his chum, with much bragging about the fame he should get, that the snake would be called “Serpens Macgillivry,” after him, &c.
The next morning, the same party being assem- bled at the coffee-shop, the subject was again referred to, and the doctor's sais sent for.
On the man appearing and making many salams to the sahibs, he was questioned by his master, who would not lose the opportunity of showing off his proficiency in the language, of which, however, he really knew very little.
“Hussun Khan, yesterday morning did you not see a snake with things“ (turning to us), “What's the Hindustani for horuns?” as nobody would enlighten him, he went on, using pantomime, and putting up a finger at each side of his head, “things like these on his head?“
“Yes, protector of the poor, I saw it.”
“There,” said the excited naturalist to us, “I told ye so. Who’s richt noo? If I can only get a speecimen, my fortun’s made.” Then, turning to the sais, he said in bad Hindustani, “I'll give you five rupees for a live snake like that, and one rupee for a dead one: go and dig at the hole where we saw it go in.”
On this the man said something which his master evidently did not understand, but which caused most of those present to burst into roars of I laughter. At last, Sinclair, when he was com- i posed enough to speak, interpreted the sais’ reply, which was: “Why does the sahib want that particular snake? He would have swallowed the frog, legs and aU, soon after we saw him, and become like any other snake.“
Doctor Macgillivry blushed to the roots of his red hair, and rushed away to his house, where his chum saw him tearing up and scattering to the winds the letter that was to announce to the world this great discovery. He then set to work and wrote an application for an exchange to another regiment, to which in due time he departed. His reputation as a naturalist followed him, however, and he was long badgered about I “the snake with horns.”
G. P. S.
NEEDLEMAKING.
It is often asked, Where do all the pins go? and it may be as pertinently inquired, Where do all the needles come from? The little machine that is put in action to make the greater part of the clothes of the world, and to minister to the vanity of womenfolk, surely must have some birth-place worth noting, and a pilgrimage into Worcester- shire the other day led us to its discovery. We are but too apt to associate with iron and steel workers, grimy and soot-clogged towns, blasted neighbouring country, and pale and stunted artisans. The manufacture of needles, however, entails no such disagreeables. Redditch, the grand armoury of the female weapon, is as pretty a little village as need be met with, and were it not for the presence of a tall red chimney, and the hiss of a grind-stone as you pass a water-wheel, now and then, you may well imagine yourself in a Kentish village. Incited by curiosity, we asked permission to see the workshops of one of the largest manufacturers, which was most courteously granted, and an attendant ushered us into a little door, where a stalwart Vulcan presided over a fierce furnace, the walls of his apartment being hung round with coils of wire of all weights and sizes.
“Here,” said our cicerone, “the needle makes its first start into existence, and as he spoke, the workman reached down a huge coil of wire, measured about three inches, and snapped off with a pair of shears, at one jerk, sixty small wires, each one forming of course the segment of a large circle or coil. To straighten this raw material of the future needles is his next care and this he does in a very ingenious manner. The bundles of wires as they are cut off, are put within two iron rings of about four inches diameter, and placed sufficiently apart to allow the whole length of the wires to rest between them; when the two rings are nearly full, the whole is placed in the furnace and heated to a dull red heat. And now the future needle receives its first instruction. The workman with an iron rod rapidly works the wires within the two rings, one upon another, and this process of mutual attrition rapidly straightens them out, just as little boys warped and bent from the mother’s knee, get set up true again, by the bullying and hard knocks of a public school. The straightened wires, are now handed over to the grinder to give them their points. We must take a little excursion out of the town to witness this process, inasmuch as it is performed by water-power. As we walked across the meadows, knee-deep in grass, and listened to the drip, drip, of the merry mill-wheel, and saw the stream meandering in silver at our feet, it was difficult to believe that we were seeking a factory, rather than the haunts of speckled trout. Still more difficult was it to believe that the little cottage, whose tallest rose peeped in at the casement, was noticing more than a workshop full of busy artisans; and more difficult than all to persuade ourselves that in this apparent dwelling-place of health, a manufacture was being carried on which not long since was the most deadly in existence. We have all heard of the fork -grinders of Sheffield, whose average term of life is twenty-nine years. Well, the occupation of a needle-grinder, a few years since, was no less deadly. The grinding process is carried on with a dry stone, and of old the artisan as he leaned over his work received into his lungs the jagged par- ticles of steel and the stone dust given off in the process, and as a consequence, they speedily became disorganised, and his early death ensued. The expedient of covering over their grind-stones and driving out the dust by means of a revolving fan, was adopted only a few years ago; so little are men inclined to move out of the old accustomed ways even to save their lives; nay, their lives have to be saved, even against their will; as even now, if not closely watched, they would disconnect the fans, and thus deliberately renew the old danger: indeed some of them look upon the danger as so much capital with which they think that the masters have no right to interfere, exclaiming with the Sheffield fork-grinders, that the trade is
“so overfull already,” that these fans will “prevent them getting a living.“ However, the higher