Mind Amongst the Spindles. A Miscellany, Wholly Composed by the Factory Girls — Reading Notes

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Knight, Charles, 1791-1873 [Editor], Martineau, Harriet, 1802-1876 [Contributor] Project Gutenberg 2011 Not confirmed
American literature -- Massachusetts -- Lowell; Working class women -- Literary collections; American literature -- Women authors Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Edition facts

Words 85,697
Reading time 373 min
Text sections 10

The catalog record for Mind Amongst the Spindles. A Miscellany, Wholly Composed by the Factory Girls — Reading Notes provides practical reading context through 85,697 words, 6 hr 13 min estimated reading time, and 10 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 23.0 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “American literature -- Massachusetts -- Lowell,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

An 1845 miscellany of writings by female mill workers in Lowell, Massachusetts, selected from the Lowell Offering. The excerpts show letters, sketches, and reflections that reveal the women's literacy, humor, and daily concerns, challenging assumptions about factory operatives.
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  • Text length15 pts
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The evening before she left home her father called her to him, and fixing upon her a calm, earnest, and almost mournful look, he said, "Abby, do you ever think?"--Abby was subdued, and almost awed, by her father's look and manner. There was something unusual in it--something in his expression which was unexpected in him, which reminded her of her teacher's look at the Sabbath school, when he was endeavoring to impress upon her mind some serious truth. "Yes, father," she at length replied, "I have thought a great deal lately about going to Lowell."

"But I do not believe, my child, that you have had one serious reflection upon the subject, and I fear that I have done wrong in consenting to let you go from home. If I was too poor to maintain you here, and had no employment about which you could make yourself useful, I should feel no self-reproach, and would let you go, trusting that all might yet be well; but now I have done what I may at some future time severely repent of; and, Abby, if you do not wish to make me wretched, you will return to us a better, milder, and more thoughtful girl."

That night Abby reflected more seriously than she had ever done in her life before. Her father's words, rendered more impressive by the look and tone with which they were delivered, had sunk into her heart as words of his had never done before. She had been surprised at his ready acquiescence in her wishes, but it had now a new meaning. She felt that she was about to be abandoned to herself, because her parents despaired of being able to do anything for her; they thought her too wild, reckless, and untameable, to be softened by aught but the stern lessons of experience. I will surprise them, said she to herself; I will show them that I have some reflection; and after I come home, my father shall never ask me if I _think_. Yes, I know what their fears are, and I will let them see that I can take care of myself, and as good care as they have ever taken of me. I know that I have not done as well as I might have done; but I will begin _now_, and when I return, they shall see that _I am_ a better, milder, and more thoughtful girl. And the money which I intended to spend in fine dress shall be put into the bank; I will save it all, and my father shall see that I can earn money, and take care of it too. O, how different I will be from what they think I am; and how very glad it will make my father and mother to see that I am not so very bad, after all.

New feelings and new ideas had begotten new resolutions, and Abby's dreams that night were of smiles from her mother, and words from her father, such as she had never received nor deserved.

When she bade them farewell the next morning, she said nothing of the change which had taken place in her views and feelings, for she felt a slight degree of self-distrust in her own firmness of purpose.

Abby's self-distrust was commendable and auspicious; but she had a very prominent development in that part of the head where phrenologists locate the organ of firmness; and when she had once determined upon a thing, she usually went through with it. She had now resolved to pursue a course entirely different from that which was expected of her, and as different from the one she had first marked out for herself. This was more difficult, on account of her strong propensity for dress, a love of which was freely gratified by her companions. But when Judith Slater pressed her to purchase this beautiful piece of silk, or that splendid piece of muslin, her constant reply was, "No, I have determined not to buy any such things, and I will keep my resolution."

The opening pages of Mind Amongst the Spindles immediately establish a dual frame: an English editor's introduction and a letter from Harriet Martineau situate the collection as a transatlantic curiosity, while the first sketch, “Abby's Year in Lowell,” plunges into the voice of a mill girl. The editor, Charles Knight, notes that Lowell's female operatives are “not brought up to the labor of the mills” but come from a distance, often staying only a limited time. This observation sets up a tension between the catalog subjects—working-class women, American literature—and the actual texture of the excerpts, which foreground literacy, wit, and domestic ties over industrial hardship.

Letters as Evidence of Literacy and Labor

The excerpts include two letters that illustrate the range of writing among the factory girls. One, from “Cousin Judith,” is a plain, affectionate note that ends with a rhymed couplet: “I want to see you morn, I think, / Than I can write with pen and ink.” The other, from Rosina's mother, thanks her daughter for a money present and admits, “I have as much employment at tailoring as I can find time to do, and sometimes I sit up all night.” These letters are not polished literary productions; they are functional, personal documents. Yet their inclusion in a published miscellany signals that the editors valued them as evidence of the writers' education and emotional lives. The catalog subject “Working class women” might lead a reader to expect protest or pathos, but the letters show ordinary family correspondence, with humor in Judith's malapropism (“information of the brain”) and quiet dignity in the mother's gratitude.

The Social World of the Boarding House

The sketch “Evening before Pay-Day” depicts a group of girls reading letters aloud in a boarding-house room. The scene is domestic and sociable: they laugh at Cousin Judith's letter, then fall silent when Rosina reveals her twin sister is ill. The narrator remarks, “Oh, how quick is the influence of sympathy for grief!” This moment suggests that the factory girls' community is built on shared reading and mutual support. The catalog subject “American literature -- Massachusetts -- Lowell” might imply regional color, but the excerpt focuses on the interior lives of the women—their friendships, their reactions to news from home, their rituals of letter-writing. The boarding house, not the mill floor, is the primary setting in this piece, and the girls' voices are varied: Elizabeth is teasing, Dorcas is curious, Rosina is reserved. The editor's introduction notes that the operatives live in “boarding houses expressly provided for their accommodation,” and the sketch confirms that these spaces foster a distinct social culture.

Humor and Self-Awareness in the Factory Girls' Prose

Several excerpts display a knowing humor about the girls' own situation. In “Abby's Year in Lowell,” the narrator describes the address on a letter as “quite a regular stair-case, if the steps had been all of an equal width.” The joke about the uneven spacing of the address lines is a small but telling detail: it shows the writer's attention to the physical appearance of the letter and her willingness to mock its awkwardness. Similarly, the anecdote about a girl asking for a “transient paper” and not knowing what it means reveals a gap between the postal system's jargon and the operatives' everyday language. These moments of comedy are not bitter or ironic; they are affectionate and observant. The catalog subject “American literature -- Women authors” might lead a reader to expect sentimental or didactic writing, but the excerpts offer a lighter, more self-aware tone. The girls are not merely subjects of reform; they are authors who control their own representation, using humor to navigate their position between rural homes and industrial work.

Readers approaching Mind Amongst the Spindles should attend to the variety of genres within the collection—letters, sketches, reflections—and resist the temptation to read them solely as sociological documents. The factory girls were deliberate writers, and their choices of tone, detail, and structure reveal as much about their literary ambitions as about their working conditions. The excerpts here offer only a sample; the full volume contains over thirty pieces, each with its own voice.

I’ve kept Mind Amongst the Spindles near my desk for years, its pages worn soft as cloth. Those factory girls wrote of quiet hours stolen between shifts, of wildflowers and far-off hills. That same longing for a world beyond the loom hums through The White Peacock — Background and Themes, a book that knows how nature holds our unspoken restlessness. They make fine companions on a slow afternoon.

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