Chapter XLV (4)

But, hillo! Joseph! we are nearly getting sentimental, after all, over this brute, (that I should say so!) who has all but broken our necks already, and who in all human probability will do so entirely before we have done with him. Fish up the decanter, and let us have a schnaps over our quarry; my throat and lips are burning, as if I had lunched off quicklime. Well, what are you fumbling at? Oh, horror! Joseph's hand returns empty from the bag, with a large cut on one of the fingers--weeping tears of blood! The bottle is smashed!--smashed to atoms! and the unconscious Joseph has had the celestial liquor trickling down his back--how long he know not, and care not; it is "gone, and for ever!"

Like the summer-dried fountain,
When our need is the sorest!

But it is of no use blaspheming in that manner, Joseph; not one of those ten hundred and fifty millions of bad spirits you are invoking so freely, will bring us back one drop of our good ones; so we must e'en "girn and bide." But still it is as bad as bad can be,--not a drop of water for hours to come, perhaps.

Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

Munching snow only chars one's lips like hot cinders, and the cool "swish" of the waterfall there below us only makes one the more thirsty. Let us be off out of ear-shot of it, at any rate. Take up the gems, and let us dream of cool, bubbling runlets and iced sour milk as we go.

Dream! quotha! we must dream of how we are to go at all, first, and a very nightmarey sort of dream it promises to be; we are regularly pounded; not a vestige of a crack or crevice up which to worm ourselves in the whole face of the semicircular range of cliffs beneath which we stand; and moreover, they are all of that upside down, overhanging style, that precludes all climbing. We must retrace our steps as we best can, and try where we descended.

"Well, Joseph, where did we come down--eh?" Not there! Nonsense!--impossible! Yes! too true; there it was; there are our tracks in the snow, and the dust and stones that were so obliging as to accompany us to the bottom, and be hanged to them! But the cliff has surely grown since then. It looks as high as Gallantry Bower, in dear old North Devon.--I wish I were at the top or bottom either of _that_, instead of where I am! There is not a hundred feet difference between them. Three hundred feet, the cliff is, if an inch! We can never do it! Let us make a cast round by the screes, and see if we cannot get down that way.

We did so, but found that they were quite impassable. What looked like a continuous shoot when seen from below, we found to be divided by two or three ledges of rock, and the angle at which they lay, rendered it impossible for any thing heavier footed than a gems to pass them. We must up the cliff! We had no choice.

Now, to begin, it was no easy thing to get at the cliff at all. That confounded gap between the snow and the rock was bad enough to get across from above; but to jump up from the sloping snow slap against the face of the rock was ten times worse. However, Joseph having uncoiled a few yards of line from his waist, and made it fast to the gems, tightened his belt, and took the crack gallantly, lighting on a narrow ledge, with his nose almost touching the rock, to which he stuck like a limpet for a moment, and then, having steadied himself, turned round and seated himself, with his legs dangling over the chasm. Now came my turn. Having thrown the end of the line to Joseph--after vainly looking for a promising ledge to land on, I yielded to his entreaties, and swung myself right _at_ him. We grasped each other pretty tight, you may be assured, gentle reader; and after swaying for a moment or two over the abyss, I climbed up him, and getting my feet on his shoulders, I managed to draw myself up to a ledge a few feet higher. Now came my turn to turn, and a most unpleasant piece of gymnastics it was. The ledge was not an inch too broad, and the rock below only rough enough to _scratch_ against, not to give any firm foot-hold. However, I at last got my back against the rock pretty firmly; and Joseph, who had dragged the gems up from the snow, threw me the end of the line, which, after one or two unsuccessful grabs, that nearly toppled me over from my "bad eminence," I caught, and with his assistance, got the gems up to me, and rested it across my knees. Joseph now turned his face to the rock, and getting up to me, placed one of his iron-soled shoes on my thigh, and the other on my shoulder, and climbed over and past me. As soon as he was firmly fixed, I threw him up the end of the line, and, felt much relieved of the weight of the chamois, whose rough hide rubbed lovingly over my face as it passed me, and turning round, and standing upon my ledge, laid hold of Joseph by the ankle, and again climbed up him and past him, to be climbed up and over in my turn. Over and over we had to repeat the same manoeuvre, varied occasionally by our being unable to turn or to sit down from the narrowness of the ledges, and then the strain was terrible. If we had not come sometimes to a broader ledge than usual, which allowed us to lie down and get an easier hold of the line, as it dangled like a plummet over the cliff, we, or at least I, could never have reached the top of the cliff _with_ the gems, and I very much doubt whether either of us would have cared much to have done so _without_ it. What was before me I hardly knew. Imitating as well as I could the happy _insouciance_ of a snail "sliming" up the side of the Parthenon, I tried to restrict my range of vision to points immediately near me. I never felt giddy in my life; but I felt that it would be running a terrible risk to look into the immensity that lay stretched out below me, like another world.

However, every thing in this world must have at least one end, even an Alpine cliff. And at last, as I drew myself up, I found myself face to face with the snow. The last step was by no means the easiest or safest; but in a few moments all three of us, Joseph, the chamois, and myself, were lying on the snow-bed, one hardly more alive than the other.

As soon as we had recovered a little, we stumbled back amongst the sloppy snow, and the half-hidden rocks, one of which had doubtless caused the untimely emptying of our spirit bottle, till we arrived at the _cheminee_ up which we had scrambled in the morning. Now scrambling _up_ is one thing, and scrambling _down_ is another--decidedly more difficult, particularly with the addition of a "beastie" twice as large as a well-grown fawn. So we decided to return over the small glacier which had so nearly knocked our brains out in our ascent, not without a lurking hope of finding some water in its delicate green chalices.

The small ice-stream on which we pursued our thirsty search, flowed down from the upper snow-beds through a chasm in the cliffs, and lay right across our path. The crevasses were small and easy to traverse, though had they been ten times the breadth, we should have welcomed them for the prospect of water they held out. We soon discovered what we wanted, and throwing ourselves on the ice, from which the sun had long since melted the last night's snow, leaving nothing but the pure water crystal, revelled in long draughts of ice-cold water, regardless of the consequences.

We lay there resting ourselves, and peering down the crevasses for some time. How deliciously refreshing was that cool green light, filtered through the translucent ice, to our eyes, wearied by the eternal glare of the snow-fields! I have often wondered why no poet had ever chosen one of these same crevasses, with its tinkling stream, and fairy bridges and battlements of pure green ice, bathing in a strange unearthly phosphorescent light, for the home of some glacier Undine. Where could one find a fitter palace for some delicate Ariel than such places as the moulins of the Mer de Glace, the ice-grottoes of the Grindenwald, or the Rhone glacier, or even the commonest crack in the most insignificant sheet of frozen snow. How exquisitely beautiful are those little emerald basins, fit baths for Titania, filled with water so pure and clear that one almost doubts its presence, till its exquisite coolness touches one's parched lips! I never wondered at the excitement of that enthusiastic Frenchman, who being held by the legs to prevent him throwing himself into the arms of the ice-nymph, whom he doubtless saw beckoning to him from below, hurled his hat into the moulin, and then raced down to the source of the Arveiron to see it appear, hoping, doubtless, that it would bring him some tidings of fairyland. But the nymph answered not: perhaps she was cold, and retained the chapeau for her own private wearing. At all events, M. le Baron never got it again, as far as I could learn.

Our labor was now nearly over; we quickly traversed two or three small snow-fields, and after a little trouble in hauling ourselves and the gems up and down the ridges that separated them, we reached a smooth declivity of snow, down which we shot merrily, getting many a roll, it is true, but merely laughing thereat, as every tumble carried us all the faster downwards, and at last reached safe and sound the region of rocks and gravel we had left so long.

How deliciously refreshing to the wearied eye was the first patch of green turf!--how brightly glowed the alpen-rosen amongst the rocks! And--yes! there is actually a honey-bee droning about that orchis, singing his welcome song of home, and fire-sides, and kindly greetings!

Happy as two school-boys, we marched on, carrying our quarry alternately, yodling, and shouting, and playing all sorts of practical jokes on each other, rejoicing at the success of our expedition, caring nothing now for the frowns of the grim old giants around us, caring nothing for the bitter blasts and swirling snow-squalls that swept past us; and at last, as night closed in, we found ourselves once more in the little cabin, that seemed quite home-like to us, and which we had fancied more than once in the course of the day that we should never see again, with Catchins gyrating pound us, "making a tail" at the chamois, and welcoming us as old friends. We did not dawdle long over our supper, which consisted principally of the rat-like marmot, broiled on the embers, and a draught from the neighboring torrent, and turned into our hay beds, wet and wearied enough, with our brains in a whirl from the strange excitements of the day, and slept, too done up to care for tickling straws or feline impertinences.

When I woke in the morning, I lay for some time trying to collect my thoughts, half fearing that all was but a dream, and that we had still our work before us; but on scrambling down, the sight of the gems reassured me, and was an agreeable balm for the intolerable aching I felt from head to heel. Joseph I must say groaned quite as much as myself, and we hobbled about in the dark to find bits of wood for our fire, like a couple of unfortunates just escaped from the rack. The skin of our faces and necks was peeling off, as if we had been washing them in oil of vitriol, and using sand-paper for a towel; but we were used to that, and had been as badly burnt many a time before; but we ached!--ye gods, how we did ache! It took a long warming and some mutually administered friction, to get us at all in walking trim. As soon as we become "lissom" again, having nothing to detain us, and very little to eat, we wended on our way, one bearing Catchins in the now empty bag, and the other with the gems, down towards the pines, covered with last night's snow, and following the course of the torrent, strode on as merrily, or perchance more so, as the first morning we started. The sun soon shone out bright and warm, the snow began to drip from the boughs, and every step we took showed the black mould and the decaying needle leaves of the pines. We heard the rustling of several black-cock, and it being my turn to carry Catchins' light weight, I shot one villanously, as he sat on a pine branch, and stuck his tail in my hat, after the fashion of all true yaegers.

Soon we left the melting snow and dripping woods behind us, and reached the bright meadows glowing beneath an Italian sky. Strange sounded the shrill chirping of the red and green grasshoppers in our ears, kindly each herdsman's yodle and maiden's laugh rang to our hearts, and palace-like seemed the little cabin that received us after our sojourn amongst the ice and snow, now seeming more like uneasy dreams than realities which we had undergone but a day before. Bright smiles greeted us, bright brown eyes laughed a welcome to us, and many a sturdy hand was clasped in ours as we sat resting ourselves on the bench before the door.

But we tarried not long; we burned to show our trophy "at home;" and we sped down the Oetzthal, and reached Dumpfen early in the afternoon, to be cheered and complimented, and welcomed back with all the warmth of the honest Tyrolese heart. The people had been in great distress about us--about me, at least--as they supposed that I must, of necessity, have broken my neck. I suspect, indeed, that they never thought that I would really go, and were rather astonished when they woke, and found me gone. As for Joseph, it was his certain fate--if not now, another time. But they rejoiced in their mistake, and with my hat crowned with flowers by many a rosy finger, and my hands tingling from many a giant squeeze, and perhaps my heart, too, a little, from more than one gentle one, I hung my gems on a nail outside the door for inspection, and seated myself once again in the little chamber, looking out upon the torrent and the cliff.

I cannot linger over the simple pleasures of that evening; as Shallow says, "the heart is all." "Jenkins of the _Post_" may love to record his reminiscences of a ball at Almack's, or an "aesthetic tea" at the Comtesse of Cruche Casse's; but such remembrances always bring as much pain as pleasure to me, making me yearn for those free days spent amongst the mountains, and the torrents, and the happy single-hearted mountaineers, far from the cares, troubles, and tribulations of "our highly civilized society."

And now, most patient reader,--are you there still? Farewell! I have tried to give you some faint description of the indescribable, and have, of course, failed. But take at least my advice, and a knapsack, and a thick pair of shoes, and eschewing hackneyed Switzerland, leave for once the old bellwether, and try one summer in the Norischer Alpen; and if you _are_ disappointed--I can only say, that you richly deserve to be!

From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal.

VISIT TO THE ABERDEEN COMBWORKS.

Within our recollection, comb-making was considered one of the most miserable of trades, and as destitute of any thing like an organized _modus operandi_ as that of the perambulating artisans who possessed a certain skill in the fashioning of rams' horns into spoons and rejoiced in the expressive designation of Horners. On a late visit to Aberdeen, however, we found the manufacture of combs carried on there not only to an extent far exceeding our preconceived notions, but flourishing in a state of skilful organisation; and we hastened to visit the comb-works of by far the largest comb-maker in this country or in the world. We have no room to follow the steps by which Aberdeen came to be the seat of this particular branch of industry; but before describing the system of comb-making there, we shall take a short retrospective glance at the general history of the comb, in order to illustrate the various changes it has passed through, and its gradual elevation to a respectable position in the manufactures of the country.

It is impossible to state with any degree of accuracy the time when it first became an indispensable requisite of the toilet; but by what we can glean from the ancient writers it would appear to have been of Egyptian origin. The Greeks and Romans used combs made of boxwood, which they obtained as we do, from the shores of the Euxine Sea, and the mountain-ridge of Cytorus, in Galatia. According to Guasco, a modern Italian author, combs were also formed of silver, iron, bronze, but in no instance do we find the modern material, shell or horn. In addition to the wooden combs found in their tombs, it has been proved that the Egyptians had ivory combs, toothed on one side, which gradually came into use among the Greeks and Romans; but from specimens of the remains found at Pompeii, with representations on the Amyclaean tables, it would seem that the Greeks, who were remarkably studious and careful in arranging their hair, used them, with teeth on both sides, exactly similar to our small-tooth-combs.

The mediaeval progress of the comb exhibits, like that of every thing else of its class, much curious elaboration with but little improvement in utility. In the fifteenth volume of the _Archaeologia_ there is a representation of an ivory comb found in the ruins of Inkleton Nunnery, Cambridgeshire, containing some Anglo-Saxon design exquisitely carved in relief, but with such teeth as a common boor in our day would treat with contempt. We find Chaucer commenting on the many absurd articles of female attire, at a time when both sexes tied up their hair in a "licorous fashion" with ivory pins; and one of the earliest specimens of English combs extant, was dug up in 1764 from beneath the lowest of the three paved streets, which lie--memorials of their several ages--under the present Shiprow Street of Aberdeen; and it was supposed to have lain there ever since Edward III. burned and ruined the city in 1336.

In modern days the comb probably reached its most costly and ornamental state at the court of Louis XIV., where hair-dressing was an art more appreciated and often better paid than the higher efforts of genius. Combs of ivory and of tortoise-shell, richly inlaid with gold and pearl, formed an essential adjunct of the toilet of the court beauties. In Great Britain the fabrication of horn into combs was a very ancient process, chiefly in Yorkshire and the midland counties. But towards the end of the last century the increased demand for combs caused makers to establish themselves all over the country; and in Scotland there were one or two houses of some eminence in the trade at the period--some twenty-five years back--at which we have now arrived. It was, however, one of those trades that, as its artificers were concerned, would not stand investigation. Making combs on nearly the same principles as those pursued by their forefathers--that is, by simply cutting out the interspace between the teeth, with various sorts and sizes of saws--its followers, barely entitled to the name of skilled workmen, were dissipated, unsettled, and irregular in their habits.

We come now to treat of the grand era in the comb trade--of the time when it was destined, like the great staple manufactures of our country, to undergo a revolution. The introduction of machinery and steam-power, with the division of labor, is suggestive of an important stride in the progress of the trade. About the year 1828 Mr. Lynn invented a machine of a singularly ingenious design, having for its principal object that of cutting two combs out of one plate of horn or shell; and two years afterwards Stewart, Rowell & Co. commenced the manufacture in Aberdeen. To the first of these circumstances the trade was indebted for the successful idea of a machine, which affected at the same time a saving of half the material, and an increase of produce almost inconceivable. To the latter it is still more indebted for the first application of steam-power to the machinery; and, what we think of infinitely greater importance, the introduction of those true principles in the philosophy of production contended for by Adam Smith--a philosophy which, in its legitimate application, has the invariable effect of elevating alike the character of the produce and the producers.

We shall most appropriately represent the combined effect of these improvements on the trade by taking the reader along with us in a cursory view of the principal departments of the Aberdeen Combworks. Provided with an intelligent cicerone in the person of one of the clerks of the office, we began our investigations, and as an essential preliminary, were first shown specimens of the various kinds of raw material. In the order of its intrinsic value, this consists of tortoise-shells, horns, and hoofs. Ivory, in our day, is reserved almost exclusively for the manufacture of small-tooth combs, which form a branch of the ivory trade distinct from the one before us. Of the first of these materials, tortoise-shell, that best adapted to manufacturing purposes is the shell, or scales of a horny contexture which inclose the sea-tortoise, _Testudo imbricata_. It is found in all warm latitudes; but the best species are indigenous to Hindostan, the Indian Archipelago, and the shores of the Red Sea. The price we are apt to think excessive. At present it is thirty-five shillings per pound, and ten years ago it was nearly double that price. It forms however a valuable article of importation. There are two chief divisions in horn, buffalo and ox horns, both of which are imported from various parts of the globe. Buffalo horn is for the most part used in the manufacture of knife-handles, and such articles, in the cutlery trade. In comb-making it is chiefly used for dressing-combs, and, generally speaking, all combs of a deep black color are formed of this material. The best buffalo-horns are obtained from the East Indies, and the finest are those of the Indian buffalo from Siam. We were shown a beautiful specimen of Siamese horns, which, on account of their extraordinary dimensions, had been preserved and polished. One of them measured five feet from tip to base, eighteen and a half inches in circumference at the widest part, and weighed fourteen pounds. Some conception may be formed of the size of an animal which can support such a weight on the frontal-bone, if we recollect that an English ox-horn weighs only a single pound.

Ox-horns, the staple of comb-makers, are imported with hides from South America, the Cape of Good Hope, and New South Wales. The imports, however, are chiefly from the enormous herds of South American black-cattle, which have multiplied to such an extent in the Brazilian territories, that they are now slaughtered for the sake of their hides and horns, and their carcasses left to be devoured by the innumerable carnivorous animals which infest the jungles. The ox-horns entered for consumption in Great Britain in 1850 numbered 1,250,000, and the average price is about fifty pounds per ton.

Hoofs are from the German and home markets, and are worth about twelve pounds per ton. They are used generally in the cheapest description of combs, but although the least valuable material, are subject to the most costly and ingenious processes of manufacture.

At the time of our visit the quantity of horns and hoofs in stock amounted to upwards of one hundred tons of each. Enormous piles of different varieties--from the delicate curvature of the small Highland ox to the equally beautiful but enormous _cornu_ of the ferocious buffalo of the Cape; from the Smithfield horns to those of the gigantic buffalo of Thibet and Siam--all lay piled in inextricable confusion.

After a glance at the steam-engine, fifty horse-power, and the largest of the horizontal kind in Scotland, we proceeded to see the first stage of the manufacture, where horns are cut into assorted sizes by a circular saw. A horn is twice cut transversely, and afterwards, if a large one, longitudinally. The tips or extremities here cut off are sent to Sheffield, where they are converted into table-knife and umbrella handles; and for this purpose sixteen thousand horns can be cut up in a week. Instead of being divided in this manner, the hoofs are, after being boiled a certain time, to render the fibre soft, cut into two pieces; or rather the sole is stamped out by vertical punching-machines of the same irregular conformation.

The horns and hoofs thus cut are then brought in pieces into the pressing department. The first thing that strikes the visitor on entering is the peculiar and easily distinguishable odor of burnt horn, which indeed is predominant throughout the works. This arises from the high temperature necessary to the fabrication of horn, which to a greater or less extent effects decomposition of the material, and is invariably accompanied with the disengagement of the peculiar gases which create the odor. Along the floor of this department are thirty-six furnaces of a peculiar construction, and at each of these a man and boy were busily engaged in shaping the cut horns into flat plates, by heating the pieces, and then cutting them to the required shape with knives. They were then inserted between screw-blocks, and pressed flat. If, however, the plates are required for stained combs, as the greater part of them are, a different mode of pressing is pursued. Into a rectangular cast-iron trough about two and a half feet long by twelve inches wide and deep, a number of iron hot-plates are put; they are then oiled on their surface, and the plates of horn inserted between them; a wedge is next driven into the press by the percussion-force of a weight falling eight feet, producing a force of about one hundred and twenty tons. This pressure on the horn in the iron plates has the effect of breaking the fibre to a certain degree, and forcing it to expand in a lateral direction. Whatever may have been the original color of the horn, it is now of a uniform dark green color, and perfectly soft. This treatment renders the tissues more pervious to the action of acids, and will be better understood when we arrive at the operation of staining.

But there are other means of pressure. Around the apartment were arranged one hundred and twenty iron screw-presses--levers of the second order, and differing only from a common vice in pressing under the screw after the manner of nut-crackers. They are fitted with steel dies, with a variety of engraved designs, and in these braid-combs, the outside coverings of pocket-combs and side-combs are pressed. We were shown a new impression on pocket-combs of the Crystal Palace. A man exerting his strength on one of these presses can produce a force of upwards of fifty tons. But however great, the pressure is still insufficient. The enormous demand for the cheap side-combs of hoof led to the application of hydraulic pressure. The two portions of the hoof, after being boiled a second time in a number of little troughs, with a steam-jet in each of them to preserve the necessary temperature, the excrescences still adhering are pared off. They are then transferred to an adjoining room, where sixteen hydraulic presses, are in operation; and here are subjected to a pressure of three hundred tons, with a degree of speed and precision that is astonishing. They come out of the press in the form of small, semi-transparent, rectangular plates, having on each side the rounded projection or beading observable on most side-combs. To illustrate the resistless force of this pressure, we were informed that the very steel dies which give shape to the hoof are soon crushed and worn out; and it was not without some nice calculation and experiment that the application of hydraulic pressure to the purpose was successfully attained. After having received the necessary formation by the various modes of pressing, the plates are laid aside to dry in a room where a high temperature is preserved by means of steam-pipes, and where they are also assorted into different sizes, and the edges squared with circular saws. The number of such plates, of shell, horn, and hoof, in stock at the time of our visit, was somewhere about four millions and a half.

From this they are distributed to the different processes in order--the first of which is cutting the teeth. Certain classes of horn-plates, however, are subjected to a farther process of planing on the surface preliminary to this operation; but in all plates which have been hot-pressed, and are intended to be stained, this is unnecessary, and therefore they are taken when perfectly dry to the cutting department. On entering this department the visitor is sometimes bewildered. The incessant and peculiar clatter of the machinery, the heat of the place, and apparent confusion, produce together a curious effect. A little observation, however, shows that we have arrived at the basis of all the modern improvements in comb-making. On benches around the apartment, in close proximity to each other, were twenty-four "twinning-machines"--the invention, with its subsequent improvements, to which we have referred. Each of these is worked by a man, with an attendant who keeps up a supply of hot plates from the fires arranged for that purpose in the centre of the room. It is impossible without diagrams to explain the principles and construction of this apparatus; but there can be no mistaking its effect. A plate of horn, after being heated, is placed on a small carriage within the cast-iron frame of the machine, which travels by means of a particular arrangement of gearing on parallel slides. Immediately over this are two angular-shaped chisel-like cutters, which, on the application of motive power, descend on the horn with an alternating motion, and an inconceivable degree of rapidity and force. Before we could well see, far less understand, the rationale of the process, we were shown the horn cut in two pieces--_one half literally taken out of the other_, and each presenting the well-defined outline of a comb. In this cutting department resides the perfection of that beautiful mechanism that revolutionized the trade and reduced it to mathematical precision. To appreciate this we have only to look at the increase it has effected in the production. A comb-maker of the old school could not perhaps, with all his skill, cut more than eighty or a hundred combs per day; while with this machinery a man and boy will cut upwards of _two thousand_ of the same kind, and with a consumption of only half the material. The finer dressing-combs, and all small-tooth combs, are still cut by circular saws in the next department. Here, however, a moderately curious visitor will not linger. A dense atmosphere of horn dust fills the large apartment, and gives to every thing within its influence the white appearance that distinguishes a flour-mill, to which indeed at first sight it bears a striking resemblance. From the notes we took, we learn that here there are wheels on the fine self-acting machinery, in connection with the cutting and pointing of combs, that revolve 5000 times in a minute, and saws so delicately fine as to cut forty teeth within the space of an inch.

We inquired as to the effect on the operatives of this animalized atmosphere, and were informed that it was not known to be injurious. On the contrary, it was stated as a singular fact, in connection with the late visitation of cholera in Aberdeen, that not a single comb-maker had been affected by the disease, at least fatally; whence it may be inferred, although we do not pretend to assign the reason, that the fabrication of horn must be attended with considerable anti-miasmatic effects. At all events it is certain that horn-dust cannot exercise that injurious action on the air-passages and the lungs which is experienced in many trades, such as that of the steel-grinders of Sheffield.

Passing over one or two intermediate stages after the combs are thus cut and twinned--such as "thinning" on the outer edge by means of grindstones, and "pointing," by means of peculiarly-shaped bevel-saws--we arrive at the next department, where the finishing is given by the hand. Here we meet with artificers who, with a pertinacious reverence for ancient usages, preserve among themselves the appellation of comb-makers _par excellence_, forgetting that the very boys and girls in their respective departments play as important a part in the aggregate production. And yet, in their province, they are deserving of commendation. The specimens of elaborate and skilful decoration displayed here, especially on ladies' braid-combs, were admirable, and one pattern was shown us wherein there was a species of chain, formed of beautifully stained horn, woven with the head of the comb, which, although we examined it minutely, and knew there must have been a joint in each alternate link, we nevertheless failed to discover. It is in this department that the teeth are smoothed and rounded--an operation technically termed "grailling"--which is effected by different sorts of cutting rasps. So far as the making or formation is concerned, the combs are now finished.

At the opposite side of the buildings we were taken to the department where the staining is carried on. This will be better understood if described as the imitation on the various classes of combs of the natural diversity of tint in tortoise-shell. The horn, whether in plates, as in the side-combs, or after being "twinned," as in dressing-combs, is immersed in diluted nitric acid, which, with its characteristic action on all organized tissues, creates a deep and permanent yellow stain. This resembles the ground color of tortoise-shell; and to produce the variegation, the horns are then treated with a particular composition of red oxide of lead, with certain alkaline compounds, which has the effect of neutralizing the action of the acid, and imprinting a stain of a deep orange color. After being carefully washed, dried, and polished, the surface of the combs presents the beautiful and natural appearance desired. Indeed, the imitation is so perfect in the best classes of stained combs, that a practised observer can only detect it. We were shown, for example, two specimens of braid-combs, one of real tortoise-shell and another of stained horn; and so much alike were they in color and configuration, that we could not tell which was which, and yet the one comb was worth about ten times as much as the other. This operation of staining, which is somewhat artistic, is performed by women.

There are still some minor departments, which we need not describe in detail. "Buffing" consists in smoothing the rough surfaces of the horn by means of wheels covered with walrus skin. Side-combs and braids are bent to their peculiar curve by being first heated and then fastened to wooden blocks--an operation that lasts only a few minutes. Pocket-combs have of course a different and peculiar treatment in some stages; such as the formation of the joint, and the putting together of the handles. And there is a department exclusively devoted to the fabrication of horn-spoons, which becomes chiefly remarkable from the circumstance of there being no modern application of machinery to the manufacture. The last process, however, to which all combs are subjected, is that of polishing, which is effected by wheels, covered with leather of different degrees of softness. After this they are despatched to the warehouse, to be assorted the last time--the side-combs being stitched to cards, or packed in fancy boxes, which affords constant work to about twenty women.

We were finally shown the patterns of the different kinds of combs, many of them exceedingly beautiful; but we can only notice them in regard to number. Of dressing-combs (counting the different sizes of all the patterns), there were 605; ladies' braid-combs, 612; ladies' side-combs, 525; pocket, small-tooth, horse combs, and sundry articles, 186: in all, 1928 different varieties.

The aggregate number produced of all these different sorts averages upwards of 1200 gross weekly, or about 9,000,000 annually. The annual consumption of ox-horns is about 730,000, being considerably more than half the imports of 1850; the consumption of hoofs amounts to 4,000,000; the consumption of tortoise-shell and buffalo-horn, although not so large, is correspondingly valuable: even the waste, composed of horn-shavings and parings of hoof, which, from its nitrogenized composition, becomes valuable in the manufacture of prussiate of potash, amounts to 350 tons in the year; the broken combs in the various stages of manufacture average 50 or 60 gross in a week; and as the crowning illustration of the enormous extent of these comb-works, the very paper for packing costs L.600 a year.

There are so many beautiful instances of the division of labor that the task of selecting is not easy. But let us take the cheapest article in the trade; namely, the side-combs, sold retail at 1d. per pair: in its progress from the hoof to the comb--finished, carded, and labelled "German shell"--it undergoes eleven distinct operations. This comb, which twenty years ago was sold to the trade at 3s. 6d. per dozen, can now be purchased in the same way for _two shillings and sixpence per gross!_ thus effecting a reduction in price of about 1600 per cent. As an illustration of the value of labor, we give the following comparative estimate of the produce of the three materials:----

1 cwt. shell, val. L.200, produces combs, val. 275, inc. 37-1/2 per cent. 1 ton horns, " 56, " " " 150, " 168 " " 1 ton hoofs, " 12, " " " 36, " 200 " "

Regarded in this aspect, in the relation of labor to material, we find that hoofs--intrinsically the least valuable of the materials--become, with the application of labor, the _most valuable_--that is, proportionably: and the converse is true in the case of tortoise-shell.

At the time of our visit there were employed 456 men and boys, and 164 women--in all, 620 persons--exactly four times the number employed in the comb-trade in all Scotland when the house commenced business.

From the National Era.

A REMINISCENCE.

BY ALICE CAREY.

Some four or five years ago, there came to reside in the neighborhood in which I then lived a family consisting of three persons--an old lady, a young man, and a child of some fourteen years. The cottage they took was divided by a little strip of woods from my own home; and I well remember how rejoiced I was on first seeing the blue smoke curling up from the high red chimneys, for the house had been a long time vacant, and the prospect of having near neighbors gave me delight. Perhaps, too, I was not the less pleased that they were new neighbors. We are likely to under-estimate persons and things we have continually about us; but let separation come, and we learn what they were to us. _Apropos_ of this--in the little grove I have spoken of I remember there was an oak tree, taller by a great deal than its fellows; and a thousand times I have felt as though its mates must be oppressed with a painful sense of degradation, and really wished the axe were laid at its root. At last, one day I heard the ringing strokes of that fatal instrument, and, on inquiry, was told that the woodman had received orders no longer to _spare that tree_. Eagerly I listened at first--every stroke was like the song of victory; then the gladness subsided, and I began to marvel how the woods would look with the monarch fallen; then I thought, the glory will have departed, and began to reflect on myself as having sealed its death warrant, so that when the crash, telling that the mighty was fallen, woke the sleeping echoes from the hills, I cannot tell how sad an echo it waked also in my heart. If I could see it standing once more, just once more! but I could not, and till this day I feel a twinge when I think of the tall oak.

But the new neighbors. Some curiosity mingled with my pleasure, I confess, and so, as soon as I thought they were settled, and feeling at home, I made my toilet with unusual care for the first call.

The cottage was somewhat back from the main road, and access to it was had by a narrow grass-grown lane, bordered on one side by a green belt of meadow land, and on the other by the grove, sloping upward and backward to a clayey hill, where, with children and children's children, about them,

"The rude forefathers of the hamlet slept."

A little farther on, but in full view of its stunted cypresses and white headstones, was the cottage. Of burial grounds generally I have no dread, but from this particular one I was accustomed, even from a child, to turn away with something of superstitious horror. I could never forget how Laura Hastings saw a light burning there all one winter night, after the death of John Hine, a wild, roving fellow, who never did any real harm in his life to any one but himself, hastening his own death by foolish excesses. Nevertheless, his ghost had been seen more than once, sitting on the cold clay mound beneath which the soul's expression was fading and crumbling into dust--so, at least, said some of the oldest and most pious inhabitants of our village. There, too, Mary Wildermings, a fair young girl who died, more sinned against than sinning, had been heard to sing sad lullabies under the waning moon sometimes, and at other times had been sitting by her sunken grave, and braiding roses, as for a bridal, in her hair. True, I never saw any of these wonderful things; but a spot more likely to be haunted by the unresting spirits of the bad could not readily be imagined. The woods, thick and full of birds, along the roadside, thinned away toward the desolate ridge, where briers grew over the grave-mounds, and about and through the fallen palings, as they would, with here and there a little clearing among weeds and thistles and high matted grass, for the making of a new bed.

It was the twilight of a beautiful summer day as I walked down the grassy lane and past the lonesome graveyard to make my first call at the cottage, feeling, I scarcely knew why, strangely sad. By an old broken bridge in the hollow between the cottage and the graveyard I remember that I sat down, and for a long time listened to the trickling of the water over the pebbles, and watched the golden patches of sunlight till they quite faded out as "came still evening on, and twilight gray, that in her sober livery all things clad."

So quietly I sat that the mole, beginning its blind work at sunset, loosened and stirred the ground beneath my feet, and the white, thick-winged moths, coming from beneath the dusty weeds, fluttered about me, and lighted in my lap, and the dull, flabby beating of the bat came almost in my face.

The first complaint of the owl sounded along the hollow and died over the next hill, warning me to proceed, when I heard, as it were the echo of my own thought, repeated in a low, melancholy voice, the conclusion of that beautiful stanza of the elegy in reference to that moping bird. I distinctly caught the lines----

"Of such as wandering near her sacred bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign."

Looking up, I saw approaching slowly, with arms folded and eyes upon the ground, a young and seemingly exceeding handsome man. He passed without noticing me at all, and I think without seeing me. As he did not observe me, I had the better opportunity of observing him, though I would fain have foregone that privilege to have won one glance. He interested me, and I felt humiliated that he should pass me as though I were a stick or a stone. His face was pale and very sad, and his forehead shaded with a mass of black, heavy hair, pushed away from one temple, and falling neglectedly over the other.

"Well!" said I, as I watched him ascending the opposite hill, feeling very much as though he had wantonly slighted some claim I had upon him, though I could not possibly have the slightest, and, turning ill-humoredly away, I walked with a quick step toward the cottage.

A golden-haired young girl sat in the window reading, and on my approach arose and received me with easy gracefulness and well-bred courtesy, but during my stay her manner did not once border upon cordiality. She was very beautiful, but her beauty was like that of statuary. The mother I did not see. She was, as I was told, slightly indisposed, and, on begging that she might not be disturbed, the daughter readily acquiesced. Every thing about the place indicated people accustomed to refined and elegant habits, but whence they came, how long they proposed to remain, and what relation the young man sustained to the other members of the family I confess I would gladly have known.

Seeing a flute on the table, I spoke of music, for I conceived it to belong to the absent gentleman. I received no enlightenment, however; and as the twilight was already falling deeply, I felt obliged to take leave, without obtaining even a glimpse of the person whom I had pictured in imagination as young and fair, and of course agreeable.

The sun had been set some time, but the moon had risen full and bright, so that I felt no fear even in passing the graveyard, but walked more slowly than I had done before, till, reaching the gate, I paused to think of the awful mystery of life and death and immortality.

This is not a very desolate spot after all, thought I, as leaning over the gate, something of the quiet of the place infused itself into my spirits. Here, I felt, the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. Here the long train of evils that attach themselves to the best phases of humanity fade to silent dust. Here the thorn-crown of pain is loosened from the brow of sorrow by the white hand of peace, and the hearts that were all their lifetime bowed under the shadow of a great and haply unpitied affliction, never ache any more. And here, oh, best of all, the frailties of the unresisting tempted are folded away beneath the shroud from the humiliating glances of pity--from the cold eyes of pride. We have need to be thankful that when man brought upon his primal nature the mildew of sin, God did not cast us utterly from him, but in the unsearchable riches of his mercy struck open the refuge of the grave. If there were no fountain where our sins of scarlet might be washed as white as wool--if the black night of death were not bordered by the golden shadows of the morning of immortality--if deep in the darkness were not sunken the foundations of the white bastions of peace--it were yet an inestimable privilege to lay aside the burden of life, for life becomes--sooner or later, a burden, an echo among ruins.

In the corner of the burial ground, where the trees are thickest, a little apart from the rest, was the grave of Mary Wildermings, and year after year the blue thistles bloomed and faded in its sunken sod.

The train of my reflections naturally suggested her, and, turning my eyes in the direction of her resting place, I saw, or thought I saw, the outline of a human figure. I remembered the story of her unresting ghost, and at first little doubted that I beheld it, and felt, I own, a tumult of strange feeling on finding myself thus alone so near a questionable shape.

Then, I said, this is some delusion of the senses; and I passed my hand over my eyes, for an uncertain glimmer had followed my intensity of gaze. I looked towards the cottage to reassure myself by the light of a human habitation, but all there was dark--a cloud had passed over the moon, and, without venturing to look towards the haunted grave, I withdrew from the gate, very lightly; nevertheless, it creaked as I did so. Any sound save the beating of my own heart gave me courage; and when I had walked a little way, I turned and looked again, but the dense shadow would have prevented my seeing any thing, if any thing had been there. Certain it is, I saw nothing.

On returning home, I asked the housekeeper, a garrulous person usually, if she remembered Mary Wildermings, and if she was not buried in the graveyard across the wood.

"Yes, I remember her, and she is buried in the corner of the ground on the hill. They come to my house, I know, to get a cup, or something of the sort, with which to dip the water from her grave, for it rained terribly all the day of her funeral. But," she added, "what do you want to talk of the dead and gone for, when there are living folks enough to talk about?"

Truth is, she wanted me to say something of our new neighbors, and was vexed that I did not, though I probably should have done so had they not been quite driven from my thoughts by the more absorbing event of the evening; so, as much vexed and disappointed as herself, I retired. The night was haunted with some troublous dreams, but a day of sunshine succeeded, and my thoughts flowed back to a more cheerful channel.

Days and weeks went by, and we neither saw nor heard anything of our new neighbors, for my call was not returned, nor did I make any further overtures towards an acquaintance.

Often, as I sat under the apple tree by the door, of twilights, I heard the sweet mellow music of the flute.

"Is that at the cottage?" said the housekeeper to me, one night: "it sounds to me as though it were in the corner of the graveyard."

I smiled as she turned her head a little to one side, and, encircling the right ear with her hand, listened for some minutes eagerly, and then proceeded to express her conviction that the music was the result of no mortal agency.

"Did you ever hear of a ghost playing the flute?" said I.

"A flute!" she answered, indignantly, "it's a flute, just as much as you are a flute; and for the sake of enlightening your blind understanding, I'll go to the graveyard, night as it is, if you will go with me."

"Very well," I said. "Come on."

So, under the faint light of the crescent moon, we took our way together. Gradually the notes became lower and sadder, and quite died away. I urged my trembling companion to walk faster, lest the ghost should vanish too; and she acceded to my wish with silent alacrity, that convinced me at once of the sincerity of her expressed belief.

Just as we began to ascend the hill, she stopped suddenly, saying,

"There! did you hear that?"

I answered that I heard a noise, but that it was no unusual thing to hear sounds of the sort in an inhabited neighborhood at so early an hour.

It was the latching of the gate at the graveyard. She answered, solemnly.

"As you value your immortal soul, go no further."

In vain I argued, that a ghost would have no need to unlatch the gate. She positively refused to go farther, and with a courage not very habitual to me, I confess, I walked on alone.

"Do you think I don't know that sound?" she called after me. "I would know if I had forgotten everything else. Oh, stop till I tell you! The night Mary Wildermings died," I heard her say; but I knew the sound of the gate as well as she, and would not wait even for a ghost story. I have since wished I had, for I could never afterwards persuade her to reveal it.