assembled at play, during the dinner hour, when a wheel at which he, or some member of the family, was spinning, was accidentally overturned: the thread still remained in the hands of the spinner, and as the wheel was prevented by the framing from touching the floor, it still continued to turn round, and to move the spindle as before, but in an upright instead of a horizontal position. Hargreaves surveyed this with mingled curiosity and attention; he expressed his surprise in loud exclamations, and continued again and again to turn the wheel as it lay on the floor with an interest which no one about him could understand. He had before attempted to spin with two or three spindles attached to ordinary wheels, holding the several threads between the fingers of the left hand, but the horizontal position of the spindles rendered the attempt ineffectual; and the thought had not struck him till now, that if a number of spindles were placed upright, and side by side, several threads might be spun at once. He therefore constructed a frame, in one part of which were placed eight rovings in a row, and in another part a row of eight spindles. The rovings, when extended to the spindles, were made to pass between two horizontal fluted bars of wood, forming a clasp, and acting in the place of as many fingers and thumbs as there were threads. This clasp opened and shut somewhat like a parallel ruler, and when pressed together held the threads fast. certain portion of roving being extended from the spindles to the fluted wooden clasp, this was closed with the left hand, and then drawn along the horizontal frame to a considerable distance from the spindles, the spinner at the same time with his right hand turning a fly wheel, which caused the spindles to move rapidly round. Thus, by giving the threads the requisite twist, at the same time that they were lengthened out, the roving was spun A was useless my thinking of laying by money, when she wanted it. Ah! poor soul, she had spent the best part of her life in the service of her children, and it was only right that we should help her, when we had health and strength, and she had not. Aye, ma'am," he added with much earnestness, "there's nothing in this world like a mother! Go the world over, and you'll never find anybody that will do for you as your mother has done." "And how many years is it since you lost yours?" "Just fifteen years ago; and a great age she was. She breathed her last in my arms. I had come from Cumberland to bring her a little money, and spend the Christmas with her; for Sir Thomas Broome, whom I lived with then, (he was certainly a most kind master,) sent me to pay her a visit for a few days, little thinking that it was to see her on her death-bed. But so it was providentially ordered; and a comfort it will be to me to my dying day, and that will not be long first, to think that I was there to receive her blessing. I was her only son, and she thought a great deal of me." "You were her only son, Mr. Adamson, you say, and a good son too, I am sure, it was therefore no wonder that she thought much of you; but since her death, have you not been able to lay by anything for yourself?" "No, ma'am, not a farthing, and never shall now; but I'm sure I shall be provided for. He who feeds the ravens, will not let one of his servants want. Often when we seem to be getting lower and lower in the world, the Almighty stirs up something for us, just as he did when you came to offer Meg your washing. We were going fast down hill just then; and after you went, Meg and I observed, that we ought never to be distrustful of God's providence over us, for that he brought help to us when we least expected it. More than once it has happened so, ma'am ; and it is so little that we want for the short time we have to live, that we are quite easy about worldly matters." "I have closed the eyes of two of my sisters, and now it is hard to say whether Meg or I shall leave the other lonely. We often pray that if it be God's will we may not be long divided; and, indeed, at our age, it is not likely that we shall, for I am in my seventy-eighth year, and Meg is in her seventy-fifth." The old-fashioned clock that stood in one corner of the room struck one as old Adamson finished his sentence, and I felt that I had stayed over their dinner-hour, for a saucepan was on the fire, and by its constant bubbling proclaimed that something was cooking within. How really rich, thought I, as I was walking home, are these poor people in the midst of their poverty! Theirs is a wealth that never fails them. Their bags are never empty. And what is the secret of all this? A humble, contented, thankful spirit, springing from an unshaken trust in God's gracious providence-bearing privation, if it comes, without a murmur; abounding in thankfulness when it is removed. Bishop Wilson says, "They that have a convenient place to sleep in, and they that have the comfort of sleep, have both great reason to be thankful; and even they that want these mercies have reason to bless God, if, in the midst of their afflictions, he is pleased to refresh them with the comforts of his grace." This contented couple seemed in their daily practice fully to realize these words. An interval of nearly a month having ensued between one of my visits, I was distressed on paying my next, to see Margaret not at the washing tub, but in bed-sensible, indeed, but deprived almost of speech, and power of motion. I had been from home for a few days, and on my return, I was told that my washerwoman had had a paralytic stroke. No one knew who had called to say so, nor whether it was my present washerwoman or her predecessor; in fact, the message seemed a vague one, and I determined to walk over the following day, to see if it were indeed poor Margaret who had been thus afflicted. The moment I entered the door, I saw her stretched on the bed, pale and helpless. A smile passed over her countenance as she recognised me; and I sat down by her side, and heard from her brother, (for she could scarcely articulate,) that, three days before, she had been seized with a paralytic stroke; that, at first, she could not speak at all, nor even move, but that now she could make herself understood. Her brother said that she had no pain; that they had had their good clergyman to see her, and he was coming the next morning to administer the holy communion to her; "so," he added, "we shall partake of it together. Ay, ma'am, Mr. Seymour is very attentive to my sister. He has been every day to see her since she was seized. I believe he thinks she'll not get better.' I had brought two or three little things which I thought she might like; and having charged her brother to send me word if there was anything else she wanted, (though this, perhaps, was scarcely necessary, as I was sure Miss Anna would look after her favourites,) I took my leave. As I left the cottage, I felt it was a great uncertainty whether I should see Margaret again in this world; and I walked home with very different feelings from those which I gencrally had, after visiting their humble dwelling. I was not able to return to their cottage for more than a week, and then I had the pleasure of seeing Margaret sitting by the fireside, looking pale and wan, indeed, and with one hand and arm useless, but still able to sit, and her speech evidently improved. Week after week Margaret continued to improve, though very slowly. She regained the use of her arm after some months; but to this day she can make no use of her hand. Old Adamson, each time that I went, used to delight in relating her improvement. Of course, this illness of Margaret's put an end to her taking in washing, but still she managed to clean her house, and actually scrubbed the floor and table with her left hand, as clean as many do, who have the use of both hands. This she had continued to do for three years; and only last week I found her on her knees cleaning up the fire-place. Not very long after Margaret's illness, I heard that they were going to remove, and, knowing how great would be the fatigue to them, I went to ascertain the cause; as I thought, if it were merely on account of having a little more rent to pay, that we might manage to raise the money quarterly to prevent that; so I went to hear all about it. Margaret was by herself, for her brother had gone to look at the new cottage they had taken. "And do you like the thoughts of moving, Margaret?" I asked. "Why, ma'am, indeed I cannot exactly say that; but I think we shall be more comfortable when it is done, though it's a great fatigue for us, for we are not like young folks." Nearly a twelvemonth passed after their change of abode, without any material variation in their daily course. Miss Anna continued as kind and attentive as ever, though their removal had taken them rather farther from her; and Mr. Seymour's continued pastoral care was still the constant theme of their praises. Their Christmas, they said, had been a grand one indeed. Mr. Seymour had sent them a piece of beef, and Miss Anna had actually given them a whole loin of mutton. They ate the 58 mutton first, and salted the beef; and it lasted them a whole month, and tasted finely of the salt at last, they said. Thankful creatures! whatever was given them, was sure to be the best they had ever had. Not long after this grand Christmas, my poor old friend was seized with an illness which I certainly thought would have carried him into the grave. I scarcely know what to call it, but it seemed like a complete breaking up of his constitution; a general debility, and want of power. He was firmly convinced that he was going to die. A very few days, he used to say, he was certain would see a change in him, and he was quite ready; he merely waited for the call. However he recovered; a year has passed since he had this warning; and it is not a week ago, since he told me that his bodily health was as good as ever it had been in his life, but that, of course, his rheumatic pains would never leave him, and his old fall rendered him unable to walk fast, or far; but, with these exceptions, he said, he did not believe there was a healthier man living. He and his sister go on in their old course, patterns of conHe is still as fond of talking of days gone by, of the tentment to all. many instances, in the course of his life, in which Providence had been working for his good. He still reads, still darns, still praises Miss Anna and Mr. Seymour, and, to use his own words, is still "blessed with a contented mind." His delight is, perhaps, the greatest, when he manages to hobble to church, with the quiet inoffensive Margaret at his side; and their devout behaviour when there affords a proof of that reverence for God's word, God's house, and God's ministers, which a humble mind and a grateful heart will always rejoice to show. THE SALMON, THE TROUT, THE CHARR. THE SALMON (Salmo Salar). THE well-known Salmon (S. Salar), the largest of the genus, forms the object of one of the most important of our national fisheries, of which an idea may be formed from the quantity sent to the London market alone, during six days, (not selected as being unusually productive), viz., 253 boxes. Sooner or later in the spring, according to the season and the locality, the Salmon, which have spent some months in the ocean, begin to throng the mouths of the rivers. They remain a few days in the mingled salt and fresh water, before they proceed, when, having become seasoned, they ascend the streams. As the summer advances, they proceed higher and higher, and become more swollen with roe, and consequently out of season. We have mentioned the perseverance with which they surmount obstacles, in their progress to the spawning place; "they shoot up rapids with the velocity of arrows, and make wonderful efforts to surmount cascades and other impediments by leaping, frequently clearing an elevation of eight or ten feet, and, gaining the water above, pursue their course. If they fail in their attempt and fall back into the stream, it is only to remain a short time quiescent, and thus recruit their strength to enable them to make new efforts."* Mr. Mudie has described some of these feats which he has witnessed at the Fall of Kilmorac, in Inverness-shire. "The pool below this fall is very large; and, as it is the head of the run in one of the finest Salmon rivers in the North, and only a few miles distant from the sea, it is literally thronged with Salmon, which are continually attempting to pass the fall, but without success, as the limit of their perpendicular spring does not appear to exceed twelve or fourteen feet; at least, if they leap higher than that, they are aimless and exhausted, and the force of the current dashes them down again before they have recovered their energy. They often kill themselves by the violence of their exertions to ascend; and sometimes they fall upon the rocks and are captured. It is, indeed, said that one of the wonders which the Frasers of Lovat, who are lords of the manor, used to shew their guests, was a voluntary cooked Salmon, at the Falls of Kilmorac. For this purpose, a kettle was placed upon the flat rock on the south side of the fall, close by the edge of the water, and kept full and boiling. There is a considerable extent of the rock where tents were erected, and the whole was under a canopy of overshadowing trees. There the company are said to have waited until a Salmon fell into the kettle, and was boiled in their presence."† The shallow beds of gravel near the sources of the streams having been at length reached, the Salmon proceeds to deposit its spawn, which is done in the end of summer or autumn. The male and female unite their efforts to make a trench, by working in the loose gravel with their noses, always against the stream; into this furrow, when completed, the female deposits her spawn, which is afterwards covered up again. The fish are now unfit for food, and are called unclean. At the end of winter, they gradually descend the rivers, and soon regain the sea, where they recover their health and strength, and increase greatly in size, returning again in the summer to the rivers as before, very often (not always) ascending the identical stream which they left. In the spring, the spawn deposited in the preceding autumn is hatched, and the fry, less than an inch in length, ascend through the gravel, and proceed to pursue the same course as the adults, down to the sea, increasing in size as they go. In May or June they usually reach the salt-water, in which they remain till the waning of the summer warns them again to seek the shallows. Their increase is very great and remarkably rapid, so that a fish of the first summer will often weigh six pounds. Before the first spawning, the fish is called a Grilse. It has been proved by experiment, that fry confined in fresh-water will grow and thrive, without any com * Yarrell, Br. Fish, vol. ii. p. 8. + Brit. Naturalist, vol. i. p. 191. |