softly and tenderly as if it still enfolded those who had been so sacredly cherished in the lapse of long and silent years-laying it appealingly on the young mother's arm as she whispered, "Ah, Serena, don't ask me to stand for the dear little baby; I never thought of it so. Isn't it a great deal to promise?" that he now found it his policy to relinquish his farm and devote himself entirely to the new employment which he had thus created for himself. The cotton fabrics which were produced at this period were far different in appearance from those with which the last three generations have been familiar; they were, in fact, only cotton cloths, either indifferently white, or dyed in such homely colors as the dyers of the time could impart to them. Though useful for a variety of domestic purposes and for under-gar The young father leaned over his first-born's cradle with new and holy thoughts stirring within him; and in the momentary stillness that followed these faithful words of warning, two hearts at least awoke to the reality of the life to come, and the emptiness with which we sur-ments, the idea of making them the materials round the outward type and symbol of the soul's search for its purity. THE BLACKBURN FARMER. of personal adornment and elegant attire seems as yet to have suggested itself to no one. But now the Blackburn farmer conceived that idea, and, inspirited by his success in the wool-card ABOUT the middle of last century there re-ing department, resolved to carry it out with all the energy at his command. sided in the village of Blackburn, in Lancashire, a farmer of small means, but of good To talking he was not much given, and to natural capacity, of a reflective habit, and en- boasting not at all, and on this occasion, especialdowed with a spirit of persistent perseverance ly, he shrewdly kept his plans to himself. Prorarely found in his walk of life. He tilled a few curing a stout block of wood, ten inches long by acres of land, the produce of which sufficed to five inches wide, and some two inches thick, he support his family, whom he accustomed to fare drew with a pencil, on the smooth side of it, humbly and labor hard. As for himself, he the exact representation of a parsley-leaf gathcared not how much he worked, nor to what em- ered from his garden. He then set to work, ployment he turned his hand. Any thing that with penknife and small chisels, and such othpromised a remuneration for his industry heer tools as he could purchase, and with his own would attempt; if it prospered, and he obtained the proposed remuneration, it was well; and if it failed, and he got no remuneration, still he extracted experience out of it, and was in a condition to enter on a new experiment with a better chance of success. This patience and good-humored self-possession, under all circumstances, was inherent in the man, and it proved in the end a most valuable quality, as we shall see. He was naturally fond of experiment; and in the long evenings of winter, when farming operations were unavoidably suspended, was accustomed to exercise his ingenuity, of which he possessed a more than average share, in mechanical contrivances either for diminishing labor or for rendering its operations more satisfactory and complete. hands cut away all those parts of the wood not covered by the drawing, leaving the spray of parsley standing in relief; or, in other words, he made a wood-engraving of the leaf, differing in no other respect from the wood-engravings of the artist of to-day but in the rough coarseness of the work, unavoidable in a first attempt. In the back of the block he fixed a handle, and at each of the four corners of it he inserted a little pin of stout wire. His next step was to mix a lively green color, well ground up with alum, to a consistency fit for printing. The color was contained in a tub, and upon its surface lay a thick woolen cloth, which, of course, became thoroughly saturated with the coloring matter. Laying a blanket on a stout kitchentable, and stretching the white calico cloth on At that period, all Lancashire and the man- the top of that, the ingenious farmer applied his ufacturing districts of the north were more or wooden block to the saturated woolen cloth, dabless excited on the subject of the cotton manu- bing it repeatedly until it had taken up a suffactures, which the inventions of Hargreaves and ficient quantity of the color. He then laid the others had brought to a state of perfection that block squarely on the stretched cloth, and gave promised to make Great Britain the commercial it a smart blow on the back with a mallet, thus centre of the world. It is no wonder, therefore, printing the impression of the parsley-leaf. The that the farmer turned his attention to this branch four little pins, fixed at the corners of the block, of manufacture. Being struck with the clumsy served to guide him in applying it squarely at tediousness of the process by which the cotton each consecutive impression; and thus he worked wool was brought into a state fit for spinning, away, until the whole surface of the cloth was he set about contriving a quicker and more sat-covered with the parsley-leaves, and he had proisfactory method of doing the work. Before duced the first piece of printed cotton the world long he was led to the adoption of a cylinder, had ever seen. instead of the common hand-cards then in use; and in the end produced machines of simple construction, by which the work of carding was not only performed more effectually, but at a much more expeditious rate. The success of his endeavors in this direction was so decided, The parsley-leaf pattern succeeded so well that he soon found himself called on for others of various designs, which also he made with his own hands, thus keeping his secret to himself, and shutting out rivals in the trade which his own ingenuity had created. And now the de mand for his novel wares grew so urgent that government. This he did; and the governhe could not produce them fast enough for his ment, in return for his generous patriotism, customers. As a matter of course, he had im- made him a baronet.. pressed the services of his whole family-his sons aiding in the printing, and his wife and daughters working early and late in ironing out the printed cloths after the coloring matter was dry. This ironing process took a great deal of time; and though the women bent over the flatirons early and late, they could not meet the urgency of the case, and thus the execution of the orders that poured in was.continually delayed. To overcome this obstacle the farmer set his wits to work to contrive a machine to supersede the use of the flat-irons. Remembering the advantage he had derived from the use of a cylinder in carding the cotton-wool, he turned again to the cylinder to effect his present purpose. He instructed a carpenter to make a large oblong frame, with a smooth bed of solid planking, supported on upright posts, and with a raised rail or ledge on either side. Running from side to side he placed a roller, with a handle to turn it, and round the roller he wound a rope spirally. Each end of the rope was fastened to a strong, oblong box, as large as the bed of the frame; and the box being filled with bricks and pavingstones, was heavy enough to impart a powerful pressure. Instead of ironing his pieces of printed cloth, the farmer now wound them carefully round small wooden rollers, which he placed in the smooth bed beneath the box of stones, drew that backward and forward over them, by means of the handle affixed to the cylinder, which had the rope coiled round it, and so, without the use of the hot flat-irons, gave the desiderated finish to his work. And thus it was that the first mangle came into the world. As years This machine answered its purpose admirably, and, by releasing the wife and daughters from the ironing-table, increased by so much the producing power of the family. The farmer worked on now with redoubled diligence; the more cottons he printed, the more people wanted them; and as he had taken especial care that no man should become master of his mystery, he retained the trade in his own hands. flowed on wealth poured in, and the small farmer of the village became the principal of one of the largest and most prosperous manufacturing houses in the country. He took his eldest son into partnership, and applying his capital to the production of machinery to facilitate cottonprinting, was enabled to transfer his patterns from blocks to cylinders, and thus to print, in a few minutes only, a piece of cloth which it would have taken a week to complete under the old process of a mallet and blocks. The farmer's son became a man of vast wealth and influence. It was but a trifle to him, when the burden of war weighed heavily upon his country, and the national emergencies were most oppressively felt, to raise and equip, at his own expense, a regiment of horse for the defense of the country, and present them to the The patriotic baronet had a son, who, though inheriting the thorough-working faculty and persistent perseverance of the family, was not brought up to the manufacturing business with the view of adding to the family wealth. The grandson of the Blackburn farmer was placed under skillful instructors, and in due time sent to college, where he set a noble example of subordination and diligence, displayed abilities of the highest order, and won distinguishing honors. He afterward obtained a seat in Parliament, where he served his country for a period exceeding the average duration of human life, and served it, too, with a fidelity, proof not only against the seductive influence of party, but against his personal interests, and in opposition to the cherished friendships of a whole life. He obtained, and for a long period enjoyed, the greatest honor which it is possible for a sovereign to confer upon a subject. As the Prime Minister of England, he devoted himself to the welfare of the people, working steadily for the emancipation of industry, the amelioration of the poor man's lot, and the cheapening of the poor man's loaf. In this cause he signally triumphed, dying in the midst of his success, by what seemed the sudden stroke of accident, and leaving behind him a name and a fame dear to Britain and honored throughout the world. We need scarcely add, that the name of the small Blackburn farmer, of the wealthy and patriotic baronet, and of the champion of free trade, is one and the same, and that it will be found carved on the pedestal of the statue of ROBERT PEel. THEN AND NOW. N° Within the shadow of an aspen-tree. My hand was on your shoulder; I was wild: How furious the blood seethed through my heart! But you Oh you were saintly calm, and cold; You moved my hand, and said, ""Tis best we part!" My face fell on the bands of your fair hair, A moonbeam struck across my hungry eye, Die in the shadow of the trembling tree, Faintly and slow adown my burning face. A keen sense of the woman touched you then, The nice dramatic sense you women have, Playing upon the feelings of us men! Long years have passed since that mid-summer night, But still I feel the creeping of your hand Along my face. If I returned once more, And in the shadow of that tree should stand With you there- Answer! Would you kiss me back? Would you reject me if I sued again?— How strange this is! I think my madness lasts, Although I'm sure I have forgot the pain! LITTLE DORRIT. BY CHARLES DICKENS. CHAPTER LXIII.-THE PUPIL OF THE MAR THE SHALSEA. day was sunny, and the Marshalsea, with the hot noon striking upon it, was unwontedly quiet. Arthur Clennam dropped into a solitary arm-chair, itself as faded as any debtor in the jail, and yielded himself to his thoughts. In the unnatural peace of having gone through the dreaded arrest, and got there- the first change of feeling which the prison most commonly induced, and from which dangerous resting-place so many men had slipped down to the depths of degradation and disgrace, by so many ways he could think of some passages in his life, almost as if he were removed from them into another state of existence. Taking into account where he was, the interest that had first brought him there when he had been free to keep away, and the gentle presence that was equally inseparable from the walls and bars about him, and from the impalpable remembrances of his later life which no walls nor bars could imprison, it was not remarkable that every thing his memory turned upon should bring him round again to Little Dorrit. Yet it was remarkable to him; not because of the fact itself, but because of the reminder it brought with it, how much that dear little creature had influenced his better resolutions. him as if he met the reward of having wandered away from her, and suffered any thing to pass between him and his remembrance of her virtues. His door was opened, and the head of the elder Chivery was put in a very little way, without being turned toward him. "I am off the Lock, Mr. Clennam, and going out. Can I do any thing for you?" "Many thanks. Nothing." "You'll excuse me opening the door," said Mr. Chivery; "but I couldn't make you hear." "Did you knock?" "Half a dozen times." Rousing himself, Clennam observed that the prison had awakened from its noontide doze, that the inmates were loitering about the shady yard, and that it was late in the afternoon. He had been thinking for hours. "Your things is come," said Mr. Chivery, “and my son is going to carry 'em up. I should have sent 'em up, but for his wishing to carry 'em himself. Indeed he would have 'em himself, and so I couldn't send 'em up. Mr. Clennam, could I say a word to you?" "Pray come in," said Arthur; for Mr. Chivery's head was still put in at the door a very little way, and Mr. Chivery had but one ear upon him, instead of both eyes. This was native delicacy in Mr. Chivery-true politeness; though his exterior had very much of a turnkey about it, and not the least of a gentleman. "Thank you, Sir," said Mr. Chivery, without advancing; "it's no odds me coming in. Mr. Clennam, don't you take no notice of my son (if you'll be so good), in case you find him cut up anyways difficult. My son has a art, and my son's art is in the right place. Me and his mother knows where to find it, and we find it sitiwated correct." With this incomprehensible speech, Mr. Chivery took his ear away and shut the door. He might have been gone ten minutes, when his son succeeded him. "Here's your portmanteau," he said to Arthur, putting it carefully down. "It's very kind of you. I am ashamed that you should have the trouble." None of us clearly know to whom or to what we are indebted in this wise, until some marked stoppage in the whirling wheel of life brings the right perception with it. It comes with sickness, it comes with sorrow, it comes with the loss of the dearly loved, it is one of the most frequent uses of adversity. It came to Clennam in his adversity, strongly and tenderly. "When I first gathered myself together," he thought, "and set something like purpose before my jaded eyes, whom had I before me, toiling on, for a good object's sake, without encouragement, without notice, against ignoble obstacles, that would have turned an army of received heroes and heroines? One weak girl! When I tried to 、 conquer my misplaced love, and to be generous to the man who was more fortunate than I, though he should never know it or repay me with a gracious word, in whom had I watched patience, self-denial, self-subdual, charitable construction, the noblest generosity of the affections? In the same pure girl! If I, a man, with a man's advantages and means and ener-John." gies, had slighted the whisper in my heart that, if my father had erred, it was my first duty to conceal the fault and to repair it, what youthful figure with tender feet going almost bare on the damp ground, with spare hands ever working, with its slight shape but half protected from the sharp weather, would have stood before me to put me to shame? My Little Dorrit's." Thus always, as he sat alone in the faded chair, thinking. Always, Little Dorrit. Until it seemed to He was gone before it came to that, but soon returned, saying, exactly as before, "Here's your black box;" which he also put down with care. "I am very sensible of this attention to a prisoner. I hope we may shake hands now, Mr. Young John, however, drew back, turning his right wrist in a socket made of his left thumb and middle finger, and said, as he had said at first, "I don't know as I can. No; I find I can't!" He then stood regarding the prisoner sternly, though with a swelling humor in his eyes that looked like water. "Why are you angry with me," said Clennam, "and yet so ready to do me these kind services? There must be some mistake between us. If I have done any thing to occasion it, I│I came back. I asked him if Miss Amy was am sorry." well-" "No mistake, Sir," returned John, turning the wrist backward and forward in the socket, for which it was rather tight. "No mistake, Sir, in the feelings with which my eyes behold you at the present moment! If I was at all fairly equal to your weight, Mr. Clennamwhich I am not; and if you weren't under a cloud-which you are; and if it wasn't against all rules of the Marshalsea-which it is; those feelings are such, that they would stimulate me, more to having it out with you in a round on the present spot, than to any thing else I could name. Arthur looked at him for a moment in some wonder, and some little anger. "Well, well!" he said. "A mistake, a mistake!" Turning away, he sat down, with a heavy sigh, in the faded chair again. Young John followed him with his eyes, and, after a short pause, cried out, "I beg your pardon !" "Freely granted," said Clennam, waving his hand, without raising his sunken head. Say no more. I am not worth it." 66 "And she was?" "I should have thought you would have known without putting the question to such as me," returned Young John, after appearing to take a large invisible pill. "Since you do put the question, I am sorry I can't answer it. But the fact is, he looked upon the inquiry as a liberty, and said, 'What was that to me?' It was then I became quite aware I was intruding; of which I had been fearful before. However, he spoke very handsome afterward; very handsome." They were both silent for several minutes: except that Young John remarked, at about the middle of the pause, "He both spoke and acted very handsome." It was again Young John who broke the silence by inquiring: "If it's not a liberty, how long may it be your intentions, Sir, to go without eating and drinking?" "I have not felt the want of any thing yet," returned Clennam. "I have no appetite just now." "The more reason why you should take some support, Sir," urged Young John. "If you find "This furniture, Sir," said Young John, in a voice of mild and soft explanation, "belongs to me. I am in the habit of letting it out to par-yourself going on sitting here for hours and hours ties without furniture, that have the room. It ain't much, but it's at your service. Free, I mean. I could not think of letting you have it on any other terms. You're welcome to it for nothing, Sir." Arthur raised his head again, to thank him, and to say he could not accept the favor. John was still turning his wrist, and still contending with himself in his former divided manner. "What is the matter between us ?" said Arthur. "I decline to name it, Sir," returned Young John, suddenly turning loud and sharp. "Nothing's the matter." Arthur looked at him again, in vain, for any explanation of his behavior. After a while, Arthur turned away his head again. Young John said, presently afterward, with the utmost mild ness : "The little round table, Sir, that's nigh your elbow, was—you know whose-I needn't mention him he died a great gentleman. I bought it of an individual that he gave it to, and that lived here after him. But the individual wasn't any ways equal to him. Most individuals would find it hard to come up to his level." partaking of no refreshment because you have no appetite, why then you should and must partake of refreshment without an appetite. I'm going to have tea in my own apartment. If it's not a liberty, please to come and take a cup. Or I can bring a tray here in two minutes." Feeling that Young John would impose that trouble on himself if he refused, and also feeling anxious to show that he bore in mind both the elder Mr. Chivery's entreaty, and the younger Mr. Chivery's apology, Arthur rose and expressed his willingness to take a cup of tea in Mr. John's apartment. Young John locked his door for him as they went out, slided the key into his pocket with great dexterity, and led the way to his own residence. It was at the top of the house nearest to the gateway. It was the room to which Clennam had hurried, on the day when the enriched family had left the prison forever, and where he had lifted her up insensible from the floor. He foresaw where they were going, as soon as their feet touched the stair-case. The room was so far changed that it was papered now, and had been repainted, and was far more comfortably furnished; but he could recall it just as he had seen Arthur drew the little table nearer, rested his it in that single glance, when he raised her from arm upon it, and kept it there. the ground and carried her down to the carriage. Young John looked hard at him, biting his fingers. 66 "Perhaps you may not be aware, Sir," said Young John," that I intruded upon him when he was over here in London. On the whole he was of opinion that it was an intrusion, though "I see you recollect the room, Mr. Clennam ?" he was so good as to ask me to sit down and to "I recollect it well, Heaven bless her!" inquire after father and all other old friends. Oblivious of the tea, Young John continued Leastways humblest acquaintances. He looked, to bite his fingers and to look at his visitor, as to me, a good deal changed, and I said so when ❘ long as his visitor continued to glance about the room. Finally, he made a start at the tea-pot, gustily rattled a quantity of tea into it from a canister, and set off for the common kitchen to fill it with hot water. The room was so eloquent to Clennam, in the changed circumstances of his return to the miscrable Marshalsea-it spoke to him so mournfully of her, and of his loss of her-that it would have gone hard with him to resist it, even though he had not been alone. Alone, he did not try. He laid his hand on the insensible wall as tenderly as if it had been herself that he touched, and pronounced her name in a low voice. He stood at the window, looking over the prison-parapet with its grim spiked border, and from his soul he breathed a benediction through the summer haze toward the distant land where she was rich and prosperous. Young John was some time absent, and, when he came back, showed that he had been outside by bringing with him fresh butter in a cabbageleaf, some thin slices of boiled ham in another cabbage-leaf, and a little basket of water-cresses and salad herbs. When these were arranged upon the table to his satisfaction they sat down to tea. Clennam tried to do honor to the meal, but unavailingly. The ham sickened him, the bread seemed to turn to sand in his mouth. He could force nothing upon himself but a cup of tea. "Try a little something green," said Young John, handing him the basket. He took a sprig or so of water-cress, and tried again; but the bread turned to a heavier sand than before, and the ham (though it was good enough of itself) seemed to blow a faint simoom of ham through the whole Marshalsea. "Try a little more something green, Sir," said Young John, and again handed the basket. It was so like handing green meat into the cage of a dull, imprisoned bird, and John had so evidently bought the little basket as a handful of fresh relief from the stale, hot pavingstones and bricks of the jail that Clennam said, with a smile, "It was very kind of you to think of putting this between the wires; but I can not even get this down to-day." As if the difficulty were contagious, Young John soon pushed away his own plate, and fell to folding the cabbage-leaf that had contained the ham. When he had folded it into a number of layers, one over another, so that it was |