CHAPTER XVII.
"Lord! how the people suffer day by day A lingering death, through lack of honest bread; And yet are gentle on their starving way, By faith in future good and justice led." -- BLACKBURN BARD.
It is a curious thing to note the various combinations of circumstance which exist among the families of the poor.

On the surface they seem much the same; and they are reckoned up according to number, income, and the like.

But there are great differences of feeling and cultivation amongst them; and then, every household has a story of its own, which no statistics can tell.

There is hardly a family which has not had some sickness, some stroke of disaster, some peculiar sorrow, or crippling hindrance, arising within itself, which makes its condition unlike the rest.

In this respect each family is one string in the great harp of humanity--a string which, touched by the finger of Heaven, contributes a special utterance to that universal harmony which is too fine for mortal ears.
From the old weaver's house in "Coal Yard" we went to a place close by, called "Castle Yard," one of the most unwholesome nooks I have seen in Wigan yet, though there are many such in that part of the town.