and no doubt it must be interesting for a cook to observe the differentiae, the finer shades of difference, in the conduct of a kitchen.  When women are married and the cares of maternity set in, one does not see how they can get any holiday or recreation at all; but I believe a good deal is done for their amusement by the mothers’ meetings and other clerical agencies.  There is, however, below the shop girls, the dressmakers, the servants, and the working girls whom the world, so to speak, knows, a very large class of women whom the world does not know, and is not anxious to know.  They are the factory hands of London; you can see them, if you wish, trooping out of the factories and places where they work on any Saturday afternoon, and thus get them, so to speak, in the lump.  Their amusement seems to consist of nothing but walking about the streets, two and three abreast, and they laugh and shout as they go so noisily that they must needs be extraordinarily happy.  These girls are, I am told, for the most part so ignorant and helpless, that many of them do not know even how to use a needle; they cannot read, or, if they can, they never do; they carry the virtue of independence as far as they are able, and insist on living by themselves, two sharing a single room; nor will they brook the least interference with their freedom, even from those who try to help them.  Who are their friends, what becomes of them in the end, why they all seem to be about eighteen years of age, at what period of life they begin to get tired of walking up and down the streets, who their sweethearts are, what are their thoughts, what are their hopes—­these are questions which no man can answer, because no man could make them communicate their experiences and opinions.  Perhaps only a Bible-woman or two know the history, and could tell it, of the London factory girl.  Their pay is said to be wretched, whatever work they do; their food, I am told, is insufficient for young and hearty girls, consisting generally of tea and bread or bread-and-butter for breakfast and supper, and for dinner a lump of fried fish and a piece of bread.  What can be done?  The proprietors of the factory will give no better wage, the girls cannot combine, and there is no one to help them.  One would not willingly add another to the ‘rights’ of man or woman; but surely, if there is such a thing at all as a ‘right,’ it is that a day’s labour shall earn enough to pay for sufficient food, for shelter, and for clothes.  As for the amusements of these girls, it is a thing which may be considered when something has been done for their material condition.  The possibility of amusement only begins when we have reached the level of the well fed.  Great Gaster will let no one enjoy play who is hungry.  Would it be possible, one asks in curiosity, to stop the noisy and mirthless laughter of these girls with a hot supper of chops fresh from the grill?  Would they, if they were first well fed, incline their hearts