In One Hovel A Little Boy Lay Dying Of Consumption - Another Name For
Cold And Hunger - His Bed A Few Rags, A Bit Of Sacking And A Tattered
Coat The Only Bed-Clothes.
"I am very bad entirely, father," was the
little fellow's complaint.
I stood back while the father talked to him,
and it was easy to see that he had well practised how to be a son of
consolation. It was a cold windy day, and the wind blew in freely
through the broken door. Surely, I thought, the workhouse would be
comparative comfort to this child; but it seems that the whole family
must go in if he went. The saddest consideration of all is the want of
work - excitement like what is in the country now must be bad for idle
and hungry men.
Mr. Corscadden and Mr. Tottenham, the contractor for the railway, are
the two landlords who are most unpopular. Mr. White, one of those who
had the cattle seized for rent, is also unpopular, very. Mr. Corscadden
is a new landlord, comparatively speaking; was an agent before he became
a proprietor. He is at open war with his tenantry. He requires an escort
of police. His son has been shot at and missed by a narrow enough shave,
one ball going through his hat, another grazing his forehead. This is
coming quite nigh enough. Some buildings on his property in which hay
was stored were burned - by the tenants, thinks Mr. Corscadden; by the
Lord, say the people.
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