Having given himself to the contrivance of a loom that should be able to keep pace in the working up of the yarn with the jenny which produced it, solely from motives of philanthropy, he felt bound, now that he had devised the machine, to prove its utility, and bring it into use. To have stopped with the work of invention, would, he conceived, have been to leave the work half undone; and, therefore, at no slight sacrifice of personal inclination, and to the rupture of all old ties, associations, and ways of life, he quitted the ease and seclusion of his parsonage, abandoned the pursuits which had formerly been his delight, and devoted himself to the promotion of his invention. He set up weaving and spinning factories at Doncaster, and, bent on the welfare of his race, began the weary, painful struggle that was to be his ruin, and to end only with his life. "I have the worst mechanical conception any man can have," wrote his friend Crabbe, "but you have my best wishes. May you weave webs of gold." Alas! the good man wove for himself rather a web of dismal sack-cloth, sore and grievous to his peace, like the harsh shirts of hair old devotees used to vex their flesh with for their sins. The golden webs were for other folk's wear,--for those who toiled not with their brain as he had done, but who reaped what they had not sown. He had invented a machine that was to promote industry, and save the English weavers from being driven from the field, as was beginning to be the case, by foreign weavers; and masters and men were up in arms against him as soon as his design was known. His goods were maliciously damaged,--his workmen were spirited away from him,--his patent right was infringed. Calumny and hatred dogged his steps. After a succession of disasters, his prospects assumed a brighter aspect, when a large Manchester firm contracted for the use of four hundred looms. A few days after they were at work, the mill that had been built to receive them stood a heap of blackened ruins. Still, he would not give up till all his resources were exhausted,--and surely and not slowly that event drew nigh. The fortune of L30,000 with which he started in the enterprise melted rapidly away; and at length the day came when, with an empty purse, a frame shattered with anxiety and toil, but with a brave, stout heart still beating in his breast, Cartwright turned his back upon his mills, and went off to London to gain a living by his pen. As he turned from the scene of his misfortunes, he exclaimed,-- "With firm, unshaken mind, that wreck I see, Nor think the doom of man should be reversed for me."