of Thoreau, compares his strong common sense to "that which Rose Flammock, the weaver's daughter, in Scott's romance, commends in her father, as resembling a yardstick, which, whilst it measures dowlas and diaper, can equally well measure tapestry and cloth of gold." The comparison would not be inapt if applied to the simple but discerning and perspicacious mind of the associate and friend whose loss we mourn today. For the Council, E. H. R. HENRY S. NOURSE, SOME NOTES UPON THE GENESIS OF THE POWER LOOM IN WORCESTER COUNTY. BY HENRY S. NOURSE. PRIORITY in the introduction of water-driven machinery for textile manufacture in America has been, and even now often is, claimed for different localities and inventors. Such claims, having local pride and patriotism for their motive power, are commendable so far as they are strictly historic; but a majority of them are only histrionic. Worcester County has not lacked its champions whose patriotic credulity outran their thoroughness of research. Some gleanings from the bookkeeping and business correspondence of one of the pioneer cotton manufactories in the United States may serve to throw a little historic light upon this subject. It is not easy for a people whose every article of apparel is machine-made, to appreciate the fact that within one hundred years their kin were mostly clad with exclusively home-made goods, in the fabrication of which no mechanism more complex than the simple spinning-wheel ever had part. In the New England village, until near the dawn of the nineteenth century, the every-day wear of both sexes and all ages of humanity was literally grown upon the farm; and whether of wool or flax or cotton, or some combination of them, was the product of domestic toil and skill. The busy wheels droned their monotonous bass in accompaniment to the musical treble of the spinster's songs from daybreak until dark in every rural home. The clack of the hand-loom was the most persistent and familiar note of the industrial symphony in every community. The loom, being cumbrous, generally had a special room to itself, and was found not only in the cottage of the skilled artisan, but in the lean-to of each prosperous farmer's home. Both wheel and loom were often bequeathed in the wills of the yeomen to their unmarried daughters, although the latter was usually held a true heirloom, not detachable from the real estate. Sir Henry Moore, governor of New York, in a letter to the British Lords of Trade in 1767, wrote that "the custom of making coarse cloths in private families prevails throughout the whole province, and almost in every House a sufficient quantity is manufactured for the use of the Family without the least sign of sending any of it to market Every house swarms with children, who are set to work as soon as they are able to Spin and Card, and as every family is furnished with a Loom, the Itinerant Weavers who travel about the Country, put the finishing hand to the Work." The same might have been said of all New England. The forty-two members of the Harvard class of 1768 voted to appear on Commencement Day clad in goods of home manufacture. In 1775 the Provincial Congress, in ordering 1300 coats for the Massachusetts soldiers, set the price of good plain cloth, seven-eighths yard wide, at five shillings and sixpence per yard, "preference to be given to the manufactures of this country." The spinster, the webster, the cordwainer, the tailor, the tanner were indispensable factors in every neighborhood. All except the last were commonly as peripatetic as the proverbially devious tinker, carrying their kits and their craftsmanship from farm to farm, and plying their arts at each, until the family from sire to urchin was duly clothed. The leather which the cordwainer sewed with flax thread of his own making was the matured product of a tanning process which exhausted nearly two years' 1 Documentary History of N. Y., I., 498. ? Massachusetts Gazette, January 7, 1768. time, and its wearing properties fully justified this dilatory manipulation. So also the cloth cut by the tailor, whether serge or say, frieze or kersey, linsey woolsey or broadcloth, jeans or corduroy, was slowly wrought by spinster, weaver and fuller, with the definite end in view that the garments made therefrom should outlast the needs of the first wearer, and be left as legacies to sons and daughters; or by a selection of the least worn portions be evolved by some dextrous tailoress into clothing for children. The capable weaver could turn out three or four yards of cloth per day if diligent, and his loom devoured in weft and warp the product of several spinsters. He was paid from six to twenty cents per yard for his work "according to the cloth." The spinster's stint averaged "a skein," perhaps two pounds, of coarse yarn per day. Nowadays her expert, but much less strenuous granddaughter manages from one thousand to twelve hundred spindles, running ten sides of spinning frames for fifty-eight hours weekly. She earns about one dollar and a quarter per ten-hour day, and produces thirty-nine hanks, one and a half pounds, of fine thread per spindle, or 1500 pounds in all, several hundred times the possible output of the old-fashioned wheel. A skilful weaver of the modern type, managing five high-speeded power-looms, produces in ten hours from three hundred to three hundred and fifty yards of staple ginghams, twenty-seven inches wide, earning about sixtenths of a cent per yard; or managing eight or ten looms in a Fall River mill, turns out from four hundred and fifty to six hundred yards of common sheeting, seven-eighths yard wide, in a day, and is paid less than one-half cent per yard. (We are told that the English weaver never runs more than four looms.) At the close of the eighteenth century there were numerous professional weavers in Massachusetts, and many very expert workmen, as existing samples of their workmanship attest. Most of these inherited their skill from English or Huguenot ancestors in Lancashire. Notwithstanding the supposed early development of mechanical ingenuity in our Yankee land, there strangely seem to have been no improvements made here in wheel or loom before the close of the Revolution. One Christopher Tully is said to have exhibited in Philadelphia, as early as 1775, a machine on which twenty-four threads could be spun at a time. This was doubtless a plagiarism upon Hargreaves's invention, and it was not put to any practical use until twelve years later. It was past the dawn of the nineteenth century when a Yankee woman, Sarah Babbitt of Harvard, better known as "Sister Tabitha" in the Shaker community of which she was a member, improved the mechanism of the spinning-wheel by the addition of the "patent head"; an invention which was born too late, for the barber Arkwright's frames and Crompton's mule had already revolutionized the making of yarns, practically superseded hand spinning and established the factory system. Sister Tabitha's chief fame will rest upon her much more valuable boon to man, the buzz-saw. The loom upon which her father worked is preserved in the Harvard community and has no features distinguishing it from those of early colonial days, or from those now in use in certain districts of Tennessee and adjoining states, where homespun jeans are to this day commonly worn. Nor in England or France, until just before our war for independence, were the tools of the textile manufacturer in any important respect superior to those familiar when Nick Bottom the weaver first came upon the stage. Then there began attempts to introduce in Lancashire newly-invented, power-driven machinery for carding, roving and spinning cotton and wool; but with limited and slow-growing success, because of the inhospitality with which any new ideas affecting manual labor were received by artisans. While British armies were striving with bullet and brand to put down |