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with production, and, production being consequently diminished, employment was withdrawn from the labour-market in the same proportion. But employment to the operative is identical with food, clothing, and all the means of existence. “All trade,” said he, "is but barter, and money is only the common measure by which we are able to compare the value of articles to be exchanged." A disciple of yours could not be ignorant of this truth, but the form in which it was stated gave the aphorism a force and point which had all the effect of novelty. The same gentleman dwelt very strongly on the moral results of the crisis, which he described as far more alarming than its physical consequences; marriages had nearly ceased, while young persons, from having no work, were thrown together in dangerous circumstances, their passions stimulated by anger and their powers of restraint destroyed by desperation. venge, "the wild justice of the hopeless," was preached by itinerant incendiaries; but while "the shadow of a chance" remained he did not believe that the people would have recourse to violence. "If, however," he continued, "they once get it into their heads that no remedy is to be expected, there will be no safety in Burnley for any man with a decent coat to his back." From the conversations which I subsequently had with several of the unemployed operatives in this district, I am firmly persuaded that my informant did not exaggerate. The people in this part of Lan

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cashire are a rough, obstinate, and self-willed race, just the class of men that would be described in cant phrase as "ugly customers." They have given some very unpleasant proofs of their determination to have their own way in their opposition to the introduction of the police: they have more than once formed plans for provoking a contest with that force, and it was only by the exercise of the most extraordinary forbearance on the part of the police that fatal consequences were averted. But they are still a noble race of men though now suffering the most severe privations, the roads are as safe as in the most prosperous times, and I had no reason to fear insult or injury when I returned, at a very late hour, over a lonesome mountain-road to Sunnyside.

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Ar every step of my journey I find the truth of what I was told in Manchester, that the great wish of the manufacturers is to have their case thoroughly investigated and honestly made known. Every one to whom I have applied has exerted himself to facilitate my inquiries; a gig and servant were placed at my disposal by the hospitable proprietor of Sunnyside, and, thus provided, I started early this morning for Colne. On my road I was stopped by a group of seven operatives, who stated their distress in firm but respectful terms, and asked for relief. One of the men particularly struck my attention; he was the living skeleton of a giant. His tale was soon told: he had been a weaver of mousselines-de-laine, and in prosperous times had earned from thirty to forty shillings per week; he had a wife and four children dependent on his exertions, and he had long maintained them in decency and comfort; work began to grow slack, he hoped that times would mend, and was unwilling that his family should lose the comforts to which they had been accustomed; he drew the little

fund he had placed in the savings-bank; it was soon exhausted, and work was slacker than ever. He began to retrench, and to sell part of his furniture. He told how each article was resigned with bitter regret, and how hope of retrieving his affairs gradually faded. Before last Christmas everything had disappeared, including the Sunday dresses of himself, his wife, and children. Since that time he had been for seventeen weeks without work of any kind, and had been principally supported by the charity of neighbours little better off than himself. When I offered him a shilling he refused to receive it until I had given him my name and address, that he might repay it if ever an opportunity offered.

I was afterwards informed that some of these groups did not exhibit the same moderation which I had experienced. A gentleman who was stopped by a similar party near Burnley tendered five shillings, which was rejected, and he deemed it prudent to give a sovereign, in order that he might be permitted to pass. Having taken some pains to investigate the truth of this anecdote to no purpose, I can only say that it is inconsistent with everything which I met in the whole course of my inquiries.

Our road to Colne lay through the ancient Chase or Forest of Pendle, once the chosen abode of the witches, warlocks, and demoniacs, who in the reign of Elizabeth filled the whole North of England with alarm, and almost persuaded people that Satan had

seized upon the duchy palatine of Lancaster as his proper heritage, and installed himself heir-general of the Plantagenets. It is curious to see what admirable taste witches and monks have displayed in selecting their localities: it is scarcely possible to find a spot remarkable for its natural scenery, whether beautiful, picturesque, or romantic, without lighting on the ruins of an abbey or the story of a witch.* To the right of our road was the high range of hills separating Yorkshire from Lancashire, called by the peasants in the neighbourhood" the Backbone of England." Pendle Hill towered far above the rest: I regretted that time did not permit me to undertake its ascent, for I was assured that from its summit I could see both the eastern and western seas of England. Still more do I regret my ignorance of geology, and that Sir Henry de la Beche failed to convince me that "breaking stones upon the road' was a very delightful employment: even to an inexperienced eye it was evident that the strata of the hills we passed presented much that would have been curious and interesting to the man of science.

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In compliance with some strong recommendations I had received, I diverged from the road to visit

*This taste appears to have been shown by the oldest witch recorded in history, the witch who at the behest of Saul evoked the shade of the prophet Samuel. The picturesque name of her dwelling, En-dor, which signifies "the perpetual fountain," suggests those images of natural beauty which have been always most highly appreciated by Oriental nations.

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