that he does so in a quiet and inoffensive manner. During my residence
in England, at least twenty or thirty persons have died of simple
starvation under the most revolting circumstances, and a jury has rarely
been found possessed of the courage to speak the plain truth in the
matter. Let the testimony of the witnesses be never so clear and
unequivocal, the bourgeoisie, from which the jury is selected, always
finds some backdoor through which to escape the frightful verdict, death
from starvation. The bourgeoisie dare not speak the truth in these
cases, for it would speak its own condemnation. But indirectly, far more
than directly, many have died of starvation, where long continued want of
proper nourishment has called forth fatal illness, when it has produced
such debility that causes which might otherwise have remained
inoperative, brought on severe illness and death. The English working-
men call this "social murder," and accuse our whole society of
perpetrating this crime perpetually. Are they wrong?

True, it is only individuals who starve, but what security has the
working-man that it may not be his turn to-morrow? Who assures him
employment, who vouches for it that, if for any reason or no reason his
lord and master discharges him to-morrow, he can struggle along with
those dependent upon him, until he may find some one else "to give him
bread?" Who guarantees that willingness to work shall suffice to obtain
work, that uprightness, industry, thrift, and the rest of the virtues
recommended by the bourgeoisie, are really his road to happiness? No
one. He knows that he has something to-day, and that it does not depend
upon himself whether he shall have something to-morrow. He knows that
every breeze that blows, every whim of his employer, every bad turn of
trade may hurl him back into the fierce whirlpool from which he has
temporarily saved himself, and in which it is hard and often impossible
to keep his head above water. He knows that, though he may have the