hungry Cassius, the very example of an
agitator; a man who has lived by literary
garbage, without fattening upon the unwholesome
stuff. He seems half tipsy; his eyes
roll, and his gesticulations are vehement.
One more glass of whisky and he would be
prepared to head an insurrection. He rants
and raves for a quarter of an hour, and we
are pleased to observe that his audience are
too sensible to care much about him.

Then comes O'Brigger, oily-tongued, and
with a brogue. He complains that it has
been charged against 'um that he is an Irishman.
So he is, faith! and he's moighty
proud av it. The manufacturers are all av
them toirants. However, this toime they
will learn that the people av England are not
to be opprissed; for they will get such a
flogging as never they had in the coorse av
their lives. He is appy to inforrm his koind
friends that their funds are upon the increase
intirely. As the pockets av the masters
becomes moore and moore empty, so will the
pockets av the operatives grow fuller and
fuller. Thus O'Brigger continues to pour into
the ears of these poor people the delusive
strains of hope, and leads them to believe
that in the dire struggle between Capital and
Hunger, the latter will prove victorious; and
as he proceeds, each fallacious picture is
welcomed with an exclamation of " Wo'ont thot
be noice?"

When O'Brigger has concluded, it is the
turn of a crowd of the delegates to have their
say. There is the delegate from this town,
and the delegate from that factory; all with
marvellous stories about the tyranny of the
masters, the woes of the operatives, and the
determination of each particular district to
stand by Preston to the last. They all end
by fiercely denouncing the manufacturers,
whom they term "the miserable shoddyocracy,"
a term derived from " shoddy," the
refuse of cotton stuff, and " ??????" to govern;
being, in fact, the result of uniting the Pindaric
and Tim Bobbin dialects.

We walk sadly from " the Marsh," and
reach a locked-up and smokeless factory, at
the gates of which a knot of young girls are
singing and offering for sale some of the Ten
Per Cent. Songs, taking their name from the
origin of the strike. In eighteen hundred
and forty-seven, when trade was very bad,
the masters told their workpeople that they
could no longer afford to pay them the wages
they had been paying, and that they must
take off ten per cent.; upon the understanding,
as the workpeople allege, that when
times got better they would give them the
ten per cent, back again. Whether such a
promise was, or was not, actually given,
we cannot presume to determine, for the
masters emphatically deny it; but it is quite
certain that, at the beginning of the present
year, the Stockport operatives combined
successfully to force the ten per cent, from
their masters, and the Preston operatives
aided them with funds. They acted upon
Napoleon's principle of combining forces
upon single points in succession, and so
reducing the enemy in detail. Then it was
that the Preston masters, fearing that similar
tactics would be turned against themselves,
combined to oppose the attempt, and
eventually " locked out" their operatives.
The songs are not remarkable for much
elegance and polish, but they possess some
earnestness and fire, and are undoubtedly
composed by the operatives themselves. We
step forward, tender a penny to one of
the singers, and receive the following
song, composed by an operative at Bamber
Bridge:—

TEN PER CENT!
A New Song, on the Preston Strike.

COME all you men of freedom,
     Wherever you may be,
I pray you give attention,
     And listen unto me.
It's of this strike in Preston town,
    Their courage being good,
I do believe they will stand firm
     Whilst they have life and blood.
Chorus—So now, my boys, don't daunted be,
                    But stand out to the fray;
                We ne'er shall yield, nor quit the field,
                    Until we've won the day.

In eighteen forty-seven, my boys,
   I am sorry for to say,
They took from us the ten per cent.,
   Without so much delay;
And now we want it back again,
    Our masters, in a pout,
Said they would not grant it us,
     So we're every one locked out.
                    Chorus —So now, &c.

There's Blackburn and there's Stockport too,
     As I have heard them say,
Are ready to support us now,
     And cheer us on our way.
So all unite into one band.
     And never do consent
To go into your mills again,
     Without the ten per cent.
                    Chorus—So now, &c.

In Preston town I do believe,
    The masters are our foes,
But some of them, before it's long,
    Will wear some ragged clothes.
But we'll unite both one and all,
     And never will lament,
When this great war is ceased,
     About the ten per cent.
                   Chorus—So now, &c.

The winter it is coming on,
    It will be very cold,
But we'll stand out for our demand,
    Like warriors so bold.
But if the masters don't give way,
    And firmly give consent,
We'll stand out till their mills do fall,
    All for the ten per cent.
               Chorus—So now, &c.

Now to conclude and make an end
    Of this my simple song,
I hope the masters will give in,
    And that before it's long.