Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/affectionatepleaOOshaw 
 
AN 
 
 
 AFFECTION ATE PLEADING 
 
 FOR 
 
 ENGLAND’S 
 
 OPPRESSED FEMALE WORKERS: 
 
 RESPECTFULLY ADDRESSEE TO 
 
 MY QUEEN; 
 
 (“ The king that faithfully judgeth the poor, his throne shall be established for ever.”— 
 Prov. xxix., 14;) 
 
 THE GOVERNMENT; 
 
 (Governors are sent by God “ for the punishment of evildoers, and for the praise of them 
 that do well.”—1 Pet. ii., 14;) 
 
 THE ARISTOCRACY, THE CLERGY, AND THE 
 CONSUMING CLASSES IN GENERAL. 
 
 I say not to the Public, for the Public is an ill-favoured phantom which is 
 made accountable for all sort of iniquity. I have often been told the Public 
 will not be satisfied unless we do this: thus men commit all manner of 
 enormity for fear of this phantasm—the Public. Seek to please God, and you 
 will have the praise of all good men ; and what is better, His blessing upon all 
 your proceedings. 
 
 ** Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do you even so to them.”— Matt, vii., 12. 
 
 “They that be slain with the sword are better than they that be slaiu with hunger: for 
 these pine away, stricken through for want of the fruits of the field.”— Lam. Jer. iv., 9. 
 
 “ Want is the sickness which kills most surely, and kills in the most cruel manner—slowly 
 and hopelessly.” 
 
 “ Thou slialt not kill.”— Ex. xx., 13. 
 
 “ All the slaughter committed by oppressions, on any pretence whatever, is wilful, cruel 
 murder.”—Commentary by Scott. 
 
 “ Masters, give unto your servants (not the lowest price you can get your work done for 
 but) that which is just and equal; knowing that ye also have a Master in heaven.”— Col. iv., 1. 
 
 “ And I will come near to you to judgment; I will be a swift witness against those that oppress 
 the hireling in his wages, the widow, and the fatherless, and that turn aside the stranger from 
 his right, and fear not me, saith the Lord of Hosts.”— Mai. iii., 5. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 W. CLOWES AND SONS, 14, CHARING CROSS. 
 
 1850. 
 
3 Si'. 4 
 Vh i8a 
 
BRITANNIA’S THANKSGIVING DAY DREAM. 
 
 •* 
 
 
 I. 
 
 fed 
 
 1? 
 
 t-3 
 
 f 
 
 (From Punch.) 
 
 An awful Plague went through the land : it thinn’d the close-pent town, 
 Swept the scant hamlet, crossed the stream, and clomb the breezy down ; 
 Unseen it breathed, till poison seethed in the sweet summer air ; 
 
 Before its face was terror, upon its track despair. 
 
 For three sad months Britannia mourned her children night and day, 
 
 For three sad months she strove in vain the pestilence to stay : 
 
 Medicine, helpless, groped and guessed, and tried all arts to save, 
 
 But the dead carried with them their secret to the grave. 
 
 Sudden the dark hand ceased to smite : Britannia drew free breath, 
 
 As passed away the shadow of the minister of Death: 
 
 And upon all her children a solemn charge she laid, 
 
 That high and low should bow them down, because the plague was staid. 
 Then in the night that followed on that thanksgiving day, 
 
 Britannia saw a vision, as on her bed she lay : 
 
 Of a great region stretched about, a crowded careful land, 
 
 Wherein men plied all labours, of head, and heart, and hand. 
 
 In it a city, high o’er which a golden temple shone, 
 
 Wherein the great god Mammon was sitting on a throne, 
 
 While millions round about his feet, men, women, old and young, 
 
 Offering their hearts in homage, with various tone and tongue. 
 
 Ill matched that city’s dwellings ; low hovel, palace high ; 
 
 Saloons with stately pageants, huts where wretches slunk to die ; 
 Well-ordered streets, with tracts hard by wherein the labouring breath 
 Inhaled the subtle poison that makes life a lingering death. 
 
 There for aught save Mammon-worship there were few hearts to care, 
 
 For aught but Mammon-service there were but few hands to spare ; 
 
 Still the pale slaves grew paler, the task-masters more stern, 
 
 Few there of wise had time to love, of ignorant to learn. 
 
 Death sat at the gaunt weaver’s side, the while he plied the loom; 
 
 Death turn’d the wasting grinder’s wheel, as he earn’d his bread and doom ; 
 Death, by the wan shirtmaker, plied the fingers to the bone ; 
 
 Death rocked the infant’s cradle, and with opium hushed its moan. 
 
 Nor in the City only did the Spectre hold his place ; 
 
 In the village and the hamlet, too, he showed his constant face : 
 
 In the foul sty where sire and son, mother and maiden slept, 
 
 Where the infant round its playground, the dunghill, crowed and crept. 
 
4 
 
 At bed and board, in cup and can, in worktime and in play, 
 
 In the street as in the dwelling, in the night as in the day, 
 
 Sat Death in Life, a presence that none did seem to note, 
 
 Until the grim Guest sudden rose and bared his arm and smote. 
 
 Then was weeping in the hovel, and wailing in the hall, 
 
 And over all the land was fear, stretched like a funeral pall; 
 
 And even Mammon’s vot’ries paused in their absorbing prayer, 
 
 And looked up from their worship, with a daunted, doubting air. 
 
 And turning in their trouble unto their God and Lord, 
 
 They saw Death sit on Mammon’s throne—’twas Death that they adored. 
 His bare jaws set in scornful smile, the Sceptre from his shroud 
 Stretched forth his fleshless arm across the pale and palsied crowd. 
 
 “ Your day of thanks,” it said, “ is come, your day of thanks is o’er; 
 Millions to-day have prayed their prayer, that never prayed before. 
 
 What reck I of your thankfulness, ye fools, or of your prayer ? 
 
 One plague hath passed from out your homes, how many still are there ? 
 
 “ What can one day of prayer avail, if from the church ye go 
 To your homes unswept, ungarnished, to your world of wealth and wo ? 
 Pray as you will, my stronghold’s still in every ditch and drain; 
 
 Though now my servants hide their heads, they will come forth again. 
 
 “ Why shrink from Death, ye that build up his seat in every home ? 
 
 How be thankful at his going, ye that ever bid him come ? 
 
 What wonder he makes revel, when still ye spread his board ? 
 
 Need he be chary of his plagues when still ye feed his hoard ? 
 
 “ I am a giant. Would ye leam to nip me in my growth ? 
 
 Bring light of Heaven and rain of Heaven to those that pine for both; 
 Build homes for toil, where toil may live in decency and health; 
 
 Let ignorance and want have tithe of knowledge and of wealth. 
 
 “ Show that the bond of brotherhood that linketh man with man 
 Will no less bind, though never forged, since first the world began; 
 
 Unless that sinful selfishness, that ye so sore have rued, 
 
 And strive to find in common grief the seeds of common good.” 
 
THE 
 
 - OPPRESSED FEMALE WORKERS. 
 
 If after having, in the providence of God, been called upon 
 to preside over the meeting of the Female Slopworkers of the 
 Metropolis, (such a meeting as the annals of the whole world 
 do not furnish the like,) independent of the personal knowledge 
 I have before had of their cruelly oppressed state, I should 
 cease my endeavours to obtain protection for them, and after a 
 “ gush of pity,” to quote Mr. Sidney Herbert’s Letter, leave 
 them to “ the same dreary monotony of starvation,”—should I 
 not be like Richard Hooper and James Morrish, referred to in 
 the following extracts from The Times and Morning Chronicle 
 journals ? and might not these journals hold me up to the scorn 
 and loathing of my fellow-men ? But I trust that not the fear 
 of man, but the love of Christ, constraineth me to exert, seeking 
 God’s blessing, my feeble powers of remonstrance with their 
 oppressors, and to persuade that a better course should be 
 pursued towards them, and that the Government of the country 
 should do their duty in affording them protection. In doing 
 this, am I not also the friend of their oppressors ? for although 
 the laws of England, as now administered , may not touch them, 
 must they not all one day give an account of their iniquity, and 
 be answerable for the life-blood of their poor sisters at the 
 judgment-seat of Christ. And, finally, I beseech all to whom 
 these details may come, to consider well if they have any part 
 in causing the cruel oppression of their poor neighbours, as 
 detailed in the following pages, and in the letters generally 
 of the Special Correspondents of the Morning Chronicle . 
 
6 
 
 The Times of the 2nd February, 1850, commenting upon 
 the death of the poor girl Mary Ann Parsons, obtained as 
 a servant from the Bideford Union Poor-house, said :— 
 
 “ We will leave the two monsters concerned in the death of* this 
 poor creature to the judgment of their country. But there are two 
 persons who cannot be reached by the law, who appeared as witnesses 
 to testify to various acts of brutality which they had seen perpetrated 
 upon the girl, but who yet never moved a finger to save her, nor 
 attempted to procure her redress. We trust the opinion of their 
 neighbourhood will do justice on Richard Hooper , of Buckland 
 Brewer, and James Morrish , a shoemaker, the persons in question.” 
 
 From the “ Morning Chronicle” February 5, 1850. 
 
 “ We cannot leave the narrative without an indignant comment 
 on the evidence of two witnesses of this transaction. One—a man 
 of the name of Hooper —spoke of various acts of brutality which he 
 himself had witnessed, which ought instantly to have made him 
 apply to the magistrates for their protection towards this unfortunate 
 child. When he first saw her she was strong and well ; in a few 
 weeks she was bleeding, unable to stand upright, bruised, and 
 lacerated. According to his own statement, he had seen her mis¬ 
 tress flog her with a hazel-rod; he had seen her master flog her 
 with a furze stub, described as a strong stick about a foot long, 
 furnished with eighteen stout sharp leather thongs about two feet in 
 length—and he had not, apparently, raised his voice in common 
 mercy for her then, nor had his heart been stirred by a man’s 
 instinct of protection for her afterwards. His indifference, and 
 Sermon!s code of correctional discipline, are alike shameful and 
 disgusting; and the fact that such a being as the latter should have 
 found his way to a public office of responsibility and power,—power 
 over the destitute, the forlorn, the friendless, and the helpless, is a 
 foul stain on our social system itself. The law may be unable to 
 touch these men; but the shuddering soul of humanity loathes and 
 casts them forth.” 
 
 The cruel treatment and consequent death of the poor girl 
 referred to above, the non-interfering witnesses of which, 
 
7 
 
 though the law be unable to reach them, it is stated the 
 shuddering soul of humanity loathes and casts forth, was no 
 worse or so cruel as many of those suffering under the cruel 
 oppression of what the Editor of the Morning Chronicle has 
 called the Shylocks of the labour market; and surely the men, 
 whether Noblemen, or Physicians to the Queen, or whoever they 
 be, who encourage these Shylocks, are more guilty than the 
 mere idle spectators of the cruel chastisement inflicted on the 
 poor girl Mary Ann Parsons. 
 
 THE FEMALE SLOPWORKERS OF THE 
 METROPOLIS. 
 
 A meeting of poor Female Slopworkers was held on Monday even¬ 
 ing, December 3rd, in the British School Room, Shakspeare Walk, 
 Shadwell, which had been kindly lent by the proprietor of the 
 building. From 1,000 to 1,200 of these unfortunate creatures were 
 present, some clad in the habiliments of respectable poverty, but by 
 far the greater part necessarily appeared in clothing to which the 
 word “ rags” was literally applicable in its fullest meaning. 
 
 The meeting was called for seven o’clock, but the greater portion 
 of the females had assembled soon after six, and about the same hour 
 Lord Ashley and the Right Hon. Sidney Herbert entered the room. 
 We regret that, on account of our having had no knowledge of the 
 intention of these distinguished persons to attend—the meeting being 
 a private one, convened for purposes connected with our own investi¬ 
 gations into the condition of the labouring classes—our reporters 
 were not present in time to hear their observations. We understand 
 that they spoke to the following effect:— 
 
 Lord Ashley said he deeply sympathised with the persons 
 assembled, and not only he, but several of his friends, and he had 
 done so for many years past. He had given much attention to their 
 deplorable condition, and he had come to the conclusion that the 
 only remedy for their distress was emigration. In the various 
 Colonies it was found that there was a very large proportion of males 
 over females; and it was very curious that throughout England and 
 Wales there was the same excess of females over males. On Friday 
 evening last, before he had heard anything about this meeting, he 
 
8 
 
 had received a letter from an eminent lady, asking—Can nothing be 
 done to help the poor needlewomen to emigrate ? She added, that 
 she had lately sent out a few poor young women to Australia, and 
 she had since received a letter from one of them, saying, that 
 immediately on getting over she had obtained a situation at a salary 
 of £20 a year ; and further, it appeared, that by conducting herself 
 with becoming propriety, this young woman had been honorably 
 married, and was now doing remarkably well. He did think that 
 the Colonies opened a wide door for the distressed needlewomen, and 
 he would urge them to turn their attention to the question, and they 
 might rest assured that nothing should be wanting on his part to 
 further their views. But as his Right Honorable friend (Mr. Sidney 
 Herbert ) was anxious to say a few words—and they would be very 
 few, for they had a previous engagement to meet with the lady who 
 had sent him this letter, and a party of other friends, to see whether 
 anything could be done to organise a plan for the emigration of the 
 young needlewomen—they would excuse him from saying more than 
 they had his deepest sympathies, and that every plan for their benefit 
 should have his warmest support. 
 
 Mr. Sidney Herbert then addressed a few words to the meet¬ 
 ing. He could assure them of the deep sympathy that he had long 
 cherished for the poor, and especially for the poor needlewomen, 
 whose sufferings, as they had been detailed in the columns of the 
 Morning Chronicle , he deeply felt. But he wDuld not intrude 
 further upon their time, as he was aware that this meeting was one 
 entirely of a practical character, and he was very anxious that they 
 should proceed at once to detail their own sufferings and wrongs, 
 which he was sure would tend to deepen the impression that had 
 been created by the pathetic details of the Metropolitan Corre¬ 
 spondent of the Morning Chronicle , who had awakened a spirit in 
 the country which he trusted would not be laid asleep till it had 
 issued in the amelioration of the condition of the class of needle¬ 
 women now assembled. 
 
 Lord Ashley and Mr. Sidney Herbert, who were loudly cheered 
 in the course and at the conclusion of their remarks, then withdrew. 
 
 Mr. Shaw, army clothier, was then called upon to take the chair; 
 and on taking it he addressed the poor creatures in the following 
 words :—My poor friends, in asking you to meet here this evening, 
 it has not been from any mere motives of curiosity, but, I trust, on 
 
9 
 
 the part of those who have proposed and of all taking part with us 
 in this meeting, there exists an earnest determination, with God’s 
 help, to seek to obtain an amelioration of your oppressed condition ; 
 to enable us to do which, we require to obtain a faithful and true 
 account of your actual condition, consequent upon the low payment 
 you receive for your labour. As an humble individual, who has for 
 some years not only mourned over the grievous, cruel oppression of 
 so many of my poor fellow-subjects, by the starving prices paid for 
 female labour especially, but also used my best endeavours to obtain 
 the alleviation of it, and having in consequence made many enquiries 
 into their condition, I have been requested to preside here. It has 
 been with earnest prayer that God may direct me, and that he may 
 be present with us this evening by His Holy Spirit for Christ our 
 dear Redeemer’s sake, who, when on this earth, went about doing 
 good; and who has given his disciples this commandment, that we 
 love one another as he has loved us. And surely, for such a purpose 
 as we are met together this evening, we may expect His presence 
 amongst us; and may His blessing rest with those who have come 
 forward on your behalf, and that of the oppressed working people 
 throughout the country, and may they have wisdom for all their 
 further enquiries, and for their guidance in seeking a remedy for 
 this grievous national evil. 
 
 The object of the meeting being to ascertain the earnings of the 
 female hands engaged in the slop-trade; to hear some account of 
 their sufferings and privations through the low prices paid for their 
 labour; also to discover whether those low prices arise from com¬ 
 petition among the masters, or competition among the men; before 
 the business proceedings commenced, they were earnestly exhorted 
 to be careful in speaking nothing but the exact truth in any state¬ 
 ments they might make, and in any answers they might give to 
 questions put to them. 
 
 It has been stated that the meeting consisted of from 1,000 to 
 1,200 slopworkers. The aggregation of so considerable a number 
 rendered it obviously impossible for their condition to be described 
 individually ; it was therefore determined to ascertain it generally 
 by means of questions put by one person—with parties stationed at 
 different points in the room to ascertain the nature of the replies 
 with precision and accuracy. 
 
 The first class of questions related to the occupations of the parties 
 
10 
 
 and their numbers. It appeared that there were present 344 shirt 
 makers, 341 trowsers makers, 178 coat or blouse makers, 34 waist¬ 
 coat makers, 19 makers of sou’-westers, 33 makers of waterproof 
 coats, 23 stay makers, 24 umbrella and parasol makers, 83 makers 
 of soldiers’ pillows and beds, and 66 shoe binders. 
 
 The next series of questions had reference to their condition, or, 
 more correctly, to the amount of their physical comforts and 
 necessities. The first question of this class was, “ How many have 
 under-clothing ? ”—The mode in which this interrogation was 
 received, shewed that it was thoroughly understood. Three or four, 
 we could not say which, but certainly not more, held up their hands 
 in token of their possession of such requisites to female comfort 
 and decency. The next question was, “ How many have not a 
 complete dress?”—Nearly the whole meeting immediately signified 
 their destitute condition in this respect; and it further appeared that 
 508 had borrowed some article or other of clothing, in order to 
 appear at the meeting. In further illustration of their condition it 
 was ascertained that of those present 169 had been compelled to 
 pledge their work in order to obtain necessaries ; and that 297 
 worked for “ sweaters,” parties whose calling has been amply ex¬ 
 plained in the Letters upon the condition of the Metropolitan Poor. 
 u How much,” it was next asked, u do the sweaters obtain from you 
 out of every shilling ?”—The instant replies, from hundreds of voices, 
 were “ twopence” and “ fourpence,” which being repeated, a female 
 of considerable intelligence called out that the deduction averaged 
 u threepence.” Adverting to household comforts, it was ascertained, 
 in the next place, that only 58 were in the possession of blankets; 
 that 151 had no beds to lie on ; that 45 had been compelled to pawn 
 their beds to save themselves from starvation; and that the large 
 proportion of 180 had been reduced to the necessity of selling their 
 beds altogether. With respect to parochial assistance, it appeared 
 that in the last week 464 had asked for it, and that 236 had obtained 
 temporary relief. In 259 cases either temporary or permanent 
 assistance had been denied ; and it was stated that slopwork is taken 
 in at the workhouses of Bermondsey, Rotherhithe, Whitechapel, 
 and Shoreditch. 
 
 Another class of questions had reference to the treatment of the 
 si op workers by their masters or employers. It appeared that all, or 
 most of them, were expected to be at the shop for work at a certain 
 
11 
 
 hour; but that they had sometimes to wait for it for different periods, 
 varying from one hour to half a day. Three hundred and seventeen 
 females indicated that they had been ill from being wet, and having 
 taken cold when thus waiting; 73 had had work thrown upon their 
 hands for having “ slimmed” it; 127 had been compelled to pay 
 for buttons or parts of garments which they had never received ; 
 and 20 declared they had been obliged to pay a penny apiece for 
 buttons not worth a farthing. With reference to wages, 135 
 had been kept out of their earnings for one day, 148 for a week, 
 and 75 had submitted to fines for having taken in their work “too 
 late.” 
 
 It was next ascertained that 232 had been obliged by poverty to 
 leave their rooms or lodgings, unable to pay the rent. A great 
 proportion of those present were married, but among them were 294 
 widows. Of those married 70 had one child, 90 had two, 79 three, 
 60 four, 39 five, 33 six, and 34 above six ; and, shouted a pale-faced 
 elderly woman, “ Fve got ten.” 
 
 There were 61 widows with one child, 52 with two children, 46 
 with three, 37 with four, 12 with five, 19 with six, and 13 with 
 more than six children. There were 24 of these widows whose 
 husbands had died of cholera, 39 who had been compelled to ask the 
 parish to bury their husbands, 32 mothers (married women or widows) 
 who had lost children by cholera, and 28 out of the 32 had been com¬ 
 pelled to have their children buried at the expense of the parish. 
 
 Only 23 of the females present admitted that they lived with men 
 in an unmarried state, because they were unable to support them¬ 
 selves. That there were more who were withheld by shame from 
 confessing their condition may be fairly inferred from the fact, that 
 on the question being put, how many would marry these men if they 
 had the means ?—26 hands were held up. Thirteen of these un¬ 
 married women had children. 
 
 On the question being put—when bills appeared in the shop 
 windows, advertising “ 500 hands wanted,” or “ 1,000 hands 
 wanted”—whether, when they applied for the work thus offered, 
 the masters advanced the prices ?—there was a unanimous cry of 
 “ No, no, they lower them ! ” 
 
 On the question being asked—how many had earned 8s. last 
 week ?—not a hand was held up throughout the whole assembly. 
 7s. was next tried, but with a like result: five had earned, 6s., 
 
12 
 
 28 had earned 5s., 12 had earned 4s. 6d ., 142 had earned 3s., 
 150 had earned 2s. 6d, 71 had earned 2s., 82 had earned Is. 6d., 
 98 had earned only Is., and of this last class 88 stated they were 
 entirely dependent upon their own exertions for support; 92 females 
 had earned under Is., and 223 had had no work at all during the 
 whole of the week. 
 
 It was then stated that a woman in the meeting had had five 
 waistcoats which she had made returned upon her hands for defective 
 work; and it was asked whether any other waistcoat maker would 
 come forward and examine them. A young woman stepped forward, 
 and after examining one of the waistcoats, the material of which was 
 of striped silk, pointed out that the stripe of the pattern where the 
 pocket was cut did not exactly correspond with those on the other 
 $ part of the waistcoat; at the same time adding, that the cloth was 
 often so unevenly cut that it was impossible for the best workwoman 
 to make the patterns correspond. The woman who made the waist¬ 
 coats said she was paid 9 d. a piece for them, and found trimmings 
 besides. For the same waistcoat the Chairman declared the ordinary 
 price in the trade would be 6s. On being asked how long it would 
 take to make such a waistcoat as the one produced, the woman who 
 had examined it said it could not be done in less than seven hours. 
 She thought she could do it in that time. She called herself a good 
 hand, but not one of the best in the trade. 
 
 The following statement was read to the meeting:—“ Honored 
 gentlemen—I am an orphan girl, having worked for the last eight 
 years at the slop-work, and have not been able to get more than the 
 small amount of 3d. or 4 d. for garments—namely, trowsers, waist¬ 
 coats; shirts, 1 \d. ; and during that time have not been able to earn 
 more than 4s. a week, and out of that had to find thread to the 
 amount of 8 d., which would thus leave me—work, 4s.; twist, 
 thread, and silk, 8 d .; total, 3s. 4 d .; to enable me to keep myself, 
 after paying lodging, &c., 2s. 4 d. to subsist upon, being without 
 any parents to assist me. Having made six waistcoats, and after 
 making them at 4 d. each, when taken home they were thrown (on 
 account of pressing) upon my hands, for which I had to pay the 
 employer 15s., besides giving me in charge to a policeman.” 
 
 Another woman here came upon the platform, bringing with her 
 the frame of a sou’-wester, stitched through and across in all 
 directions, which had been returned upon her hands because the 
 
13 
 
 master said it was not sewn thick enough. For making these 
 sou-’westers she said she received 2\d. each, and could not make 
 more than two in a day, working from five o’clock in the morning 
 till ten or eleven at night. Out of this scanty pittance she had to 
 find thread, which she was obliged to buy at her employer’s shop, 
 and sometimes he gave her whitey-brown thread and black work ; 
 she was therefore obliged to buy black thread besides, and pay for 
 both. Last Saturday night, being detained herself, she sent her 
 work to the shop, when her master sent her back a pound of thread, 
 for which he charged 2s ., and no ivork. 
 
 Another woman stated that her husband had had only one month’s 
 work since last Christmas-eve, and that was seven months ago. Pie 
 had repeatedly applied for work, but being subject to fits he could 
 find no employment. He had, however, a pension of 7 d. a day, 
 which helped to pay the rent. She had six children entirely de¬ 
 pending upon her, with the exception of the pension. She worked 
 at shirt-making, for which she received 1 \d. and 2d. for full-breasted 
 ones, finding thread, which cost her 3 d. a week. Her earnings ran 
 from 2s. to 2s. 8 d .; she did not remember that she had ever 
 earned 3s. 
 
 Another woman stated that she had worked at slop-work for ten 
 years. About two years ago she had a fever, contracted by a cold 
 which she caught from insufficient clothes, and the consequence 
 was that one of her arms was crippled, which sadly interfered 
 with her work. She got *ld. for making a jacket—coats were 
 from 10 d. to Is., and in all cases she had to find thread and 
 twist. She could not finish one coat in a day. Her husband, who 
 is a cripple, and sells oysters at the corner of a street, only earned 
 Is. 9 d. last week. 
 
 Another woman stated that her husband died of cholera five 
 months ago, and that she had been left a widow with four children; 
 two of them were entirely dependent upon her earnings. She 
 worked at shirt-making as a second hand, and her earnings were 
 never more than 2s. 6d. a week, often only Is. 6d. She received 
 1 \d. and \\d. a piece for the shirts; and the best were 2</., and in 
 all cases she had to pay for the thread. 
 
 Another, an Irishwoman, said her husband died in July last, 
 leaving her a widow with three children. She and two of her sisters 
 worked at sack-making, and the week before last the three of them 
 
14 
 
 earned 4s. 6d. She had been obliged to pledge her bedstead and 
 sheets for the means of subsistence, and had nothing now to lie on 
 but some shavings. She had fallen behind in her rent too, and 
 had, in consequence, been “ noticed out” by her landlord. Except 
 Is. 6d. and three loaves she received from the parish for her children, 
 she had nothing to look to in the world. 
 
 A young Englishwoman, apparently in speedy prospect of be¬ 
 coming a mother, who resides in Palmer’s Folly, said her husband 
 had not earned a farthing for the last two months, and that being a 
 labourer, there was little hope of his obtaining any work until 
 spring. They had been married several years, and had four children, 
 not one of whom had shoes to wear. They were unable to buy 
 any, as all they had coming in was what little she could earn by 
 making duck and canvas trowsers. Last week she had been com¬ 
 pelled to pledge nine pair, and she feared her employer would come 
 upon her surety, unless she could redeem them. Hitherto she had 
 never troubled the parish, but this week would try them hard. 
 
 Several other females came forward, ready to state their several 
 tales of distress, but the time did not permit. 
 
 The last question put to them was, whether, in their opinion, the 
 masters pulled one another down, or whether the women went to 
 the masters and pulled down the prices? Nineteen-twentieths of the 
 women present laid the blame on the masters, but there were a few 
 who said that there were women who went to the masters and pro¬ 
 posed to work at a halfpenny less than the then existing prices. 
 
 It was now near ten o’clock, and as the meeting had been assem¬ 
 bled for nearly four hours, it was thought desirable to bring 
 the proceedings to a close. A very hearty vote of thanks was 
 given to the Chairman, after which the meeting retired in the 
 greatest order. 
 
 In the course of extensive personal enquiries made during the 
 proceedings, it was ascertained from their own lips that 811 persons 
 had pledged property, at their own valuation, to the amount of 
 £791. 8s., being in round numbers at the rate of £l per head. 
 The average earnings of the same number of persons was by the 
 same means ascertained to be 2s. 10 ^d. per week. It may fairly be 
 inferred that the remaining 400 persons had pledged property to an 
 equal amount. Hence we may conclude that the whole of the 
 slopworkers present at the meeting had goods in pledge to the 
 
15 
 
 amount of £1,200, for which they were paying £300 per annum 
 interest, and this by a body of people whose average earnings were 
 only 2s. 10 \d. per week. 
 
 The following is taken from the Letter of the Special Cor¬ 
 respondent of the Metropolitan Districts in the Morning 
 Chronicle of November 23rd, 1849 ;— 
 
 * * * * From the above it will be seen that, after paying their 
 rent, all these two workwomen had left to purchase food and 
 clothing was, throughout the year 1846, fourpence farthing each 
 per day; throughout the year 1847, threepence halfpenny; through¬ 
 out the year 1848, twopence halfpenny ; and throughout the present 
 year, twopence halfpenny also. To get this amount each, it should 
 be remembered that they had to work from eighteen to twenty hours 
 every day, including Sundays. In every year, they told me, there 
 are generally seven months, and at the very least six, that they 
 cannot pay rent, and during the other six months they have to work 
 night and day in order to clear off the back rent. They can’t go 
 into a better lodging, because they can’t get credit for the winter 
 months. The room is taken furnished. It is a small attic, seven 
 feet square, without any fire-place, and several panes are gone from 
 the windows. There is scarcely any furniture : only one chair. 
 The other party has to sit on the bed. They pay 2s. 6d. a week. 
 The first winter they came the landlady insisted on having her rent 
 every week, and that winter they were three months and never had 
 a bit of bread, not a crumb, to eat. They used to live on oatmeal 
 altogether. Frequently they had a pennyworth between them for 
 the whole day. After the first year the landlady, having had ex¬ 
 perience of their honesty, allowed them to go on credit during the 
 winter. In fact, they were obliged to allow their rent to go 12s. 6e/. 
 in arrear the first winter of all. But they paid it directly they had 
 work, and since then the landlady never troubles them during the 
 winter for the rent—never, indeed, asks for it. She is satisfied that 
 they will pay it directly they can. They are convinced that no one 
 else would do the same thing, for their landlady is very kind to 
 them, and allows them the occasional use of her fire. They never 
 go in debt for anything but their rent. If they haven’t got money 
 they go without—never run credit for anything to eat. If they 
 
16 
 
 have anything to pledge, they get their food that way ; and if they 
 are quite “ up,” and have nothing to pledge, why then,” said one 
 of the poor old creatures, smiling to me, “ we starve : yes, we’re 
 obliged to it. We’d rather do that than go in debt. We should 
 always be thinking about it. I’m sure, last winter the rent we owed 
 was always in my head. When I went to bed and when I got up, 
 I was afraid we should never rub it off.” One of the parties is an 
 old maiden woman, and the other a widow. The one is 43 years, 
 and the widow 54. They have been working together seven years. 
 The widow was in better circumstances. Her husband was a 
 farmer in Yorkshire, and her father was a very large farmer in the 
 same county. The maiden woman was formerly in service; now 
 she is afflicted with the lumbago, and is able only to work at her 
 needle. To-day she is washing, and she will be ill for two or three 
 days afterwards. The two of them have for thirty hours been 
 without food. Always during winter they are very badly off—they 
 have scarcely any food at all; their principal nourishment at that 
 time is oatmeal. They have frequently pawned everything they 
 had that the pawnbrokers would lend anything upon. 
 
 In the summer they get as many things as they can out of pawn 
 again, and they sit up night and day toiling to pay their winter’s 
 rent score. They say that those who get their living by needlework 
 must, they are convinced, do the same as they do ; they are satisfied 
 there are thousands in London who starve, get into debt, and pledge 
 regularly every winter, and they slave night and day in the summer 
 to pay their debts and redeem their clothes again. This is the 
 industrious needlewoman's regular life. They can say so of their 
 own knowledge. They have heard numbers say so. This summer 
 they have paid off as much as £7 of back rent, and in order to do 
 this they have worked regularly for six months eighteen and twenty 
 hours a day, Sunday and week-day. They have often sat, the two 
 of them, and worked from daylight at three o’clock in the morning. 
 They have got up at two to do their own little domestic work, so 
 that they began work immediately it was daylight , and they have 
 worked on, frequently with only one cup of tea, through the whole 
 day, till eleven at night. They never burn a candle but when they 
 have work to do—they can’t afford it; and they never have a fire, 
 even in the depth of winter. And after all this toil, suffering, 
 and privation, their reward is twopence-halfpenny a day. 
 
17 
 
 I now come to the second test that was adopted in order to verify 
 my conclusions. This was the convening* of such a number of 
 needlewomen and slopworkers as would enable me to arrive at a 
 correct average as to the earnings of the class. I was particularly 
 anxious to do this, not only with regard to the more respectable 
 portion of the operatives, but also with reference to those who, I 
 had been given to understand, resorted to prostitution in order to 
 eke out their subsistence. I consulted a friend who is well ac¬ 
 quainted with the habits and feelings of the slopworkers, as to the 
 possibility of gathering together a number of women who would be 
 willing to state that they had been forced to take to the streets on 
 account of the low prices for their work. He told me he was afraid, 
 from the shame of their mode of life becoming known, it would be 
 almost impossible to collect together a number of females who would 
 be ready to say as much publicly . However, it was decided that at 
 least the experiment should be made, and that everything should be 
 done to assure the parties of the strict privacy of the assembly. It 
 was arranged that the gentleman and myself should be the only male 
 persons visible on the occasion, and that the place of meeting should 
 be as dimly lighted as possible, so that they could scarcely see or 
 be seen by one another or by us. Cards of admission were issued 
 and distributed as privately as possible, and to my friend’s astonish¬ 
 ment, as many as twenty-five came, on the evening named, to the 
 appointed place—intent upon making known the sorrows and suffer¬ 
 ings that had driven them to fly to the streets, in order to get the 
 bread which the wretched prices paid for their labour would not 
 permit them to obtain. Never in all history was such a sight seen 
 or such tales heard. There, in the dim haze of the large bare room 
 in which they met, sat women and girls, some with babies suckling 
 at their breasts—others in rags—and even these borrowed, in order 
 that they might come and tell their misery to the world. I have 
 witnessed many a scene of sorrow lately; I have heard stories that 
 have unmanned me; but never till last Wednesday had I heard or 
 seen anything so solemn, so terrible, as this. If ever eloquence was 
 listened to, it was in the outpourings of those poor lone mothers’ 
 hearts for their base-born little ones, as each told her woes and 
 struggles, and published her shame amid the convulsive sobs of the 
 others —nay, of all present. Behind a screen, removed from sight, 
 so as not to wound the modesty of the women—who were never- 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 theless aware of their presence, sat two reporters from this Journal 
 to take down verbatim , the confessions and declarations of those 
 assembled, and to them I am indebted for the following report of 
 the statements made at the meeting. 
 
 A gentleman who has for many years taken a deep interest in the 
 subject, and myself, severally addressed those present, and urged 
 them to speak without fear, and to tell the whole truth with regard 
 to their situations, assuring them that their names should not be 
 divulged, and, at the same time reminding them that the only way 
 to obtain their deliverance from their present condition was, that 
 they should speak for themselves, tell their own tale, simply, and 
 without exaggeration, with the most scrupulous regard to truth. 
 
 Thus admonished, the following statements were made by the 
 parties. 
 
 The first speaker was a middle-aged woman, who stood up and 
 said :—“ I am a slopworker, and sometimes make about 3s. 6d. 
 a week, and sometimes less. I have been drove to prostitution 
 sometimes, not always, through the bad prices. For the sake of 
 my lodgings and a bit of bread, I’ve been obligated to do what I 
 am very sorry to do, and look upon with disgust. I can’t live by 
 what I get by work. The woman who employs me, and several more 
 besides, gets 11 d. and Is. a pair for the trowsers we make, and we 
 get only 4 d. or 5d. We can’t do more than a pair a day, and 
 sometimes a pair and a half. It’s starving. I can’t get a cup of 
 tea and a bit of bread. I was married, and am left a widow, and 
 have been forced to live in this distressed manner for the last four 
 years. I’ve been to several different people to get work, but they 
 are all alike in taking advantage of our unfortunate situation.” 
 
 Scarcely had this one sat down than another, who worked in the 
 same house and under the same piece-mistress, rose, and spoke as 
 follows :— u I works, Sir, the goods of another person for a living. 
 I’ve been married fifteen years. My husband has been dead these 
 twelve years. I thought one place would suit me better than 
 another, but I find them all one way ; they’re all much alike. The 
 most I can earn is about 3s. 6d. a week. I get my lodging only 
 from the person that employs me. I’m sometimes obliged to work 
 till twelve at night for my 3s. 6d .; and now in these short days I 
 can scarcely earn anything. I’ve been obliged often to go to 
 prostitution. These twelve years I haven’t been altogether on the 
 
19 
 
 streets, but have been almost as bad. I can scarcely earn, Sir, what 
 I eat. I think the small number of us present arises from the 
 shame of the women to come. But I express the truth, and nothing 
 but the truth; and yet people are ashamed even to tell the truth. 
 But I’m not ashamed to tell the troubles I’ve had through distress. 
 Bad payment for the work obliges us to do wrong. It’s against our 
 will to do such a thing. And now for a woman of my years it’s 
 getting almost more than I can bear, Sir.” 
 
 The third speaker was one with scarcely any clothing upon her 
 back. She said :—“ I’m a slopworker, and have got a little boy 
 eighteen months old, and I’m not able to do much work. I work 
 with another woman, and get 7 d. and 6d. a pair for doing trowsers. 
 I’m often out of work, and the last fortnight or three weeks I’ve had 
 nothing to do. I’ve got no husband, but am compelled to live with 
 a man to support me, for the sake of my child. The father of the 
 child is a labouring man in the docks. He helps to support the 
 child when he can, but he is sometimes employed only two or three 
 days in the week, and at other times not that. He hasn’t left me. 
 He gets 2s. 4d. a day when he has work. He has work to-day, and 
 last Friday was the first he had for a fortnight. He applies daily 
 at the docks, and can’t get it; but when they’re busy he gets his 
 turn. I can state solemnly in the presence of my Maker, that I 
 live with him only to get a living and save myself from doing worse. 
 But if I could get a living otherwise, I can’t say I would leave him. 
 At my own work I sometimes make 2s ., and at others only Is. 6d. 
 a week. He’s willing to marry me the first day that he can afford ; 
 but he hasn’t the money to pay the fees. Sometimes he is a fortnight 
 or three weeks, and even a month without any work at all, and last 
 week we were forced to go to the Refuge for the Destitute. 
 
 The next was a good-looking girl. Her father had driven her 
 from home, and she could not live by shoe-binding. She said :— 
 “ Five years ago my father turned me out of doors. The shoe¬ 
 binding is so low that I wasn’t able to pay Is. a week for my lodg¬ 
 ing, and that caused me to turn out into the street. Then it was 
 three weeks before I ever was in a bed. I sat on London-bridge 
 a fortnight before Christmas five years ago. My father took me 
 home again three years ago, but he turned me out again, and I 
 was forced to go back to the street. He says he can’t keep us at 
 home. He is a soap-boiler. My mother died about twelve years 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 ago. There were nine of us when she died, and we’re all living 
 still. My father said he could not keep us any longer. I work 
 whenever I can get it at trowsers work ; but can’t get it always. I 
 used to get it first-hand till lately; but latterly I’ve worked for a 
 woman who takes it in. I do a pair a day, and sometimes more. 
 I sometimes used to make Is. 6d , and at others 2s. a week; and 
 when I have the best employment I can generally earn about 
 half-a-crown.” 
 
 After this, another young girl rose up. She, like the last, had 
 been turned into the streets by her parent. All she wished (she 
 told us) was to gain admittance into some asylum for penitent 
 females :— 66 I’ve been out in the streets three years. I work at the 
 
 boot-binding, but can’t get a living at it. I went with Mr.-, 
 
 and another gentleman who took me home to my father, but my 
 father couldn’t help me. If I get bread, Sir, by my work, I can’t 
 get clothes. For the sake of clothes or food I’m obliged to go 
 into the streets, and I’m out regularly now, and I’ve no other de¬ 
 pendence at all but the streets. If I could only get an honest living, 
 I would gladly leave the streets. But I can’t earn enough at my 
 work to get a living, and therefore I know it’s useless returning to 
 it. I’ve been out a whole fortnight together, and not got a meal 
 but what I got in the streets ; and I’ve been forced several times 
 to go into St George’s workhouse. When there I’m only five 
 minutes’ walk from my father’s house, but he won’t receive me. I 
 don’t know why. [A gentleman present at the meeting here said 
 that he had gone to see the girl’s father, to induce him to receive his 
 daughter. He had to go half a dozen times before he could see 
 him, and then he did not find him at home, but in a beer-shop, half 
 drunk. He refused to take his daughter back, and on being told 
 that if he persisted she must go into the streets, he replied 6 1 don’t 
 care : let her do as she pleases ? ’ The girl continned :] If I could 
 get work that would keep me, I would give up the streets entirely.” 
 
 The next speaker made the following statement:—“ I am a shirt 
 maker, and make about three shirts a day, at 2id. a piece, every one 
 of them having seven button-holes. I have to get up at six in the 
 morning, and work till twelve at night to do that. I buy thread out of 
 the price ; and I cannot always get work. I sometimes make trow¬ 
 sers : but I have not constant work with both put together. I 
 sometimes make 2s. 6d. a week; 3s. is the most I ever made; and I 
 
21 
 
 have to buy thread out of that. Three shirts a day takes \d . for 
 thread ; that will be 18 farthings a week, or 4 \d., say 6<2. altogether. 
 So that my regular wages are not more than 2 s . 6d. or 2s., some¬ 
 times not more than Is. 6d. I am now living with a young man. 
 I am compelled to do so, because I could not support myself. I 
 know he would marry me if he could. Pie is a looking-glass frame 
 maker. He works for himself, and hawks them about. Sometimes 
 he has not money enough to buy wood. He used to make more 
 when I first lived with him than he does now. Sometimes he earns 
 nothing. He has earned nothing for the last three weeks. If he 
 had money I know he would marry me. Sometimes he is out all 
 day, and does not get a farthing—not a bit to eat. Sometimes we 
 have been for two days with a bit of dry bread and cold water. We 
 both strive hard for work, that we do. I don’t believe anybody can 
 try harder to get work than we do.” 
 
 Then an orphan told us her sufferings:—“I come from Edin¬ 
 burgh, in Scotland. I am the daughter of a publican. I was left 
 an orphan at twelve years old, under the care of an uncle, my father’s 
 brother. Through my aunt and uncle’s cruelty I left them at the 
 age of fifteen or sixteen, with a young man. I lived with him for 
 ten years, and had six children. I have one boy living now, at the 
 age of eleven. Two years ago he deserted me. I did all I could 
 to obtain a living in Edinburgh, and through persuasion I came to 
 London about a twelvemonth ago. I was destitute of a home. I 
 knew no one ; but as Jong as I had anything to pledge or sell I paid 
 for my lodging and maintenance. I then wandered about for days 
 together, seeking food, till some girls I fell in with near the glass¬ 
 house down here, told me of a gentleman of the name of-, and 
 
 said if I would call upon him in the morning he would give me 
 coffee and bread. I went to him for two or three mornings, and he 
 gave me coffee and bread, and treated me very kindly. One day I 
 saw a bill in a window in Rosemary-lane, wanting a girl to work at 
 the needle. I went there, and got 2s. a week for three months; and 
 I had to pay for my lodgings and find my food out of it. At last 
 these people broke up their house, because they were not married, 
 and they quarrelled. Then I had not a home to go to, being with¬ 
 out work. I went back to the gentleman again ; he wondered to 
 see me, and asked me why I came back, and I told him. Pie was 
 very kind to me, took me into his house, and gave me lodgings with 
 
22 
 
 bread and coffee every morning. I was there for a week, till he found 
 me work at the same place where I am in now. This was five 
 months ago, and I am there now. If it had not been for that gen¬ 
 tleman’s kindness, I don’t know what would have become of me, for 
 I was without home or friends. I have not been on the town for 
 these five months since I had work, but I was forced to do so before 
 that. I state that solemnly, and I say it not for my own sake, but 
 for the sake of others. I am not earning enough at the slop-work 
 to keep me, but the person with whom I stop is very kind to me. 
 I have paid her nothing for my lodgings, and she has given me many 
 a meal of meat when I had not any. Could I obtain a living by 
 my needle I would never resort to prostitution. I have got a 
 situation to-day as a servant of all work. My boy is still living, I 
 believe; but I have heard nothing of him this twelvemonth. He 
 is in Scotland with his father. When his father deserted me he took 
 the child—not at first; but I was not able to keep him, and so I sent 
 him to his father. I do not wish to keep the child, because his father 
 is able to keep him. I could not keep him in a proper manner. I 
 should like to see my child sent to school, and brought up in the 
 fear of God, and that is more than I am able to do, so that I would 
 rather he stayed where he is. I think his father will be good to 
 the child.” 
 
 Then came another orphan girl. She had lately left the cholera 
 hospital, and was ghastly pale :—“ I was left an orphan, and got 
 work as a trowsers maker, and I have been going on at that work for 
 the last four years. I work for a warehouse- I have not got good 
 health, nor have I been well for the last six years by means that I 
 am scarcely able to maintain myself in food and clothing by my 
 needle. I lived with a young man for eighteen months, but I am 
 scarcely a fortnight out of the cholera hospital now, and I am so 
 weak and feeble that I am not able to work for my living. My 
 young man wishes us to get settled, but it is out of his power, by 
 means of sickness, to make up the fees for our marriage. I did live 
 with him. I don’t live with him now. I parted with him only on 
 account that he has no work, but we still meet and keep up our 
 acquaintance, and are good friends. He cannot keep himself more 
 than me. I still live by the trowsers making as far as I can, but I 
 have not resorted to prostitution any further than with my young 
 man. I still keep company with him, and we wish to get married. 
 
23 
 
 Candidly and truthfully speaking I do not see any other person. I was 
 brought up by my mother ; my father has been dead these six years. 
 I pay for my lodging Is. a week. Sometimes, when I was in health, I 
 earned 4s. a week, but I have not earned more than 3s. 6d . altogether 
 during the fortnight I have been out of the cholera hospital. My 
 clothing and all is pledged, and I have not a thing to come out with.” 
 
 This one had scarcely sat down before a woman with an infant in 
 her arms stood up, and spoke as follows :—“ I was left a widow with 
 two children, and I could get no work to keep me. I picked up 
 with this child’s father, and thought with the little help that he 
 could give me I might be able to keep my children; but after all, 
 I was forced by want and distress, and the trouble of child-bed, to 
 sell all I had to get a bit of victuals. I was forced to go into the 
 house at Wapping to be delivered of this child. This woman 
 (pointing to a neighbour) took care of my other children. He (the 
 father) came to me, gave me 5s., and told me that if I could take a 
 room he would do all he could for me. I took a room at Is. 6d. 
 a week, and bought half a truss of straw ; and he told me he would 
 marry me if ever it was in his power. I could not go out into the 
 world again; but this woman will tell you that all I have got under 
 me and over me you may buy for 6d. I live with that man still, 
 and sometimes I have not a bit to eat. I thought more of my little 
 boy having a bit to eat than myself. He had been stealing some 
 coals, and he is now imprisoned. I was forced to let him go to try 
 to get a bit of victuals, for I had nothing more to make away with. 
 My boy was taken up for stealing 3 lbs. of coals. He did not bring 
 the coals to me; he was taken before he could get home. I believe 
 he stole them for my sake; not to spend in any other way but to get 
 a bit of bread and a bit of lire for his mother.” 
 
 Another orphan then got up :—“ I was left an orphan ten years 
 ago,” said she, “ and took to needlework. I took to slop-shirts, 
 but could not get a living by that, and so I took to the seaming of 
 trowsers. Still I could not get a living, and by that means I lost 
 what bit of furniture I had left. I could not pay my rent, and was 
 in arrears three weeks. My landlord turned me out, and I had 
 nowhere to go, till I was taken to a brothel by a person that I met, 
 but I don’t know who it was. I remained in that condition till such 
 time as I fell in the family way, and the young man I fell in that 
 state by went away and left me destitute, I was fourteen days 
 
24 
 
 and fourteen nights and never saw a bed. It froze hard and 
 snowed very fast, and I was exposed till it pleased God Almighty 
 to send the person I live with now to help me. I am advanced in 
 the family way at present. I am living with a man now, but not in 
 a married state. It’s not in his power to marry me, his work won’t 
 allow it; and he’s not able to support me in the manner he wishes, 
 and keep himself. He has never but two meals a-day—breakfast 
 and supper. I think he would marry me if he had the marriage fees, 
 willingly. It’s not in my power to afford better clothing than I’ve 
 got on. I hadn’t a dinner to-day. I don’t consider that I’ve tasted 
 a Sunday’s dinner for six months. I can’t earn myself 4 d. a day, 
 and my partner’s work don’t amount to Is. a <^ay, taking one day 
 with another. I‘ve Is. 6d. a week rent to payout of that, and firing 
 and food to find. Unless I was to go to other means, it wouldn’t be 
 in my power to do anything to support myself. I don’t do it from 
 inclination. I would leave it as soon as I could I’ve been forced 
 occasionally to resort to prostitution; but now I’m trying, by living 
 on the small pittance I can get, to avoid it. I detest it: I was 
 never reared to it. I was brought up to the Church and to attend to 
 my God. I was always shown a different pattern ; but misfortune 
 overtook me. If I could get a living without it I would leave it.” 
 
 The next speaker was the most eloquent of all. I never before 
 listened to such a gush of words and emotion, and perhaps never 
 shall again. She spoke without the least effort, in one continued 
 strain, for upwards of half an hour, crying half hysterically herself, 
 w r hile those around her sobbed in sympathy : — u Between ten and 
 eleven years ago I was left a widow with two young children, and 
 far advanced in pregnancy with another. I had no means of getting 
 a living, and therefore I thought I would take up slop-work. I got 
 work at slop-shirts—what they call second-hand. I had no security, 
 and therefore could not get the work myself from the warehouse. 
 Two months before I was confined, I seemed to do middling well. I 
 could manage three or four shirts—what they call ‘ rowers,’ at 3d. 
 each, by setting closely at work from five or six in the morning till 
 about nine or ten at night; but, of course, when I was confined I 
 was unable to do anything. As soon as I was able to sit up I under¬ 
 took slop-shirts again; but my child being sickly, I was not able to 
 earn so much as before. Perhaps I could earn 9 d. a day by hard 
 work, when I get 3d each shirt; but sometimes I only get 2^d., 
 
25 
 
 and I have been obliged to do them at 1 each, and, with my child 
 sickly, could only earn 4 d., or at most 6d. a day. At other times I 
 hadn’t work. On the average I calculate that I have earnt 9 d, 
 a day when the prices were better. Is. 9 d. a week went for rent; 
 and as to a living, I don’t call it that; I was so reduced with it, and 
 my child being so bad, it couldn’t be considered a living. I was 
 obliged to live on potatoes and salt; and for nine weeks together I 
 lived on potatoes, and never knew what it was to have a half-quartern 
 loaf—for the loaf was 9 d. then. By that means my health was de¬ 
 
 clining, and I wasn’t able to do hard work. My child’s health, too, 
 was declining, and I was obliged to pawn the sheets of my bed and 
 my blankets to procure a shilling. At last I found it impossible to 
 pay my rent. I owed 7s. arrears, and my landlady plagued me much 
 to pay her. She advised me to raffle away a large chest that I had ; 
 I did so, and gained 12s., and then paid her the 7s. I owed her ; 
 but I became so reduced again, that I was obliged to get an order 
 to get into the 6 house.’ I didn’t wish to go in, but I wanted relief 
 and knew I couldn’t get it without doing so. I felt it a hard trial 
 to have my children taken from my bosom; we had never been 
 parted before, and I can’t help remembering what were my feelings 
 then as a mother who always loved her children. I thought rather 
 than we should be parted that I would make away with myself. But 
 still I applied to the parish, and never shall I forget the day that I 
 did so. I was told to go, and I would get a loaf by applying. I 
 went in, and my heart was full at the thought of taking home a 
 quartern loaf to my starving children. But I was disappointed ; and 
 seeing a loaf given out to other parties, I can say that I should have 
 felt glad even of the crumbs to take home to my poor children if I 
 could have got near enough. Christmas came round, and I thought, 
 poor things, they will be without a Christmas dinner, and so I got 
 an order to go into the Wapping workhouse. Yet my feelings were 
 such that it was impossible I could enter, and I remained out five 
 weeks after I had got the order, and pledged as far as I could, any¬ 
 thing that would fetch 2 d., obtaining also a little assistance from 
 slop-work. But I got so little that I found it impossible to live. 
 The time came to get another order, and I went with my clothes 
 patched from top to bottom, yet I trust they were clean. And 
 never shall I forget that Saturday afternoon as I travelled along 
 Gravel-lane to the ‘ house,’ with feelings that it was impossible for 
 
26 
 
 me to enter, for I thought 6 How can I bear to have my dear 
 children taken away from me—they have never been taken away 
 from me before?* I reflected, 6 What can I do but go there, 5 so I 
 mustered courage at all events to get to the gate; and, oh ! it is 
 impossible to describe what my feelings were as I passed through. I 
 was admitted to a room where they were toasting the bread for the 
 mistress’s tea. A little girl was there, and she said, ‘ Look at these 
 dear little children, I will give them a bit of the toast. 5 The 
 children took it, and thought it very nice, but they little thought 
 that we were so soon to be parted. The first was seven years old, 
 the second three, and the infant was in my arms. A mother’s feel¬ 
 ings are better felt than described* The children were taken and 
 separated, and then, oh my God! what I felt no tongue can tell. 
 [Here the woman’s emotions overcame her, and she could not pro¬ 
 ceed with her narrative for weeping. At length recovering herself 
 she continued] :—I was in hopes of getting my children back within 
 a week or two, but my business could not be settled so soon. My 
 babe took the measles ; they went inwardly, and it took a deep 
 decline. I knew it was very bad, and asked leave to go and see him. 
 The mistress was very kind, and gave me leave. I found my child 
 very bad, and the infant in my arms seemed declining every day. 
 My feelings then were such as I can’t tell you. I thought— c Oh ! 
 if I could only get out and have my children with myself, how much 
 better it would be.’ I hurried them to settle my business for me; 
 it originated in a dispute between St. George’s and Wapping about 
 our parish, my husband being at the sugar-house at work. At last 
 the dispute was settled, but the one child died, whilst the other, the 
 youngest, was dying. I was so anxious to get out that I could not 
 wait till my child was buried. 1 asked relief to be settled on me out 
 of doors, and it was granted. I was allowed Is. a week and two 
 loaves. The acting master asked me if I had any place to go to. I 
 said I would take a room. £ Have you any bed,’ he asked. I said 
 £ yes, but no bedding.’ I was obliged to pledge it before I entered the 
 house. He was a kind man, and said no doubt the overseers would 
 get my blankets and bedding for me. 6 My dear woman,’ he said 
 (for he saw I was an affectionate mother, and that I had nothing to 
 begin with) ‘ here is a shilling for you.’ He took it out of his own 
 pocket, and I thought it very kind. The children were brought 
 from Limehouse, and one of them was dead at the time. I went 
 
27 
 
 with an anxious heart to see its corpse, but I felt ‘ I cannot stay 
 with you till you are buried, because I have another nearly dead; 
 but I will come again on Wednesday to see you buried/ Well, I 
 found my poor boy but a shadow—a mere skeleton of what he had 
 been. I was overcome with my feelings, and I thought ‘ Here is 
 one dead, and another near death ! 9 But I got up, and before ever 
 I went to my room in Whitechapel I went to a doctor; but he said 
 the boy was too far gone—that he wanted no medicine, but nourish¬ 
 ing, for he was in a decline. I took him home, and said, 4 One shil¬ 
 ling a week and two loaves will not support us; there are three of 
 us, and we cannot be supported by that, with this sickness. Well, I 
 must take to slop-shirts again/ I did so. But I was not able to 
 earn so much as I used to do. I sometimes did three a day at 2^d., 
 sometimes three at 1 having needles and thread to find out of 
 that. Half an ounce of coffee went us three times, and it had to be 
 boiled up again, which made but a scanty meal with a few potatoes. 
 However, I was very glad to put up with it. And then at last I 
 found it impossible to get on; when a man lodging in the house 
 was anxious to get a partner, and made offers to me. I thought it 
 better to accept them than to do worse; and by his promising to be 
 good to me, I did comply. Soon after, it pleased God to take my 
 other boy from me; till at last I was in trouble again, and the 
 result was that I was in the family way, and thought, ‘ Now what 
 shall I do ? My character is gone; it was good before, but now it 
 is blemished/ The man did his part as well as he could, but the 
 work he got was so little that he was not able to support us in a 
 proper manner. We took a room together, and I am sorry to say 
 some days he brought home nothing—other days, perhaps, no more 
 than 2\d. or 3 d., or a few halfpence that he might pick up for 
 carrying a letter to the Post-office, or the like, for a gentleman. 
 Some days, perhaps, he would earn Is ., and for the next three days 
 again often not a farthing. And I earned so little myself, that, the 
 times going on so bad, I did not know what to do. I told the man 
 that he and I must part; for I had seen nothing but starvation with 
 him. My time was up, and it pleased the Lord that I was delivered 
 of twins, (here the poor creature seemed visibly affected with the 
 multiplied distresses of the speaker,) and then my hands were full 
 again. I looked at my babies, and there being two of them, felt 
 that I could never support them, and I became delirious for hours. 
 
28 
 
 The doctor, a kind-hearted man, said many a lady would be glad to 
 have two such children as these. I said, God bless them, I shall have 
 matches to sell with them to get them a bit of bread. Before I was 
 able I was obliged to turn out. It was winter time, and I tried 
 slop-shirts again to get a living, and was unable to earn 6d. a day. 
 I got 10s. behind in my rent, my landlord threatened to take my 
 sticks if I did not pay; and at last I went into the streets with 
 matches. It was on a Saturday night, and I went to Shoreditch, 
 thinking I would not be known, and fixed my position opposite the 
 church, before a large china warehouse, kept by a man who, it was 
 said, would not allow any one to stand before his door. I was 
 determined to persevere till turned away, as nothing could be done 
 without it, and my children must have bread. I was not turned 
 away, because I think the man sympathised with me, and I stood 
 that night till my own and my child’s pockets were full with the 
 pence we received. At eleven o’clock my child said her pocket 
 string had broke, and she would lose her money if she did not go 
 away. We therefore went home, and on counting our money we 
 had got no less than 6s. 3 d., which we considered a good day’s 
 work. I said we would stop the lion’s mouth with 3s., and so I 
 paid 3s. of my rent that night. We had a meat dinner on Sunday, 
 it was ox’s cheek, with a few potatoes, and that we considered a 
 glorious dinner. Next Saturday night I went out again to Shore¬ 
 ditch, expecting as good success as before, but holding my head 
 down like a bulrush, for fear that somebody would pass that knew 
 me. I had not stood long before a female companion of my early 
 days came up and observed me ; she looked at me and said, 4 Susan, 
 in the name of goodness, is that you—and what has brought you 
 here?’ I said, 4 Oh, Mary Ann, don’t ask me, for I can’t answer 
 you*—shame has brought me here.’ She offered me Is., which I 
 at first refused to take, as she was a poor woman herself; but she 
 made me comply, saying she wished she could afford more. Well, 
 I did not succeed so well as I had done before, because I only got 
 4s. altogether, including my friend’s shilling, but I felt very well satis¬ 
 fied, as it was much better than slop-work. Well, one of my twins 
 soon after died, and was buried by the parish. I had no parish 
 relief then, for what I had done would make me be treated like a 
 common prostitute, and I could not bear that. At last, one cold 
 snowy Saturday night, I only obtained 9 d., and after that resolved 
 
29 
 
 to go out no more. At last I consented, as the man wished me, to 
 live with him again. But he earned very little, and I only got 
 2d . for what I had got 2\d, for before at slop-work, and 1 \d. 
 for what used to be 1 \d. Utterly distressed, I thought again of 
 making away with my children. I locked the door, with the inten¬ 
 tion of taking their lives first and then my own, but God touched 
 my conscience, and I could not do it. I kneeled down at the bed 
 side and prayed God to hold my hand. I got up with a grateful 
 heart, determined to trust in Providence. But I owed my landlord 
 12s., and he threatened to take my things. He owed £12 of rent 
 himself, however ; and when the broker took my landlord’s things, 
 he took mine, I was turned into the street on New Year’s-eve— 
 that was five years ago—-in a state of pregnancy, with my little twin 
 and my little girl along with me. I stood there till eleven, and 
 I thought of an old lady I knew who kept a kitchen at King-street, 
 and sent the man I was living with to ask her to give me a night’s 
 shelter. She said, ‘ Yes, as long as I have a roof above my head I 
 will give you refuge.’ I was very thankful ; but could not expect 
 them to turn out of their bed to give it to us, so we lay upon the floor 
 without taking off our clothes. At last the man and I got a garret 
 for ourselves, and through the kindness of my friends and one of the 
 gentlemen now present, I got a little furniture for it. I determined 
 to separate from the man, being deeply impressed of the sin in which 
 I was living. I was 8s. in debt at that time. I took to the 
 trowsers again. My girl learned, and we got a warehouse. I was 
 not very quick myself, and we could not earn enough to support us. 
 I am confident we did not earn 3s. 6d. each on the average. We 
 earnt os. and 6s. between us, and if we earnt 7s. by sitting up two 
 nights a week, we felt that we had done a good week’s work. A niece 
 of mine came to me from Sheffield about this time, and set to work 
 with us. The three of us could earn 10s. or 11s. a week between us 
 by sitting up three nights a week. Coal, candle, and twist had to be 
 found out of our earnings. My niece left us, being dissatisfied with 
 her lot. I continued in that way, away from the man, for two years, 
 and at last found it would not do. I got married two years ago, 
 and have given up slop-work, and go out charing and washing. 
 My daughter still continues at slop-work, however ; but I am sure 
 she could not live by it if she had nothing done for her, and depended 
 on that alone. My firm belief, before God and man, is, that three 
 
30 
 
 out of every four of the young women of London who do slop¬ 
 work, are obliged to resort to private or public prostitution to enable 
 them to live. But I hope better things are coming at last; and God 
 bless the gentlemen, I say, who have set this enquiry agoing to help 
 the poor slopworkers, and I hope that public attention being now 
 called to these matters, the oppressed will be oppressed no longer, 
 and that the Parliament House even will interpose to protect them. 
 But I am sorry to say the good are not always the powerful, nor the 
 powerful always the good.” 
 
 For a few minutes no one spoke. All were evidently pondering 
 upon the tale they had just heard. At length a woman, with a 
 half-clad, well-formed infant at her breast, arose. She said :—“ I 
 lived with the father of this child. He left me when within two 
 months of my confinement. I had no home to go to, till an old 
 lady stuck me down beside her, and gave me victuals and drink till 
 I was taken to bed. I left her to go into the workhouse. I was 
 confined in the street on my way there. When I was delivered in 
 the street, it was a very stormy day—thunder and lightning, with 
 snow and hail. The old lady would not let me be confined in her 
 house, for fear of bringing trouble upon the parish. I was con¬ 
 fined in the street; an old woman brought out a blanket, and threw 
 
 it over me and the baby. Mr.-(the gentleman who was present) 
 
 and his wife came over, found us clothing, paid the doctor, and 
 gave me a shilling for a cab to go to St. George’s workhouse. I 
 came here to-night to thank that gentleman. I do nothing now to 
 get a living, because I have no place to go to, or any friends to 
 apply to for a character. I could work at making waistcoats, but I 
 am quite a stranger here. The person I should work with at making 
 waistcoats has left London. I am living now with a person down 
 in Rosemary-lane. I have no means of living. I cannot get slop 
 work. I used to sell things in the streets, but I cannot sell any¬ 
 thing now, because I have no money. This child was born about 
 two months ago. When I worked at the waistcoats, I used to make 
 8 d. a day. I lived with a man then, but we were not married. I 
 went with him because I could not get a situation, and I thought 
 I had better do that than do worse.” 
 
 The next speaker had an infant in her arms and a little girl by 
 her side. She was evidently suffering acutely, both bodily and 
 mentally :—“ I have this infant at the breast and another child. I 
 
31 
 
 lived with a young man eight or nine years. It is not in his power 
 to make me his wife, because he has not the means to do so. I left 
 him at different times, through sickness and distress, to go into the 
 house. The last time I went in they were going to take the elder 
 child from me and send it to Tooting, and another one that was 
 suckling at my breast then ; but I have buried it since. The thought 
 of having my children taken from me was more than I could bear, 
 and I thought I would rather starve. I went before the board. 
 One gentleman wished to assist me, but the others were all against 
 me. He said what I had stated about having my children taken 
 from me was quite right, and commended me for going out. I went 
 out and lived with the father of the child again, and got a little work 
 at trowsers and coat making. We both used to work as well as we 
 could, him and me too. I fell in the family way again, and I lost 
 my second child. We were so poor that we were forced to sell or 
 part with anything that would fetch a penny to get food. Several 
 times I went to the house, but they would not give me a loaf of 
 bread for the children. I thought I would not go in—I would 
 sooner do anything first. So we have gone on to the present time, 
 and now I am working at the slops. I make coats, for which I get 
 6d, apiece, and it will take two days and a half to make one 
 coat. Trowsers 3d. a pair, which has to be sown with double thread, 
 and lined; some I have made as low as Id. a pair. I have 
 parted with everything: I have not scarcely a bed to lie on, or a 
 thing to cover us. Through lying in that state I have the rheuma¬ 
 tism so bad that I scarcely know what to do with myself. I have 
 been obliged to pledge my work to get food for us to eat. We 
 have been two days and a half without tasting a bite; the whole 
 family, children and all, crying for food. I know it is a crime to 
 live as I do, but I have been drove, compelled to do it. I did not 
 expect to be able to come here. I expected a woman to take me 
 up, and I think she will give me in charge to-morrow for pledging 
 my work. [Here she burst into tears, and continued]—I don’t know 
 what to do; my poor dear children will be taken away from me, 
 and I am almost crazy. I have not a thing that will fetch a penny 
 to get anything, and I have now no means of getting work. I have 
 tasted nothing all day till I had a cup of tea down stairs.” [Here 
 the poor woman sat down with a fresh burst of tears.] 
 
 After this the following pathetic statement was made:—“ I am a 
 
32 
 
 tailoress, and I was brought to ruin by the foreman of the work, by 
 whom I had a child. Whilst I could make an appearance I had 
 work, but as soon as I was unable to do so I lost it. I had an 
 afflicted mother to support, who was entirely dependent upon me. 
 She had the ticdouloureux for three months, and was unable to do 
 anything for herself; I went on so for some months, and we were 
 half-starved, by means of my having so little work. I could only 
 earn from 5s. to 6s. a week to support three of us. and out of that I 
 had Is. 6d. to pay for rent; and the trimmings to buy, which cost 
 me Is. a week full. I went on till I could go on no longer, and we 
 were turned out into the street because we could not pay the rent— 
 me and my child; but a friend took my mother. Everyone turned 
 their back upon me—not a friend stretched out a hand to save me. 
 For six weeks I never lay down in a bed; my child and me passed 
 all that time in the streets. At last of all I met a young man, a 
 tailor, and he offered to get me work for his own base purposes. I 
 worked for him—worked for him till I was in the family way 
 again. I worked till I was within two months of my confine¬ 
 ment. I had Is. a day, and I took a wretched kitchen at Is. a 
 week, and 2s. I had to pay to have my child minded when I went 
 to work. My mother left her friend’s and went into the house, but 
 I took her out again, she was so wretched, and she thought she could 
 mind the child. In this condition we were all starving together. 
 No one would come near us who knew my disgrace, and so I resolved 
 I would not be my mother’s death, and I left her. She went to her 
 friend’s, but she was so excited at going that it caused her death, 
 and she died an hour after she got into her friend’s house. An 
 inquest was held upon her, and the jury returned a verdict that she 
 died through a horror of going into the workhouse. I was without 
 a home. I worked till I was within two months of my confinement, 
 and then I walked the streets for six weeks, with my child in my 
 arms. At last I went into Wapping Union: my child was taken 
 from me, and there [bursting into tears] he was murdered. I mean 
 he was torn from me, and when I next saw him he was a mere 
 shadow. I took my discharge, and took him out, dying as he was. 
 I took one in my arms, and my boy, dying as he was, and we 
 wandered the streets for two or three days and nights. I then went 
 back to the house. The matron said she would not take my child 
 from me. She said he was dying, and he should die beside me. He 
 
33 
 
 died eleven days after we went in. I took my discharge again. 
 I tried again to get a living, but I found it impossible, for I had 
 no home, no friends, no means to get work. I then went in again, 
 and the Lord took away my second child. I came out again, and 
 went into a situation. I remained in that situation fourteen months, 
 when I was offered some work by a friend, and I have been at that 
 work ever since. I have a hard living, and I earn from 4s. 6d. to 
 5s. a week. My children and mother are both dead. The tailor 
 never did anything for me. I worked for him and had Is. a day. 
 I never had one to stretch out a hand to save me, or I never should 
 have had a second fall. From seven in the morning till one or two 
 o’clock I work at making waistcoats and coats. I have 5d. apiece 
 for double-breasted waistcoats, and 10 d. and 11 d. apiece for slop 
 coats. I can assure you I can’t get clothes or things to keep me 
 in health. I never resorted to the streets since I had the second 
 child.” 
 
 Then came the last confession of all:—“ I have three children to 
 support; the eldest is thirteen years of age. I have no husband. 
 The father of the children left me when I was seven months gone 
 with the third child. He gave me Is. the night he went away— 
 that was on the 17th of March, and the child was born on the 1st of 
 April. I have never heard of nor seen him since. I had a com¬ 
 fortable room of goods then, and I did not owe a farthing; but I 
 have had to part with everything that would fetch a pennypiece 
 since. My little girl will be fourteen on the 9th of next January ; 
 and last week I got her a situation at 9 d. a week and her victuals, 
 at a hat maker’s ; but her shoes are so bad that I am afraid she will 
 be sent home by the lady, and I have no money to get her a better 
 pair. I make trowsers at 3d. a pair, duck frocks at 2d ., duck 
 trowsers at 1 \d. a pair, and find thread. They have one pocket, 
 six button-holes, and ten buttons. The trowsers at 3d. a pair are 
 lined, with two pockets, and sewed with double thread. If I sit 
 from five in the morning till ten at night, I can only earn 9d. 
 a day, and I am not able to pay any one to take care of the 
 children. I sit up two or three nights a week, and I work on 
 Sundays—I am ashamed to say it—as well. I never know the taste 
 of a bit of meat from one month’s end to the other. If I have a cup 
 of tea and a halfpenny herring for the children, I am thankful. I 
 have a kitchen, for which I pay a rent of Is. a week. I have a 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 small bed, and one patchwork counterpane to cover me and the 
 children.” [Here the poor woman burst into tears, and was unable 
 to proceed further.] 
 
 After having made these statements, they were asked what were 
 their lowest earnings last week, when it appeared that four had 
 earned Is., four under Is. 6d., four under 2s., one under 2s. 6d. 
 One woman said 3s. 6d. had been earned between two of them, 
 another said she had earned 3s. 6d ., while a third declared she had 
 not earned anything. Three said they had parted with their work 
 for food. It was the unanimous declaration of the whole present, 
 that if the meeting had been more generally known several hun¬ 
 dreds would have attended, who would conscientiously have made 
 the same declaration they had done—that they were forced into a 
 wrong course of life by the lowness of their wages. 
 
 In answer to a question whether any had other clothes than what 
 they appeared in, the very idea of a change of garments appeared 
 to excite a smile. One and all declared they had not, and most 
 asserted that even those they wore were not their own. One said, 
 “ This bonnet belongs to another womananother said, u This 
 shawl belongs to my neighbour; another said, “1 have no frock, 
 because I had to leave it in pawn for 6d .another said, “ I have 
 been forced to sit up this afternoon and put many a patch on this 
 old frock, for the purpose of making my appearance here this 
 evening; ” another said, “ The gown I have got on does not belong 
 to myselfwhile still another added, “ I had to take the petticoat 
 off my child, for 6d. to get victuals last Sunday morning.” 
 
 Whilst the meeting above reported was taking place, a large 
 number, hearing that the female slopworkers had been requested to 
 assemble, had congregated in the room below, and we immediately 
 descended to take the statistics of the earnings and conditions of 
 those who had collected there. At this meeting there were 62 
 females present. Of these, 3 were under the age of 20; 13 were 
 between 20 and 30; 19 were between 30 and 40 ; 13 were between 
 40 and 50; 10 were between 50 and 60 ; and 3 between 70 and 80. 
 Of these, 30 were married; 23 were widows; 9 were single. 
 There were 8 widows with 1 child; 4 with 2 children; and 2 
 with 3. There were 5 married women with 1 child; 4 with 2, 
 6 with 3, 1 with 4, 3 with 5, and 1 with 7 children. Twenty-two 
 worked first-handed, and 32 second; none appeared to work at third 
 
35 
 
 hand. Four were living at the houses of “ sweaters/ 5 having tea 
 and lodgings found them. The earnings of last week were— 
 21 below Is.; 7 below Is. 6d.; 6 below 2s.; 5 below 2s. 6d.; 
 10 below 3s. ; 1 below 3s. 6d.; 1 below 4s. ; 2 below 5s.—below 
 6s. none; and the enquiry as to whether there were any who 
 earned 7s. present was thought so absurd, that it was received with 
 shouts of laughter. 
 
 They all agreed that they must work hard, and sit up till twelve 
 or one at night, to make from 6d. to 9d. a day clear; and that, 
 taking one week’s earnings with another, Is. §d. a week might be 
 the average earnings throughout the year. That they were several 
 months in the year without work was the unanimous declaration. 
 Opinions seemed to be equally divided whether for four or six 
 months. 
 
 There were present 23 shirt makers, one of whom made shirts at 
 | d. apiece, and found cotton. The other prices and number of 
 individuals present were—at 1 d., 4; 1 \d., 10; 1 \d., 10; 2d., 13; 
 2^d.,9; 3d., 6; 3 \d., 6; 4 d., 2; 4 \d., 2; 5d., none; 6d., 
 answered by great laughter. 
 
 Of trowsers makers there were 11. The prices at which they 
 worked were—2 for 1 \d. a pair, 7 at 2d., 5 at 3d., 3 at 4 d., 4 at 
 5c?., 7 at 6d., 1 at 8 d., and 1 at 10 d. —all finding trimmings, at Id• 
 per pair. 
 
 There were a few makers of waistcoats, who said the prices 
 averaged from 2\d. to 7 d, the latter price being paid for satin ones 
 [laughter]. It was also stated that blouses were made from 2\d. to 
 od., finding trimmings. Jackets, of which a woman produced one 
 as a pattern, were 2f d. ; two could be made in a day, and the 
 trimmings would cost \d * This woman worked first-hand. 
 
 There were 17 coat hands. The prices and number of hands 
 present were—3 for 5d. a coat, some got 6d. and 8 d. One woman 
 said she had got as high as Is. 9d. ; but the ordinary price was 
 from 10c?. to Is., and those lined all through. Tweeds, fustians, 
 moleskins, and pilots were from Is. to Is. 3d., heavy lined work. 
 A shilling coat would cost from 1 \d. to 2d. for trimmings. 
 
 An attempt was made to ascertain from those present how many 
 might be engaged in slop-working. One shop, it was stated, em¬ 
 ployed from 500 to 600 hands, another about 150, another from 300 
 to 400, another 1,000, another 40 to 50, another 500, another 300, 
 
36 
 
 another 600, another 50, another 80, another 50, another 1,000, 
 another 600, another 250, another 40, another 100, another 300, 
 another 25 ; being altogether, on a rough estimate, from 6,000 to 
 7,000 persons employed in this wretched mode of subsistence. 
 
 The question how many had meat every day for dinner seemed to 
 these poor creatures an exquisite joke, and they laughed heartily 
 on its being put. Four had meat three days a week, and 29 on 
 Sundays, the parties stating, at the same time, that they were 
 indebted for this to their husbands, none got it by their own labour; 
 they could hardly get a cup of tea. 
 
 Another question that greatly excited their merriment was how 
 many had been obliged to go to the pawnshop, as it was found that 
 nearly every one of them was familiar with that refuge for the un¬ 
 fortunate. Four of them had goods pledged to the extent of £4, 
 
 2 to the value of £3, 11 of £2, 13 of £l, 7 of 10s., 4 of 5s., and 
 14 had goods in pawn under 5s. value ; 13 widows and single women 
 had parted with their beds, and 26 had parted with their under¬ 
 clothing. These facts were received with such signs of astonishment 
 that it was evident even those assembled were not aware of the 
 destitution of the workwomen. 
 
 Of the earnings of the husbands of the married women, it appeared 
 that 1 earned under 15s last week ; 19 earned under 10s.; 6 earned 
 under 5s. ; 3 under 4s. ; 1 under 2s.; 3 under Is.; while 6 had 
 earned nothing whatever. Of these last, the women told piteous 
 tales. One had been paralyzed seven months ; 2 were dock labourers^ 
 but had earned nothing for weeks ; another, a plasterer, had been 
 out of work for twelve weeks; while another could get no work 
 since February last. 
 
 There were 3 who paid under Is. for their lodgings; 19 who 
 paid under Is. 6d, ; 18 under 2s. ; 10 under 2s. 6d .; 1 under 3s.; 
 
 3 under 3s. 6d. 
 
 Ten had been forced to go into the workhouse; 19 had been 
 forced to pawn their work; 31 had been without food for a whole 
 day through ; 5 had fasted for a day and a half; while no fewer 
 than 7 had been obliged to go without food for the period of two 
 days. Yet, with one single exception, none of these women would 
 admit that they had ever had recourse to prostitution. Three 
 had been driven to beg in the streets ; one said she had often been 
 very near taking to prostitution, but never did. They were, how- 
 
37 
 
 ever, unanimous in declaring that a large number in the trade—• 
 probably one-fourth of the whole, or one-half of those who had no 
 husband or parent to support them—resorted to the streets to eke 
 out a living. Accordingly, assuming the Government returns to 
 be correct, and that there are upwards of 11,000 females under 
 twenty living by needle and slop-work, the numerical amount of 
 prostitution becomes awful to contemplate. One woman stated that 
 all those who appeared with good clothes might be taken to resort 
 to that mode of life ; but she added, certainly with great truth, 
 “ you see there are none of that kind here.” 
 
 This closed the meeting. 
 
 From the 66 Morning Chronicle ,” December 1849. 
 
 “ There is no word in the English language,” says a great English 
 divine, 66 which expressed more abominable wickedness than Op¬ 
 pression” All the generous and right feeling part of mankind will 
 heartily respond to this sentiment. * * * No longer daring to 
 
 take open violence for its minister, it finds equally effective auxiliaries 
 in cupidity and fraud. True it is no longer able to slay, to im¬ 
 prison, or to plunder, with the strong hand—for the law will repress 
 such overt violations of civil rights. But it can render existence a 
 sore burden; it can drain the sources of life by slow starvation; and 
 it can wear out, by ceaseless toil and intolerable thraldom, the 
 wretched beings whom it has made its slaves. Yes, it is too true 
 that in the light of the nineteenth century, under the shelter of 
 British law, and in the very metropolis of civil freedom, oppression 
 at which the heart turns sick, is still practised on a great scale— 
 oppression not the less cruel or atrocious, because it is exhibited in 
 its meanest and most grovelling form.” 
 
 And is not all this oppression committed by Her Majesty’s 
 Ministers ? by Bishops and Clergy ? by Magistrates ? by the 
 Committees of the British and Foreign Bible Society, and 
 Religious Tract Society ? yea, by those who are specially ap¬ 
 pointed as, and called, the Guardians of the Poor ? and ought 
 not all these, and are they not all placed by Providence, to be 
 their Guardians? I affectionately urge upon them all, well 
 
38 
 
 to consider their awful state before God. They are answerable 
 for those they employ; they are the instigators, the encouragers 
 of all this oppression : it would not exist a day if they were 
 aware of their responsibilities. 
 
 Eugene Sue:— 
 
 “Upon society (I say upon the Government) will rest the terrible 
 responsibility of these sad deaths; so long as thousands of human 
 creatures, unable to live upon the mockery of wages granted to their 
 labour, have to choose between these three gulfs of shame and woe:— 
 
 “ A life of enervating toil and mortal privations—the cause of a 
 premature death. 
 
 “ Prostitution , which kills also , but slowly—by contempt , bru¬ 
 tality, and uncleanness . 
 
 “ Suicide , which kills at once.” 
 
 It has been stated by the Female Emigration Committee 
 that these poor needlewomen are not a class that can be 
 generally emigrated; further, I believe it is now acknow¬ 
 ledged that emigration would not be a cure for the grievous 
 condition of our poor neighbours, and, I trust, many of 
 them sisters in the Lord. Then are they to remain in their 
 present most cruelly oppressed condition ? Surely not. Is not 
 their oppressed state a disgrace to our Queen ? a disgrace to 
 our Government ? a disgrace to our Legislature ? a disgrace to 
 our Church, Archbishops, Bishops, and Clergy ? and to all 
 denominations of the professors of Christ’s religion ? Ail may 
 assist to alleviate their cruel misery. All are personally inter¬ 
 ested in doing so—independent of our duty towards our God 
 and country. I affectionately appeal for the aid of all my 
 fellow-countrymen and countrywomen, commending all to the 
 mercy of our covenant God, in Christ Jesus. 
 
 Wm. SHAW. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 Printed by W. Clowes and Sons, 
 14, Charing Cross.