main streets swarm with people who have hardly a whole nail left to
scratch themselves with.

Before attempting to tell something of what I saw whilst wandering
amongst the poor operatives of Preston, I will say at once, that I
do not intend to meddle with statistics. They have been carefully
gathered, and often given elsewhere, and there is no need for me to
repeat them. But, apart from these, the theme is endless, and full
of painful interest. I hear on all hands that there is hardly any
town in Lancashire suffering so much as Preston. The reason why the
stroke has fallen so heavily here, lies in the nature of the trade.
In the first place, Preston is almost purely a cotton town. There
are two or three flax mills, and two or three ironworks, of no great
extent; but, upon the whole, there is hardly any variety of
employment there to lighten the disaster which has befallen its one
absorbing occupation. There is comparatively little weaving in
Preston; it is a town mostly engaged in spinning. The cotton used
there is nearly all what is called "Middling American," the very
kind which is now most scarce and dear. The yarns of Preston are
known by the name of "Blackburn Counts." They range from 28's up to
60's, and they enter largely into the manufacture of goods for the
India market. These things partly explain why Preston is more deeply
overshadowed by the particular gloom of the times than many other
places in Lancashire. About half-past nine on Tuesday morning last,
I set out with an old acquaintance to call upon a certain member of
the Relief Committee, in George's Ward. He is the manager of a
cotton mill in that quarter, and he is well known and much respected
among the working people. When we entered the mill-yard, all was
quiet there, and the factory was still and silent. But through the
office window we could see the man we wanted. He was accompanied by