this shop book.
Aw'm noan freetend ov onybody seein' my acceawnts. An' then, there's
a great lot o' doctor's-bills i' that pot, theer. Thoose are o' for
me. There'll ha' to be some wark done afore things can be fotched up
again. . . . Eh; aw'll tell yo what, William, (this was addressed to
the visitor,) it went ill again th' grain wi' my husband to goo
afore th' Board. An' when he did goo, he wouldn't say so mich. Yo
known, folk doesn't like brastin' off abeawt theirsel' o' at once,
at a shop like that. . . . Aw think sometimes it's very weel that
four ov eawrs are i' heaven,--we'n sich hard tewin' (toiling), to
poo through wi' tother, just neaw. But, aw guess it'll not last for
ever." As we came away, talking of the reluctance shown by the
better sort of working people to ask for relief, or even sometimes
to accept it when offered to them, until thoroughly starved to it, I
was told of a visitor calling upon a poor woman in another ward; no
application had been made for relief, but some kind neighbour had
told the committee that the woman and her husband were "ill off."
The visitor, finding that they were perishing for want, offered the
woman some relief tickets for food; but the poor soul began to cry,
and said; "Eh, aw dar not touch 'em; my husban' would sauce me so!
Aw dar not take 'em; aw should never yer the last on't!" When we got
to the lower end of Hope Street, my guide stopped suddenly, and
said, "Oh, this is close to where that woman lives whose husband
died of starvation. "Leading a few yards up the by-street, he turned
into a low, narrow entry, very dark and damp. Two turns more brought
us to a dirty, pent-up corner, where a low door stood open. We
entered there. It was a cold, gloomy-looking little hovel. In my
allusion to the place last week I said it was "scarcely four yards
square." It is not more than three yards square. There was no fire
in the little rusty grate. The day was sunny, but no sunshine could
ever reach that nook, nor any fresh breezes disturb the pestilent
vapours that harboured there, festering in the sluggish gloom. In
one corner of the place a little worn and broken stair led up to a
room of the same size above, where, I was told, there was now some
straw for the family to sleep upon. But the only furniture in the
house, of any kind, was two rickety chairs and a little broken deal
table, reared against the stairs, because one leg was gone. A quiet-
looking, thin woman, seemingly about