are now making the English workers acquainted with it. Filth and
drunkenness, too, they have brought with them. The lack of cleanliness,
which is not so injurious in the country, where population is scattered,
and which is the Irishman's second nature, becomes terrifying and gravely
dangerous through its concentration here in the great cities. The
Milesian deposits all garbage and filth before his house door here, as he
was accustomed to do at home, and so accumulates the pools and dirt-heaps
which disfigure the working-people's quarters and poison the air. He
builds a pig-sty against the house wall as he did at home, and if he is
prevented from doing this, he lets the pig sleep in the room with
himself. This new and unnatural method of cattle-raising in cities is
wholly of Irish origin. The Irishman loves his pig as the Arab his
horse, with the difference that he sells it when it is fat enough to
kill. Otherwise, he eats and sleeps with it, his children play with it,
ride upon it, roll in the dirt with it, as any one may see a thousand
times repeated in all the great towns of England. The filth and
comfortlessness that prevail in the houses themselves it is impossible to
describe. The Irishman is unaccustomed to the presence of furniture; a
heap of straw, a few rags, utterly beyond use as clothing, suffice for
his nightly couch. A piece of wood, a broken chair, an old chest for a
table, more he needs not; a tea-kettle, a few pots and dishes, equip his
kitchen, which is also his sleeping and living room. When he is in want
of fuel, everything combustible within his reach, chairs, door-posts,
mouldings, flooring, finds its way up the chimney. Moreover, why should
he need much room? At home in his mud-cabin there was only one room for
all domestic purposes; more than one room his family does not need in
England. So the custom of crowding many persons into a single room, now
so universal, has been chiefly implanted by the Irish immigration. And
since the poor devil must have one enjoyment, and society has shut him
out of all others, he betakes himself to the drinking of spirits. Drink
is the only thing which makes the Irishman's life worth having, drink and
his cheery care-free temperament; so he revels in drink to the point of
the most bestial drunkenness. The southern facile character of the
Irishman, his crudity, which places him but little above the savage, his
contempt for all humane enjoyments, in whi