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CHAPTER XVI, 



Flush with the pond the livid furnace burned 

 At eve, while smoke and vapour filled the yard ; 

 The gloomy winter-sky was dimly starred ; 

 The fly-wheel with a mellow murmur turned ; 

 While, ever rising on its mystic stair 

 In the dim light, from secret chambers borne , 

 The straw of harvest, severed from the corn, 

 Climbed, and fell over, in the murky air. 

 I thought of mind and matter, will and law. 

 And then of him who set his stately seal 

 In Roman words on all the forms he saw 

 Of old-world husbandry : I could but feel 

 With what a rich precision he would draw 

 The endless ladder and the booming wheel ! 



Did any seer of ancient time forebode 

 This mighty engine, which we daily see 

 Accepting our full harvests, like a god 

 With clouds about his shoulders it might be, 

 Some poet-husbandman, some lord of verse, 

 Old Hesiod, or the wizard Mantuan 

 Who catalogued in rich hexameters 

 The Rake, the Roller, and the mystic Van ; 

 Or else some priest of Ceres, it might seem, 

 Who witnessed, as he trod the silent fane, 

 The notes and auguries of coming change, 

 Of other ministrants in shrine and grange, 

 The sweating statue, and her sacred wain 

 Loud-booming with the prophecy of steam ! 



Charles T. Turner. 



Clayton and Shuttleworth's Works at Lincoln Lincoln Flocks Tom 

 Brooks and John Thompson Aylesby Manor Tuxford and Sons' 

 Works at Boston. 



NO one who has been in Lincoln can fail to have 

 heard of Clayton and Shuttleworth's works 

 " down hill." The twelve acres on which the present 

 premises stand were once a complete morass, and 

 there was nothing for it but to drive down piles 



