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Updated: May 6, 2025
To see the rich growin' poor, the poor starvin' an' dyin' on every hand; the little children cryin' with cold an' hunger, an' the fathers an' mothers with ne'er a scrap of food to give 'em. That was the state of things in Ireland the year we left it.
And I described the feelin's I felt to see such droves of poor people out of work and starvin' for the necessaries of life, whilst a few wuz pilin' up enormous and onneeded wealth, and I sez: "Mr. Astofeller, what good does it do to heap up such a lot of money jest to think you own it and hide it from the tax collector?
One or two good shoves George gave with his pole, and then found he no longer could touch bottom. He was at the mercy of the swift current. Down into the little lake he was swept, and thence through the strait right out into Grand Lake. A high sea was running, and the frail raft promptly began to fall to pieces. "Have I escaped starvin' only to drown?" thought George. It certainly looked like it.
So, when we cum ter talk it ober, it seem drefful shifles' in me ter be doin' nothin' when de Lord worked night an' day, so I begun ter take in laundry work an' now we hev more money ter spen' on de Lord. But we never hez enuff. De worl's so full o' perishin' souls an' starvin' bodies. I tells Pompey I never wanted ter be rich till I began ter do de King's bizniss.
"Why, no longer ago than supper-time last night, when ye said ye had eaten such a lot that ye wouldn't be able to taste another bite for a month to come, an' didn't I see ye pitchin' into the wittles this mornin' as if ye had bin starvin' for a week past?" "Git along wid ye," retorted Flinn; "yer jokes is as heavy as yerself, an' worth about as much."
Sez I, "The foe that slays one hundred thousand a year, and causes ten thousand murders every year, steals the vittles and clothes from starvin' wimmen and children, has its deadly grip on Church and State, and makes our civilization and Christianity a mock and byword amongst them that think." "You allude to Intemperance, I presume," sez he.
An' I'm starvin' to death because I don't get what I used to eat.... Then this last blow Dorn! that fine young wheat-man, the best Aw! Lenore..." "But, dad, is isn't there any any hope?" Anderson was silent. "Dad," she had pleaded, "if he were really dead buried oh! wouldn't I feel it?" "You've overworked yourself. Now you've got to rest," her father had replied, huskily. "But, dad ..."
And he, too, had a disposition to theorize. "It takes a mighty mean man ter steal a horse," he said. "Stealin' a horse air powerful close ter murder. Folkses' lives fairly depend on a horse ter work thar corn an' sech, an' make a support fur em. I hev' knowed folks ter kem mighty close ter starvin' through hevin thar horse stole.
Two nights since I dreamt I saw un starvin' on a dunghill. 'T was a parable, I judge, an' meant Newtake Farm." Below Newtake Farm the river Teign wound, with many a foaming fall and singing rapid, to confluence with her twin sister in the valley beneath. Here, at a certain spot, above the forest and beneath the farm, stood Martin Grimbal on a bright afternoon in May.
But there's wuss uns nor Meg Gudgeon for all 'er wicked larf, as I knows. Many a time she's kep' me from starvin'. I mus' run up an' see 'er. She'll kill herself a-larfin' yit. The girl hurried upstairs and I followed her, leaving Sinfi below. I re-entered the bedroom. There was the woman, her face buried in the pillow, rocking and rolling her body half round with the regularity of a pendulum.
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