families in a close wynd, hard by, called Wilkie's Court. In every
case I had the great advantage of being thus accompanied by
gentlemen who were friendly and familiar with the poor we visited.
This was a great facility to me. Wilkie's Court is a little cul de
sac, with about half-a-dozen wretched cottages in it, fronted by a
dead wall. The inhabitants of the place are all Irish. They were
nearly all kept alive by relief from one source or other; but their
poverty was not relieved by that cleanliness which I had witnessed
in so many equally poor houses, making the best use of those simple
means of comfort which are invaluable, although they cost little or
nothing. In the first house we called at, a middle-aged woman was
pacing slowly about the unwholesome house with a child in her arms.
My friend inquired where the children were. "They are in the houses
about; all but the one poor boy." "And where is he?" said I. "Well,
he comes home now an' agin; he comes an' goes; sure, we don't know
how. . . . Ah, thin, sir," continued she, beginning to cry, "I'll
tell ye the rale truth, now. He was drawn away by some bad lads, an'
he got three months in the New Bailey; that's God's truth. . . . Ah,
what'll I do wid him," said she, bursting into tears afresh;
"what'll I do wid him? sure, he is my own!" We did not stop long to
intrude upon such trouble as this. She called out as we came away to
tell us that the poor crayter next door was quite helpless. The next
house was, in some respects, more comfortable than the last, though
it was quite as poor in household goods. There was one flimsy deal
table, one little chair, and two half-penny pictures of Catholic
saints pinned against the wall. "Sure, I sold the other table since
you wor here before," said the woman to my friend; "I sold it for
two-an'-aightpence, an' bought this one for sixpence." At the house
of another Irish family, my friend inquired where all the chairs
were gone. "Oh," said a young woman," the baillies did fetch