Carriages still roll
along the streets, concerts are still crowded by subscribers, the
shops for expensive luxuries still find daily customers, while the
workman loiters away his unemployed time in watching these things,
and thinking of the pale, uncomplaining wife at home, and the
wailing children asking in vain for enough of food--of the sinking
health, of the dying life of those near and dear to him. The
contrast is too great. Why should he alone suffer from bad times?
I know that this is not really the case; and I know what is the
truth in such matters; but what I wish to impress is what the
workman feels and thinks. True, that with child-like improvidence,
good times will often dissipate his grumbling, and make him forget
all prudence and foresight.
But there are earnest men among these people, men who have endured
wrongs without complaining, but without ever forgetting or forgiving
those whom (they believe) have caused all this woe.
Among these was John Barton. His parents had suffered; his mother
had died from absolute want of the necessaries of life.
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