never be written, and that no statistics will reveal.

Trinity Ward swarms with factory operatives; and, after our chat
with blind John, the chairmaker, and his ancient crony the grinder
from Nile Street, we set off again to see something more of them.
Fitful showers came down through the day, and we had to shelter now
and then. In one cottage, where we stopped a few minutes, the old
woman told us that, in addition to their own family, they had three
young women living with them--the orphan daughters of her husband's
brother. They had been out of work thirty-four weeks, and their
uncle--a very poor man--had been obliged to take them into his
house, "till sich times as they could afford to pay for lodgin's
somewheer else." My companion asked whether they were all out of
work still. "Naw," replied the old woman, "one on 'em has getten on
to wortch a few days for t' sick (that is, in the place of some sick
person). Hoo's wortchin' i' th' cardreawn at 'Th' Big-un.'" (This is
the name they give to Messrs Swainson and Birley's mill.)

The next place we called at was the house of an old joiner. He was
lying very ill upstairs. As we drew up to the door, my companion
said, "Now, this is a clean, respectable family. They have struggled
hard and suffered a great deal, before they would ask for relief."
When we went in, the wife was cleaning her well-nigh empty house.
"Eh," said she," I thought it wur th' clubman comin', an' I wur just
goin' to tell him that I had nothin' for him." The family was seven
in number--man, wife, and five children. The husband, as I have
said, was lying ill. The wife told me that they had only 6s. a-week
coming in for the seven to live upon. My companion was the weekly
visitor who relieved them. She told me that her husband was sixty-
eight years old; she was not forty. She said that her husband was