Our poor are compelled to go back nearer to nature--to old mother nature--and they certainly get a degree of compensation for it.

It increases the expenses of the town, to be sure." "Suppose we inquire of them," struck in Miss Butterworth again, "and find out whether they would not rather be treated better and die earlier." "Paupers are hardly in a position to be consulted in that way," responded Mr.Snow, "and the alternative is one which, considering their moral condition, they would have no right to entertain." Miss Butterworth had sat through this rather desultory disquisition with what patience she could command, breaking in upon it impulsively at various points, and seen that it was drifting nowhere--at least, that it was not drifting toward the object of her wishes.

Then she took up the burden of talk, and carried it on in her very direct way.
"All you say is well enough, I suppose," she began, "but I don't stop to reason about it, and I don't wish to.

Here is a lot of human beings that are treated like brutes--sold every year to the lowest bidder, to be kept.

They go hungry, and naked, and cold.