Watt, Arkwright, Stevenson, born in another quarter of the globe that possessed less metallic treasures, might have lived and died mere clods perhaps, removed from the minerals that were necessary both to the production and achievement of their genius; and more marvellous than all is it, after having cast the eye over the several huge lumps of ore that here are to be seen, to pass into the several branches of manufactures, and behold the things of special interest that the skill and genius of man have learned to fashion them into—to contrast the dull-looking iron ore with the glittering, bright-polished, and sharp-edged steel instruments that are made from it—to see the opaque and powdery sand, and then behold the pellucid and massive glass fountains, chandeliers, and vases into which we have learned to convert it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XIV. “But now the lang-expected mworn Of murriment arrives, Wheyle helter-skelter frae a’ airts I’ swarms the country drives, The lasses in their feyne pearce claes, The lads baith trig an’ souple; Ower hill an’ knowe, thro’ seugh an’ sowe, Comes tiftan many o’ couple Hauf saim’d that day. “Frae Angerton Wheyte to Dubbmill, Hin mist, as yen may say, But a’ wi’ yae consent seem’d met To mence this merry day. Wheyle Allonby turn’d out en masse, Ding-dang, baith man an’ woman, An’ parlish pranks ’mang Silloth banks They hed as they were comin’ To th’ town that day. “But it wad need a Homer’s head War I to tak’ in han’, To sing or say what fwok that day War there, or how they wan; So far and near, an’ God kens whare, By common invitation, Wi’ young an’ auld, an’ great an’ laal. Seem’d met on this occasion, Wi’ glee that day.” _Cumberland Poem._ IN the ardour of our admiration at the Crystal Palace, we have forgotten the Hero of our story, the simple, but ill-starred individual, who quitted his native mountains with the special view of beholding the wonders of the Great Exhibition.