314 THE IVY. 



that I shrink from the picture which I am never- 

 theless bound to transcribe. They are impover- 

 ished beyond the possibility of making such pro- 

 vision as the meanest of our cottagers is accus- 

 tomed to secure, against the approach of winter. 

 They cannot clothe the shivering limbs of their 

 tender little ones — they cannot supply them with 

 nourishment equivalent to the scantiest allowance 

 of our parochial workhouse — they cannot, in many 

 instances, afford the luxury of a fire, beyond the hour 

 that it is indispensable for cooking their miserable 

 dole of dry potatoes. I have the fact from author- 

 ity that cannot be questioned^rom one who, mer- 

 cifully provided with the resource of a private 

 income, goes among his brethren to minister to 

 their pressing necessities as far as the dnims of 

 his own very large family will allow. I have it 

 from different and distant quarters, from individuals 

 unconnected with each other, and unconscious of 

 the concurrent testimony that they yield. The Ivy 

 on my garden wall is not more destitute of exter 

 nal defence against the biting inclemency oi De- 

 cember, than are multitudes of those whose de 

 lightful work it has ever been, when they saw the 

 hungry, to feed them, to cover the naked with a 

 garment, and to bring those who were cast out to 

 their own hospitable homes. Their acknowledged 

 right — that, at least, which the government of the 

 country has appointed to them, and, for generations 



