Rural Districts is cheerless above all the rest. It shews to us the whole mass of the agricultural labourers in the south-western counties first, and now in the east-midland counties

living not like men but beasts; stinted in their wages, starved of decent house-room, stunted in all their faculties of affection and of knowledge, uncared for, vicious, degraded; sullen and hateful, as a brute half tamed by hunger and fear. And the one cause for all this evil lies in the neglect of the duties of property. Wherever a landlord chooses to exert himself for the benefit of his tenantry, or seemingly only to allow them to exert themselves; wherever a farmer treats his labourers on a par with his cattle, and finds them in keep when he does not find them in work, a gleam of sunshine lights at once upon the picture; decency returns to the labourer's cottage, thrifty gardens supply the place of the filthy muck-heap, and the clergyman feels he has no longer to contend, as elsewhere, alone in sheer blank hopelessness, against universal dishonesty, vice, and beastliness. Up to this hour the landlords have the game in their own hands; they have but to will it, and the English peasant may, in a generation or two, be the honour of his country instead of its shame.

The Manufacturing Districts again present, on the whole, the most pleasing side of the picture. It is impossible to peruse this series, and not to observe that under two separate conditions manufacturing industry is decidedly conducive to the welfare of the people employed in it. On the one hand, while as yet machinery has not outgrown domestic use; when, for instance, the loom, through its various processes, affords employment for all the members of the household, and becomes thus a very centre of family life; thus the condition of the Saddleworth clothweaver is equal, and, in some respects, superior to that of the yeoman or small landowner under its best aspect, inasmuch as he has all his children at work under his own eye, and can frequently afford the wholesome luxury of a garden, or the bracing enjoyment of field-sports. Again, when loom and jenny have learnt to cluster round the steamengine, and the operatives have be

come massed in little armies under the factory-roof, their very numbers and the discipline which machinery always brings with it afford many more appliances of good than of evil. Even though the manufacturer, raised into a real labour-lord, should, like the landlord, neglect his duty towards the tenants of his workshop, screw profits out of wages, and cut 'hands' adrift on the slightest sign of commercial depression, still the operative is not lonely and helpless as the agricultural labourer. Collective remonstrances can be urged, the combination of numbers can be opposed to that of capital, may be used for purposes of mutual relief, encouragement, instruction; whilst the large scale on which the operations of manufacture take place renders more public every act of tyranny or of wise benevolence, and affords the check of opinion upon the acts of the masters. And where, indeed, the labour-lord does understand his duty, the bonds of union between master and workman, between man and man, can be drawn far tighter than amongst an agricultural population (as at present constituted); all improvements in the condition of the working classes, whether material, intellectual, or moral, can be introduced on the largest scale, and a whole factory may become one living body, animated with one spirit of mutual good-will and zeal. This is especially the case in some of the rural factories. true that we have here but examples of 'enlightened despotism;' the constitutional guarantees of the operative have yet to be settled, his Bill of Rights lies yet unwritten. For the special evils of the system, such as the drugging of children, arising from the demand for female labour in the factories, special remedies must be devised; such as the establishment of those public nurseries, or crèches, which have taken deep root in France, and which might, by law, be annexed like schools to every factory. The crèche, it may be shortly stated, is an establishment where infants are kept during the day (by Sisters of Charity, for instance), and delivered back at night to the mother, who comes as often as necessary during the day to give the breast. Cradles are provided and a play-room, with food to be given by hand in case of

It is

need. The objection to the indiscriminate use of this plan, that it tends to the neglect of motherly duty, is surely quite out of place in the manufacturing towns, where it is shewn to be the habitual practice of mothers to leave their children to old women or young girls, who drug them with opiates; especially if the crèche, as suggested, be annexed to the factory itself. I venture to say that such establishments, if properly directed, would put a complete check upon the wholesale poisoning of children which is proved to take place, and would, to a great extent, renovate the health of the population.

I shall not dwell here at length upon the letters of the Manufacturing series, the condition of the manufacturing poor having been already treated of at length by other hands in the columns of Fraser's Magazine. Nor shall I insist upon the letters from the Rural Districts, although the subject of them is one less known and more awful. Awfully, indeed, do they confirm those gloomy pictures drawn of the English peasant by the author of Yeast,' pictures of which so many hitherto doubted the literal accuracy. Both series only serve to bring out the truth which the Metropolitan series exhibits in the most glaring colours, with the most startling effect; that everywhere throughout England a force is at work which bears down the wages of the operative with the profits of the capitalist, until the profits swallow up the wages, and vice or crime makes up the maintenance of the defrauded workman. On this picture let us now dwell.

The transition is complete, from the compulsory socialism (to use a much belied term) of the Manufacturing Districts, to the reigning individualism of the Metropolis; from the gregarious factory-hands to the solitary shirt-makers. London seems emphatically the city of unsocialized labour. From the great slop-seller to the poor slop-worker in her garret, there is a chasm of indifference and selfishness wider almost than that which separates the clod from the most careless landlord. Less labourlords than mere money-lords, the employers for the most part have not the slightest connexion with the employed, beyond the giving out work

and paying for it, generally with cruel deductions. Men of a low stamp of character (with a few bright exceptions, such as Mr. Shaw, the army-clothier), they are wholly absorbed in money-getting, and, from their position and feelings, are often as much beneath the control of public opinion as the landlord or cottonlord sometimes fancies himself above it. The consequences are, an extreme of misery such as cannot be paralleled elsewhere; and yet, interwoven with that misery, golden threads of heroism and virtue, which shew that the largest cities bear the mark of God's hand as well as the most lovely landscapes; nay, that there only, perhaps, man reaches the very sublimity of greatness the suffering

alone in a crowd. Even the blacker warp of vice itself, crossed with that crimson weft of anguish, becomes less hateful to the eye. We turn with shrinking and disgust from Wiltshire or Dorsetshire labourers, pigging their life-long by dozens in one room, children and adults, bloodrelations and strangers, their senses dulled to incest itself; we scarcely dare turn with unmoistened eyes from the story of the maddened mother prostituting herself for her child's bread; of the young girls forced to eke out wages by prostitution, for the dear life's sake, and yet loathing it in their hearts, flying from it on the first opportunity. Or again, we pity the Suffolk labourer stealing a few turnips for the sustenance of his family; we look with almost admiration on the smooth-handed London pickpocket competing, and often in vain, for the rough but honest labour of the Docks. And nobler examples even than these can yet be set forth, from those precious records of the long-suffering and patience of the London poor, of their manly struggles for honest labour.

Strange and sad, indeed, are the pictures which these Metropolitan letters exhibit, drawn from God's own storehouse of Fact,--stranger, sadder, terribler than all fiction. Look at the Spitalfields weavers, formerly the only botanists in the metropolis,' possessing, within the memory of living man, an Entomological Society, a Horticultural Society, an Historical Society, and a Mathematical Society, all maintained by the operatives,

bringing forth a Dollond, a Simpson, and an Edwards; and then, in the course of this very half-century, seeing their wages cut away from them year after year, falling from 14s. 6d. (average) in 1824 to 7s. in 1839, and to 5s. 6d. in 1849; till the second or third-rate weavers are found living twenty-three persons in a house, tasting sometimes animal food once a-month, while they produce maroon-coloured velvets for ladies to wear and adorn them, and make themselves handsome.' Look at the three thousand labourers scuffling every morning at the London Dock-gates for a single day's hire of half-a-crown, and if failing of admission still waiting in the yards by the day long, on the chance of earning 4d. an hour if wanted for some stray ship, the average earnings of the whole class not exceeding 5s. a-week throughout the year; whilst an easterly wind will throw 7000 out of employ, or, with their dependents, 20,000! Look at the slop - work tailors, the men receiving 3s. 6d. for the coats they made at 5s. 1d. two years ago, sometimes eating, drinking, sleeping, working in one room, as many as ever the room will contain; the women earning at the best from 4s. 6d. to 5s. per week, let them sit from eight in the morning till ten at night, and paying out of that 1s. 6d. for trimmings and 6d. candles every week, so that altogether they earn about 3s. in the six days,-hopeless creatures, that never knew a rise, but continual reductions!' Look at the shirt-maker, making shirts for 28. a dozen that were 3s. 6d. eight years ago; her usual time of work from five in the morning till nine at night, winter and summer;' when there is a press of business getting up often at two or three in the morning, and 'carrying on' till the evening of the following day, merely lying down in her clothes to take a nap of five or ten minutes, for 'the agitation of mind never lets one lie longer;' and for all this toil earning on an average 2s. 101d. per week, or 2s. clear, after deducting cotton and candle,- -a hopeless creature, too, that 'never knew them to raise the prices!' Look at the waistcoat-maker,-her average earnings from 3s. to 4s. a-week, out of which, all deductions made, she has about 1s. 10 d. to live

upon;-she, too, one who has found 'prices continually going down,' and 'never knew an advance,' and yet knows persons who get even lower prices than she does; oh, yes, a great deal lower!' Look at the workers for the army - clothiers, the one working for the soldiers and marines, and receiving 8d. for jackets that fourteen years ago used to be 1s. 4d., for, you know, they lower them always,' earning 2s. a-week on an average, and finding her own thread; the other, working for the convicts, earning 3s. a-week when in full work, and having to deduct thread and candles, which is quite half;' whilst of the trousers-stitcher the most she ever earned was 2s. a-week, and that her girl helped her to a good bit!' By the side of such misery the staystitcher seems almost wealthy with her average of 2s. 6d. a-week clear, deducting candles, and yet she, too, tells her tale of falling wages: thirty years ago she has made as much as 17s. 5d. for her week's work, and now the most she can make is 3s. 6d. But the shoe-binder, again, ‘generally works about eighteen hours a-day,' and makes about eight pair of boots, 'for getting them out and taking them in all takes time;' and eight pair of boots at 24d. clear bring in 1s. 6d. a-week, out of which she has to pay candles, and they come to 6d. a-week, leaving ONE SHILLING CLEAR; and here, too, the prices were much better twelve or thirteen years ago. 'The best lasting' boots were 1s. 6d. and some 2s. then; now I should get 5d. and 7d. for the same kind of work.' If the stock-maker, employing a 'hand' and a little girl, can clear about 5s. a-week, her tale of falling wages opens as dire a prospect for the future. She remembers the prices of the Napiers being 8s. 6d. a dozen, they're 38. 6. to 4s. now.' The prices have fallen considerably more than one-half within this last year and a half. The mantle-maker sits upon an average at her work from nine in the morning till eleven at night-often longer, seldom less,' and makes about 4s. 8d. a-week when in work, the slacks' occurring twice in the year, and being of three months each. The upholsterer may earn in a week from 10s. to 12s.; but the fluctuations of the trade are so great that 'for the last two years she has not carned

4s. a-week, taking one week with another,' while the prices paid to the work-people have decreased materially within the last five years, to the extent of one half in bed-furniture.' The worker in furs repeats the same tale of falling wages. The prices have fallen a great deal within the last five years. Every year it gets worse and worse. The prices have come down fully a shilling a dozen since 1845. We could then earn with the same labour 12s. where we can now earn 8s.' And the result of the whole is, that for eight months in the year she may earn 8s., while for the other four she does not get more than 2s. a-week upon an average. The embroiderer gets ls. to 18. 3d. the dress, what she used to have 5s. and 6s. for, and more than that. Why they are paying now 2s. 6d. for cardinals that I've had 16s. for.' She can earn 12s. a-week on twelve hours' work a-day; but her weekly earnings for the whole of this year haven't been more than 2s., take one week with another; and three years ago she used to make 15s. to 16s. a-week regular, and that with perfect ease.' The garter-maker works from eight in the morning till nine at night, to earn about 4s. a-week clear; she has always worked at the same prices, but they told her last time she was at the warehouse that she must do the work for something cheaper, they were obliged to sell so low.' The brace-maker,—and here again we are stooping over almost incredible depths of misery,-earns about 1s. to 1s. 3 d. every week, working six days of twelve hours, and finding cotton and candle, and has three months' slack in the year, during which she gets about 44d. every week, paying a halfpenny worth of cotton. The prices fell the summer before last from 3d. a dozen to 3d., from 6d. to 5d. Of course the poor creatures who are reduced thus far cannot live by their own exertions. The husband of the woman last spoken of is a hawker of groundsel, and making from 4s. to 5s. a-week in the summer, and from 3s. to 4s. in the winter; and he, too, used to get 1d. nine or ten years ago for the same bunches which he now sells for d.

But what do they do who have no husbands or lovers-for concubinage is, of course, frequent - to eke

out their earnings, or who have burdens to provide for? Listen:

I make moleskin trousers. I get 7d. and 8d per pair. I can do two pairs in a day, and twelve, when there is full employment, in a week. But some weeks I have no work at all. I work from six in the morning to ten at night; that is what I call my day's work. When I am fully employed I get from 7s. to 88. aweek. My expenses out of that for twist, thread, and candles, are about 1s. 6d. aweek, leaving me about 68. a-week clear. But there's coals to pay for out of this, and that's at the least 6d. more; so 5s. 6d. is the very outside of what I earn when I am in full work. . . . Taking one week with another, all the year round, I don't make above 38. clear money each week... The trousers work is held to be the best paid of all.. ... My father died when I was five years of age. My mother is a widow, upwards of sixty-six years of age, and seldom has a day's work. Generally once in the week she is employed potscouring; that is, cleaning publicans' pots. She is paid 4d. a dozen for that, and does about four dozen and a-half, so that she gets about 1s. 6d. in the day by it. For the rest she is dependent upon me.... We can earn together, to keep the two of us, from 4s. 6d. to 5s. each week. Out of this we have to pay ls. rent, and there remains 3s. 6d. to 4s. to find us both in food and clothing. It is, of course, impossible for us to live, upon it, and the consequence is I am obligated to go a bad way. I was virtuous when I first went to work, and I remained so till this last twelvemonth. I struggled very hard to keep myself chaste, but I found that I couldn't get food and clothing for myself and mother, so I took to live with a young man.... Many young girls at the shop advised me to go wrong. They told me how comfortable they was off; they said they could get plenty to eat and drink and good clothes. There isn't one young girl as can get her living by slop-work... It stands to reason that no one can live and pay rent and find clothes upon 3s. a-week.... I am satisfied there is not one young girl that works at slop-work that is virtuous, and there are some thousands in the trade. . . . I've heard of numbers who have gone from slop-work to the streets altogether for a living, and I shall be obligated to do the same thing myself unless something better turns up for me. If I was never to speak no more, it was the little money I got by my labour that led me to go wrong. I know how horrible all this is. It would have been much better for me to have subsisted upon a dry crust and water rather than be as I am now....

...

...

Young as I am my life is a curse to me. If the Almighty would please to take me before my child is born I should die happy.

Listen again :

...

I'm a trousers hand. . . . It takes from five to six hours to make a pair of the trousers that we gets 4d. for, and work very quick. We must work from twelve to fourteen hours every day to make two pair, that is, allowing a little time to one's meals; and then we have to sweep and tidy our place up a little, so that we must work very hard to get two pair done in a day... We never make more than 48., and very often less... I make, I should say, taking one week with another, about 3s. 4d. a-week. . . . We has to buy our candles out of what we make, and they cost us about 1d. each evening, or I should say 5d. a-week. I earn clear just upon 3s. ... My husband has been dead some years. . . . I had two children alive when my husband died. . . . My security died five year ago, and then the house that I used to work for refused to give me any more, so I was obligated to go and work for a sweater, and I have done so ever since... I was getting about 5s. 6d. a-week before then... When I was obligated to work second-handed I couldn't get more than 48. One of my boys was alive at this time, and we really could not live upon the money. I applied to the parish, and they wanted me to go into the house, but I knew if I did they'd take my boy from me, and I'd suffer anything first. At times I was so badly off, me and my boy, that I was forced to resort to prostitution to keep us from starving... Up to the time of the death of my security I can swear before God I was an honest woman; and had the price I was paid for my labour been such that I could get a living by it, I would never have resorted to the streets for money. . . . Almost all that works for the sweaters do the same thing. I know several that's very young living in that manner. It most drives 'em mad. They're hardworking, industrious people, but they don't get sufficient price to have enough, -no, not even of the coarsest victuals; and if they got more, they wouldn't think of such a mode of life. They do their work in the day, and go out in the night.... In this way they make their week's money come to about 68. or 7s... I don't know any that makes a practice of walking the streets regularly of a night. THEY ONLY GO THEY'RE IN DISTRESS.

OUT WHEN

I was an honest woman up to the time of my husband's death. But since then the world has drove me about so, and poverty and trouble has forced me to do what I never did before. . . . I do the best I can with what little I earn, and the rest I am obligated to go to the streets for.... I CAN'T GET A RAG TO WEAR

WITHOUT FLYING TO PROSTITUTION FOR IT.. IF I WAS YOUNGER I SHOULD GO

ON THE STREETS ALTOGETHER MYSELF.

I OFTEN DO SAY I WISH I WAS YOUNGER. Listen still:

I used to work at slop-work-at the shirt-work-the full-fronted white shirts: I got 2 d. each for them. There was six buttonholes, four rows of stitching in the front, and the collars and wristbands stitched as well. By working from five o'clock in the morning till midnight each night I might be able to do seven in the week. These would bring me in 174d. for my whole week's labour. Out of this my cotton must be taken, and that came to 2d. every week, and so left me 15 d. to pay rent and living, and buy candles with. . . . I had a child, and it used to cry for food. So as I could not get a living for him myself by my needle, I WENT INTO THE STREETS AND MADE OUT A LIVING THAT WAY. Sometimes there was no work for me, AND THEN I

WAS FORCED ΤΟ DEPEND ENTIRELY UPON THE STREETS FOR MY FOOD. ON MY SOUL, I WENT TO THE STREETS

SOLELY TO GET A LIVING FOR MYSELF

AND CHILD.... I am the daughter of a minister of the Gospel. . . . Many times have I taken my child into the streets to beg rather than I would bring shame upon myself and it any longer. . . . One night in the depth of winter his legs froze to my side. . . . I got to the workhouse that night. I told them we were starving, but they refused to admit us without an order; so I WENT BACK TO

PROSTITUTION AGAIN FOR ANOTHER

MONTH... I can and will solemnly state, that it was the smallness of the price I got for my labour that drove me to prostitution as a means of living. In my heart I hated it; my whole nature rebelled at it; and nobody but God knows how I struggled to give it up. I was only able to do so by getting work at something that was better paid. I REMAINED AT SHIRT-MAKING, I MUST

HAD

HAVE BEEN A PROSTITUTE TO THIS DAY.

I have taken my gown off my back and pledged it, and gave in my petticoat-I had but one-rather than take to the streets again; but it was all in vain. I

NEVER KNEW ONE GIRL IN THE TRADE WHO WAS VIRTUOUS; MOST OF THEM WISHED ΤΟ BE SO, BUT WERE COMPELLED TO BE OTHERWISE FOR MERE LIFE.