headed.

They one and all wear short skirts which reach to the tops of their
boots; these skirts are always made of cotton goods, and their boots are
thick, clumpy, laced affairs, heavier than those worn by the workmen in
this country--very often they have wooden soles. As you may imagine, the
appearance of these girls' feet is something appalling.

The factory girl's costume is completed by an apron and a small square
shawl of bright plaid, which is worn over the shoulders, or shifted to
cover the head in wet weather.

They are picturesque-looking women, but the majority of them are so big
and brawny and their manners are so rough that you would rather trust
yourself to the mercies of a mad bull than to a crowd of angry factory
girls.

On one occasion in Manchester, the agent of a patent washing-machine,
wishing to advertise his goods, stationed himself outside one of the
mill gates, and offered to wash the girls' greasy, oily aprons as they
came out from work at noon.

Some of the girls took their aprons off, and a large crowd gathered
round the machine to see what was going to be done.

The man put the garments into the machine, turned the crank, and in a
minute the black and dirt were all out of the aprons.

The girls were highly pleased.

They signified their approval as the man wrung out the suds with his
machine, and watched him with great interest as he carefully folded each
apron, and then put them through a couple of rollers which were
attached to the machine and intended to act as a mangle.

Clean, smooth, and neatly pressed, he handed each apron back to its
owner and waited for their thanks. The whole business had not taken more
than five minutes, and he expected to do a thriving trade in
washing-machines on the spot.

He was disappointed.

No sooner did the girls get back their aprons than the trouble began.

In their ignorance they had expected that the garments would be returned
to them dry as well as clean, and when they found that they were
wringing wet and could not be used again for several hours, their rage
knew no bounds.

They beat the man, tore his clothes, broke his machine, and ill-treated
him until the men and boys from the mill, who had been watching the riot
with laughter, thought it was time to interfere, and rescued the agent
from the angry women.

There is nothing gentle or feminine about the English factory girl.

* * * * *

The Sultan o