pay th' rent, too, eawt o' that." I guessed, from the little paper
pictures on the wall, that they were Catholics.

In another corner behind Pole Street, we called at a cottage of two
rooms, each about three yards square. A brother and sister lived
together here. They were each about fifty years of age. They had
three female lodgers, factory operatives, out of work. The sister
said that her brother had been round to the factories that morning,
"Thinking that as it wur a pastime, there would haply be somebody
off; but he couldn't yer o' nought." She said she got a trifle by
charing, but not much now; for folks were "beginnin' to do it for
theirsels." We now turned into Cunliffe Street, and called upon an
Irish family there. It was a family of seven--an old tailor, and his
wife and children. They had "dismissed the relief," as he expressed
it, "because they got a bit o' work." The family was making a little
living by ripping up old clothes, and turning the cloth to make it
up afresh into lads' caps and other cheap things. The old man had
had a great deal of trouble with his family. "I have one girl," said
he, "who has bothered my mind a dale. She is under the influence o'
bad advice. I had her on my hands for many months; an', after that,
the furst week's wages she got, she up, an' cut stick, an' left me.
I have another daughter, now nigh nineteen years of age. The trouble
I have with her I am content with; because it can't be helped. The
poor crayter hasn't the use of all her faculties. I have taken no
end o' pains with her, but I can't get her to count twenty on her
finger ends wid a whole life's tachein'. Fortune has turned her dark
side to me this long time, now; and, bedad, iv it wasn't for
contrivin', an' workin' hard to boot, I wouldn't be able to keep
above the flood. I assure ye it goes agin me to trouble the
gentlemen o' the Board; an' so long as I am able, I will not. I was