Weeks roll on, and still yon chimney Gives of better times no sign; Men by thousands cry for labour, Daily cry, and daily pine. Now the things, so long and dearly Prized before, are pledged away; Clock and Bible, marriage-presents, Both must go--how sad to say! Charley trots to school no longer, Nelly grows more pale each day; Nay, the baby's shoes, so tiny, Must be sold, for bread to pay. They who loathe to be dependent Now for alms are forced to ask Hard is mill-work, but, believe me, Begging is the bitterest task. Soon will come the doom most dreaded, With a horror that appals; Lo! before their downcast faces Grimly stare the workhouse walls. Stranger, if these sorrows touch you, Widely bid your bounty flow; And assist my poor endeavours To relieve this load of woe. Let no more the smokeless chimneys Draw from you one word of praise; Think, oh, think upon the thousands Who are moaning out their days. Rather pray that peace, soon bringing Work and plenty in her train, We may see these smokeless chimneys Blackening all the land again. 1862. THE MILL-HAND'S PETITION. The following verses are copied from "Lancashire Lyrics," edited by John Harland, Esq., F.S.A. They are extracted from a song "by some 'W.C.,' printed as a street broadside, at Ashton-under-Lyne, and sung in most towns of South Lancashire." We have come to ask for assistance; At home we've been starving too long; An' our children are wanting subsistence; Kindly aid us to help them along. CHORUS. For humanity is calling; Don't let the call be in vain; But help us; we're needy and falling; And God will return it again. War's clamour and civil commotion Has stagnation brought in its train; And stoppage bring with it starvation, So help us some bread to obtain. For humanity is calling. The American war is still lasting; Like a terrible nightmare it leans On the breast of a country, now fasting For cotton, for work, and for means. And humanity is calling. CHEER UP A BIT LONGER. {2} BY SAMUEL LAYCOCK. Cheer up a bit longer, mi brothers i' want, There's breeter days for us i' store; There'll be plenty o' tommy an' wark for us o' When this 'Merica bother gets o'er. Yo'n struggled reet nobly, an' battled reet hard, While things han bin lookin' so feaw; Yo'n borne wi' yo're troubles and trials so long, It's no use o' givin' up neaw. Feight on, as yo' han done, an' victory's sure, For th' battle seems very nee won, Be firm i' yo're sufferin', an' dunno give way; They're nowt nobbut ceawards'at run. Yo' know heaw they'n praised us for stondin' so firm, An' shall we neaw stagger an' fo? Nowt o'th soart;--iv we nobbut brace up an' be hard, We can stond a bit longer, aw know.