Nor was this all.

The scene indeed was one which ought never to be witnessed in any country.

Misery in all its shapes was there--suffering in its severest pangs--sickness--disease--famine--and death--to all which was to be added bleak, houseless, homeless, roofless desolation.

Had the season been summer they might have slept in the fields, made themselves temporary sheds, or carried their sick, and aged, and helpless, to distant places where humanity might aid and relieve them.

But no--here were the elements of God, as it were, called in by the malignity and wickedness of man to war against old age, infancy, and disease.
For a day or two proceeding this, poor Torley thought he felt a little better, that is to say, his usual symptoms of suffering were litigated, as is sometimes the case when human weakness literally sinks below the reach of pain itself.