their devoted admirers; here, too, do the
mob-orators appear in times of trouble and
contention, to excite, with their highly spiced
eloquence, the thoughtless crowd; over whom
they exercise such pernicious sway. When
we arrive, the place is covered with an
immense multitude of children at play.

Children, indeed: the extreme youth of the
majority is remarkable. Mere lads in barragon
jackets, and lasses considerably under
twenty, pattering about in their neat little
clogs (a distinguishing mark of the factory
lass), form an overpowering proportion of the
operative population. At least two-thirds of
the hands employed upon a factory are under
age; the parents either stay at home and
mind the house, while their sons and daughters
are working; or perhaps the mother takes
in washing, whilst the father follows some
handicraft trade out of doors. To marry a
widow with five or six grown-up daughters,
instead of being regarded as a misfortune, is
here looked upon as a slice of good luck;
whilst, on the better side of the picture, it is
no uncommon thing to ask a young girl what
her father is doing, and to receive for reply:—
"Oh! he joost stops at home. There's foive
on us to keep un atween us." This strange
revolution in the natural order of things has
been effected by the mighty power of steam.
It has its bright side, but it also has its dark
side. When you enter one of these vast workshops,
you see a world of complex machinery
alive and busy; every wheel illustrating the
dominion of the human intellect; yet it is a
mournful subject of reflection, but it is
nevertheless an undoubted fact, that nine-tenths of
the human beings tending and controlling the
wondrous creature, are so ignorant they cannot
read and write, while more than one-half
are destitute of either accomplishment.
Indeed, it is no uncommon thing to find an
overlooker, a man in authority, and exercising
proportionate influence over his fellow workmen,
who can neither read a newspaper, nor
sign his own name. The Sunday schools
teach some of them to read, but writing is
not looked upon as a Christian accomplishment,
and the "unco' righteous" set their
faces against writing on Sunday. To appreciate
the fearful significance of this fact, we
must recollect the preponderating influence
necessarily possessed by those who can read
and write, and when we come to reflect upon
the way in which authority works upon an
uncultivated mind, we shall not wonder at the
testimony of one of the clearest-headed
masters in Preston, when he says that he has
invariably found that the cleverest workmen
(that is to say, clever in every respect, his
work, his reading, and his writing) is always
the greatest agitator. Comparative ability
and shrewdness on the one side, ignorance,
youth, and ambition on the other: what must
not be the inevitable result?

Play is going on upon the Marsh with a
vengeance; "kiss in the ring" is being
briskly carried on; the sterner sort of lads
are engaged in leap-frog or football. There
are few symptoms of care and contention
here, and for all we can see the lads and
lasses might have turned out for an hour's
recreation, only to return with a sharpened
appetite for labour. On one part of the
marsh an old punt has stranded, and its deck
forms a convenient rostrum for the hypæthral
or open air orators of Preston. A meeting is
about to take place, over which John Gruntle
is to preside, and at which Cowler, Swindle,
and O'Brigger are expected to address the
people. Presently, a small knot of persons
get upon the deck of the punt, the crowd
thickens round them, "kiss in the ring" is
suspended, the football is at rest, a few
reporters make their appearance upon the punt,
notebooks in hand; Gruntle is voted into
the chair, and one of those meetings which
thirty years ago would have been a criminal
offence is formally opened.

Gruntle is not very prolix—he is an old
stager, and used to these things. In a few
words he states the object of the meeting, and
announces to the audience that their friend
Cowler will address them. At this name a
shout rends the air. Cowler is evidently the
chosen of the people; rightly or wrongly, they
hold him in great regard. His appearance is
very much in his favour, for he wears the
look of a straightforward honest man; a smile
plays round his mouth as he steps forward
with the air of a man sure of his audience;
but the feverish and anxious expression of the
eyes tells of sleepless nights and of constant
agitation. " Respected friends," he begins;
and, in a trice, he has plunged into the middle
of the question. He has been accused, he
says, of fostering agitation, and gaining
advantage from the strike. Why, how can they
say that, when his constant cry has been for
the masters to open their mills, and give the
operatives their just rights. Let them only
do that, and he 'll soon show them how glad
he'll be to give over agitating. It's not such
very pleasant work, either, is agitating. For
example, he himself hasn't been to bed for
these two nights. Last night they got the
money that their good friends in the
neighbouring towns had sent them; so he sat up
to take care of it, for fear some one should
come and borrow it from them. (Laughter.)
The editor of the London Thunderer had been
abusing him. Well! here was a thing!
Twenty years ago such a thing was never
thought of as that a working man should be
noticed by a London paper. But the editor
had not been very courteous; he had called
him " a fool," because he said that it was a
shame for the wives of the cotton lords to
wear silks and satins, whilst the factory
lasses were forced to be contented with plain
cotton. Was he a fool for that? ("Noa!
Noa!" Great excitement among the lasses,
and exclamations of " Eh! Lord!")

To Cowler succeeds Swindle, a lean and