LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

NUMBER LXII.

THICK HOLLINS, near HUDDERSFIELD,
November 17th, 1858.

MY DEAR FRIEND:—I greatly enjoyed a visit to this interesting place early last spring and had fully purposed to give you some account of it, but as my long illness came on soon after I quitted Yorkshire, and compelled me to abstain for many weeks from writing, I never carried out my intention of telling you something of , and what I saw and heard there; but now, that I find myself once again a guest at beautiful , looking out, not only on the adjacent wooded uplands, and rich valleys, out on the lengthy range of buildings which spread themselves along the hollow, to the left, I am resolved, without delay, to jot down a few things about that may prove interesting to you, and to some of your readers, in a day when is peculiarly talked of and thought of, not only by manufacturers and philanthropists, but by missionaries and travelers in many lands. I have had my share of thought about , (and I may add, my share of lectures, too, on .) I believe that some of my friends have made the great mistake of supposing that, because I could not see my way to bring the subject of Cotton, and the duty of Abolitionists using only , before every anti-slavery committee I have had the pleasure of forming, or meeting, my Abolitionism was of a tint indeed! Be that as it may, I am satisfied that, to endeavor strictly to follow the dictates of our own conscience in this and similar matters,

and to permit our friends to do the same, according to them the grace of , as we claim it for ourselves, is the true Christian course. While frowned on by a few, on this Free Labor subject, I was, at divers times, smiled at by some manufacturers, to whom I spoke on this difficult question, and who told me strange and sad tales in regard to impostures in Cotton, and more and more, convinced me that to confine our clothing apparel to articles, fabricated out of or was the only plan to its not being "" under the present dispensation. Not seeing a way to work in this matter, I have bided my time, doing other anti-slavery work, about which there exists no practical difficulty. , I trust, we are beginning to see the glimmering of the dawn of a brighter day for Africa, and her sable sons; and if the belief of that great and enterprizing man, Dr. Livingstone, (expressed in a recent letter to the Bishop of Oxford,) be correct, that he has discovered in Africa a great tract of land, peculiarly suitable for the growth of the far-famed "," it seems to me that part of a very difficult problem is in a fair way of being solved, and we may hope that the rest will follow in time.

But I am wandering away to the land where "sunny fountains roll down their golden sand," and must at once return and take you with me to .

These mills (called by some the model mills of Yorkshire) are five miles distant from the cheerful, busy, manufacturing town of Huddersfield; the drive is a fine one, even in winter, up hill all the way. The mills stand in

a valley at the foot of what are called the mountains of England. The village of Meltham lies half a mile higher up, upon the edge of the wild moorland country, which extends, with but slight interruption, into North Britain. Nearly all the population of Meltham and its environs are employed at the cotton or silk mills of Messrs. Brook; and when we are told that all the region round about has been reclaimed within the last sixty years, we are almost disposed to feel, as we look on the scene of industry and activity before us, that there is nothing which the indomitable mind of man cannot achieve, by enterprize and labor, with the blessing of God on his labors.

But here we are at the comfortable Counting-House of Meltham Mills, at the door of which our carriage draws up, (after a short and pretty drive from Thick Hollins), and we alight. Soon a table is covered with specimens of Cotton, and with their usual kindness, Mr. Charles Brook, and Mr. Carlisle are giving me my second lesson on Cotton, (I had my first in the spring,) and replying to my innumerable questions with inexhaustible patience. Here are three kinds of Egyptian cotton grown by the Pasha, ( grown we all hope!) the finest of these is soft and silky; it is a good length in the fibre, and looks very free from dirt. The other two specimens are not so fine, nor so clean. I learn that the Egyptian cotton varies greatly in quality, the best growing near the sea coast; it averages from 7, to 1 1 per lb. Messrs. Brook purchase as much as they can obtain of this cotton, because it answers their purpose for making thread; it is never spun by itself, but mixed with sea island cotton, or New Orleans cotton or any other kind of cotton which will unite to form the thread, which is, of course, the object of the manufacturer. But here is a finer, softer, whiter, and more silky cotton before me; whence comes it?—

From the seaboard slave States. It is the famous "." Thousands of poor slaves have toiled away under burning suns, to produce this clean, white cotton, and scores have died martyrs to it! The price is high, averaging from 1 1, to 2 6 per lb.—It is adapted for spinning the finest numbers of thread, and at preset no other cotton can be found to supply its place. It grows near the sea, on the Atlantic coast of the Carolinas and Georgia, in marshy land, often inundated with water, and in an atmosphere so unhealthy that people cannot live more than half the year there! so a Charleston merchant recently told one of my friends.— is the life of the slaves there, I did not learn! Now, what Dr. Livingstone says be true, and he has found a spot in Africa favorable to the growth of this valuable cotton, I trust that some of our princely merchants and manufacturers will unite and form a company that shall supply capital, and employ agents to sow and cutivate amidst the marches of Africa.—But here is another cotton, darker, dirtier, and not so soft. is from New Orleans; and in thought, (as I hold a little piece of it in my hand,) I am carried to the vast cotton fields of the West, and am wondering what is the sad history of the poor slave man or woman that picked this small tuft of cotton? Is he (or she) living or dead?—still in existence, toiling on, , ON, beneath the lash, with

no ray of hope to brighten his or her path—or gone to that land "where the servant is freed from his master," "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest," and "where the voice of the oppressor is not heard?" If it be as I am told that for every pound of Sea Island Cotton imported annually into Liverpool there is, at least, of New Orleans cotton, of victimized slaves is the universally used New Orleans cotton the sole remains!—It is fearful to think of it! The average price of this cotton is from 5½ to 9. Messrs. Brook do not use large quantities of Orleans cotton, it not being sufficiently fine for their use. I hope and believe that you and I may be spared to see the day when cotton will be grown, both in India and in Africa, equal in quality to this cotton, and sufficient in quantity to compete with it, and , supply its place in the Liverpool market. I am rejoiced to learn of the various companies forming to aid in the growth of cotton in Asia and Africa; and greatly do I regret that severe influenza prevents me now from accepting the kind proposal of one of my friends here, to take me with him to Manchester, and introduce me to Mr. Thomas Clegg, of whom I have heard so much, and with whom, if I mistake not, you have had some correspondence. I wish to learn his views from himself. I have been favored with the sight of a correspondence between Dr. Delany & Co., and Mr. Clegg. I have carefully read that able article in the last , (July—October,) "The Slave Trade—1858."

I have perused your criticism on our excellent friend, Mr. Benjamin Coates' recent Cotton Publication; and I arrive at this conclusion, that while I believe the well being of Africa, and of the native Americans, will be greatly advanced by the cultivation of cotton there, and the consequent wide spread commercial enterprize; and while I also believe that when the day arrives in which African cotton comes into the Liverpool market, sufficient in quantity to vie with New Orleans cotton, and fine enough to compete with sea island cotton, a great blow will be aimed at section of American slavery; I do not, and cannot take the narrow view that this cotton is the foundation of slavery, and that, if this is withdrawn, . There are startling revelations made in the article in "," and much food for painful thought. God grant that the day may not come when the American slaves of the Mississippi are found toiling beneath the lash, on the banks of the Niger or the Gambia! As for our free colored friends, most deeply do I deplore their folly in being led away by any African whatsoever, from their native country, . I have, more than once, heard him who is called by many "the noblest Roman of them all," say, that he will never quit America, and take up his permanent residence in another country, while his brothers and sisters remain in the Southern prison-house. Would that colored man in the United States could be made to feel how great are his responsibilities, and how much may depend on his individual exertion. He is, it is true, the victim of prejudice, where he is; but every McCune Smith, Reason, Gaines, Downing, Beman, Whipper, Langston, Garnet, and Douglass is doing his part towards surmount[ing] this cruel prejudice. Were each of these men

multiplied a thousand fold, and scattered up and down the States, I am inclined to think there would be small prejudice left I feel convinced that the destinies of the American slave, and of his brother, are inextricably connected. They must stand or fall together. I wish, with all my heart, that the noble Livingstone had had time (before his return to the land of his adoption) to visit the States, and fully to study the subject of American slavery, , then, he might have arrived at the conclusion that it would have been far better for the American slaves that cotton should be uncultivated in Africa, that the their free colored brethren should go forth to till the ground, and grow cotton in the far off land, resigning forever, without effort or struggle, the poor Southern prisoners to chains and slavery. No, dear colored friends! STAY WHERE YOU ARE! leave to others the great work of the civilization and evangelization of distant Africa, and work hard wherever your present post happens to be. Time is short.

——"be up and doing

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait."

This is a long digression, but I return to Meltham Mills, and will take you rapidly with me through some of the rooms in this extremely interesting establishment. After looking at the Cotton Store, in which are many bales of cotton, brought together from many parts of the world, we come to the first cleaning-room, in which is a curious machine, which men and boys are feeding with the dirty cotton we have just seen. The cotton is opened up, partially freed from its encumbrances, rapidly carried forward to another roller, cleaned further, driven into a great basket, and hurried off to the next department of cleaning. The room (strange to say) is free from dust, in consequence of the successful working of a very ingenious contrivance which carries up the dirt from the machine into a cylinder placed in the roof. In olden times cotton dressing was a most unhealthy employment. Next come we to the second department of cleaning—then to the third, where the is, around which are men busily employed. When next we see the cotton, it is freed from most of the dross, and is in the form of a web, wrapped round a roller. These rollers are carried off to another wonderful machine, and thence, even, smooth and white, they are taken to the . What a wondrous sight bursts upon us as we enter the carding room! This room runs the whole length of the building, and is full of wondrous machinery. Perpetual sound! incessant motion! and yet perfect order! Hundreds of hands (most of them girls) are busily engaged here in watching and feeding the machinery, and joining the broken ends of cotton. The wonders of the carding room seem to run endless; and as I try to understand respectively the , the , the and the , I am too much amazed and bewildered clearly to comprehend what I am told, that, in passing through all these, the cotton has been doubled 186,624 times, and yet it is of the same weight and thickness it was at the commencement of the (almost) miraculous process. A little time ago the cotton looked rough and coarse, now it assumes a silky hue, and lies smooth and straight on the cards. But it must

be drawn much finer, and means must be used to make it hold together, so, it is carried to the , and here another world of wonders opens up before me, as I look at "" "," and "," and am told that the roving of this bobbin has been doubled 746,496 times since it left the bag, and yet it is eight times smaller than when it left the cards! A little time since, there were one hundred yards to the pound; now there are 810 yards to one pound! The bobbins are next carried to another machine, finer and smaller in its parts, then to another and still another, until, by the time they have passed through the last machine in the carding room, every pound is made into thirty hanks, containing 25,200 yards of roving, which had been doubled 3,981,312 times! Next we come to the spinning room, and find ourselves surrounded by spinning-jennies. The spinning-jenny is one of the greatest wonders here; it is at full work, with no one to help it; it is never tired, and never makes a mistake! and no manual labor can compete with it for exactness. Here the yarn is spun, and twisted, and rolled on the spindle—then it is carried away to another part of the works and undergoes some process of steaming; next, by never ceasing machinery, the yarn is turned into thread, and we are looking at many hundreds of spindles, superintended by nice, healthy looking, well dressed girls. Then we are shown the , where the thread is made into ; and now we come to the bleaching works, whence, after passing through several processes, and being subjected to , it is carried to the , where you see it hanging upon poles to dry, looking literally "white as snow."—

But the cotton is not yet quite completed; it is again taken to the mills, and regularly ironed by machinery. In this department a great many girls are engaged, and hank after hank is drawn forth, straight and glossy; then it is separated into small parcels, neatly doubled up, tied and labelled. In the same large room a number of women and girls are winding the thread upon the spools, or reels, and a very pretty sight it is to watch their busy fingers, moving so rapidly, yet so steadily. Then a man is constantly patrolling this room with a machine, to see that the proper number of yards is on each reel, and a "NOTICE" is conspicuous on the walls, threatening to fine who are careless as to the quantity of thread they put on the spools. Those who purchase "BROOK'S THREAD" may therefore be sure of measure, and I am inclined to believe of an excellent sewing cotton. Time fails me to tell of the bobbin department, where one man and one machine make a thousand reels (or bobbins) in an hour. The general aspect of the people employed in Meltham Mills is most pleasing, and satisfactory. The men, women and girls look healthy, neat and clean. Everything possible is done to secure good ventilation to the rooms, and the comfort of those who are employed. Improvements are constantly going on; a fine new building is being erected, which will contain a spacious dining hall for the work people, and a lecture or concert room for their use. They possess a band of musicians of their own, and a fire company also. A pretty little church, founded and endowed by C. J. BROOK, Esq, (deceased,) one of the best of men, meets your view as you enter the village; near to it

stands a neat-looking parsonage-house, and not far off is a fine village school-house, where the children of the mills are educated, and where every attention is paid to their moral and religious culture. The Rev. Mr. INCE, the incumbent of Meltham Mills, is one of the most thoroughly Christian pastors it has ever been my privilege to converse with. One day in each week he pays a visit to the mills and delivers an address to such of the people as like to hear him. There is no compulsion in the matter. Mr. Charles Brook (the leading proprietor) had just erected a number of pretty, new cottages for the work people, and now he is laying out a park for their benefit. The responsibilities involved by those who (humanly speaking) hold the destinies of so many of their fellow-beings in their hands, are, doubtless, very great; yet, when we see great wealth commanded, rightly employed, and widely diffused, as it is by such truly benevolent and Christian men as the Brooks, the Crosleys, and Mr. Edward Akroyd, we feel that they are at once a blessing to their people, their country, and themselves, and we pray that they may long be spared to pursue their labors of love, and to carry out the many projects they are devising for the temporal comfort and eternal welfare of the thousands committed to their care.

I shall ever think of my several visits to my kind friends at Thick Hollins, with intense interest, and ever wish great prosperity to Meltham Mills, and its large and cheerful community.

This is but November; yet, as I suppose my letter will not appear before the January number of your makes its advent, I must thus early send the New Year's greeting to my trans-Atlantic friends, expressing at the same time, my gratification that they take a continuous interest in my "Pencillings by the Way," and giving them my promise to do my best, during the year opening before us—that is, if health and strength be vouchsafed to me by the all wise Disposer of events.

As ever, yours most truly,

JULIA GRIFFITHS.