hour by hour, and the load upon the loom
getting smaller and smaller, until at last an
hour came when there was none left at all,
and the order went out that the machinery
must stop!

The present article is confined to a brief
examination of some of the characteristics of
the distress itself as it exists just now in the
cotton country. A consideration of the means
taken to relieve that distress, is reserved for
a future paper. I cannot conclude this first
division of the subject better, than by
preserving a curiosity of famine literature, which
this crisis has been the means of eliminating:
HOW TO LIVE UPON TWO SHILLINGS A WEEK.
It was elicited but now, at the Knowsley-street
Industrial School, and it illustrates the manner
in which the poor people are now existing. It
had occurred to one of the guardians— a
gentleman who takes great interest in the welfare
of the thousands who are now thrown upon
the public benevolence, and who is devoting
the whole of his time to co-operating in the
alleviation of the present distress— to make
some inquiries as to how the young women
employed in the above-mentioned establishment
expended the money they received;
and he questioned about twenty of them
on this point, having first offered a small
reward to her who seemed to be making the
best use of her allowance. We give four of the
answers:

"1. MARY——- , 18 years old, an orphan, who
in good times pays 1s. 3d. per week for
lodgings, but is now allowed to pay less. Her
expenditure of the 2s. she receives weekly is:
Lodgings, 6d.; seconds flour, 9d.; treacle,
1½d.; coffee, 2½d.; barm, ½d.; salt, ½d.; sugar,
2d.; bacon, 2d.; total, 2s.—- JANE——- , 17
years of age, an orphan, who lives in lodgings,
and says she sometimes obtains a loaf from the
charities, spends her 2s. as follows: Lodgings,
1s.; seconds flour, 9d.; treacle, 1½d.; coffee,
1½d.—MARY——- , 19 years old, has a father
who has married a second time: Lodgings, 9d.;
seconds flour, 9d.; treacle, 1½d.; coffee, 1½d.;
sugar, 1d.; bacon, 2d.—ELLEN——- , 20 years
old, lives with her aunt; parents not living in
Preston: Lodgings, 6d.; seconds flour, 8d.;
treacle, 2d.; coffee, 2½d.; barm, ½d.; salt, ½d.;
sugar, 2½d.; bacon, 2d.— The answers of the
other young women were similar to those given
above, but the prize was given to No. 1 in the
above list."—Preston Herald.

If I wrote for a twelvemonth I could add
nothing to the eloquence of this statement.
was told by one in authority at Rochdale, that
it had been found necessary since the want
and distress set in, to discharge two grave-
diggers. This may suggest an inquiry to those
curious in arithmetical figures, as to the length
of time during which a low vitality and a slow
exhaustion may linger on; but those whose
chief interest is in human figures, and human
hearts, and human suffering, will put off the
making out of such accounts until a better time
and will be terribly sure for the present before
God and Man that Famine among our brothers
and sisters is bad for them, and bad for us.

LITTLE MATTERS

THERE is a little moth, I know
    As one of Nature's tiniest creatures,
So small you'd scarce perceive her, tho'
    You search'd all day to find her features

About a certain small green plant,
    In corners of the young leaves curl'd;—
A weed so insignificant,
    It counts for nothing in the world.

This lady moth is framed so frail
    The great world holds but that one weed
Her utmost strength can just avail
    To pierce, therein her eggs to breed.

And that one weed comes forth, and flowers,
    And falls, so fast, the whole year round
Holds only some six short Spring-hours,
    Wherein his leaves so fine are found,

That their minute inhabitant,
    My lady moth, has strength enough
Her tiny eggs to sheathe and plant
    Within their softly-woven stuff

Yet millions of this moth minute
    Spring sprinkles round my idle walk,
So many I may not compute
    Their numbers on a single stalk:

And all their business here on earth
    Is in those few short hours contained;
And generations (death or birth!)
    Depends on one occasion gain'd

Or lost in that eternal scramble
    For leave to live that ceases not:—
Just so much time as in my ramble
    I squander, while the noon is hot,

With no more care than how to lose
    The unprofitable consciousness
Of what I scarcely care to use
    It seems so short,—an hour or less!

How wary in the midst of all
    Her wondrous toils must Nature be
To calculate mischance, forestal
    The coming hour, and strictly see

That this small moth and that small weed
    Find out each other just in time
To consummate their ends! Indeed,
    Among the starry spheres sublime,

Or 'mid the planets poised aloft,
    Or in the suns beyond the sun,
I marvel if she be not oft
    Half moved in mind to leave undone

These tiny tasks that claim so much
    Forethoughted care, such arduous ways,
Such thrift of time, and render such.
    Small recompense of human praise,

Rather than, in yon starry dome,
    Whilst kindling kingly orbs to be,
Break off to meet the claims of some
    Poor hundred lepidopteræ.