beyond, and again beyond those, forming a
singular series of perspective distances, over
which the deep blue shadows shifted and
varied continually. It was hard to believe that
such a thing as a town, or any congregation
of human dwellings had there an existence,
and it was certainly a most unlikely locality
in which to seek for an EXHIBITION.

After descending the hill, at the foot of
the rock called "Pots and Pans," we saw
a little island of stone houses lying away
before us, in the hollow of some hills, which
rose in an amphitheatre above them. This
was the village of Saddleworth; and, after
a quarter of an hour's further walking across
some rough fields, we had reached the end of
our journey. Saddleworth is two straggling
streets of shops and cottages; the ground
so abrupt and irregular that the back door
of one house will be often on a level with
the top story of another. It is chiefly inhabited
by the work-people of the neighbouring
mills. A railway station has, within the
last few years, brought it into the direct line
from Manchester to Leeds.

EXHIBITION, in great letters over a door,
told us we were before the object of our
search. Ascending a dark, narrow, wooden
staircase, we paid our shillings on the
topmost step, and found ourselves standing
plump face to face with the wonders of the
place. I felt curious to see the sort of people
who would be gathered in that out-of-the-world
spot. They were not "mill-hands,"
but quite a different class; people who, most
likely, had cloth looms of their own at home
— for in Yorkshire there is still very much of
this domestic manufacture going on. The
men buy their yarn, get it dyed for them,
and weave it up in their own houses. They
then take the web of cloth on their shoulders,
and either go with it about the country
to sell it, or else take it to the Cloth
Hall at Leeds or Huddersfield, and dispose
of it there on market-day. There was something
touching in the good-humoured stupidity
with which they looked upon the
objects they had never seen before, and the
intelligent greeting they gave to whatever was
familiar.

The Exhibition had no specific feature;
but, in the care and taste with which the
various objects were arranged, it gave evidence
that those who had presided over
its getting up had not grudged trouble. The
articles had chiefly been contributed by
families connected with the district, who
must have dismantled their houses and
drawing-rooms of some of their most valuable
adornments; and this gave a certain
spirit of good intention and kind heartedness
to the whole affair, which was the
real charm of it. The object, I was told, is
to recruit the funds of the Mechanics' Institute,
which (as is no wonder) are in a very
languishing state. The first room contained
several plaster casts and busts of every
species of phrenological development— great
men, murderers, and criminals of every degree;
and there was also the cast of that unhappy
youth with the enlarged head, who seems to
have been sent to die of water on the brain for
the especial interest of science; for his effigy is
to be seen either cast or engraved in all places
where the "human skull divine" is treated
of. Clytemnestra was much attracted in this
room by the bust of Sir Isaac Newton, and
the anatomical preparation of a horse's head;
but the real interest of the party was not
excited until we entered a room where there
were some cases of stuffed birds, not very
rare ones; but such as may be seen in England.
Here the little girl whom we had
brought with us from Bills o' Jacks, came
beaming up with the exclamation that "she
found some real moor-game in a glass case,
and a fox, that looked as if he was alive!"
This sharp, bright little child of twelve
years old— who had lived on the moors all
her life, and had never been further from
home than to Ashton, which to her seemed
a great metropolis— took no sort of interest in
the pictures, and bronzes, and statuettes, and
other fine things, but greeted the objects she
knew, with a burst of enthusiasm. The only
novelty she seemed to care about, was an
ostrich egg, which she spoke of just as the
people in the Arabian Nights' spoke of the
roc's egg. Clytemnestra— an excellent judge
of game— pulled me to come and look at some
lovely ptarmigans, and the most beautiful
grouse she ever saw. Certainly they were
excellently well preserved and stuffed; but
amongst so many novelties I did not expect
they would have attracted one who sees grouse
professionally every day of the season: I
suppose it was like recognising the face of a
friend in a strange place.

One room was filled with electrical and
philosophical apparatus. A crowd of people
were looking at them as if they had been
implements of sorcery; whilst one, a placid,
good-natured countryman was preparing
to be "electrified;" his " missus" sitting
by with an air that seemed to say he deserved
whatever he might be bringing on
himself.

In the machinery-room there were a few
beautiful models: a knitting-machine in full
force, which turned out beautifully knitted
grey stockings: and a sewing-machine, which
was even a greater innovation than the other.
This appeared to be an attractive room.
There were some tolerable pictures, which the
people admired when the subjects were things
they understood or had seen before— whatever
was absolutely new, nobody appeared to care
about. A hall was fitted up with curious
old furniture, carved cabinets, old armour,
tapestry, &c.— all arranged in a very tasteful
manner— whilst an organ or seraphine, which
was constantly played, made this the centre
of attraction. Articles for sale were laid out
in the centre of one room, and a collection of