children, though stunted and
sickly, live on. All these, I say, could be borne, did no comparison
arise between their own poverty and the condition of others; but, when
they visit the town or city on market-days, they see an abundance of
good white loaves crowding the windows of the bakers' shops; warm, soft
mattresses and blankets are displayed for sale to such as have the means
of purchasing; children fresh and blooming as the flowers of May are
playing joyously about, and even from the superabundance of their meals
casting a portion to the dogs and other pet animals. Ah! human courage
gives way at this reverse in the picture of human condition; and when
the tired, care-worn men return to their mud hovels, their black bread
and straw pallet, and are surrounded by a number of squalid,
half-starved, wailing infants, to whom they would gladly have brought
the share of cakes and buns thrown by the pampered children of great
towns in the streets, or cast to the animals, then bitter discontent and
repining take possession of their mind, and, utterly forgetting that on
high is One who careth for all, they say, "Why is this difference
allowed? and, if there must be both rich and poor in the world, why were
not we born to riches? why should not every man have his turn in worldly
prosperity? We are not justly used or fairly treated in being always
poor and hard worked." Of course, all this is both sinful and
unreasonable; neither does it in any manner serve to lighten their load;
and yet they must go on, bending, staggering under the burden too heavy
for them to bear, till they sink, utterly exhausted and worn out. They
must toil, toil on, without hope, without relaxing their daily efforts,
or without once daring to entertain the idea that, by a long continuance
in honest, virtuous, industrious conduct, the day might come when, like
the great Creator of all, they might rest from their labours, and behold
peaceful ease succeeding the hard-griping hand of poverty. Think of a
whole life passed thus, in one continued struggle for the bare means of
life, without a glimmer of hope to cheer the thorny path. What must such
a life be like? Why, it would resemble one long rainy day, without a
single ray of brightness from the blessed sun to help us through it.
Then labour is resumed with an unwilling and dissatisfied spirit. "What
does it signify to us," cry the worn-out labourers, "whether the harvest
yields ill or well? Whether the ears