Thou'lt not spare 'em, John; I hope. Tell 'em our minds; how we're thinking we'n been clemmed long enough, and we donnot see whatten good they'n been doing, if they can't give us what we're all crying for sin' the day we were born." "Aye, aye! I'll tell 'em that, and much more to it, when it gets to my turn; but thou knows there's many will have their word afore me." "Well, thou'lt speak at last. Bless thee, lad, do ask 'em to make th' masters to break th' machines. There's never been good times sin' spinning-jennies came up." "Machines is th' ruin of poor folk," chimed in several voices. "For my part," said a shivering, half-clad man, who crept near the fire, as if ague-stricken, " I would like thee to tell 'em to pass th' short-hours' bill. Flesh and blood gets wearied wi' so much work; why should factory hands work so much longer nor other trades? Just ask 'em that, Barton, will ye?" Barton was saved the necessity of answering, by the entrance of Mrs Davenport, the poor widow he had been so kind to; she looked half-fed, and eager, but was decently clad. In her hand she brought a little newspaper parcel, which she took to Mary, who opened it, and then called out, dangling a shirt collar from her soapy fingers: "See father, what a dandy you'll be in London! Mrs Davenport has brought you this made new cut all after the fashion.--Thank you for thinking on him." "Eh, Mary!" said Mrs Davenport, in a low voice, "whatten's all I can do, to what he's done for me and mine? But, Mary, sure I can help ye, for you'll be busy wi' this journey." "Just help me wring these out, and then I'll take em to th' mangle." So Mrs Davenport became a listener to the conversation; and after a while joined in. "I'm sure, John Barton, if yo are taking messages to the Parliament folk, yo'll not object to telling 'em what a sore trial it is, this law o' theirs, keeping childer fra' factory work, whether they be weakly or strong. There's our Ben; why, porridge seems to go no way wi' him, he eats so much; and I han gotten no money to send him t' school, as I would like; and there he is, rampaging about the streets a' day, getting hungrier and hungrier, and picking up a' manner o' bad ways; and th' inspector won't let him in to work in th' factory, because he's not right age; though he's twice as strong as Sankey's little ritling of a lad, as works till he cries for his legs aching so, though he is right age, and better." "I've one plan I wish to tell John Barton," said a pompous, careful-speaking man, " and I should like him for to lay it afore the Honourable House.
My mother comed out o' Oxfordshire, and were under-laundry-maid in Sir Francis Dashwood's family; and when we were little ones, she'd tell us stories of their grandeur: and one thing she named were, that Sir Francis wore two shirts a day. Now he were all as one as a Parliament man; and many on 'em, I han no doubt, are like extravagant. Just tell 'em, John,do, that they'd be doing the Lancashire weavers a great kindness, if they'd ha' their shirts a' made o' calico; 'twould make trade brisk, that would, wi' the power o' shirts they wear." Job Legh now put in his word. Taking the pipe out of his mouth, and addressing the last speaker, he said: "I'll tell ye what, Bill, and no offence, mind ye; there's but hundreds of them Parliament folk as wear so many shirts to their back; but there's thousands and thousands o' poor weavers as han only gotten one shirt i' the world; aye, and don't know where t' get another when that rag's done, though they're turning out miles o' calico every day; and many a mile o't is lying in warehouses, stopping up trade for want o' purchasers. Ye take my advice, John Barton, and ask Parliament to set trade free, so as workmen can earn a decent wage, and buy their two, aye and three, shirts a-year; that would make weaving brisk." He put his pipe in his mouth again, and redoubled his puffing, to make up for lost time. "I'm afeard, neighbours," said John Barton, "I've not much chance o' telling 'em all yo say; what I think on, is just speaking out about the distress that they say is nought. When they hear o' children born on wet flags, without a rag t' cover 'em or a bit o' food for th' mother; when they bear of folk lying down to die i' th' streets, or hiding their want i' some hole o' a cellar till death come to set 'em free; and when they hear o' all this plague, pestilence, and famine, they'll surely do somewhat wiser for us than we can guess at now. Howe'er, I han no objection, if so be there's an opening, to speak up for what yo say; anyhow, I'll do my best, and yo see now, if better times don't come after Parliament knows all." Some shook their heads, but more looked cheery: and then one by one dropped off, leaving John and his daughter alone. "Didst thou mark bow poorly Jane Wilson looked?" asked he, as they wound up their hard day's work by a supper eaten over the fire, which glowed and glimmered through the room, and formed their only light. "No, I can't say as I did. But she's never rightly held up her head since the twins died; and all along she has never been a strong woman. "Never sin' her accident. Afore that I mind her looking as fresh and likely a girl as e'er a one in Manchester." "What accident, father?" "She cotched her side again a wheel. It were afore wheels were boxed up.