and ’er doctor!” More calls to order, and extreme indignation of the ill-conditioned female at being informed that she is “no lady,” and had “better ’old ’er jaw”; ribald and utterly meaningless jests by the larrikins.) Order, please! (Imploringly.) I know you won’t make it harder for me than you can help. (A young Lady in a very tall hat and feather is heard demanding that the Gentleman in front of her should remove his “boxer,” on pain of obliging her to remove it herself; the question is argued at length.) ...  You all know the purpose for which we have ... (Here an enthusiastic old Lady on the drag begins to cheer aimlessly, and wave a scrubbing-brush; the Laundresses on the lorry join in.) Well, we’re going to ask Parliament ... (Another female in crowd:  “’Ullo, there’s Mrs. JINNINGS, along with the toffs!  I want to ’ear Mrs. JINNINGS speak, I do!”) ...  I shall now ask you to listen to a speaker—­Mrs. GOFFIN—­who has had several years’ practical experience of laundry-work, and she will tell you, I am sure, what the hardships and injustices are which we are trying to put an end to.

[Mrs. GOFFIN, a stout, red-faced Lady, mounts the seat with a cheery confidence, amidst roars of laughter, and shouts of “Go it, old girl!” “Don’t forgit to send my shirt home next week!” &c., &c.  The female in the crowd repeats her preference for Mrs. JINNINGS’ oratory; a string of factory-girls, in high-feathered hats, having just elbowed their way into the throng, suddenly conceive a desire to “get a breath o’ air somewhere,” and accordingly push and trample their way out again with a Parthian discharge of refined raillery—­after which Mrs. GOFFIN’s voice becomes audible.

[Illustration:  “I’ve been and spoke to hover forty Members o’ Parlyment myself!”]

Mrs. Goffin.  Why, I’ve been and spoke to hover forty Members o’ Parlyment on the subjeck myself, I ’ave, and they was all on our side, ’cept three or four, as was lawyers—­and you know what they are! (The crowd expresses hearty disapproval of the Profession as a body.) One on ’em sez to me, “My good woman, I’m against ’aving the Factory Acts.  I’m all for freedom, I am!” “So am I all for freedom,” I sez, “but ...” (Here another disturbance takes place; a little man, with red whiskers, has mildly objected to being leant upon by a burly stranger, who bawls—­“What are you afraid on?  You ain’t bin fresh painted, ’ave yer?  Are yer ’oller inside—­or what?  Ga arn—­I never knoo a carrotty-’aired man good for anything yet,” &c., &c.) Then there’s Mr. MATTHEWS, the ’OME SECKERTARY, ’e’s against us, which I think ’e must be a woman-’ater hisself! (Feeling suggestion from crowd that the HOME SECRETARY has suffered a disillusion in his younger days.) But I was goin’ to tell yer what we poor women ’ave got to put up with.  Now there’s a Mrs. HIRONMOULD, of Starch Row,