James Hargreaves dropped upon his knees and rolled upon the Hoor at length. He lay with his face toward the floor, and made lines and eircles with the end of a burnt stick. He rose and wout to the fire to burn his stick. Then he sat upon a chair and placed his head between his hands, his.elbows on his knees, and gazed intently to the floor. Then he sprang to his feet, and replied to sorae feeble question of his wife, who had not risen since the day she gave birth to a little stranger, by a loud assurance that he had it ; and, taking her in his sturdy arms in the blanket, the baby in her arms, he lifted her out and held her over the black ing on the floor. These he explained, and she joiued in a sraall, hopeful, happy laugh with his high-toned assuranoe that she should never again toil at the spinning-wheel ; that he should never again " play," and have his loom standing for want of weft. "Our fortune is made when this is made," said h, speaking of his drawings on the floor. "AVhat will you cali it?" askod his wife. " Cali it ? What and we cali it after thyself- Jenny F They callea thee ' Spinning Jenny ' afore I had thee, because thou beat every lass in Stanchill Moor at the wheel. What if we cali it the ' Bpianing Jenny ? " The Spinning Jenny coiild spin twelve threads, instead of oue, as by hand-spinning. The populace broke the machine to pieces, and Hargreave's heart at the same time. Richard Arkwright, a commcn barber, caught the idea of Hargreaves, improved upon it, realizecl half a million sterling, and became Sir Richard Arkwright, whose son, in 1843, died the richest commoner in England.