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number of skilled hands at all times available, in order that the mill-owner would not be obliged to keep his mill at full work—when not profitable to do so for the mere purpose of keeping his workmen together. To these obstacles is most probably attributable the comparative failure of the manufacture of cotton goods in Liverpool; but to whatever circumstances it may be owing, the question of fuel has certainly nothing to do with it. For coal is as cheap there as at Manchester or Leeds, and stocks of cotton are, besides, always on the spot, whereas, in other cases, the cost of the carriage of the raw cotton from Liverpool helps to swell the amount of the debit side of the account.
The working of machinery by steam-power is beginning to be more favored in Ireland, and, under certain circumstances, it is found most advantageous. In several parts of the country the horse-mill in the farmyard has already given way to the steam-engine; and, in Dublin, several saw and planing-mills have been recently erected, which are worked, solely, by the same power. A flour-mill, too, was erected a few years ago, by an eminent firm in the same city, and has continued to work most successfully, and the number of the latter has since increased by two or three, all of which are now in full operation. These mills have been erected, generally, close to the water's edge, and the cost of fuel has been most probably counterbalanced by the saving of the expense which would have been incurred in regard to carriage, were water-power employed instead. In the case of flour-mills, for example, it is estimated that to grind wheat by steam-power costs about sixpence per barrel more than if that operation were performed by the aid of water; but against this must be placed the expense of the carriage of the wheat to the mill, and of the four from it, and if the distance be any way great, this latter expense will most likely outweigh the advantage supposed to be gained by the cheapness of water, as compared with steam-power. Again, a strong instance of the preference for the latter power is afforded in regard to two of the Dublin steam flourmills, both of which are worked by Scotch gentleman of high commercial character, and who possess great practical ability besides. These parties lately carried on business together as millers, their mill, five or six miles from Dublin, having been driven by water-power; but having subsequently dissolved partnership, one of the partners purchased the Ringsend Dock Mill, and the other branch of the firm built the steam-mill at the canal, on the north side of the Liffey. These facts speak for themselves, and it will not be necessary to dwell further upon them. It may not, however, be unsuitable to remark, that the advantage of selecting a convenient position for a mill or manufactory, which steam affords, is a very considerable one; and the manufacturer is enabled, in addition, to carry on operations during the entire, or for any portion of the twenty-four hours, as occasion may require, while with water-power the work must be regulated by the weather, and is, in consequence, frequently irregular; and should the season, moreover, turn out very dry, the workmen are obliged to be paid, though not fully employed, in order that they may be kept from going elsewhere. In regard to the supposed comparative cheapness of the latter power, too, it must be
recollected that the owner of the mill-gate will require a fair consideration in the shape of rent or otherwise, for the advantage, or that if the waters be obtained from either of the canals, the full value must be paid for it.
It may be, perhaps, said that in the above instances steam may be found useful, but that in a cotton or other manufacturing mill similar benefits would not be produced; but we have already endeavoured to show than any want of similar success in the latter case would not be likely to arise on the score of the expense of fuel; and the factories at Belfast, Dublin, and in other parts of Ireland, prove that the various operations requisite for the production of manufactured articles can be carried on profitably in this country by the aid of steam-power, as in England. Originally, too, locomotive engines for our railways, were entirely supplied from England or Scotland, but a Drogheda firm has since competed most successfully in this respect with both Manchester and Glasgow, in the engines made for the Midland Railway Company; and the Great Southern and Western Railway Company have, from almost the commencement, constructed, at Inchicore, the magnificent locomotives used by them; and a visit to the works, beside the pleasure it will afford, will show that almost all the operations in the factory are performed by means of steam, including the forging of the iron by Nasmyth's famous steam-hammer,
In making the above observations it has been our wish to show that, from an alteration in certain circumstances, it is not unlikely that steam power will be now more generally used in Ireland than heretofore; and this change will work most beneficially for the interests of the country. It may be asserted, however, that we have water-power, which is cheaper, in sufficient abundance, and that this ought to meet all our requirements; but the individual who would express such an opinion, could not prove satisfactorily that any country, who would depend upon the latter power alone, could ever compete successfully, to any great extent, with Great Britain, the commercial greatness of which nation is, perhaps, mainly owing to her having been able to use effectually the gigantic power which steam has provided. The water-power of Ireland is, no doubt, great; but years must elapse before the greater portion of it can be brought into active employment, and it will not do for us to stand still while most other countries are progressing. In some branches of business our operatives have proved what can be done at home, and our silk trade, for instance, stands as securely-though it is not so extensive as that of Lyons; while the Coventry weavers have had to yield in despair to the overpowering competition of the manufacturers of St. Etienne. The French, also, according to Mr. Newdegate, have grasped a great part of the export trade in silk goods to the United States and the colonies, which once was England's, and the trade of England in this respect, he states, remains paralysed. This statement is, possibly, somewhat over the actual facts of the case; but there is sufficient to show, that the French have, by perseverance and by devotion to a particular branch of industry, proved themselves superior to the English producer in regard to the above manufacture. The fact, too, suggests to us in a forcible manner the paramount object of cultivating, to the fullest extent, those
branches which have been preserved to us, and this can best be done by supplying the skilful artisan with the most perfect machines and other requisites suited to his trade, without which, satisfactory progress can never be made. In woollens, for instance, our trade, to a great extent, comprises the production of the coarser kinds of cloth; and it is well known that the manufacturers in the shotty districts of England are enabled, by the aid of superior machinery, to finish off their fabrics, made from old rags, &c., in such a manner as to gain for their goods, by their better appearance, a preference over the really valuable articles made in Ireland.
It has been our object in what we have just written to endeavour to awaken the interest of our readers to the opening prospect for the improvement and extension of native manufacture, but the limits which we have prescribed for ourselves would be exceeded were we to refer to our coal and iron fields, or to our mines and other sources of wealth as yet undeveloped. On some future occasion, however, we may be afforded the opportunity of further discussing the means at our disposal for the elevation of our native land.
UPON hotels, and taverns, and inns, a volume could be written. a stout, respectable, middle-aged looking volume, bound in calf, and set in large type; a book whose every page would sparkle with records of wit and laughter, of merrymaking, and high jinks; whose every chapter would smack of repartee and canary, of hot punch and erudition; whose whole spirit from beginning to end, would be that of fun and jollity, smart sayings and brilliant bon mots; whose whole contents would be a resurrection of mirth and pleasantry, of quint fancies and jolly quips. For, would it not tell us of those roaring times in the sand-floored parlour of the Mermaid, or the Boar in Eastcheap, when rare Ben Jonson and Will Shakespeare played at jousts of wit and learning, and Masters Beaumont, and Fletcher, and Seldon, and Cotton, sat around sipping their canary, and urging on the friendly antagonists with their laughter and applause; while, mayhap, the landlord and the drawer stood bye in open-mouthed wonderment? Would it not relate to us of those roystering fellows, Dick Steele, and Phillips, and Carey, and Davenant, with, perchance, gentle and refined Addison in the chair-of how Addison got fuddled, and drunken Dick Steele hiccupped defiance to the Mowhawks in the choicest Latin? Should we not be told, too, of the Mitre suppers, when Reynolds, and Garrick, and Burke, and elegant Beauclerk, and Noll Goldsmith, with Boswell and the great Samuel Johnson, drank punch and argued on all matters from metaphysics down to the rearing of turkeys. Would we not, through its pages, sit in the parlour of the "Old Salutation," and listen in reverent admiration to golden-tongued Coleridge, and laugh at the stuttered wit of Charles Lamb; or perchance share in the enthusiasm of Hazlitt; or the poetical fancies of
Southey. A volume! too, could be written, full of merry information and quaint thoughts, bristling with jolly tales and rare old jests. Then, across the channel, too, should we not see, in imagination, Racine strut into the salon of the Mouton Blanc or La Tête Noir, and we should hear witty Chapelle wheedling the drawer at the Pomme de Pin out of a flask of burgundy. We should be told of those jolly monks, of whom the proverb said "The Capuchians drink sparingly, the Celestins copiously, the Jaco bins cup for cup, and the Cordeliers empty the cellar," creeping in by the side door of La Table Roland, or La Riche Laboreur to crack a bottle. We should taste in imagination those wondrous meats of which Father Bonaventure said, sighing regretfully, when asked about the pleasures of Paris :-"Eh, but those roasts are a stupendous thing;" we should luxuriate in the ragoûts of those great men, Lesage, Carême, and Miguet; and coming down to the present degenerate days, we should read of "Le Dernier. Cabaret," kept by La Mere Saguet, (the Madame Gregoire of Beranger's song) in the Rue de Moulin de Beure, where sculptor David and journalist Theirs and Gavarni, Tony Johonnot, Dumas, Romieu, and a host of the "diamonds” of Parisian literary and artistic society kept revelry. The last cabaret―ah me! those jolly times are a thing of the past, and nought suits us now but the hotel. The hotel, forsooth! We hate the word, as we detest academy, and establishment, and emporium, and such like "genteel" terms. It is un-English, and snobbish, and suggestive of paint and pierglasses, of impudent servants and long bills, of discomfort and extortion, of indigestion and misery. We think, when we hear it, of those vast palaces of marble in Philadelphia, and Boston, and New York, with accommodation for two thousand lodgers, with reception rooms, and lavatories, and smoking-rooms, and drawing-rooms, and cloak-rooms, and audience-rooms, and the deuce knows what else; with clerks and barbers; with statues and pictures by the old masters; the landlord of which is a colonel in the U-nited States army, a scholar, and a gentleman; where you can ruin your. self at billiards or rouge-et-noir; where you may live a miserable human item of some 1500, eating, drinking, swearing, spitting, tobacco smoking, and tobacco chewing citizens of the free and enlightened United States, for some four dollars per day; yes, sir-ee, and no bunkum. We think, we say of these "head-quarters of prog," as Bob Fudge has it; these habitations of roving Sybarites; these caravanserais of eating and drinking; these factories of feeding; these fast, go-ahead, hurry-scurry, cosmopolitan clubs the great hotels. We don't like 'em. We don't like places like Long's, or Mivart's, or the Great Western of Picadilly, in London, or the Astor House, of New York, where there are sure to be staying a Bohemian prince and a Timbuctoo noble, a Spanish duchess, and a Japanese ambassador, or some such abomination. We don't like your fast hotels, either, where the lodgers come in at unholy hours, and consume no end of sodawater and brandy in the morning; but we do like those quiet, respectable, 'gentlemanly old inns which are only to be found in London, and no where else; which are found, too, in quiet, out of the way localities; which have a pleasant private residence appearance; the room floors of which are
thickly carpeted, and the passages laid down in shining oilcloth, and where a dinner is served in proper English style, in a cosy and comfortable room; where the waiters know their business, don't skip about like other waiters, and have bald heads and gray whiskers; the landlord of which is a widower with a finely developed stomach, and ruddy cheeks, and who has a daughter Kate or Lizzie, who keeps the books, these are the inns which we do like. And it is a noticeable fact, that the chief customers at these hotels are bishops and rich old ladies; deans, too, from provincial towns, and country squires, with, mayhap, a sprinkling of judges occasionally. You will get none of your French wines here-nought but rare old '38 port and sherry; and you sleep in a feather bed, sir, such as no imagination, however fervid, can conceive-buried, absolutely buried, in the most delicious and luxurious couch in the world, you sleep the sleep of the blessed. Real comfort at these places, and no spurions imitation; and if you don't see looking glasses, and pillars, and elaborately carved gas fittings, and all the trickery and trash of your modern hotel, you have the quiet, and comfort, and attention of a real English inn. It was of these that Johnson spoke, when he said: "There is no private house in which people can enjoy themselves so well as at a capital inn. No, sir, there is nothing that has yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn ;" and Shenstone thought of such like hostels when he wrote
"Who e'er has travelled earth's dull round,
And I say, spite of all the flummery and glare of continental and transatlantic hotels, your English inn is still the most comfortable and cosy. There are some decent inns, too, in Germany, in the pleasant Rhine land— quaint, old-world looking places, with latticed windows, and grape vines creeping up to the very gables of the house, where there is a Fraulein Gretchen, with flaxen bair and blue eyes, who can cook a supper and quote Schiller with equal excellence; where there is no unseemly roystering, but all dissipation is conducted with a commendable gravity and quiet, and customers get drunk, and fall asleep, without saying one word more than, mayhap, "Ach Gott;" where the landlord is a jolly fellow, with a merry eye and a red nose, who has some wondrous wine in long-necked bottles, packed at the uttermost end of the cellar; where awful suppers are eaten, and dreadful nightmares contracted; where, in short, a man may pass a dreamy, pleasant, lazy month very satisfactorily, reading Jean Paul Ritcher, flirting with Gretchen, drinking Rhenish, and establishing the basis of dyspepsia for the remainder of his natural life. But, as a rule, continental inns are poor affairs, and the best of them compares unfavourably with a really substantial English hostelry. As for Spain and Portugal, the inns in those blessed countries of black eyes and fine days, are best described as a composition of garlic and fleas, dirt and aquadiente. The Dutch have some idea of