sphere from pole to pole. A thick wire runs
through this wood, and originally projected
some two or three inches at each end. This
stick is placed upright in a vice. The semi-
globe is nailed to one end of the stick, upon
which it rests, when the wire is passed
through its centre. It is now reversed, and
the edges of the card rapidly covered with
glue. The edges of the other semi-globe are
instantly brought into contact, the other end
of the wire passing through its centre in the
same way, and a similar nailing to the stick
taking place. We have now a paper globe,
with its own axis, which will be its companion
for the whole term of its existence.

The paper globe is next placed on its axis
in a frame, of which one side is a semi-circular
piece of metal;—the horizon of a globe cut in
half would show its form. A tub of white
composition,—a compound of whiting, glue,
and oil is on the bench. The workman dips
his hand into this 'gruel thick and slab,' and
rapidly applies it to the paper sphere with
tolerable evenness: but as it revolves, the
semi-circle of metal clears off the superfluous
portions. The ball of paper is now a ball of
plaster externally. Time again enters largely
into the manufacture. The first coating must
thoroughly dry before the next is applied;
and so again till the process has been repeated
four or five times. Thus, when we visit a
globe workshop, we are at first surprised at
the number of white balls, from three inches
diameter to three feet, which occupy a large
space. They are all steadily advancing towards
completion. They cannot be hurriedly dried.
The duration of their quiescent state must
depend upon the degrees of the thermometer
in the ordinary atmosphere. They cost
little. They consume nothing beyond a small
amount of rent. As they advance to the
dignity of perfect spheres, increased pains are
taken in the application of the plaster. At
last they are polished. Their surface is as
hard and as fine as ivory. But, beautiful as
they are, they may, like many other beautiful
things, want a due equipoise. They must be
perfectly balanced. They must move upon
their poles with the utmost exactness. A few
shot, let in here and there, correct all
irregularities. And now the paper and plaster
sphere is to be endued with intelligence.

What may be called the artistical portion
of globe-making here commences. In the
manufactory we are describing there are two
skilled workers, who may take rank as artists,
but whose skill is limited, and at the same time
perfected, by the uniformity of their operations.
One of these artists, a young woman,
who has been familiar with the business from
her earliest years, takes the polished globe
in her lap, for the purpose of marking it with
lines of direction for covering it with engraved
strips, which will ultimately form a perfect
map. The inspection of a finished globe will
show that the larger divisions of longitude are
expressed by lines drawn from pole to pole,
and those of latitude by a series of concentric
rings. The polished plaster has to be covered
with similar lines. These lines are struck
with great rapidity, and with mathematical
truth, by an instrument called a 'beam
compass,' in the use of which this workwoman is
most expert. The sphere is now ready for
receiving the map, which is engraved in
fourteen distinct pieces. The arctic and antarctic
poles form two circular pieces, from which the
lines of longitude radiate. These having been
fitted and pasted, one of the remaining twelve
pieces, containing 30 degrees, is also pasted on
the sphere, in the precise space where the lines
of longitude have been previously marked, its
lines of latitude corresponding in a similar
manner. The paper upon which these portions
of the earth's surface are engraved is thin and
extremely tough. It is rubbed down with the
greatest care, through all the stages of this
pasting process. We have at length a globe
covered with a plain map, so perfectly joined
that every line and every letter fit together as
if they had been engraved in one piece,—which,
of course, would be absolutely impossible for
the purpose of covering a ball.

The artist who thus covers the globe, called
a paster, is also a colourer. This is, of necessity,
a work which cannot be carried on with
any division of labour. It is not so with the
colouring of an atlas. A map passes under
many hands in the colouring. A series of
children, each using one colour, produce in
combination a map coloured in all its parts,
with the rapidity and precision of a machine.
But a globe must be coloured by one hand.
It is curious to observe the colourer working
without a pattern. By long experience the
artist knows how the various boundaries are
to be defined, with pink continents, and blue
islands, and the green oceans, connecting the
most distant regions. To a contemplative
mind, how many thoughts must go along with
the work, as he covers Europe with indications
of populous cities, and has little to do
with Africa and Australia but to mark the
coast lines;—as year after year he has to
make some variation in the features of the
great American continent, which indicates the
march of the human family over once trackless
deserts, whilst the memorable places of
the ancient world undergo few changes but
those of name. And then, as he is finishing a
globe for the cabin of some 'great ammirall,'
may he not think that, in some frozen nook
of the Arctic Sea, the friendly Esquimaux may
come to gaze upon his work, and seeing how
petty a spot England is upon the ball, wonder
what illimitable riches nature spontaneously
produces in that favoured region, some of
which is periodically scattered by her ships
through those dreary climes in the search for
some unknown road amidst everlasting
icebergs, while he would gladly find a short track
to the sunny south. And then, perhaps,
higher thoughts may come into his mind;
and as this toy of a world grows under his