our 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.

It's hard to keep clemmin' an' starvin' so long;
An' one's hurt to see th' little things fret,
Becose there's no buttercakes for 'em to eat;
But we'n allus kept pooin' thro' yet.
As bad as toimes are, an' as feaw as things look,
We're certain they met ha' bin worse;
We'n had tommy to eat, an' clooas to put on;
They'n only bin roughish, aw know.

Aw've begged on yo' to keep up yo're courage afore,
An' neaw let me