oices near and far, cries of
pain or of misery, shouts savage or bestial; over and through all, that
low, far-off rumble or roar, which never for a moment ceases, the
groan, as it seemed, of suffering multitudes. There tripped before his
dreaming eyes a procession from the world of wealth and pleasure, and
the amazement with which he viewed it changed of a sudden to fiery
wrath; he tossed upon the bed, uttered his rage in a loud exclamation,
felt his heart pierced with misery which brought him all but to tears.
Close upon astonishment and indignation followed dread. Given health
and strength, he might perhaps continue to hold his own in this
merciless conflict; perhaps, only; but what if some accident, such as
befalls this man or that in every moment of time, threw him among the
weaklings? He saw his mother, in her age and ill-health, reduced to the
pittance of the poorest; his sister going forth to earn her living;
himself, a helpless burden upon both.--Nay, was there not rat-poison to
be purchased?

How--he cried within himself--how, in the name of sense and mercy, is
mankind content to live on in such a world as this? By what devil are
they hunted, that, not only do they neglect the means of solace
suggested to every humane and rational mind, but, the vast majority of
them spend all their strength and ingenuity in embittering the common
lot? Overwhelmed by the hateful unreason of it all, he felt as though
his brain reeled on the verge of madness.

Every day, and all the day long, the shop, the counter. Had he chosen,
he might have taken a half-holiday, now and then; on certain days
Allchin was quite able, and abundantly willing, to manage alone; but
what was the use? To go to a distance was merely to see with more
distinctness the squalor of his position. Never for a moment was he
tempted to abandon this work; he saw no hope whatever of earning money
in any other way, and money he must needs earn, as long as he lived.
But the life weighed upon him with a burden such as he had never
imagined. Never had he understood before what was meant by the
sickening weariness of routine; his fretfulness as a youth in the West
Indies seemed to him now inconceivable. His own master? Why, he was the
slave of every kitchen wench who came into the shop to spend a penny;
he trembled at the thought of failing to please her, and so losing her
custom. The grocery odours, once pleasant to him, had grown nauseating.
And the ever repeated