MISS MARTINEAU'S MANCHESTER STRIKE.

THE praise which we have given to each successive number Of this work must be understood as applying to the tale before us ; in which the authoress, on wholly fresh ground, and with a totally new set of objects, is as original as ever ; and if not quite so attractive, the cause may be found in the dreary and unhappy con-

dition of the class Whose history she has taken up. • The theoretical object of the work is to illustrate the nature of Wages, and to show the operation of a movement among the labourers, well known under the name of " a Strike." This is done by going into the domestic history of some of the families of the labourers, of different characters; by depicting the mariners, opinions, and conduct of the leaders among the people ; and also letting us into a hasty view of the cotton lords themselves—the manufacturers, who, having right on their side, use it as if they were in the wrong. We attend the meetings of the strikers; we become acquainted with the motives of their orators ; and we wit- ness, as elsewhere, the fluctuating character of the popularity that depends upon the short-sighted and passionate views of' an igno- rant populace.

Many of the characters are powerfully conceived. Such is the virtuous and clear-headed William Allen, the gentle yet stern parent of a starving family, and the unwilling Secretary of the Strike. Then comes Clack, the Cleon of the mob—the rater of the masters, and the exciter of' the workmen. Bray, the travelling musician, is a fine hearty sketch of another sort, and forms a plea- sant relief. The arrogance of the master Mortimer is well hit off, as is also the timid vacillation of his feeble partner. Rowe. One master alone condescends to reason with the men,—perhaps be- cause he alone understands the nature of the business. Into his mouth; and that of the Secretary, Allen, are put the principal didactic discussions; and nowhere else can the young political economist collect clearer notions of • an important branch of the science.

We cannot refrain from giving some brief extracts, which will show to Miss MARTINEAU'S admirers the nature of the ground she has this time selected.

The "Week's End" opens thus, and introduces us to the apart- ments of a better sort of spinner.

One fine Saturday evening in May, 18—, several hundred workpeople, men, girls, and boys, poured out from the gates of a factory which stood on the banks of the Medloek, near Manchester. The children dispersed in troops, some to play, but the greater number to reach home with all speed, as if they were afraid of the sunshine that chequered the street and reddened the gables and chimneys.

The men seemed in no such haste : they lingered about the factory, one large group standing before the gates, and smaller knots occupying the street for some distance; while a few proceeded slowly on their way home, chatting with one or another party as they went. One only appeared to have nothing to say to his companions, and to wish to get away quietly, if they would have let him. He was one of the most respectable looking among them, decent in his dress,, and intelligent though somewhat melancholy in countenance. He was making his way without speaking to any body, when first one and then another caught him by the button and detained 'him in consultation. All seemed anxious to know what Allen had to relate or to advise; and Allen had some difficulty in getting leave to go home, much as be knew he was wanted there. When he had at length escaped, he walked so rapidly as presently to overtake his little daughter, Martha, who had left the factory somewhat earlier. He saw her before him for some distance, and observed how she limped, and how feebly she made her way along the street (if such it might be called) which led to their abode. It was far from easy walking to the strongest. There were heaps of rubbish, pooh of muddy water, stones and brickbats lying about, and cabbage-leaves on which the unwary might slip, and bones over which pigs were grunting, and curs snarling and fighting. Little Martha, a delicate child of eight years old, tried to avoid all these obstacles ; but she nearly slipped down several times, and started when the dogs came near her, and shivered every time the mild spring breeze blew in her face.

"Martha, how lame you are today!" said Allen, taking her round the waist to help her onward.

"0 father, my knees have been aching so all day, I thought I should have dropped every moment." "And one would think it was Christmas by your looks, child, instead of 'a bright May day." 61t is very chill after the factory," said the little girl, her teeth still chatter- ing. "Sure the weather must have changed, father."

No: the wind was south, and the sky cloudless. It was only that the ther- mometer had stood at 75° within the factory. "I suppose your wages are lowered as well as mine," said Allen; "how much do you bring home this week?"

"Only three shillings, father; and some say it will be less before long. I am afraid mother—"

The weak-spirited child could not say what it was that she feared, being choked by her tears.

"Come, Martha, cheer up," said her father. "Mother knows that you get sometimes more and sometimes less ; and, after all, you earn as much as a piecer as some do at the hand-loom. There is Field, our neighbour : he and his wife together do not earn more than seven shillings a week, you know, and think bow much older and stronger they are than you! We must make You stronger, Martha. I will go with you to Mr. Dawson, and he will find out

i what s the matter with your knees."

By this time they had reached the foot of the stairs which led up to their two rooms in the third story of a large dwelling which was occupied -by many poor families. Barefooted children were scampering up and down these stairs at play; girls nursing babies sat at various elevations, and seemed in danger of laming kicked down as often as a drunken man or' an angry woman should- Want to. pass; a thing which frequently happened. Little Martha looked up the steep stairs and sighed. Her father lifted and carried her. The noises would have -stunned a stranger, and they seemed louder than usual to accustomed ears. Martha's little dog came barking and jumping up as soon as he saw her, and I.nis set several babies crying; the shrill piping of a bullfinch was heard in the

3

and over all, the voice of a scolding woman.

." That is Sally Field's voice if it is any body's," said Allen. "It is enough make one shift one's quarters to have that woman within hearing."

" She is in our rooms, father. I am sure the noise is there ; and see, her nor is open and her room empty."

" She need not fear leaving her door open," observed a neighbour in passing. "There isnothing there that any body would wish to carry away."

i

Allen did not answer, but made haste to restore peace n his own dwelling, knowing that his wife was far from being a match for Sally Field. As be flung open the door, the weaker party seemed to resign the contest to him : his wife sank into a chair, trembling all over. Her four or five little ones had hidden themselves where they could, some under the table, some behind the bed, having all been slapped or pushed or buffeted by Sally for staring at her with their thumbs in their mouths. She was not aware that Sally Field in a passion was a sight to make any one stare.

The following describes an interview between a poor little cotton- spinner and another little girl, the daughter of a man who had left spinning for strolling, and now got his livelihood by music instead of machinery.

Little Hannah slept till the sun was high on the Sunday morning, and might have slept longer, if Mrs. Allen had not feared she would not get breakfast over in time for church. Hannah jumped up with the excuse that the place was so quiet, there was nothing to wake her.

" Indeed !" said Mrs. Allen. " We think the children and the neighbours make a great deal of noise; but I suppose you sleep in public-houses for the most part." Hannah observed that people call so loud for what they want in public-houses, and they care so little for hours, that there is no knowing when you may sleep quietly.

" Have you no other frock than that, my dear ?" asked Mrs. Allen. " I suppose you ,go to church on Sundays, and you cannot possibly go in all those ..gay ribands.'

0 no," said Hannah, " I have a dark frock for Sundays, and a straw bonnet ; but they are in father's pack, and I suppose that is at the Spread Eagle." " And he is gone into the country for the day. Well, you must change with Iblartha when church-time comes. Poor Martha has but one tidy frock; but . she is too lame to go out to-day, even as far as the apothecary's ; and I am sure she will lend you her frock and tippet to go to church in." Martha was willing to lend, but had rather put on her factory dress than Hannah's red frock with yellow trimmings. Hannah hinted that she should like to stay within with Martha all day ; and the indulgent mother, seeing Mar- tha's pleasure at the prospect of a companion and nurse of her own age, left the little girls to amuse themselves, while she took the younger children to church witk her as usual.

"Father says he heard you sing last night," said Martha, when they were left alone. " Will you sing to me?' "I am so tired of singing ! " pleaded Hannah. "I don't know many songs, and I sing them so very often ! 'Won't that bird do as well? Let me get down -the cage, may I?" " Yes' do, and we will give him some water, poor fellow ! He is my bird, and I feed him every day. Somebody that could not afford to keep him sold Joins to father, and father gave bins to me. Had you ever a bird ? " "No, but I load a monkey once. When we went away, father got a monkey, and I used to lead him about with a string; but I was glad when we had done with him, he was so mischievous. Look here how he tore my arm one day, when somebody bad put him in a passion with giving him empty nutshells."

"What a terrible place !" said Martha. " Was it long in getting well?"

" No •' father got an apothecary to tie it up, and it soon got well.

"My father is going to show my knees to Mr. Dawson, the apothecary. Do look how they are swelled ; and they ache so, you can't think." "0, but I can think, for mine used to ache terribly when I walked and stood before the wheels all day."

"But yours were never so bad as mine, or I am sure you could not dance .about as you do."

"No, not so bad, to be sure ; and my arms were never so shrunk away as yours. Look, my arm is twice as big as yours."

"I wonder what's the reason," sighed Martha. "Mother says I get thinner . -and thinner."

"You should have meat for dinner every day, as I have," said Hannah, "and I I then you would grow fat like me. Father gets such good dinners for us to what

i we used to have. He says 'tis that, and being in the air so much, that prevent ; any being sickly, as I used to be. I don't think I could do the work that I used

to do with all that noise, and the smell of oil, and the heat." "And I am sure I could not sing and dance as you do." "No: how should you dance when you are so lame?" , I "And I don't think I can sing at all."

" Come, try., and I will sing with you. Try God save the King."

"It is Sunday," said Martha, gravely.

"Well, I thought people might sing God save the King' on Sundays. I have heard father play it on the drum, just before the Old Hundred. You know the Old Hundred ?"

Martha had heard this hymn-tune at church, and she tried to sing it ; but Hannah burst out a-laughing. " Lord ! Martha, your voice is like a little twittering bird's. Can't you open your mouth and sing this way?" "No, I can't," said Martha, quite out of breath ; "and besides, Hannah, you should not say ' Lord !' Father and mother never let us say those sort of words."

"Nor my father either. He is more angry with me for that, than for any -thing ; but it slips out somehow : and you would not wonder, if you knew how ;• often I hear people say that, and many worse things."

"Worse things ?" said Martha, looking curious.

"Yes, much worse things ; but I am not going to tell you what they are, because father made me promise not to tell you about any of the bad people that I have heard swear and seen tipsy. Was your father ever tipsy?" "Not that I know of; but our neighbour Field is often tipsy. I am afraid every day that he will topple down stairs." My father was tipsy once," said Hannah; "and he beat me so, you can't think."

'When? Lately?"

"No, just after we began to stroll. Though it is so long ago, I remember it very well, for I was never so frightened in my life. I did not know where to go to get away from him ; and the people pushed him about and laughed at one the more the more I cried. I asked him afterwards not to get tipsy any more, and he said he never would, and he never has. It was only because we had got more money that day than we ever got in a day before ; but it soon went away, for when father woke the next morning, his pocket was quite empty."

"And did you soon get some more money?"

"0 yes; we get some every day except Sundays. I carry the hat round every time we stop to play, and I alwius get some halfpence, and sometimes a silver sixpence." " Ah then, you get a great deal more than I doi. Hannah. I brought home only three shillings this week." I take much more than that, to be sure- but then it is my father's earning more than mine. His great drum sounds-further and brings more people to listen than my triangle."

" Is your triangle here ? I wish you would•teach one to play," said Martha. " Now do. If you will, I will ask mother to show m the pictures in grand- father's Bible when she comes home."

Hannah had been very fond of these pictures-when she was recovering from the measles ; and this bribe and her goodnature together overcame her disgust at the instrument she had to play every v and almost all day long. She in- dulged herself with a prodigious yawn, and then began her lesson. When Mrs. Allen came back, she found the bulfinch piping at his loudest pitch to the accom- paniment of the triangle, Hannah screaming her instructions to her new pupil, and poor palefaced little Martha flushed with flattery and with the grand idea of earning a great many silver sixpences every day if her father would let her make music in the streets instead of going to the factory.

Morning breaking upon a Manchester cotton factory would make an affecting picture. It is here depicted by Miss:MARTINEAU with the hand and eye of a true artist ; and is connected with a touch- ing little incident—the falling asleep of poor, little, declining Martha (with whom our last extract brings us acquainted), over her work.

The little girl repaired to the factory, sighing at the thought of the long hours that must pass before she could sit down or bieathe the fresh air again. She load been as willing a child at her work as could be, till lately ' • but since she had grown sickly, a sense of hardship had conic over her, and she was seldom happy. She was very industrious, anti disposed to be silent at her occupation ; so that she was liked by her employers, and had nothing more to complain of than the necessary fatigue and disagreeableness of the work. She would not have minded it for a few hours of the day ; but to be shut up all day, or else all night, without any time to nurse the baby or play with her companions, was too much for a little girl of eight years old. She had never been so sensible of this as since her renewed acquaintance with Hannah. This night, when the dust from the cotton made her cough, when the smell and the heat brought on sickness and faintness, and the incessant whizzing and whirling of the wheels gave her the feeling of being in a dream, she remembered that a part of Hannah's busi- ness was to walk on broad roads or through green fields by her father's side, listening to the stories he amused her with, and to sit on a stile or under a tree to practise a new tune, or get a better dinner than poor Martha often saw. She forgot that Hannah was sometimes wet through, or scorched by the sun, as her complexion, brown as a gipsy's, showed ; and that Hannah had no home and no mother, and very hard and unpleasant work to do at fairs, and on par- ticular occasions. About midnight, when Martha remembered that all at home were probably sound asleep, she could not resist the temptation of resting her aching limbs, and sat down trusting to make up afterwards for lost time, and taking care to be on her feet when the overlooker passed, or when any one else was likely to watch her. It is a dangerous thing, however, to take rest with the intention of rousing oneself from time to time ; and so Martha found. She fairly fell asleep after a time, and dreamed that she was attending very dili- gently to her work ; and so many things besides passed through her mind during the two minutes that sheslept, that when the overlooker laid his hand upon her shoulder, she started and was afraid she was going to be scolded for long fit of idleness. But she was not harshly spoken to.

"Come, come, child ; how long have you been asleep?"

"I don't know. I thought I was awake all the time.' And Martha began to cry. "Well, don't cry. I was past just now, and you were !airy enough ; bat don't sit down; better not, for fear you should drop asleep again." Martha thought she had escaped very well ; and winking and rubbing her eyes, she began to limp forwards and use her trembling hands. The overlooker watched her for a few moments, and told her she was so industrious in general that he should be sorry to be hard upon her ; but she knew that if she was seen flagging over her work, the idle ones would make it an excuse to do so too. Martha curtsied, and put new vigour into her work at this praise. Before he went on in his rounds, the overlooker pointed to the window and told her morning was come.

It was a strange scene that the dawn shown upon. As the grey light front the East mingled with the flickering, yellow glare of the lamps, it gave a mot- tled dirty appearance to every thing; to the pale-faced children, to the un- shaved overlooker, to the loaded atmosphere, and even to the produce of the wheels.

When a bright sunbeam shone in through the window, thickened with the condensed breath of the workpeople, and showed the oily steam rising through the heated room, the lamps were extinguished, to the great relief of those who found the place growing too like an oven to be much longer tolerable. The sun- beams rested now on the ceiling, and Martha knew that they must travel down to the floor and be turned fall on her frame and some way past it before she could be released ; but still it was a comfort that morning was come.

She observed that the overlooker frequently went out and came back again, and that there was a great deal of consultation among her betters as the hours drew on. A breath of fresh air came in now and then from below, and news went round that the gates were already open, two hours earlier than usual. Presently the tramp of heavy feet was heard, Ii ke that of the weavers and spin- ners coming to their daily work. Martha looked up eagerly to the clock, sup- posing that the time had passed quicker than she had been aware of; but it was only four o'clock. What could bring the people to their work so early.? They could scarcely have mistaken the hour from the brightness of the morning, for it had now clouded over, and wasraining a soaking shower. More news went round. Those who had arrived had barely escaped being waylaid and punished for coming to work after a strike had been proclaimed. They had been pursued to the gates and very nearly caught, and must now stay where they were till nightfall, as they could not safely appear in broad daylight, going to and returning front their dinners. Many wondered that they had ventured at all, and all prophe- sied that they must give up to the will of the Union if they wished to be safe. The overlooker, finding much excitement prevailing on the circulation of the news, commanded silence, observing that it was no concern of any of the chil- dren present. There was no strike of the children, and they would be permitted to go and come without hinderance. Martha determined to get away the first moment she could ; and to meet her father, if possible, that he might not en- counter any troublesome people for her sake.

In the early part of the Strike, the children still continue at work. It is not for the interest of the workmen that they should strike too ; and the masters permit their continued labour. But after all hope of a compromise declines, and the Strike islikely to prove long and obstinate, the children are turned off, to.bring the matter sooner to a crisis. The effect of this unaccustomed holyday on the po.or children, and the additional burden on the. fundsoa,told with [e pathos, and as perhaps no other writer but Miss MARTINEAU . tould tell it. point was settled, broke up. The whole affair put Clack and his friends in glee, and filled wiser people with grief and apprehension of the consequences. being disappointed in the hope that the men would propose a compromise, en- deavoured were rejected ; and the meeting, after a stormy discussion, in which no ters were bent on bringing the affair to a close as speedily as possible ; and, deavoured to drive them to it. All propositions, whether mada by himself or others, tending to a compro- The first consequence was, that all the .children were turned off. The nuts- This was thought by some parents far from Ming the worst thing that had . F.11 g E -,. happened. While the Committee shook their heads over this weighty additional

item of weekly charge, many tender mothers stroked their children's heads and smiled when they wished them joy of their holyday, and bade them sleep on in the mornings without thinking of the factory-bell. It was some days before the little things got used to so strange a difference from their usual mode of life. Sonic would stint up from sound sleep with the question, "Father, is it time?" Some tallied in their sleep of being too late, and went on to devour their meals

hastily, as if thew tinie WaS not their own. It would ha.ve amused some rople One little girl was seen making a garden ; that is, boring a hole between two flints in a yard with a rusty pair of scissors, and inserting therein a daisy which by some rare chance had reached her hands. Others collected the fragments of broken plates and teacups from the kennels, and spread them out for a mock feast, where there was nothing to eat. The favourite game was playing at being cotton-spinners; a big boy frowning and strutting and personating the master, another with a switch in his band being the overlooker, and the rest spinners or piecers, each; trying which could be the naughtiest and get the most threats and scolding. Many were satisfied with lolling on the stairs of their dwellings and looking into the streets all day long ; and many nursed their baby brothers and not throw a ball five feet from them, or flung it in one another's faces so as to cause complaints and crying-fits. In hiding, they always showed themselves, or came out too soon or not soon enough, or jostled and threw one another down ; and they were the worst runners that could be conceived. Any one of them trying to catch Hannah looked like a duck running after a greyhound. Hannah began with laughing at them all round ; but observing that her father watched their play with tears in his eyes, she afterwards contented herself with wondering in silence why some children were so unlike others. The afiairs of all concerned in the Strike looked more and more dismal every day. There were more brawls in the streets ; there was less peace at home ; for none are so prone to quarrel as those who have nothing else to do, and whose tempers are at the same tune fretted by want. All the men who were prone to drink now spent hour after hour at the alehouse, and many a woman now for the first time took to her "drop of comfort" at home. Many a man who had hitherto been a helper to his wife and tender to his children, began to slam the door behind him, after having beaten or shaken the little ones all round, and spoken rough words to their trembling mother; while she, dashing away her tears, looked for something to do, and found one thing that she would wash if she had fuel and soap, and another that she would mend if she had material and cotton. Now WM the time to see the young woman, with the babe in her arms, pushing at the curtained door of the dram-shop, while her husband held it against her,--he saying, "Well, I tell you I'm coming in five minutes ; I shan't be five minutes ;" and she plaintively replying, "Ala, I know, you always say so." Now was the time to see the good son pacing slowly to the pawnbroker's to pledge his aged mother's last blanket to buy her bread. These were the days when the important men under the three balls civilly declared, or insolently swore, that they could and would take no more goods in pawn, as their houses were full from top to bottom, and there was no sale for what they had encumbered themselves with. Never before had they been so humbly pe- titioned for loans,—a mother showing that her winter shawl or her child's frock would take very little room,—or a young girl urging that if a pawnbroker did not want for her grandmother's old Bible, he could get more for it at a book- stall than she could. These were the times for poor landlords to look after their rents, and for bard landlords to press them. These were the days for close scrutiny to be made by the Union Committee whether men's wives were really lying-in, and whether each really had the number of children he swore to; and therefore, these were the times when knaves tried to cheat and when honest men were wounded at having their word questioned. Now was the time when weak-minded men thought themselves each worse off than his neighbour. Many landlords were pronounced the hardest that ever owned two paltry rooms; many an applicant was certain the Committee had been set against him by some sneaking enemy. In the abstract it was allowed, however, that the sneakers had the most to bear.

The authoress thinks it necessary to announce, that she has no acquaintance with any one firm, master, or workman in Manches- ter; and hopes she will be spared the imputation of personality. This she must scarcely expect: her characters are so strongly drawn, and appear so true, that applications will be made in spite of her wishes to the contrary. If the masters knew their own interest, this little work would be circulated by tens of thousands among their labourers; and the philanthropist who feels for the deplorable state of society in Man- chester, could not spend a year better than in devoting himself to the circulation of its ideas and pictures.