have seven children, her poor drudge and she: a farm, with one cow,
which helps to make the children soup; also one little horse, or garron.
They have rents and quit-rents, Hens to pay to this Seigneur, Oat-sacks
to that; King's taxes, Statute-labour, Church-taxes, taxes enough;--and
think the times inexpressible. She has heard that somewhere, in some
manner, something is to be done for the poor: "God send it soon; for the
dues and taxes crush us down (nous ecrasent)!" (Ibid. i. 134.)

Fair prophecies are spoken, but they are not fulfilled. There have
been Notables, Assemblages, turnings out and comings in. Intriguing and
manoeuvring; Parliamentary eloquence and arguing, Greek meeting Greek in
high places, has long gone on; yet still bread comes not. The harvest is
reaped and garnered; yet still we have no bread. Urged by despair and
by hope, what can Drudgery do, but rise, as predicted, and produce the
General Overturn?

Fancy, then, some Five full-grown Millions of such gaunt figures,
with their haggard faces (figures haves); in woollen jupes, with
copper-studded leather girths, and high sabots,--starting up to ask, as
in forest-roarings, their washed Upper-Classes, after long unreviewed
centuries, virtually this question: How have ye treated us; how have ye
taught us, fed us, and led us, while we toiled for you? The answer can
be read in flames, over the nightly summer sky. This is the feeding and
leading we have had of you: EMPTINESS,--of pocket, of stomach, of head,
and of heart. Behold there is nothing in us; nothing but what Nature
gives her wild children of the desert: Ferocity and Appetite; Strength
grounded on Hunger. Did ye mark among your Rights of Man, that man was
not to die of starvation, while there was bread reaped by him? It is
among the Mights of Man.