" The "Labour Master" told me there was a large
wood shed for the men to shelter in when rain came on. As we were
conversing, one of my friends exclaimed, "He's here now!" "Who's
here?" "Radical Jack." The superintendent was coming down the road.
He told me some interesting things, which I will return to on
another occasion. But our time was up. We had other places to see.
As we came away, three old Irishwomen leaned against the wall at the
corner of the yard, watching the men at work inside. One of them was
saying, "Thim guardians is the awfullest set o' min in the world! A
man had better be transpoorted than come under 'em. An' thin,
they'll try you, an' try you, as if you was goin' to be hanged." The
poor old soul had evidently only a narrow view of the necessities
and difficulties which beset the labours of the Board of Guardians
at a time like this. On our way back to town one of my friends told
me that he "had met a sexton the day before, and had asked him how
trade was with him. The sexton replied that it was "Varra bad--nowt
doin', hardly." "Well, how's that?" asked the other.
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