A few nice jig grinding pictures I identified:
Plate Jig Grinding
Image by NVT Technology Pte Ltd
Image from web page 248 of “The selection functions of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse” (1881)
Image by World wide web Archive Book Pictures
Identifier: choiceworksoftho01hood
Title: The decision operates of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse
Year: 1881 (1880s)
Authors: Hood, Thomas, 1799-1845. [from old catalog] Shepherd, Richard Herne, 1842-1895. [from old catalog]
Subjects:
Publisher: New York, J. W. Lovell
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation
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About This Book: Catalog Entry
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Text Appearing Ahead of Image:
, but recoils back at tliesound of an approaching carriage. An^^er, with starting eyeballs,blows a rude clash on the bugle-horn and Despair, a snipe-faced wight,bejjuiles his grief with low suhen sounds on the bassoon. Hope, aconsumptive Scot, with golden hair and a cl.irionet, indulges, like theflatterer hersdf, in a thousand great flourishes beside the tune —with a lingering quaver at the close and would quaver longer, butRevenge shakt s his matted locks, blows a fresh alarum on his pandeans,and thumps, with double heat his double-drum. Dejected Pity, at hisside, a hunger-bitten urchin, applies to his silver-toned triangle whilstJealousy, sad proof of his distracted state, grinds on, in all sorts oftime, at his barrel-ortan. With eyes upraised, pale Melancholy sings,retired and unheeded, at the corner of the street and Mirth,—yonderhe is, a brisk tiny Savoyard, jerking away at the hurdygurdy. anddancing himself at the same time, to render his jig-tune much more jigging.
Text Appearing After Image:
•Dust oi DEATHS RAMBLE. One particular day the dreary old King of DeathInclined for some sport with the carnaV So he tied a pack of d.uts on his back,And quietly stole from his charnel. ■28 DEATHS RAMBLE. His head was bald of flesh and of hair, His body was lean and lanlc,His joints at every single stir created a crAck, and the Cut Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank. And what did he do with his deadly darts, This goblin of grisly bone ?He dabbled and spilld mans blood, and he killd Like a butcher that kills his personal. The very first he slaughterd it produced him laugh(For the mm was a coffin-maker), To consider how the mutes, and males in black suits,Would mourn for an undertaker. Death saw two Quakers sitting at church, Quoth he, We shall not differAnd he let them alone, like figures of ston^ For he could not make them stiffer. He saw two duellists going to fight, In fear they could not smotherAnd he shot a single through at once—for he knew They never would shoot each and every other. He saw a watchman fast in his box. And
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