Mon, owd folk at has to wortch for a livin' cannot keep up wi' sich times as these,--nought o'th sort." "Well, but how do you manage to live ?" "Well, aw can hardly tell,--aw'll be sunken iv aw can tell.

It's very thin pikein'; but very little does for me, an' aw've nought but mysel'.

Yo see'n, aw get a bit ov a job neaw an' then, an' a scrat amung th' rook, like an owd hen.

But aw'll tell yo one thing; aw'll not go up yon, iv aw can help it,--aw'll not." ("Up yon" meant to the Board of Guardians.) "Eh, now," said the woman of the house, "aw never see'd sich a man as him i' my life.

See yo, he'll sit an' clem fro mornin' to neet afore he'll ax oather relief folk or onybody else for a bite." In the same street we called at a house where there was a tall, pale old man, sitting sadly in an old arm-chair, by the fireside.