PROBATION: A TALE OF THE LANCASHIRE COTTON FAMINE;

By MISS JESSIE FOTHERGIIJj,

Author of "Healer," "Aldyth," "The First'

Violin," etc.

CHAPTER I

.OF AN ABSENTEE; EMPLOYER.

" The perfection of mechanism, huuiau and metallic." YoU, at any rate, Lancashire reader, know this place; the large, somewhat low room ; | the long lines of looms ; the wheels, straps, and beams; the rows of standing work people, men, women, and children; the dimness of the dust-laden atmosphere. You know, too, the roar of noise—how deafening, stunning, and overwhelming it is to the strangor who may happen casually to en counter it, yet how easily those in the habit of working in it can make themselves intel ligible to one auother. You know all this, and your accustomed eye recognises at once one division o£ tho "weaving shed "of a large cotton factory, which forms, with its perfect mechanism, the "metallic and the human," a most wonderful sight to any eyes but the too careless or the too accus tomed. Thoro is an air of calm, leisurely ease about the process wliich might be apt to lead the uninitiated astray, and make mm sup pose that not so much accuracy of eye, delicacy of manipulation, sensitiveness of touch, was required as is really the case. Wliich are the most alive—the girls in the cotton dresses, and the men in their fustian clothes, who move lightly to and fro, ad justing their, work, keeping watch and ward over the Hying shuttle ; or that flying shuttle itself, which seems instinct with ■vitality, darting with vivid, almost oppres sive, regularity of activity backwards and forwards—indulging sometimes in a mali -cious vagary, worthy of a human being, such as flying suddenly out from its groove, and perhaps striking its human follow* worker a sharp blow on the forehead or in the eye ? It would be difficult to say; tho definition at the head of the ■ chapter forms also the best description of the wholo-r "the perfection of mechanism, human and metallic." . • It was during afternoon hours of work; the dny's labour was drawing to a close; the great ceaseless roar and buzz and rush seemed to grow rhythmic, harmonious in its monotonous continuity; through the thick-ribbed panos of glass, distorted yellow sunbeams came streaming, golden, hazy, smoky; dusty, striking here and there upon the face of some laughing or languid girl; here into the eyes of some lad—an imp of mischief—or a youth of thoughtful and serious aspect. . That was the head overlooker who came in, looked round, stopped the loom of one of tho said laughiug girls, fingered the cloth, remarked warningly. " Now Sarah Alice I this wont do! You must look out, or there'll be some mischief;" then passed on his round, stopping more looms; examining more cloth, and then went out of the room altogether. ' A steady progression, for a time, of the . rhynitic toil, till the same door opened, arid ayoting man, who also appeared to be a ■ person of sonic authority, stepped in, and paused, notebook and pencil in hand. This was the second overlooker, a person who of necessity must possess considerable intelli gence, being generally, as in this case, a working man born arid bred ; somo discri mination and tactalso, since ho fulfilled the duties in some measure both ofworkman: and a superior. In addition to his position as overlooker; he also performed tho func-' tions of what is known in factory parlance as "head ciitlookor ;"• and a cullookor/is a man who examines each piece or "cut" : of cloth after it loaves tho loom,; notes the -flaws, and deducts from the wages. ofthe ] : weaver in compensation for tho same. Pot .haps this "outlooking" and overlooking; may.he like criticising—they may have a ' tendency to produce a turn of mind seep-; tical as to the merits of the work with which • the cutlooker, or the critic, has to do, In- j cessant flaws, "scamped" work, broken i threads, ill-joined ends, an uneven weft, a j rough warp—the parallel is certainly, a ; striking one; and a long career of outlook-; ing,-to say nothing of criticising, may tend , ■■ to make the temper quick, and the .'.tone • juet a little imperious. '. ■ The individual "whose occupation was! something like criticism was a tall young man, dressed in grey clothes, wliich looked in some way cleaner, or better, or different from the clothes of the others; and a white linen jacket, which gave a cool and airy look to "the whole costume,"and was far from unbecoming to the'spare, yet very strong, well-built figure, and to the dark ? hand some, sharply-cut face belonging to it.. , A right workmanlike figure. There was power and capacity—skilled power-and capacity, too—in the supple, lissome figure, in the brown /hands, long .and slim, yet strong and muscular, which, looked as if they were well accustomed to do fine work, and do it well. Tho loose linen jacket was by no means now, though j clean; it bore here and there traces of having been mended, aud sat in easy creases snd folds of a much-worn old friend, from . whose shape no washing and starching can quite banish the accustomed outline given •by the wearer's form. Above the collar of, this jacket was a narrow lino of grey' waistcoat; then a white collar, andanar-; row black tie. Tho whole costume was; as pleasant and as becoming to look at as-ifc was practical, fit, aud womanlike. • . Theface wasratherthin and rather square,: - the complexion pale. Tho eyes were very dark and very steady—at the moment very; quiet, though with a touch of defiance in . them which was habitual; the forehead broad and thoughtful—the level eyebrows ' had a trick of contracting sharply, which :. took away from the calmness which might have seemed at first the dominant character-: ': istic of "the ample- brow. The nose t was rather, long and sharp ; the mouth firm and a little cross ; the lips looked as if they would more readily tighten in irritation at " the stupidity of others than part in1 wonder or amaze at their cleverness—and their ex pression did not belie the truth. The whole _ lace was more clearly cut more decided, in • i feature, more distinct in expression than the faces of: many—nay of most of his class in the same place. Perhaps it answered to a clearer mental outline—was the distinct objective side of a well-defined subjectivity. Be it as it may, the figure was a manly aud ■a good one—the face no less so. • This young man, holding his pencil sus pended over liis notebook, looked rcfloctive fy. round the room, standing erect, though the wall was just bcliind him to lean upon. Wall to lean upon, moral or material, are irresistible to some people. His oyes fell upon the different workers as they moved hither and thither, adjusting their work, or stepping from one loom to another. Those eyes presently fell upon a young, woman who was standing at the far end of the room, : and' whose face 'happened to; -be turned : towards him. Her glance met^hisj they nodded"andsmiledtfdtimeanother,-and: his smile flashed across his dark face with an effect which the smiles of fair faces and light eyes can never have,

This young man's.name was Myles Hey wood, and tlie scene of his labours was the factoryiof Sebastian Malloty, the largest mill and property owner but one in the toyrn of Thansiiopo, in Lancashire. He was 'then, clever, honest, proud to excess and self opinionated, tihough few peoplo could help liking him, even when his opinions and prc-\ \ judiijes, with both of which articles he was 'well provided, might-rub against theirs. -One. thing deserves recording of him, which alone would have shown him to be some what aloof from his follow workmen—he had no nickname; and in that district, "where* of toil a" man's" real name was quite hidden tunder. a cloudof bynames and nick names, this was at least peculiar. Myles Hoywood, "'after spending a few moments looking down' the shed, through the mist of cotton fluff which mado the air dim and the lungs irritable, turned and went, into a neighbouring room, where they were twisting—a monotonous' task—the rapid twisting together of the ends of cotton of two warps, paid for at the ratcof threepence per thousand ends—a fact which had caused our critic iii the liucn jacket much thought at 'different times. Out of this twisting room into a largo square yard or court; with' the engine house and its neighbouring boilers on one side, offices on another, and the great wall of the mill on tho third ; on the ' fourth a blank wa'l and huge gates, at present standing open, and affording a glimpse into a dingy street. The engineer, this warm August afternoon, "was standing in the full glow of the furnace. His face ' was black; and shone as if, recently it had been anointed with oil. His arms were baro and sinewy, and they were black too. ' His shirt, whatever its original hue,, was black now, and his other garments, reduced to as ;scanty a quantity as was compatible with decency, where black also with Oil, and grease, and dust. "He paused to mop away a swarthy perspira tion with a dingy-looking handkerchief, as Myles "went by,' looking clean and cool, and aggravatingly comfortable. ," Hey, Myles, lad, what.time dost make it ? I'm too hot to get my watch." "Ten to six,"said Myles looking at his watch.

" Tho Lord be praised !" responded the engineccr piously,' and. send'us a speedy deljverance. It's'as hot as fire here of a sumnVor afternoon, and ho jokin.' Hast had thi'baggin ?" » ' ," I don't takebaggin," said Myles, a little contemptuously, as he took his way to hi 3 office, where he found a man arid a ooy behind d desk, on which was a heap of gold, Isilv'cr, arid copper'coins, and a number of 'books and papers; It was Friday afternoon '■ '.''•"'" ,'. " Oh, : you're there , Myles," said the man. ( '' You may,'.- take your wages now, if you like." ■','".''".'"." ~' ,"A\\. right !" said Myles picking up,two soye'roigns from the heap of gold, and slipping them into his'pocket. Then he twisted himself over .the counter and seated himself on a high: stool beside the '.desk. . ' . , . ' ,

<'By your leave, I'll just wait here till my lass cOnies, and then we'll go home to gether." -- Wilson, the head' overlooker and cashier, assented. Myles folded his arms (before him and began to whistle a tune to : himself. It was the tune of the song " Life : let us cherish 1" and when Myles had nothing pise to do, he generally did whistle ,it—unthinkingly . almost unconsciously. . While he whistled he looked through the dingy panes of a small window, upon a prospect as dingy as. the panes. • There was nothing but a short patch of ;grey looking street, and over the way i the luultudinous . w.ndows of a great foundry,, and from the back premises of which came loud sonorous clangs, as" of ""metal-striking against metal—a maddening and a deafening sound ' to ears unused to it, but which, from long habit, failed to-disturb the workers in ,•;" Mnllory's Factory.". It had become, not exactly inaudible to them, but part of the ; day's, features,—as, clouds, or wind, or rain. They ,would to use a Hibernicism, only have . noticed it if it had left off. ■ ;/ >. : j • ; It :still wanted; some eight or nine minutes to the time, when the bell would ring for "knockingI.off" work,- and. that . interval was used by those present to discuss •with their tongues that with which their heads happen to bp concerned, for the truth is that out of the emptiness of the. head ■ much oftcner than out of the fulness of the . heart does the mouth speak, . i ' The whistle ceased for a momeut.' . " Hast heerd news, Myles ?" said the lad. n "What news?" - ... ... ~ "We have heard say," said the other man, "as how he's coming home. : ".Who!1.1 .'.

"Wilson pointed:northwards, over his shoulder, with his thumb. ii "Oh.him!" said Myles, with again the touch of contempt which came a little too often to his voice. And he shrugged his shoulder—another gesture betraying his unlikeness in temper aud temperament to thosewith whom he was surrounded-

'.' Ay_, himl" •..-.■. . "Is it true i" inquired Hey wood. " Don't know. Ive oniy heard.say so." "Who said so? ■' :

iii *' Why I believe it were one of the men from tho stables at Mrs Mallory's." ~;■ " Servants' gossip I", said; Mylcs, tren chantly, unsuccessfully trying to turn up his nose. "Never believe. what they say. Flunkeys by trade, aud liars by nature, the whole lot of 'cm, or they wouldn't be where they are," - , "I'm nons so keen about believing, every tiling that anyone says to me," said ■Wilson, with a slightly offiended air, "but this seems to me, uncommonly probable, with things in the state that they are, Why shouldn't he come back ?" ~ ,; j V Ay, why shouldn't he ?" said Ben the office boy, foeliilga dawningsense of coming pleasure in the idea of having given Mylcs a poser. . •. "Why shouldn't : he?" began Mylos. "That makes three times as it's been said," observed Ben, with an intelligent smile. "Well!" , / ■•:■'■

"Young one,, keep jrour iiugpra outof the pie !" said Myles, " and answer me this —why should he ?" .. ■•: . ■ Crestfallen silence on the part of Wilson and Ben, till the the former began rather feebly: ~ . '-.■:■.. .

"Well, he's been abroad for years and years, and when he's a fine property like this a-waiting for him to step into as it were, and a fine house, and a fine mother—" ,"Ha, ha!" said Myles, and his laugh was by no means one of unsophisticated enjoyment. . . • . :. .' • . "And with tilings in the state they are," Wilson acaiu repeated, as if much impressed •\rith that state.

"Withthese Yankees and 'Southerners at it like cat aud dog, and cotton goingl up, and no prospect of. any end to it • yet. Mr SutcliftV said to me* he says, 'Wilson, we dont know .what's before us yet. If I'm not much mistaken,!, he says, 'there'll, be a famine in the land before this time next year.' ,And^X,Aay.,J£^rjiaster shouldn't come hom'e"uTnlertlie9e~clrCumstanceSj when should he?" - ' -•-"•••

; "Should! . Qught!" repeated Heywood, > in sarcastic tones,:his scornful smile.light- \ ing his face and... gleaming in his eyes. ,' What's that to do with it? I'll tell you why he couldn't, and shouldn't, and won't come." ...,. -_£„

.The others settled themselves more atten tively in {heir positions to hear the riddle answered. \ ; • / ■• '-''(■ " Because he's proud and lazy, and likes amusing himself better than working," said Myles, with a strong flavour of contempt ; and dislike in his voice) -"Because the , moneys there, and let who may have made it, choose how they've sweated for it, its got into his hands, whether he deserves'it or not, and it's his.to do as he likes with^ so he does what he likes with it. He s got isuch a manager "as there isn't another liker him in Lancashire. Mr Sutcliffe can do' ■anything ; it's he that has slaved and made this business what it is-the biggest in : Thanshope, next to Spenneley's. He's got tliis manager, and if he' chooses to think that he hasn't got; a duty in this mortal world, except to muddle his head with 'foreign politics, as I hear he does, and amuse himself by dancing attendance on a lot of fine ladies, and stroll about foreign countries, and stare himself blind up at pictures as big as the side of a house, and as black as my hat, and figures of. men and women without any clothes on " '' Lord !" said Ben awestruck and shocked. " And go rambling about, admiring swi nery, and wondering .what to do with him self next—well, what'is it to us?" As Wilson — and .Ben-really. .did not see what it was to theni, .but had ah uncomfort able sensation that their hitherto revered and honored MrSutcliife was in some way a wronged and slighted individual, and that they ought to feel it all to be a great deal to them, and a subject of soreness and of Fence, they waited humbly for the keynote, nodding their heads and trying to look wise. ■ - - - -

"Itstrue," wentonMylds, more warmly —" it's true, he's gotthis big business here, which makes his money, and hundreds of hands wlio work for-him, and who are, so -ta speak, under his care ; and it's true that isome pGoplo—K>ld-fashioned idiots, of course '—might think-that a big property has its -duties as well as its pleasures, and. that a • capatalisr, has, or ought to have something else to do than take and' spend his money, and never inquire|how he got it, nor what •state the machine is in that made it for him; but whatisthat to us? If we're going to have afamihe iii the land, it would be un pleasant for a person not accustomed to • this kind of thing—all the more reason for him to keep away. My lord likes the com pany of ■ lords and-ladies,-and, he thinks Thansbope is,only s fit for. tradespeople." "I bet he's neer seen nowt finer nor the new Town Hall, "choose where he may have been !" said Beii aggressively. "And," went onMyles whose mouth had grown very cross indeed,. and whose^ eye blows met in tf straight line across his frowning brow, i "he's a. Tory—a Tory ; if I'd said. that at first, I shouldn't have needed to say all the rest. ; A Tory in these times, and in Thanshope."' ■ ; . • Wilson and Ben laughed, but not quite a wholehearted laugh. A Tory—every species of Conservatives—was a poor thmp, was the general Thanshope opinion, but they had always thought of. Tories more as harmless old womeu, or vulgfir risen men, like Mr Spencely, than as anything so actively mischievous and to he eschewed as. their absentee employer Sebastian Mallory. :.-.•. .• "Hos ashamed of the place, and the people, any the business that has made him what he is. And that's why he wont oome back." . .. 1/ .

"lsay, Miles, who told you alHhis ?" inquired WiUon1 deferentially. ' " That I'm not at liberty to say; but not one of the men from the stables, old lad," said Myles. But my authority is a good one and it's what I have suspected for years. I've heard of his doings. He goes about with parsons.' He's trying all lie can to ghake himself free of trade. He'll try to do it by marrying' a lord's daughter—that's what these ehttddy conservatives always do. She'll spend'his-money -for him and if he says anything: she'll tell him it smells pt cotton,' and >he wants to get rid of it." " Nay nay^ now, !" interrupted Ben with feeliDg. ' ' ■ •- !■•-■>'.. :' ?!■ ; "But she will,"-said Myles, looking as angry as if the fair and contemptuous aris tocrat stood,,in ~porson before.them. " I know. ,Dpn't "we all know" what hap pened' '* to (1 Jock 'Brierley's ladj- and how " ——•

. ;Clang, cting, clabgi went the great bell in the courtyard- - It was t\vo minutes past six. Wilson raised, himself rapidly from Ms recumbent attitude, and began to turn over his papers,! calling. Ben. to his side to help him. The [discussion as to the merits or demerits of Sebastian Mallory who certainly formed, a striking in-tanoe of the theory that "les absents ont toujours tort, "was over; soon/the office was filled with a pushing, elbowing crowd, waiting .more or less impatiently to receive the hire of their weeks'labour.. : •

Myles sat upon his high stool hi the back ground arid watched, ■ while "Wilson .and his assistant paid; out the wages. It was rather a dingy looking crowd that he saw, and was apparent to nose as well as to eye, by tlie unmistakeable odour of oil and fluff which emanated from it. Bare-armed girls with long; greasy pinafores, loud voices and ungainly gestures, elbowing their way through the lads, and exchanging with them chaff of the roughest description. Small, pale, stunted-looking men; sometimes^ downright hideously ugly and mean-looking or again, only sallow, pale, and subdued by a sedentary occupation, with here and there a tremendous massive brow; here and there a pair of eyes so deep and glowing as to cause a shock and thrdlto one who en countered them; hero a mouth of poetical delicacy arid sensitiveness ; there a jaw so strong and heavy thatj comparing it with the eyes, brows and mouth as before spoken of one no. longer felt cause for surprise in hearing such aphorisms as ' Manchester rules England,1 ' What Lancashire thinks to-day England thinks to-morrow' It was, taken all in all, an ugly crowd, but in its way a commauding one. It might have moved the soul of a ' Corn-Law Rhymer ' a

Gerald Massey, a 'Lancashire-Lad,' it would probably have been repulsive to more refined bards aiid writer, and the poet of the brush and canvas would have found absolutely nothing here with which \to gladden his eye. ;

Myles ft. striking exception to almost every one of the men hi-point of good looks and fine physical development, ir not in point of intelligent expression, sat upon his stool; aud his monotonous whistle continued,, as he scanned the faces, and returned a nod here and there. Many a girl looked at him, arid smiled her brightest as she caught his grave eyes. ■'/■'.' "■ He wasnot quite like the other workmen, in more things than beauty and in a higher position, and none knewthat better than the Avprkwomen. The smiles and amiable

looks provoked little answer. Myles was j-not rude to girls; he never chaffed them in the rough manner, of some of his fellow workmen, but, on the other hand, he very ■seldom took.any . notice of them at all, .haying'very: little, to; Say. to any young woman out of his O'yra family. ■ •,'■'■

They passed before L4m in varied array, ugly, pretty, and mediocre; rair girls and ' "dark girls; stout girls and thin ones, tall and ' short stupid ;and; intelligent looking. Here and there a pale pensive face, with. a head of ffaxen hair, and long, delicate, Madonna like features; now a brunette with high complexion and black flashing eyes, that

showed the brighter under the thick white powdering of cottoe fluff with which her head .was covered ; piquante and placid, merrjr and melancholy ; but not for one in all the crowd did his cheek flush in theleast not once did the calm indifference in. his eyes change,' nor \did his low careless whistle cease'for an instant. 'He stared over or between their heads, or—{which,, was the> most irritating of all—riglit it, them, with out once noticing them, until a girl some what'taller than ilie inajofity of her cotn-r panions came in, and stood waiting with a group of others near the door until Tier turn should come to go up for her-wages.- «~~ . , Then Myles stopped whistling,., and got off his stool,"remaking, half to hmiselr, " There's MaryVatlast '!'-'■- and applied to "Wilson for the -sum.. E of. eighteen shillings, that being the amount of his sister's wages. He received the money, and made his, way through the crowd towards the door; '':" ; "Eh, Myles, art there ?" . said the young woman, "Wait of me a minute, while' 7 get my wages." '"'.' '~ ,'. ■'■"' ~' '^They're here," said he,, .putting the money into her.hand. "So come along, lass!" Let's get out of this shop.'1 ■ ." ;■ They passed out .at the door, and walked together down the sloping street—a talLand well-looking pair. V It was very seldom, indeed, tliat Myles Hey wood aud his sister . Mary failed to walk home from their wort together,''.,' '~",."i,',..~ ..' . ' '.' ,'. '~\' \

CHAPTER, 11. ,

BEFOKE THE STORM.

. And I will say to.mjrsonl, llSoal then hast much n<io'l3 laid, up for man; years ; take thine ea3e, eat, drink, and be merry." •■■ .-. f " ■" . :

IT was August of the year 1861—the year succeeding that which might also be called the apotheosis of the cotton trade! The goods. The^oods of Lancashire wefe'p'iled in every porC her merchants were a byword for riches and prosperity. "Cotton lords." —the aristocracy of the land—that grimy, smutty, dingy, golden land, whose sceptre was swayed Ijy King Cotton, ' ' Day after day the goodly ships had borne their load across' the Atlantic, from' New Orleans aria; the other ' cotton ports'; 'day after day those Liverpool cotton//lords had received that load upon their/ dock's, and those Manchester cotton lords had bartered with them'jand bought it; vahd^ it had been borne slowly along, piled up on great lurries, or it had been whirled/along the iron road, and, unloaded," and carried to a thousand factoriss in Manchester, and Bolton, and Oldhain-the giant,/con sumers ;. in Rochdale, and "Bury and .Bnfnley; Blackburn, and Wiganand . Ashton, and Stockport; to the great young .'growing..towns y to strange moorland,yil lages, young sisters of the town ; and their thick-set spikes', had whirled' it'about'dittl combs had smoothed it but, revolving spindles had spun it into the'thickest, or the most fairy threads ; rows and rows/ of shining looms had .received it, and.woveri'it into every conceivable variety of texture.. and color, and breadth, and length and pattern. Skilled workmen and workwomen, deft-handed, lissome, soft-lianded craftsmen and craftswomenhad stood by their wooden and metal fellow-workers, and fed their un tiring jaws ; then it had gone to the white looking warehouses to be piled in great masses, like little mountains for height and solidity, and from thence removed to ships again and borne over the seas to India, and China, and America, and to every town in Europe where men and women.needed clothing and had money to buy it. . : ', The glory of King Cotton at this • period of his reign, and the splendour of him, cannot be better. summed up than in the graphic words of one who has thought and written on that great subject. .. : . -.■ : '•The • dreary, totals, which Mr Glad stone's . eloquence •illuminates,., and the rolling, numerals of the national.-debt, become, almost,! insignificant beside the figures which, this statement (the statistics of the cotton trade). involves. u ,-Arithmetic itself grows dizzy as, it approaches the re turns of thp cotton trade f0r.1860, One hun dred years back,'/and the cotton,,-, manufac tures of .England had been vajued .at £200,000 a year. , Had not French,aAmeri can, and Russian .wars—had not railways and telegraphs had theiripart and Ibt'in this century, ,surely it would be known .'as the cotton age.'; Tins year, 18G0, was the "annus mirabilis "of King Cotton. . In^this year^his! dependants were. most numerous and his throne most wide. '■ There was no Daniel at hand to interpret to.him the handwriting pn\ the wall, which within twelve months should be read by all who ran, in letters of blood. What cared he? An . argosy; of; ships bore, him across every, seu and into, every port. He listened to .the humming; of his spindles and'to the rattle of his looms; he drank of the fulness .of his po>yerandwas; satisfied, for he was: great-yes>,' very great ... ...' ...Tlie total value, of their (die manufacturers') exports for the year amounted !to. £52,012,350. If figures lean: ever be magnificent—if naked totals c&n ever reach the aublime-^-eurely 'the. British cotton trade -. for the year 1860. claims oiir admiration. Its. production for this single: year equalled in value £76,012,380, .or nearly six millions more than the gross revenue of the kingdom for the same period." ["..,'■ V ,- ; '" : . ~"' , Surely the land, which was the chief home of this monster trade deserved the title of the "Land of Plenty,"and such it was-"agoodly land," in fact,'if not in outward snow, " a land flowing in milk and honey," or at least their modern equivalents —a land where wealth was profuse—where masters and men' vied with each, other ;in pride'of bearing and dogged inde'peridence of spirit. Such was that tough, dark land at the end of 1860; such it wasetiilat the end of August, 1861. What Was it in August, 1862, only, those know .who dwelt in it, and saw its thousands of perishing children, and noted their' stoic endurance of their sufferings. V ~,.:• Even now, in this month of August, 1861,' rumours were gaining ground that the war in America would not sqon be over. The price; of cotton was beginning t6£o up ; the days were hastening towards that month of October when prices sprang np, mounting daily higher ana higher, ana factories began to close—not in ones and twos 'as' hereto fore, not-to' ruifsTitirt titne,TOif" half time, or even, .quarter. time, but to close % bodily, in dozens and scores, with5 no prospect of their opening again for'art indefinite period of want afid woe. was'a vast, dark, piti less'clovd thatwhich was even now rolling up from the West, bearing in its huge womb lamentation, and mourning, and woe. But still Lancashire was the land of plenty and hospitality; /still her generous fires burnt merrily upon her ample nearths, making the stranger forget her murky skies and the smoke-dimmed countenance of her landscapes. Her workpeople still got the largest wages, her 'masters still made the greatest fortunes of any masters and work people, taken collectively iin England; and nothing wassaid aboutthe over-preductton ; of the last plethoric year, nor|of the'piled-up goods in the over-stocked Warehouses. >

; CHAPTER 111. ; • RIFTS WITHIN THE LUTE,

The brother and sister walked - together down the sloping street already mentioned, and which was, as usual at that time; full of workpeople, streaming out of the number. less factories which formed the staple of Thanshope buildings. Arms were swing.

ing, and clogs were clattering ;tongues«ete wagging furiously in the reaction of the v release from work, and the inhalation of the airi which though close and thunderous -■ was yet fresher than that in the grf&tliot factories.' ',} '■. :_-, ,#^ ,_. ■ Thanshope was built on.a situiiilon with, considerable claims to natural beauty, i n j there were days even now when it looked beautiful.;, Its streets allclitubedvun/anj down steep hills. Whenever the day or the " "sm6k*e was clear enough,' lullsfinignTwWen. surrounding it on all sides in the distance except to the south, where Manchester llMllftVfl MWWHI ■! 11l ■■Hill j » ~ There was a. river—the. riveT'Thanli-. running tliroagh,the toAvn/'which-'upforfii. nate stream iornied a fertile source 6i i bickering; arid heart-burning amongst i& members of the Town Council, the ffiedlciQ men, and the people who yvrite-to the nj»wi. : papers. One part of them contended ffiat there was nothing- the matter with-the river'Thanse ; it was a good and wliole'sonfe stream,' which purified the to>vu; "while .the other party said that it and its unspeak'. able uhcleanness' '-'■ were at tlie rootofall g| the ills that ThanshppQ flesh .Suffered from. '„ . " jf.

~ Altogether,, tluj, verdict of a stranger would most likely Lave been that TKaushope was a dim, unlovely, smoky, place in which 'no one~\VQnld,<jhooj3e, tp live whose -business did not oblige him to' do sp—a placs where substantial dirt was the co-bperatdr'otsul). itantial pfo perity; where, grime and'plEnts went all in nil. - ■ ■ ]i? Yet there;',were people who loved:.this 'dirty towir. and' who lived contented lives in it;' people not" belonging' to the -gteaf swarm of workers who were obliged to live thero, and-who, perhaps, thought more about the rate of. wages, .than about the {esthetic condition of their'surroundings. _ ;; . llyles and Mary Hey wood, having come to the end of the sloping street, turned !a corner to the left! andsoon found theniselves S in another street," quieter,' wider/ with terraces .of small" houses. on either sides m wliose monotony was diversified V>y VaHo'us chapels, meeting hoiises, and schools, Up. hill fora short di^fance.'tiirthes'trde't grew wider and the'houses better,1 rind Mylesand 9 Mary turning down a side street 1o the I ■rfght emerged npon one side! of an flMn. - space/called 'Townfieldj or1 the Tawn^eM, i and elevated so ;high that- the rest of the i ■ town lies belowthem in a basin. uAUjalong M that side of the Townfield. ,where they stood arow.iof neatsmallhousos, eaQhexactly like all the others',! jhe. only robin for the M 'individuality-of the. owners making J its«lf H apparent being in the arrangement of the little strip, of garden .spreading before *; •eacß." " '- "• '' "■■ i '; ;v i! 'V'- *■ Half the Townfield "had been cut on a coupleof years ago'to fuhiish/a-small park ;( or pleasure ground ; but, looking across the open space to the north west, they could Bee the old part Of tlie town ia its hollow—the old church of the parish on ground almost as ' -.A high as the Townlield itself, the gilded spire of the Town Hall rising ambitiously from the hollow ;(it chimed a quarter afteTl§bc 1 with mellow tone- as", they stoQd there)^ and all the other, j churches and cliapels'atnd-A ; public buildings strewn here and there about the town. A great cloud of sniokib came np and dimmed the air ; on every side was a fringe of long chimnies different big factories were familiar fcatn res in the lands cape, and formed landmarks to them from infancy. ,-.;.--.: :'■, • . ~ Away to the north-west- were undulating j of

lines, of blue.yloftyi moors. They werejjait o£ Blackrig"—tha£ nughty joint of i£ng- w land's irregular spine; It was nots exactly an enlivening prospect, but* it had certain I beauties of its own; and at leastthis town, B full of rough, busy toilers, had a fitting and harmonious frame iii r ,that semicircle of bleak and tree'ess.jiiqors.; ... Mary and Myles went iip one of the strips of garden about the middle of the terrace, , , and opened the-door of the house. ~ „ ■ "Pah.! how hot and close it feels !" said Mj'les as tliey clbSed tliemselves'ia. ''Now *j IwoiiderhowHliatlailis !"" r M .' ', 1 Th' al littl " -'

riieyyvent;:suong.,ai.ucie passage, totne left of winch was ihe " parlour," arranged in' approving style of- such parlours, with a brilfiant and. large.patterned carpet in red, yellow; ain'dblue1;' bright "greenr merino j curtains, a "drawing-room suite " in rose wood and Crimson rep,•'n'pink cloth upon tit the centre table, upon which were negligent ly arfahged albums; Sunday books, paper mats,, and ai glass.. shade ; under which, reposed waxen apples and grapes of a cor. pulent description.;'' On/then/the mantelpiece two green glass vases, and a china grey hound of unknown variety, more frilled paper, mats, and little piles of : sgar and crystal. On the walls, photographs, and a rich7 collection' of- framed funeral cards, together with the chef d!ceuvre of the whole establishment—-a work of art which Mary 1 regarded with ,feelings, little .short of veneration—"Joseph sold"by."Jhls breth- . -fen,-'/executed in <Berlin wool, the mer chants all squinting frightfully, and Joseph . : with a salmon-coloured back, arid a dcci- - dedly ruddy, countenance though not one -of such, remarkable beauty' as quite to ac count for his subsequent adventures. : ■ Past the door leading into the-epitome of art and beauty went these young people, into the. kitchen,, which was, of coarse, tie |i|J general living room of the family. Upon a couch' beneath the; window, with the criiik- || ling of the cinders, and the ticking of the ■ . clock for his only•■ companions, i lay the failure of his family—a cripple lad of eight teen. •'.".:;':''' ''' : '"■ '-' '■ '-■ :-■-' ■" '>Well, Ned, lad, how dost find thy-, self?" asked My les going in. "I.fiud.myself as usual—wishing I was dead," was the encouraging reply, as the lad turned'at pale and sallow.face,. not without considerable beauty of feature, but stamped with a look of ill-health, pain, and some thing deeper, andmore sorrowful than either, towards the strong, handsome brother'who . stooped overl him.--. .• ... » " "Nay, come ! Not quite so badasthat," • : : •'said .Mylesj. smoothing Edmund's hair from.- .;■_■ '{j his hot forehead, and seating himself beside ■ the-couch. ■ Herlooked into • his-cripple 'brother's eyes with a glance so fullof Jife, and hope, and strong protecting kindness, and withal so contagious a smile, that an answering/if a1 .'reluctant one, was wrung from the lad's dull eyes and downdrawn th.

mou "I'm "that thirsty !" he said. "Molly, do get the tea ready." " I'm shappin1 (shapiug) tot now, lad,1' she returned,' hanging up hercotton kerchief ; and pokingjthe tire to settle the kettle on. " And' you ■■' read a hit Myles, wilta i" pursued Edmund. " Mother Wt be home for half an hour, and I could like to know how yon Lady Angiolina got on at the castle1. >::■;,, 7 r Myles took up a book from the table and began to read aloud—,. " As the groom of the chambers announ ced the Lady Angiolina, Fitzmaurice, every eye turned towards: her. She- advanced with the step of a queen. Her trailing robe of black velvet set' offher superb beauty to the utmost advantage,'" and so forth. Edmund listened with face intent and a pleased half smile upon his lips, Mary moved noiselessly about, getting the tea- •; cup'S oiit of the cupboard .and setting them on the tray with gingerly hand, so as not to disturb the literary party, in the window, The reading was continued only for tne space of some quarter of an hour. Tne story was a novel of "highlife." Noagent in it was of lower rank than a baronet, no

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT.

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