taken off its small shoes and stockings, and was warming its feet at the
fire. Their little voices had a sweet and kindly sound as they talked in
low tones to their parents and one another. They all looked very shabby,
and yet had a decency about them; and it was touching to see how they
made themselves at home at this casual fireside, and got all the comfort
they could out of the circumstances. By and by two or three market-women
came in and looked pleasantly at them, and said a word or two to the
children.

They did not beg of me, as I supposed they would; but after looking at
them awhile, I pulled out a piece of silver, and handed it to one of the
little girls. She took it very readily, as if she partly expected it,
and then the father and mother thanked me, and said they had been
travelling a long distance, and had nothing to subsist upon, except what
they picked up on the road. They found it impossible to live in England,
and were now on their way to Liverpool, hoping to get a passage back to
Ireland, where, I suppose, extreme poverty is rather better off than
here. I heard the little girl say that she should buy bread with the
money. There is not much that can be caught in the description of this
scene; but it made me understand, better than before, how poor people
feel, wandering about in such destitute circumstances, and how they
suffer; and yet how they have a life not quite miserable, after all, and
how family love goes along with them. Soon the boat arrived at the pier,
and we all went on board; and as I sat in the cabin, looking up through a
broken pane in the skylight, I saw the woman's thin face, with its
anxious, motherly aspect; and the youngest child in her arms, shrinking
from the chill wind, but yet not impatiently; and the eldest of the girls
standing close by with her expression of childish endurance, but yet so
bright and intelligent that it would evidently take but a few days to
make a happy and playful child of her. I got into the interior of this