n joy without tears. I wonder the lively fancy of Hogarth
never sketched the _dull_ historian, in the figure of an ass, plodding
to market under his panniers, laden with the fruits of antiquity, and
old time driving up the _rear_, with his scythe converted into an
hedge-stake.

The bellows-maker proclaims the _honor_ of his art, by observing, he
alone produces that instrument which commands the winds; his soft
breeze, like that of the south, counter-acts the chill blasts of winter:
by his efforts, like those of the sun, the world receives light: he
creates when he pleases, and gives _breath_ when he creates. In his
caverns the winds deep at pleasure; and by his _orders_ they set Europe
in flames.

He pretends, that a gentle puff in the eyes of a _reviewer_, from a pair
of his bellows, would tend to clear the sight, and enable him to
distinguish between a smile and a serious face: that his circular board,
like a ferula, applied by the handle to an inferior part, would induce
him to peruse the _whole treatise_, and not partially pronounce from
the preface.

He farther pretends, that the _antiquity_ of his occupation will appear
from the plenty of elm, once in the neighbourhood, but long cut up for
his use: that the leather-market in Birmingham, for many ages, furnished
him with sides; and though the manufacture of iron is allowed to be
extremely ancient, yet the smith could not procure his heat without a
blast, nor could that blast be raised without the bellows.

Two inferences arise from these remarks, that the antiquarian will frown
on this little history; and that bellows-making is one of the oldest
trades in Birmingham.

THREAD.

We, who reside in the interior parts of the kingdom, may observe the
first traces of a river issue from its fountain; the current so
extremely small, that if a bottle of liquor, distilled through the
urinary vessels, was discharged into its course, it would manifestly
augment the water, and quicken the stream: the reviving bottle, having
added spirits to the man, seems to add spirits to the river.--If we
pursue this river, winding through one hundred and thirty miles, we
shall observe it collect strength as it runs, expand its borders, swell
into consequence, employ multitudes of people, carry wealth in its
bosom, and exactly resemble _thread-making_ in Birmingham.

If we represent to our idea, a man able to employ three or four people,
himself in an apron, one of the number; but