The Cotton Factory Times. — 1895-05-17 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

DAUGHTER OF THE FACTORY.  BY C. ALLEN CLARKE,  Anthor of "The Knobstick," " Tales of a Deserted village," The Little Weaver," de  CHAPTER XLlV—(Continued).  If Rose had been aware of her own ancestry she would have known where her own saving strength csrne from; as it was, she knew that as the factory life had oppressed and tortured her, so did it oppress and torture, but with fiercer malignity, those who were not of her robust type materially, morally, nd physically. She could keep on her feet, but those abets, being weaker, fell and were trampled on mercilessly. And this," said Rose to Miss Marford, "is why the present state of things breeds sottish vagabonds on the one hand and frenzied agitators on the other." While Miss Marford and Rose were talking, and, who had been after a job in Slagbourne, but unsuccessfrilly, came in, and got his tea. As he ate lie listened to the tales of factory life told by Miss Warlord; tales of all sorts of cruelty and oppression, of overseers' 'Jollying and men's and women's cowardice. Miss Marford narrated how a young girl, for some small fault, was seized by the hair of the head by the "boss" and dragged about the weaving shed; yet, nothing was done to this man; and then told of several suicides, one being the case of a man who was discharged, after thirty-five years' faithful service, because he was getting too old! " It's a greit pity," said Jud, "that men can't be shot when they're used up, same as hosses." "Well, I really think that would be the kindest thing," said Rose. "Our rulers would probably do it if they dared," said Miss Marford. "Personally, I would rather be shot, I think, than drag on a starving existence for years. And I would certainly sooner die than live the life of many women-workers. I sometimes wish that I could put a little more pluck or devil into the women of the north. There is much fine writing in aristocratic novels and magazines about man's chivalry to woman; but there is no chivalry in business; it is all s. d. Woman is cheaper than man, and so the manufacturers use her harshly and heavily. And I'm sorry to say she is craven too; only a few months ago I was told of some young women, not members of the trade union, saying, when some talk of protesting against a certain injustice was a-mouth, Oh, let them lasses as in th union go an face t' master; we can share in th' spoil when they've done th' work !" " l'm afraid as there's a lot o' men works on that plan, as vveel as women," said Aid. "There's few game enough to feight ; but everybody's willin to reap th' benefit when somebody else has done th' "It's mournful," said Miss Marford. "The main condition of the masses is hopeless stolid indifference. They are hopeless, but they do not know it; they are indifferent, but they do not know it; they are ignorant, but they do not know it." "Not sense to know they're without sense," observed Jed. Miss Marford smiled. "All the soul is crushed down in them," she went on. "They work on and on without any goal in sight; they are content if they see to-day's bread sure. They have no aim hnt dust, no end but the grave. They have sunk so far that they are hardly human enough to be discontented; for contentment is only an attribute of stones." Howd on, Miss Marford," said Jed, "an don't talk so fast. Let's have truth before aentirnent. There's at least two sides to everythin, and there's insides as well as outsides." "Yes, Mr. Hilton; I know it. I know that there are merrymakings and holidays even for the working classes; but there is always the horrible background of hideous monotony. Fancy an operatic company singing songs of love and joy on a stage filled with machinery instead of trees and flowers, with a great fly-wheel as the centre piece of the scenery." "But there's flowers and bloom in the working class life." . " A little, may be, in the front, but the dull background with its smoke and steam and chemical stenches and smells of grease and oil is the main thing, and is always there." "There's bits of heaven dropt everywhere, Miss Marford. Yo can always find a few flowers an have 'em in yore window. If yo can't afford garden plants, why yo can go out an find some wild heaMiee. an glories; they're quite as sweet as t'  , others, for ad's as good a gardener as I know on; an why not, mein that he made th first garden that ever was made—a garden which no human hand has ever been able to imitate. Ay, where there's flowers an green things, there's also growin them . . .  other invieible flowers"o; t' human heart—love one  to another, kindness to neighbours, help for t' weak, faith in life an death, sympathy for t' fallen an afflicted, an charity o' deed an thought an word for everybody an everythin—them's always in bloom where there's flowers. An just as bricks an pavements drive away th' visible flowers, so they kill th' invisible flowers o' th' human heart."  My dear Mr. Hilton," cried Miss Marford, with a laugh, "I thank you. You are arguing most eloquently for my side. That's just what I want— more flowers and grass. " I'm argnin for nobody but mysel," said Jnd, "an I meean for t' say t' bulk o' t' workin classes is fairly well off, an their homes are bright an comfortable an sweet. Hark! there's t' newschap wi' his bell. Ding dong, ding dong. What's he shoutin ? It were Rafe Fletcher's trial to-day." They listened, and heard the voice in the street crying, "The Slagbourne murder. Trial of Rafe Fletcher. Prisoner sentenced to death."  'God help Cecily 1" amid Rose. God help us aw I" said Jut.