The Cotton Factory Times. — 1893-08-25 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

CFIAPTER XVIII.—(CoNTIstrED).  Then the riot began. How it started no one could tell exactly. Like a long-smouldering fire, it broke out all at once. A volley of broken bricks, stonea, pieces of iron, and anything else available, was hurled at the police. Paving-stones were torn up out of the street. The police charged the everswelling crowd with their bludgeons, and struck out recklessly and mercilessly. Some half-a-dozen men with split skulls lay groaning on the ground, and were trampled on by heedless feet; while the alarming news ran through the town that there was a riot at Puddle's works, and reinforcements of police galloped up swiftly. Against this force the mob could not stand, and gave way. Organisation and authority proved superior to brute strength and disorganised attack, and the raging throng was slowly but effectually quelled. Belton and Pat, who had not been separated in the strife, were in the front rank of the stormy mass of people as it was driven backwards and broken up. Unhappily, by some means or other— probably drawn lax curiosity—there were children mixed in the crowd, and the police striking at random, and never looking where they hit, wounded some of them. There was one little girl right in front of the crowd, and almost under the hoofs of the horse of an advancing polioeman, but she could get neither backward nor forward; there was no esoape in any direction, and the child was confused and did not know what to do. "My God!" shouted Pat, there's my little Moral" Just then, that particular section of the crowd in which the girl was, making a spaemodic reaction, rushed forward, and the police charged savagely amongst them, bludgeoning right and left vigorously. There rose the loud shriek of a child, and the girl Nora reeled with a horrible gash in her forehead, her skull being split open, and she dropped to the ground, bleeding copiously, stunned, if not really dead. Pat saw the blow, saw the child fall. With the strength of a madman he forced his way to her. "My God my God 1" he shrieked, "she's dead 1' and leaping up, he sprang with the tremendous bound of a wild beast at the policeman who had streak her, and dragged him from his horse headlong, gripping him by the throat, and would have strangled him, but that three of his comrades rushed to his assistance. The awf illness of this sudden tragedy stopped the rioting in this part of the street in an instant, and a horror-eyed crowd stood speechless and motionless round the dying child, who, though unconscious, was moaning piteously. Belton picked the body up while Pat struggled in the grasp of the police, who mauled him viciously. " Whore's her home?" Belton asked, with tears  streaming down his face. Some women led the way into a narrow court off the street. What followed is almost indescribable, and Belton only remembered it afterwards as a sort of horrible dream. One of the women opened tile door—he entered the meanly-furnished house with his bleeding burden—a thin, pale woman rose and starei at him—then saw the murdered child in his arms—shrieked, and fell—five other children in the house immediately began screaming and weeping— Belton laid the child on an old, ragged conch— then came a sound of commotion at the door—and in rushed the father, haggard, hatless, coatless, with torn hands and scratched face—he knelt by the dying child and sobbed aloud—then, "Oh, God! God I My little Nora! My little Nora! The curse of God on the hand that struck you! My God, what shall I do? Nora! Nora! Speak, little one I Speak, inavoarneen ! Look at me, Nora, for God's sake, Bore; my baby, my baby darlin' I Speak to me, say ' Daddy I' Just one look! Oh, my God! Oh, Father in heaven, 1 she's not dead! not dead! Not dead for evermore! Oh, God, no! No! no!" and his head fell on the punch and be °Wood the plaiLl's Wads, luxd kissed