Chapter XXIII (2)

Gentlemen, a few words more, and I will not further trespass on your attention. But I feel myself called on, as chairman of that executive committee to which my noble friend in the chair has paid so just a compliment, to lay before you some answer to objections which have been made, and which in other counties, if not in this, may have a tendency to check the contributions which have hitherto so freely flowed in. Before doing so, allow me to say (and I can do it with more freedom, because in the, earlier stages of its organisation I was not a member of that committee) it is bare justice to them to say that there never was an occasion on which greater or more earnest efforts were made to secure that the distribution of those funds intrusted to them should be guarded against all possibility of abuse, and be distributed without the slightest reference to political or religious opinions; distributed with the most perfect impartiality, and in every locality, through the instrumentality of persons in whom the neighbourhood might repose entire confidence. Such has been our endeavour, and I think to a great extent we have been successful. I may say that, although the central executive committee is composed of men of most discordant opinions in politics and religion, nothing for a single moment has interfered with the harmony--I had almost said with the unanimity--of our proceedings. There has been nothing to produce any painful feelings among us, nor any desire on the part of the representatives of different districts to obtain an undue share for the districts they represented from the common fund.

But there are three points on which objection has being taken to the course we have adopted. One has been, that the relief we have given has not been given with a sufficiently liberal hand; the next--and I think I shall show you that these two are inconsistent, the one answering the other--is, that there has not been a sufficient pressure on the local rates; and the third is, that Lancashire has not hitherto done its duty with reference to the subscriptions from other parts of the country. Allow me a few words on each of these subjects.

First, the amount to which we have endeavoured to raise our subscriptions has been to the extent of from two shillings to two shillings and sixpence weekly per head; in this late cold weather an additional sixpence has been provided, mainly for coal and clothing. Our endeavour has been to raise the total income of each individual to at least two shillings or two shillings and sixpence a week. Now, I am told that this is a very inadequate amount, and no doubt it is an amount very far below that which many of the recipients were in the habit of obtaining. But in the first place, I think there is some misapprehension when we speak of the sum of two shillings a week. If anybody supposes that two shillings a week is the maximum to each individual, he will be greatly mistaken. Two shillings a head per week is the sum we endeavoured to arrive at as the average receipt of every man, woman, and child receiving assistance; consequently, a man and his wife with a family of three or four small children would receive, not two shillings, but ten or twelve shillings from the fund--an amount not far short of that which in prosperous times an honest and industrious labourer in other parts of the country would obtain for the maintenance of his family. I am not in the least afraid that, if we had fixed the amount at four shillings or five shillings per head, such is the liberality of the country, we should not have had sufficient means of doing so. But were we justified in doing that? If we had raised their income beyond that of the labouring man in ordinary times, we should have gone far to destroy the most valuable feeling of the manufacturing population--namely, that of honest self-reliance, and we should have done our best, to a great extent, to demoralise a large portion of the population, and induce them to prefer the wages of charitable relief to the return of honest industry. But then we are told that the rates are not sufficiently high in the distressed districts, and that we ought to raise them before we come on the fund. In the first place, we have no power to compel the guardians to raise the rates beyond that which they think sufficient for the maintenance of those to be relieved, and, naturally considering themselves the trustees of the ratepayers, they are unwilling, and, indeed, ought not to raise the amount beyond that which is called for by absolute necessity. But suppose we had raised the relief from our committee very far beyond the amount thought sufficient by the guardians, what would have been the inevitable result? Why, that the rates which it is desired to charge more heavily would have been relieved, because persons would have taken themselves off the poor-rates, and placed themselves on the charitable committee, and therefore the very object theso objectors have in view in calling for an increase of our donations would have been defeated by their own measure. I must say, however, honestly speaking all I feel, that, with regard to the amount of rates, there are some districts which have applied to us for assistance which I think have not sufficient pressure on their rates. Where I find, for example, that the total assessment on the nett rateable value does not exceed ninepence or tenpence in the pound, I really think such districts ought to be called upon to increase their rates before applying for extraneous help. But we have urged as far as we could urge--we have no power to command the guardians to be more liberal in the rate of relief, and to that extent to raise the rates in their districts.

And now a word on the subject of raising rates, because I have received many letters in which it has been said that the rates are nothing--'they are only three shillings or four shillings in the pound, while we in the agricultural districts are used to six shillings in the pound. We consider that no extraordinary rate, and it is monstrous,' they say, 'that the accumulated wealth of years in the county of Lancashire should not more largely contribute to the relief of its own distress.' I will not enter into an argument as to how far the larger amount of wages in the manufacturing districts may balance the smaller--amount of wages and the larger amount of poor-rates in the agricultural districts. I don't wish to enter into any comparison; I have seen many comparisons of this kind made, but they were full of fallacies from one end to the other. I will not waste your time by discussing them; but I ask you to consider the effect of a sudden rise of rates as a charge upon the accumulated wealth of a district. It is not the actual amount of the rates, but it is the sudden and rapid increase of the usual rate of the rates that presses most heavily on the ratepayers. In the long run, the rates must fall on real property, because all bargains between owner and occupier are made with reference to the amount of rates to be paid, and in all calculations between them, that is an element which enters into the first agreement. But when the rate is suddenly increased from one shilling to four shillings, it does not fall on the accumulated wealth or on the real property, but it falls on the occupier, the ratepayer--men, the great bulk of whom are at the present moment themselves struggling upon the verge of pauperism. Therefore, if in those districts it should appear to persons accustomed to agricultural districts that the amount of our rates was very small, I would say to them that any attempt to increase those rates would only increase the pauperism, diminish the number of solvent ratepayers, and greatly aggravate the distress. In some of the districts I think the amount of the rates quite sufficient to satisfy the most ardent advocate of high rates. For example, in the town of Ashton they have raised in the course of the year one rate of one shilling and sixpence, another of one shilling and six-pence, and a third of four shillings and sixpence, which it is hoped will carry them over the year. They have also, in addition to these rates, drawn largely on previous balances, and I am afraid have largely added to their debt. The total of what has been or will be expended, with a prospect of even a great increase, in that borough exceeds eleven shillings and elevenpence in the pound for the relief of the poor alone. And, gentlemen, this rate of four shillings and sixpence about to be levied, which ought to yield about 32,000 pounds, it is calculated will not yield 24,000 pounds. In Stockport the rate is even higher, being twelve shillings or more per pound, and there it is calculated that at the next levy the defalcations will be at least forty per cent, according to the calculation of the poor-law commissioner himself. To talk, then, of raising rates in such districts as these would be absolute insanity; and even in districts less heavily rated, any sudden attempt considerably to increase the rate would have the effect of pauperising those who are now solvent, and to augment rather than diminish the distress of the district.

The last point on which I would make an observation relates to the objection which has been taken to our proceedings, on the ground that Lancashire has not done its duty in this distress, and that consequently other parts of the country have been unduly called on to contribute to that which I don't deny properly and primarily belongs to Lancashire. Gentlemen, it is very hard to ascertain with any certainty what has been done by Lancashire, because, in the first place, the amount of local subscriptions and the amount of public contributions by themselves give no fair indication of that which really has been done by public or private charity. I don't mean to say that there are not individuals who have grossly neglected their duty in Lancashire. On the other hand, we know there are many, though I am not about to name them, who have acted with the most princely munificence, liberality, and generous feeling, involving an amount of sacrifice of which no persons out of this county can possibly have the slightest conception. I am not saying there are not instances of niggard feeling, though I am not about to name them, which really it was hardly possible to believe could exist.

Will you forgive me if I trespass for a few moments by reading two or three extracts from confidential reports made to us every week from the different districts by a gentleman whose services were placed at our disposal by the Government? These reports being, as I have said, confidential, I will not mention the names of the persons, firms, or localities alluded to, though in some instances they may be guessed at. This report was made to us on the 25th of November, and I will quote some of the remarks made in it. The writer observes:--'It must not be inferred when such remarks are absent from the reports that nothing is done. I have great difficulty sometimes in overcoming the feeling that my questions on these points are a meddlesome interference in private matters.' Bearing that remark in mind, I say here are instances which I am sure reflect as much credit on the individuals as on the interest they represent and the county to which they belong. I am sure I shall be excused for trespassing on your patience by reading a few examples. He says, under No.1,--'Nearly three thousand operatives out of the whole, most of them the hands of Messrs __ and Mr __, at his own cost, employs five hundred and fifty-five girls in sewing five days a week, paying them eightpence a day; sends seventy-six youths from thirteen to fourteen years old, and three hundred and thirty-two adults above fifteen, five days a week to school, paying them from fourpence to eightpence per day, according to age. He also pays the school pence of all the children. Mr __ has hitherto paid his people two days' wages a week, but he is now preparing to adopt a scheme like Mr __ to a great extent. I would add that, in addition to wages, Mr __ gives bread, soup, socks, and clogs. 2. Mr __ has at his own expense caused fifty to sixty dinners to be provided for sick persons every day. These consist of roast beef or mutton, soup, beef-tea, rice-puddings, wine, and porter, as ordered; and the forty visitors distribute orders as they find it necessary. Ostensibly all is done in the name of the committee; but Mr __ pays all the cost. An admirable soup kitchen is being fitted up, where the poor man may purchase a good hot meal for one penny, and either carry it away or consume it on the premises. 3. Messrs __ are giving to their hands three days' wages (about 500 pounds a week.) Messrs __ and __ are giving their one hundred and twenty hands, and Messrs their two hundred and thirty hands, two days' wages a week. I may mention that Messrs __ are providing for all their one thousand seven hundred hands. 4. A great deal of private charity exists, one firm having spent 1400 pounds in money, exclusive of weekly doles of bread. 5. Messrs __ are providing all their old hands with sufficient clothing and bedding to supply every want, so that their subscription of 50 pounds is merely nominal. 6. The ladies of the village visit and relieve privately with money, food, or clothing, or all, if needed urgently. In a few cases distraint has been threatened, but generally the poor are living rent free. 7. Payment of rent is almost unknown. The agent for several landlords assures me he could not from his receipts pay the property-tax, but no distraints are made. 8. The bulk of the rents are not collected, and distraints are unknown. 9. The millowners are chiefly cottage-owners, and are asking for no rents.'

That leads me to call your attention to the fact that, in addition to the sacrifices they are making, the millowners are themselves to a large extent the owners of cottages, and I believe, without exception, they are at the present moment receiving no rent, thereby losing a large amount of income they had a right to count upon. I know one case which is curious as showing how great is the difficulty of ascertaining what is really done. It is required in the executive committee that every committee should send in an account of the local subscriptions. We received an application from a small district where there was one mill, occupied by some young men who had just entered into the business. We returned a refusal, inasmuch as there was no local subscription; but when we came to inquire, we found that from last February, when the mill closed, these young men had maintained the whole of their hands, that they paid one-third of the rates of the whole district, and that they were at that moment suffering a yearly loss of 300 pounds in the rent of cottages for which they were not drawing a single halfpenny. That was a case in which we thought it right in the first instance to withhold any assistance, because there appeared to be no local subscription, and it shows how persons at a distance may be deceived by the want apparently of any local subscription. But I will throw out of consideration the whole of those amounts--the whole of this unparalleled munificence on the part of many manufacturers which never appears in any account whatever--I will throw out everything done in private and unostentatious charity--the supplies of bedding, clothing, food, necessaries of every description, which do not appear as public subscriptions, and will appeal to public subscriptions alone; and I will appeal to an authority which cannot, I think, be disputed--the authority of the commissioner, Mr Farnall himself, whose services the Government kindly placed at our disposal, and of whose activity, industry, and readiness to assist us, it is difficult to speak in too high terms of praise. A better authority could not be quoted on the subject of the comparative support given in aid of this distress in Lancashire and other districts. I find that, excluding altogether the subscriptions in the Lord Mayor's Mansion House list--of which we know the general amount, but not the sources from which it is derived, or how it is expended--but excluding it from consideration, and dealing only with the funds which have been given or promised to be administered through the central executive committee, I find that, including some of the subscriptions which we know are coming in this day, the total amount which has been contributed is about 540,000 pounds. Of that amount we received--and it is a most gratifying fact--40,000 pounds from the colonies; we received from the rest of the United Kingdom 100,000 pounds; and from the county of Lancaster itself, in round numbers, 400,000 pounds out of 540,000 pounds.

Now, I hope that these figures, upon the estimate and authority of the Government poor-law commissioner, will be sufficient, at all events, to do away with the imputation that Lancashire, at this crisis, is not doing its duty. But if Lancashire has been doing its duty--if it is doing its duty--that is no reason why Lancashire should relax its efforts; and of that I trust the result of this day's proceedings will afford a sufficient testimony. We are not yet at the height of the distress. It is estimated that at the present moment there are three hundred and fifty-five thousand persons engaged in the different manufactories. Of these forty thousand only are in full work; one hundred and thirty-five thousand are at short work, and one hundred and eighty thousand are out of work altogether. In the course of the next six weeks this number is likely to be greatly increased; and the loss of wages is not less than 137,000 pounds a week. This, I say then, is a state of things that calls for the most active exertions of all classes of the community, who, I am happy to say, have responded to the call which has been made upon them most nobly, from the Queen down to the lowest individual in the community. At the commencement of the distress, the Queen, with her usual munificence, sent us a donation of 2000 pounds. The first act of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, upon attaining his majority, was to write from Rome, and to request that his name should be put down for 1000 pounds. And to go to the other end of the scale, I received two days ago, from Lord Shaftesbury, a donation of 1200 pounds from some thousands of working men, readers of a particular periodical which he mentioned, the British Workman. To that sum Lord Shaftesbury stated many thousands of persons had subscribed, and it embraced contributions even from the brigade of shoe-black boys.

On the part of all classes there has been the greatest liberality displayed; and I should be unjust to the working men, I should be unjust to the poor in every district, if I did not say that in proportion to their means they have contributed more than their share. In no case hardly which has come to my knowledge has there been any grudging, and in many cases I know that poor persons have contributed more than common prudence would have dictated. These observations have run to a greater extent than I had intended; but I thought it desirable that the whole case, as far as possible, should be brought before you, and I have only now earnestly to request that you will this day do your part towards the furtherance of the good work. I have no apprehension, if the distress should not last over five or six months more, that the spontaneous efforts of individuals and public bodies, and contributions received in every part of the country, will fall short of that which is needed for enabling the population to tide over this deep distress; and I earnestly hope that, if it be necessary to apply to Parliament, as a last resource, the representatives of the country will not grudge their aid; yet I do fervently hope and believe that, with the assistance of the machinery of that bill passed in Parliament last session, (the Rate in Aid Act,) which will come into operation shortly after Christmas, but could not possibly be brought into operation sooner, I do fervently hope and believe that this great manufacturing district will be spared the further humiliation of coming before Parliament, which ought to be the last resource, as a claimant, a suppliant for the bounty of the nation at large. I don't apprehend that there will be a single dissentient voice raised against the resolution which I have now the honour to move."

SONGS OF DISTRESS, CHIEFLY WRITTEN DURING THE COTTON FAMINE.

STANZAS TO MY STARVING KIN IN THE NORTH. BY ELIZA COOK.

Sad are the sounds that are breaking forth From the women and men of the brave old North! Sad are the sights for human eyes, In fireless homes, 'neath wintry skies; Where wrinkles gather on childhood's skin, And youth's "clemm'd" cheek is pallid and thin; Where the good, the honest--unclothed, unfed, Child, mother, and father, are craving for bread! But faint not, fear not--still have trust; Your voices are heard, and your claims are just. England to England's self is true, And "God and the People" will help you through.

Brothers and sisters! full well ye have stood, While the gripe of gaunt Famine has curdled your blood! No murmur, no threat on your lips have place, Though ye look on the Hunger-fiend face to face; But haggard and worn ye silently bear, Dragging your death-chains with patience and prayer; With your hearts as loyal, your deeds as right, As when Plenty and Sleep blest your day and your night, Brothers and sisters! oh! do not believe It is Charity's GOLD ALONE ye receive. Ah, no! It is Sympathy, Feeling, and Hope, That pull out in the Life-boat to fling ye a rope.

Fondly I've lauded your wealth-winning hands, Planting Commerce and Fame throughout measureless lands; And my patriot-love, and my patriot-song, To the children of Labour will ever belong. Women and men of this brave old soil! I weep that starvation should guerdon your toil; But I glory to see ye--proudly mute-- Showing SOULS like the HERO, not FANGS like the brute. Oh! keep courage within; be the Britons ye are; HE, who driveth the storm hath His hand on the star! England to England's sons shall be true, And "God and the People" will carry ye through!

THE SMOKELESS CHIMNEY BY A LANCASHIRE LADY {1} (E.J.B.)

STRANGER! who to buy art willing, Seek not here for talent rare; Mine's no song of love or beauty, But a tale of want and care.

Traveller on the Northern Railway! Look and learn, as on you speed; See the hundred smokeless chimneys, Learn their tale of cheerless need.

Ah! perchance the landscape fairer Charms your taste, your artist-eye; Little do you guess how dearly Costs that now unclouded sky.

"How much prettier is this county!" Says the careless passer-by; "Clouds of smoke we see no longer, What's the reason?--Tell me why.

"Better far it were, most surely, Never more such clouds to see, Bringing taint o'er nature's beauty, With their foul obscurity."

Thoughtless fair one! from yon chimney Floats the golden breath of life; Stop that current at your pleasure! Stop! and starve the child--the wife.

Ah! to them each smokeless chimney Is a signal of despair; They see hunger, sickness, ruin, Written in that pure, bright air.

"Mother! mother! see! 'twas truly Said last week the mill would stop; Mark yon chimney, nought is going, There's no smoke from 'out o'th top!'

"Father! father! what's the reason That the chimneys smokeless stand? Is it true that all through strangers, We must starve in our own land?"

Low upon her chair that mother Droops, and sighs with tearful eye; At the hearthstone lags the father, Musing o'er the days gone by.

Days which saw him glad and hearty, Punctual at his work of love; When the week's end brought him plenty, And he thanked the Lord above.

When his wages, earned so justly, Gave him clothing, home, and food; When his wife, with fond caresses, Blessed his heart, so kind and good.

Neat and clean each Sunday saw them, In their place of prayer and praise, Little dreaming that the morrow Piteous cries for help would raise.

Weeks roll on, and still yon chimney Gives of better times no sign; Men by thousands cry for labour, Daily cry, and daily pine.

Now the things, so long and dearly Prized before, are pledged away; Clock and Bible, marriage-presents, Both must go--how sad to say!

Charley trots to school no longer, Nelly grows more pale each day; Nay, the baby's shoes, so tiny, Must be sold, for bread to pay.

They who loathe to be dependent Now for alms are forced to ask Hard is mill-work, but, believe me, Begging is the bitterest task.

Soon will come the doom most dreaded, With a horror that appals; Lo! before their downcast faces Grimly stare the workhouse walls.

Stranger, if these sorrows touch you, Widely bid your bounty flow; And assist my poor endeavours To relieve this load of woe.

Let no more the smokeless chimneys Draw from you one word of praise; Think, oh, think upon the thousands Who are moaning out their days.

Rather pray that peace, soon bringing Work and plenty in her train, We may see these smokeless chimneys Blackening all the land again.

1862.

THE MILL-HAND'S PETITION.

The following verses are copied from "Lancashire Lyrics," edited by John Harland, Esq., F.S.A. They are extracted from a song "by some 'W.C.,' printed as a street broadside, at Ashton-under-Lyne, and sung in most towns of South Lancashire."

We have come to ask for assistance; At home we've been starving too long; An' our children are wanting subsistence; Kindly aid us to help them along.

CHORUS.

For humanity is calling; Don't let the call be in vain; But help us; we're needy and falling; And God will return it again.

War's clamour and civil commotion Has stagnation brought in its train; And stoppage bring with it starvation, So help us some bread to obtain.

For humanity is calling. The American war is still lasting; Like a terrible nightmare it leans On the breast of a country, now fasting For cotton, for work, and for means.

And humanity is calling.

CHEER UP A BIT LONGER. {2} BY SAMUEL LAYCOCK.

Cheer up a bit longer, mi brothers i' want, There's breeter days for us i' store; There'll be plenty o' tommy an' wark for us o' When this 'Merica bother gets o'er. Yo'n struggled reet nobly, an' battled reet hard, While things han bin lookin' so feaw; Yo'n borne wi' yo're troubles and trials so long, It's no use o' givin' up neaw.

Feight on, as yo' han done, an' victory's sure, For th' battle seems very nee won, Be firm i' yo're sufferin', an' dunno give way; They're nowt nobbut ceawards'at run. Yo' know heaw they'n praised us for stondin' so firm, An' shall we neaw stagger an' fo? Nowt o'th soart;--iv we nobbut brace up an' be hard, We can stond a bit longer, aw know.

It's hard to keep clemmin' an' starvin' so long; An' one's hurt to see th' little things fret, Becose there's no buttercakes for 'em to eat; But we'n allus kept pooin' thro' yet. As bad as toimes are, an' as feaw as things look, We're certain they met ha' bin worse; We'n had tommy to eat, an' clooas to put on; They'n only bin roughish, aw know.

Aw've begged on yo' to keep up yo're courage afore, An' neaw let me ax yo' once moor; Let's noan get disheartened, there's hope for us yet, We needn't dispair tho' we're poor. We cannot expect it'll allus be foine; It's dark for a while, an' then clear; We'n mirth mixed wi' sadness, an' pleasure wi' pain, An' shall have as long as we're here.

This world's full o' changes for better an' wur, An' this is one change among th' ruck; We'n a toime o' prosperity,--toime o' success, An' then we'n a reawnd o' bad luck. We're baskin' i' sunshine, at one toime o'th day, At other toimes ceawerin' i'th dark; We're sometoimes as hearty an' busy as owt, At other toimes ill, an' beawt wark.

Good bless yo'! mi brothers, we're nobbut on th' tramp, We never stay long at one spot; An' while we keep knockin' abeawt i' this world, Disappointments will fall to eawer lot: So th' best thing we can do, iv we meon to get thro', Is to wrastle wi' cares as they come; We shall feel rayther tired,--but let's never heed that,-- We can rest us weel when we get whoam.

Cheer up, then, aw say, an' keep hopin' for th' best, An' things 'll soon awter, yo'll see; There'll be oceans o' butties for Tommy an' Fred, An' th' little un perched on yo're knee. Bide on a bit longer, tak' heart once ogen, An' do give o'er lookin' so feaw; As we'n battled, an' struggled, an' suffered so long, It's no use o' givin' up neaw.

FRETTIN'.

(From "Phases of Distress--Lancashire Rhymes.")

BY JOSEPH RAMSBOTTOM.

Fro' heawrs to days--a dhreary length-- Fro' days to weeks one idle stons, An' slowly sinks fro' pride an' strength To weeny heart an' wakely honds; An' still one hopes, an' ever tries To think 'at better days mun come; Bo' th' sun may set, an' th' sun may rise,-- No sthreak o' leet one finds a-whoam.

Aw want to see thoose days again, When folk can win whate'er they need; O God! to think 'at wortchin' men Should be poor things to pet an' feed! There's some to th' Bastile han to goo, To live o'th rates they'n help'd to pay; An' some get "dow" {3} to help 'em through; An' some are taen or sent away.

What is there here, 'at one should live, Or wish to live, weigh'd deawn wi' grief, Through weary weeks an' months, 'at give Not one short heawr o' sweet relief? A sudden plunge, a little blow, Would end at once mi' care an' pain! An' why noa do't?--for weel aw know Aw's lose bo' ills, if nowt aw gain.

An' why noa do't? It ill 'ud tell O' thoose wur laft beheend, aw fear; It's wring, at fust, to kill mysel', It's wring to lyev mi childer here. One's like to tak' some thowt for them-- Some sort o' comfort one should give; So one mun bide, an' starve, an' clem, An' pine, an' mope, an' fret, an' live.

TH' SHURAT WEAVER'S SONG. {4}

BY SAMUEL LAYCOCK.

TUNE--"Rory O'More."

Confound it! aw ne'er wur so woven afore; My back's welly brocken, mi fingers are sore; Aw've been starin' an' rootin' amung this Shurat, Till aw'm very near getten as bloint as a bat.

Aw wish aw wur fur enough off, eawt o'th road, For o' weavin' this rubbitch aw'm getten reet sto'd; Aw've nowt i' this world to lie deawn on but straw, For aw've nobbut eight shillin' this fortnit to draw.

Neaw, aw haven't mi family under mi hat; Aw've a woife and six childer to keep eawt o' that; So aw'm rayther amung it just neaw, yo may see-- Iv ever a fellow wur puzzle't, it's me! Iv aw turn eawt to steal, folk'll co' me a thief; An' aw conno' put th' cheek on to ax for relief; As aw said i' eawr heawse t'other neet to mi wife, Aw never did nowt o' this mak' i' my life.

O dear! iv yon Yankees could nobbut just see, Heaw they're clemmin' an' starvin' poor weavers loike me, Aw think they'd soon sattle their bother, an' strive To send us some cotton to keep us alive.

There's theawsan's o' folk, just i'th best o' their days, Wi' traces o' want plainly sin i' their faze; An' a futur afore 'em as dreary an' dark; For, when th' cotton gets done, we's be o' eawt o' wark.

We'n bin patient an' quiet as lung as we con; Th' bits o' things we had by us are welly o' gone; Mi clogs an' mi shoon are both gettin' worn eawt, An' my halliday clooas are o' gone "up th' speawt!"

Mony a time i' my days aw've sin things lookin' feaw, But never as awkard as what they are neaw; Iv there isn't some help for us factory folk soon, Aw'm sure 'at we's o' be knock'd reet eawt o' tune.

GOD HELP THE POOR. {5}

BY SAMUEL BAMFORD.

God help the poor, who in this wintry morn, Come forth of alleys dim and courts obscure; God help yon poor, pale girl, who droops forlorn, And meekly her affliction doth endure!

God help the outcast lamb! she trembling stands, All wan her lips, and frozen red her hands; Her mournful eyes are modestly down cast, Her night-black hair streams on the fitful blast; Her bosom, passing fair, is half reveal'd, And oh! so cold the snow lies there congeal'd; Her feet benumb'd, her shoes all rent and worn;-- God help thee, outcast lamb, who stand'st forlorn! God help the poor!

God help the poor! an infant's feeble wail Comes from yon narrow gate-way! and behold A female crouching there, so deathly pale, Huddling her child, to screen it from the cold!-- Her vesture scant, her bonnet crush'd and torn; A thin shawl doth her baby dear enfold. And there she bides the ruthless gale of morn, Which almost to her heart hath sent its cold! And now she sudden darts a ravening look, As one with new hot bread comes past the nook; And, as the tempting load is onward borne, She weeps. God help thee, hapless one forlorn! God help the poor!

God help the poor! Behold yon famish'd lad No shoes, no hose, his wounded feet protect; With limping gait, and looks so dreamy-sad, He wanders onward, stopping to inspect Each window, stored with articles of food; He yearns but to enjoy one cheering meal. Oh! to his hungry palate, viands rude Would yield a zest the famish'd only feel! He now devours a crust of mouldy bread-- With teeth and hands the precious boon is torn, Unmindful of the storm which round his head Impetuous sweeps. God help thee, child forlorn God help the poor! God help the poor! Another have I found A bow'd and venerable man is he; His slouched hat with faded crape is bound, His coat is gray, and threadbare, too, I see; "The rude winds" seem to "mock his hoary hair;" His shirtless bosom to the blast is bare. Anon he turns, and casts a wistful eye, And with scant napkin wipes the blinding spray; And looks again, as if he fain would spy Friends he hath feasted in his better day Ah! some are dead, and some have long forborne To know the poor; and he is left forlorn! God help the poor!

God help the poor who in lone valleys dwell, Or by far hills, where whin and heather grow Theirs is a story sad indeed to tell! Yet little cares the world, nor seeks to know The toil and want poor weavers undergo. The irksome loom must have them up at morn; They work till worn-out nature will have sleep; They taste, but are not fed. Cold snow drifts deep Around the fireless cot, and blocks the door; The night-storm howls a dirge o'er moss and moor! And shall they perish thus, oppress'd and lorn? Shall toil and famine hopeless still be borne!-- No! GOD will yet arise, and HELP THE POOR!

TICKLE TIMES.

BY EDWIN WAUGH.

Neaw times are so tickle, no wonder One's heart should be deawn i' his shoon, But, dang it, we munnot knock under To th' freawn o' misfortin to soon; Though Robin looks fearfully gloomy, An' Jamie keeps starin' at th' greawnd, An' thinkin' o'th table 'at's empty, An' th' little things yammerin' reawnd.

Iv a mon be both honest an' willin', An' never a stroke to be had, An' clemmin' for want ov a shillin',-- It's likely to make him feel sad; It troubles his heart to keep seein' His little brids feedin' o'th air; An' it feels very hard to be deein', An' never a mortal to care.

But life's sich a quare bit o' travel,-- A warlock wi' sun an' wi' shade,-- An' then, on a bowster o' gravel, They lay'n us i' bed wi' a spade; It's no use o' peawtin' an' fratchin'; As th' whirligig's twirlin' areawn'd, Have at it again; an' keep scratehin', As lung as your yed's upo' greawnd.

Iv one could but feel i'th inside on't, There's trouble i' every heart; An' thoose that'n th' biggest o'th pride on't, Oft leeten o'th keenest o'th smart. Whatever may chance to come to us, Let's patiently hondle er share,-- For there's mony a fine suit o' clooas That covers a murderin' care.

There's danger i' every station, I'th palace, as weel as i'th cot; There's hanker i' every condition, An' canker i' every lot; There's folk that are weary o' livin', That never fear't hunger nor cowd; An' there's mony a miserly crayter 'At's deed ov a surfeit o' gowd.

One feels, neaw 'at times are so nippin', A mon's at a troublesome schoo', That slaves like a horse for a livin', An, flings it away like a foo; But, as pleasur's sometimes a misfortin, An' trouble sometimes a good thing,-- Though we liv'n o'th floor, same as layrocks, We'n go up, like layrocks, to sing.

THE END

JOHN HEYWOOD, PRINTER, MANCHESTER.

WAUGH'S POEMS AND LANCASHIRE SONGS. 5s.

CONTENTS.

POEMS.

The Moorland Flower--To the Rose-Tree on my Window Sill--Keen Blows the North Wind--Now Summer's Sunlight Glowing--The Moorland Witch-- The Church Clock--God Bless Thee, Old England--All on a Rosy Morn of June--Glad Welcome to Morn's Dewy Hours--Alas, how Hard it is to Smile--Ye Gallant Men of England--Here's to my Native Land--What Makes your Leaves Fall Down--Oh, had she been a Lowly Maid--The Old Bard's Welcome Home--Oh, Come Across the Fields--Oh, Weave a Garland for my Brow--The Wanderer's Hymn--Alone upon the Flowery Plain-- Life's Twilight--Time is Flying--The Moorlands--The Captain's Friends--The World--To a Married Lady--Cultivate your Men--Old Man's Song--Bide on--Christmas Song--Love and Gold--When Drowsy Daylight-- Mary--To the Spring Wind--Nightfall--To a Young Lady--Poor Travellers all--The Dying Rose--Lines--The Man of the Time-- Christmas Morning.

SONGS IN THE DIALECT.

Come Whoam to thi Childer an' Me--What ails Thee, my Son Robin--God Bless these Poor Folk--Come, Mary, Link thi Arm i Mine--Chirrup -- The Dule's i' this Bonnet o' Mine--Tickle Times--Jamie's Frolic--Owd Pinder--Come, Jamie, let's Undo thi Shoon--The Goblin Parson--While Takin' a Wift o' my Pipe--God Bless thi Silver Yure--Margit's Coming.

WAUGH'S LANCASHIRE SONGS.

Cloth, neat, 1s.

CONTENTS.

Come Whoam to thi Childer an' Me--What ails Thee, my Son Robin--God Bless these Poor Folk--Come, Mary, Link thi Arm i' Mine--The Dule's i' this Bonnet o' Mine--Come, Jamie, let's Undo thi Shoon--Aw've Worn my Bits o' Shoon Away--Chirrup--Bonny Nan--Tum Rindle--Tickle Times--Jamie's Frolic--Owd Pinder--The Goblin Parson--While Takin' a Wift o' my Pipe--Yesterneet--God Bless thi Silver Yure--Margit's Coming--Eawr Folk--Th' Sweetheart Gate--Gentle Jone--Neet Fo'--A Lift on th' Way.

WAUGH'S LANCASHIRE SONGS.

In sheets, 1d. each.

CONTENTS.

Come Whoam to thi Childer an' Me--What ails Thee, my Son Robin--God Bless these Poor Folk--Come, Mary, Link thi Arm i' Mine--The Dule's i' this Bonnet o' Mine--Come, Jamie, let's Undo Thi Shoon--While Takin' a Wift o' my Pipe--God Bless thi Silver Yure--Aw've Worn my Bits o' Shoon Away --Yesterneet--Owd Enoch--Chirrup --Tickle Times-- Jamie's Frolic--Owd Pinder--Th' Goblin Parson--Margit's Coming--Eawr Folk--Th' Sweetheart Gate--Gentle Jone--Neet Fo'--Bonnie Nan--A Lift on th' Way--Tum Rindle--Buckle to.

WAUGH'S. The Birtle Carter's Tale about Owd Bodle. 3d. WAUGH'S. The Goblin's Grave. 3d. WAUGH'S. Chapel Island: An Adventure on the Ulverstone Sands. 1d. WAUGH'S. Norbreck: A Sketch on the Lancashire Coast. 1d. WAUGH'S. Birth-Place of Tim Bobbin. 6d. WAUGH'S. Rambles in the Lake Country and its Borders. Cloth, neat. 2s. 6d. WAUGH'S. Sketches of Lancashire Life and Localities. 1s. WAUGH'S. Fourteen Days in Scotland. 1s. WAUGH'S. Wandering Minstrels; or, Wails of the Workless Poor. 1d. WAUGH'S. The Barrel Organ. With Illustrations. 3d. WAUGH'S. Tattlin Matty. 3d. WAUGH'S. The Dead Man's Dinner. 3d. WAUGH'S. Over Sands to the Lakes. 6d. WAUGH'S. Sea-Side Lakes and Mountains of Cumberland. 6d. WAUGH'S. Home-Life of the Lancashire Factory Folk during the Cotton Famine. 3s. 6d. WAUGH'S. Tufts of Heather from the Northern Moors. 5s.

Footnotes:

{1} These stanzas are extracted, by permission, from the second volume of "Lancashire Lyrics," edited by John Harland, Esq., F.S.A. "They were written by a lady in aid of the Relief Fund. They were printed on a card, and sold, principally at the railway stations. Their sale there, and elsewhere, is known to have realised the sum of 160 pounds. Their authoress is the wife of Mr Serjeant Bellasis, and the only daughter of the late William Garnett, Esq. of Quernmore Park and Bleasdale, Lancashire."--Notes in "Lancashire Lyrics."

{2} From "Lancashire Lyrics," edited by John Harland, Esq., F.S.A.

{3} Dole; relief from charity.

{4} "During what has been well named 'The Cotton Famine,' amongst the imports of cotton from India, perhaps the worst was that denominated 'Surat,' from the city of that name in the province of Guzerat, a great cotton district. Short in staple, and often rotten, bad in quality, and dirty in condition, (the result too often of dishonest packers,) it was found to be exceedingly difficult to work up; and from its various defects, it involved considerable deductions, or 'batings,' for bad work, from the spinners' and weavers' wages. This naturally led to a general dislike of the Surat cotton, and to the application of the word 'Surat' to designate any inferior article. One action was tried at the assizes, the offence being the applying to the beverage of a particular brewer the term of 'Surat beer.' Besides the song given above, several others were written on the subject. One called 'Surat Warps,' and said to be the production of a Rossendale rhymester, (T. N., of Bacup,) appeared in Notes and Queries of June 3, 1865, (third series, vol. vii., p. 432,) and is there stated to be a great favourite amongst the old 'Deyghn Layrocks,' (Anglice, the 'Larks of Dean,' in the forest of Rossendale,) 'who sing it to one of the easy-going psalm-tunes with much gusto.' One verse runs thus:-

" 'I look at th' yealds, and there they stick; I ne'er seen the like sin' I wur wick! What pity could befall a heart, To think about these hard-sized warps!'

Another song, called 'The Surat Weyver,' was written by William Billington of Blackburn. It is in the form of a lament by a body of Lancashire weavers, who declare that they had

" 'Borne what mortal man could bear, Affoore they'd weave Surat.'

But they had been compelled to weave it, though

" 'Stransportashun's not as ill As weyvin rotten Su'.'

The song concludes with the emphatic execration, " 'To hell wi' o' Surat!'"

--Note in "Lancashire Lyrics," vol. ii., edited by John Harland, Esq., F.S.A.

{5} These beautiful lines, by the veteran Samuel Bamford, of Harperhey, near Manchester, author of "Passages in the Life of a Radical," &c., are copied from the new and complete edition of his poems, entitled "Homely Rhymes, Poems, and Reminiscences," published by Alexander Ireland & Co., Examiner and Times Office, Pall Mall, Manchester. Price 3s. 6d., with a portrait of the author.