Here, I heard again the common story--they
had been several months out of work; their household goods had
dribbled away in ruinous sales, for something to live upon; and now,
they had very little left but the walls. The little woman said to
me, "Bless yo, there is at thinks we need'n nought, becose we keepen
a daycent eawtside. But, I know my own know abeawt that. Beside, one
doesn't like to fill folk's meawths, iv one is ill off."
It was now a little past noon, and we spent a few minutes looking
through the Catholic schoolhouse, in Trinity Ward--a spacious brick
building. The scholars were away at dinner. My friend is master of
the school. His assistant offered to go with us to one or two Irish
families in a close wynd, hard by, called Wilkie's Court. In every
case I had the great advantage of being thus accompanied by
gentlemen who were friendly and familiar with the poor we visited.
This was a great facility to me. Wilkie's Court is a little cul de
sac, with about half-a-dozen wretched cottages in it, fronted by a
dead wall. The inhabitants of the place are all Irish. They were
nearly all kept alive by relief from one source or other; but their
poverty was not relieved by that cleanliness which I had witnessed
in so many equally poor houses, making the best use of those simple
means of comfort which are invaluable, although they cost little or
nothing.
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