f whose citation they can alone escape the dreaded fine that
awaits those who have not arrived at the door of the factory before the
bell ceases to sound.

The sentry in question, quitting the streets, and stooping through one
of the small archways that we have before noticed, entered a court. Here
lodged a multitude of his employers; and the long crook as it were by
some sleight of hand seemed sounding on both sides and at many windows
at the same moment. Arrived at the end of the court, he was about to
touch the window of the upper story of the last tenement, when that
window opened, and a man, pale and care-worn and in a melancholy voice
spoke to him.

"Simmons," said the man, "you need not rouse this story any more; my
daughter has left us."

"Has she left Webster's?"

"No; but she has left us. She has long murmured at her hard lot; working
like a slave and not for herself. And she has gone, as they all go, to
keep house for herself."

"That's a bad business," said the watchman, in a tone not devoid of
sympathy.

"Almost as bad as for parents to live on their childrens' wages,"
replied the man mournfully.

"And how is your good woman?"

"As poorly as needs be. Harriet has never been home since Friday night.
She owes you nothing?"

"Not a halfpenny. She was as regular as a little bee and always paid
every Monday morning. I am sorry she has left you, neighbour."

"The Lord's will be done. It's hard times for such as us," said the man;
and leaving the window open, he retired into his room.

It was a single chamber of which he was the tenant. In the centre,
placed so as to gain the best light which the gloomy situation could
afford, was a loom. In two corners of the room were mattresses placed
on the floor, a check curtain hung upon a string if necessary concealing
them. In one was his sick wife; in the other, three young children:
two girls, the eldest about eight years of age; between them their baby
brother. An iron kettle was by the hearth, and on the mantel-piece, some
candles, a few lucifer matches, two tin mugs, a paper of salt, and an
iron spoon. In a farther part, close to the wall, was a heavy table or
dresser; this was a fixture, as well as the form which was fastened by
it.

The man seated himself at his loom; he commenced his daily task.

"Twelve hours of daily labour at the rate of one penny each hour; and
even this labour is mortgaged! How is this to end? Is it rather not
ended?" And he