As Corrigan says, in the "Colleen Bawn," "There was nobody in--but the fire--and that was gone out." As we came away, a stalwart Irishman met us at a turn of the court, and said to my companion, "Sure, ye didn't visit this house." " Not to-day;" replied the visitor.

"I'll come and see you at the usual time." The people in this house were not so badly off as some others.

We came down the steps of the court into the fresher air of Friargate again.
Our next walk was to Heatley Street.

As we passed by a cluster of starved loungers, we overheard one of them saying to another, "Sitho, yon's th' soup-maister, gooin' a-seein' somebry." Our time was getting short, so we only called at one house in Heatley Street, where there was a family of eleven--a decent family, a well-kept and orderly household, though now stript almost to the bare ground of all worldly possession, sold, bitterly, piecemeal, to help to keep the bare life together, as sweetly as possible, till better days.
The eldest son is twenty-seven years of age.

The whole family has been out of work for the last seventeen weeks, and before that, they had been working only short time for seven months.