Crying for the Light Volume I
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PARKER’S PIECE, SLOVILLE 1
II. THE ACTRESS AND THE WAIF 28
III. GOING UP TO TOWN 53
IV. A YOUNG PREACHER 76
V. AFTER THE SERVICE 91
VI. AT SLOVILLE AGAIN 112
VII. THE CHARTISTS 132
VIII. IN BOHEMIA 162
IX. THE OLD, OLD STORY 197
X. UNDER THE STARS 229
CHAPTER I.
PARKER’S PIECE, SLOVILLE.
Upon my word, I don’t know a more desirable residence from the pauper’s
point of view than Parker’s Piece, an awful spot in the very heart of the
rising town of Sloville. I can’t say, as regards myself, that the place
has many attractions. It is too crowded, too dirty, too evil-smelling,
too much inhabited by living creatures, including insects which delicacy
forbids mentioning. I like living in the country, where I can hear the
birds sing their morning anthem. I like to see the buttercups and
daisies, and the green grass, and the blue sky, and the sunshine, which
makes everyone feel happy; and when winter comes, how much do I love the
sparkling diamonds on the frosted trees, and the pure white snow which
robes the earth with a loveliness of which the dweller in towns has no
adequate idea! I like to breathe fresh air, and not town smoke; and so,
individually, I had rather not reside in Parker’s Piece; but there are
those who live there, and much enjoy it. Mostly they are a ragged
lot—tramps and vagrants and the ever growing army of the unemployed—who
make it their headquarters, as it is full of old houses and corners where
the peelers cannot penetrate, and public-houses where the sot may drink
as long as his or her money lasts out; where, as regards the spot in
question, there is a special encouragement to do so, seeing how much
money was left ages ago by a pious founder, who had made money in some
way which was not exactly right, and who thought it just as well, when it
was of no further use to him, to leave it partly to the priests to pray
for his soul, and partly to the poor, that future generations might call
him blessed; and as the poor all round were well aware of the fact, there
was never a house or room that stood empty long—unhealthy as was the
place, and dilapidated as were the buildings.
One building, however, was an exception to the others, as regards age.
Originally it had been started as a boot and shoe manufactory, but that
did not pay; then it became a depot for pure literature and well-meant
publications, but no one came to buy; then it came into the hands of a
Town Councillor, who, disgusted that the Corporation would not purchase
it at an extravagant rate, to pull it down, vowed that he would never lay
out a penny on the place, only get out of it what rent he could. As he
let it out in tenements, the rents of which were collected by a somewhat
unscrupulous agent, the fact was, the locality became less respectable
and less cared for every day. It was avoided by the police as much as
possible. If there was a quarrel—as there was almost every day—between
its wretched inmates, it was hard to say who was to blame. Passing down
there one day, I saw a man savagely assaulting his wife. To my
remonstrance he replied that if he did not let her know that he was
master, she would stick a knife into him; and, according to the public
opinion of the place, he was right. Only on Sunday morning was the place
quiet, and that was not because the dwellers there were at church or
chapel, but simply because the weary were enjoying an extra hour’s sleep,
or the dissipated had not, as yet, overcome the effect of the previous
evening’s debauch.
All at once Parker’s Piece became known far and near. One night a little
one, happily, died, instead of making a feeble and ineffectual struggle
to live; an inquest was held, and the result was a revelation of misery
and wretchedness which made all Sloville stand aghast. A London radical
newspaper sent down an artist to give a rude drawing of the place, and a
special correspondent, whose report was as sensational as could be
desired. Parker’s Piece became as well known to the British community as
the Mansion House, or St. Paul’s, or Westminster Abbey, or the Houses of
Parliament.
1104477739
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PARKER’S PIECE, SLOVILLE 1
II. THE ACTRESS AND THE WAIF 28
III. GOING UP TO TOWN 53
IV. A YOUNG PREACHER 76
V. AFTER THE SERVICE 91
VI. AT SLOVILLE AGAIN 112
VII. THE CHARTISTS 132
VIII. IN BOHEMIA 162
IX. THE OLD, OLD STORY 197
X. UNDER THE STARS 229
CHAPTER I.
PARKER’S PIECE, SLOVILLE.
Upon my word, I don’t know a more desirable residence from the pauper’s
point of view than Parker’s Piece, an awful spot in the very heart of the
rising town of Sloville. I can’t say, as regards myself, that the place
has many attractions. It is too crowded, too dirty, too evil-smelling,
too much inhabited by living creatures, including insects which delicacy
forbids mentioning. I like living in the country, where I can hear the
birds sing their morning anthem. I like to see the buttercups and
daisies, and the green grass, and the blue sky, and the sunshine, which
makes everyone feel happy; and when winter comes, how much do I love the
sparkling diamonds on the frosted trees, and the pure white snow which
robes the earth with a loveliness of which the dweller in towns has no
adequate idea! I like to breathe fresh air, and not town smoke; and so,
individually, I had rather not reside in Parker’s Piece; but there are
those who live there, and much enjoy it. Mostly they are a ragged
lot—tramps and vagrants and the ever growing army of the unemployed—who
make it their headquarters, as it is full of old houses and corners where
the peelers cannot penetrate, and public-houses where the sot may drink
as long as his or her money lasts out; where, as regards the spot in
question, there is a special encouragement to do so, seeing how much
money was left ages ago by a pious founder, who had made money in some
way which was not exactly right, and who thought it just as well, when it
was of no further use to him, to leave it partly to the priests to pray
for his soul, and partly to the poor, that future generations might call
him blessed; and as the poor all round were well aware of the fact, there
was never a house or room that stood empty long—unhealthy as was the
place, and dilapidated as were the buildings.
One building, however, was an exception to the others, as regards age.
Originally it had been started as a boot and shoe manufactory, but that
did not pay; then it became a depot for pure literature and well-meant
publications, but no one came to buy; then it came into the hands of a
Town Councillor, who, disgusted that the Corporation would not purchase
it at an extravagant rate, to pull it down, vowed that he would never lay
out a penny on the place, only get out of it what rent he could. As he
let it out in tenements, the rents of which were collected by a somewhat
unscrupulous agent, the fact was, the locality became less respectable
and less cared for every day. It was avoided by the police as much as
possible. If there was a quarrel—as there was almost every day—between
its wretched inmates, it was hard to say who was to blame. Passing down
there one day, I saw a man savagely assaulting his wife. To my
remonstrance he replied that if he did not let her know that he was
master, she would stick a knife into him; and, according to the public
opinion of the place, he was right. Only on Sunday morning was the place
quiet, and that was not because the dwellers there were at church or
chapel, but simply because the weary were enjoying an extra hour’s sleep,
or the dissipated had not, as yet, overcome the effect of the previous
evening’s debauch.
All at once Parker’s Piece became known far and near. One night a little
one, happily, died, instead of making a feeble and ineffectual struggle
to live; an inquest was held, and the result was a revelation of misery
and wretchedness which made all Sloville stand aghast. A London radical
newspaper sent down an artist to give a rude drawing of the place, and a
special correspondent, whose report was as sensational as could be
desired. Parker’s Piece became as well known to the British community as
the Mansion House, or St. Paul’s, or Westminster Abbey, or the Houses of
Parliament.
Crying for the Light Volume I
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PARKER’S PIECE, SLOVILLE 1
II. THE ACTRESS AND THE WAIF 28
III. GOING UP TO TOWN 53
IV. A YOUNG PREACHER 76
V. AFTER THE SERVICE 91
VI. AT SLOVILLE AGAIN 112
VII. THE CHARTISTS 132
VIII. IN BOHEMIA 162
IX. THE OLD, OLD STORY 197
X. UNDER THE STARS 229
CHAPTER I.
PARKER’S PIECE, SLOVILLE.
Upon my word, I don’t know a more desirable residence from the pauper’s
point of view than Parker’s Piece, an awful spot in the very heart of the
rising town of Sloville. I can’t say, as regards myself, that the place
has many attractions. It is too crowded, too dirty, too evil-smelling,
too much inhabited by living creatures, including insects which delicacy
forbids mentioning. I like living in the country, where I can hear the
birds sing their morning anthem. I like to see the buttercups and
daisies, and the green grass, and the blue sky, and the sunshine, which
makes everyone feel happy; and when winter comes, how much do I love the
sparkling diamonds on the frosted trees, and the pure white snow which
robes the earth with a loveliness of which the dweller in towns has no
adequate idea! I like to breathe fresh air, and not town smoke; and so,
individually, I had rather not reside in Parker’s Piece; but there are
those who live there, and much enjoy it. Mostly they are a ragged
lot—tramps and vagrants and the ever growing army of the unemployed—who
make it their headquarters, as it is full of old houses and corners where
the peelers cannot penetrate, and public-houses where the sot may drink
as long as his or her money lasts out; where, as regards the spot in
question, there is a special encouragement to do so, seeing how much
money was left ages ago by a pious founder, who had made money in some
way which was not exactly right, and who thought it just as well, when it
was of no further use to him, to leave it partly to the priests to pray
for his soul, and partly to the poor, that future generations might call
him blessed; and as the poor all round were well aware of the fact, there
was never a house or room that stood empty long—unhealthy as was the
place, and dilapidated as were the buildings.
One building, however, was an exception to the others, as regards age.
Originally it had been started as a boot and shoe manufactory, but that
did not pay; then it became a depot for pure literature and well-meant
publications, but no one came to buy; then it came into the hands of a
Town Councillor, who, disgusted that the Corporation would not purchase
it at an extravagant rate, to pull it down, vowed that he would never lay
out a penny on the place, only get out of it what rent he could. As he
let it out in tenements, the rents of which were collected by a somewhat
unscrupulous agent, the fact was, the locality became less respectable
and less cared for every day. It was avoided by the police as much as
possible. If there was a quarrel—as there was almost every day—between
its wretched inmates, it was hard to say who was to blame. Passing down
there one day, I saw a man savagely assaulting his wife. To my
remonstrance he replied that if he did not let her know that he was
master, she would stick a knife into him; and, according to the public
opinion of the place, he was right. Only on Sunday morning was the place
quiet, and that was not because the dwellers there were at church or
chapel, but simply because the weary were enjoying an extra hour’s sleep,
or the dissipated had not, as yet, overcome the effect of the previous
evening’s debauch.
All at once Parker’s Piece became known far and near. One night a little
one, happily, died, instead of making a feeble and ineffectual struggle
to live; an inquest was held, and the result was a revelation of misery
and wretchedness which made all Sloville stand aghast. A London radical
newspaper sent down an artist to give a rude drawing of the place, and a
special correspondent, whose report was as sensational as could be
desired. Parker’s Piece became as well known to the British community as
the Mansion House, or St. Paul’s, or Westminster Abbey, or the Houses of
Parliament.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PARKER’S PIECE, SLOVILLE 1
II. THE ACTRESS AND THE WAIF 28
III. GOING UP TO TOWN 53
IV. A YOUNG PREACHER 76
V. AFTER THE SERVICE 91
VI. AT SLOVILLE AGAIN 112
VII. THE CHARTISTS 132
VIII. IN BOHEMIA 162
IX. THE OLD, OLD STORY 197
X. UNDER THE STARS 229
CHAPTER I.
PARKER’S PIECE, SLOVILLE.
Upon my word, I don’t know a more desirable residence from the pauper’s
point of view than Parker’s Piece, an awful spot in the very heart of the
rising town of Sloville. I can’t say, as regards myself, that the place
has many attractions. It is too crowded, too dirty, too evil-smelling,
too much inhabited by living creatures, including insects which delicacy
forbids mentioning. I like living in the country, where I can hear the
birds sing their morning anthem. I like to see the buttercups and
daisies, and the green grass, and the blue sky, and the sunshine, which
makes everyone feel happy; and when winter comes, how much do I love the
sparkling diamonds on the frosted trees, and the pure white snow which
robes the earth with a loveliness of which the dweller in towns has no
adequate idea! I like to breathe fresh air, and not town smoke; and so,
individually, I had rather not reside in Parker’s Piece; but there are
those who live there, and much enjoy it. Mostly they are a ragged
lot—tramps and vagrants and the ever growing army of the unemployed—who
make it their headquarters, as it is full of old houses and corners where
the peelers cannot penetrate, and public-houses where the sot may drink
as long as his or her money lasts out; where, as regards the spot in
question, there is a special encouragement to do so, seeing how much
money was left ages ago by a pious founder, who had made money in some
way which was not exactly right, and who thought it just as well, when it
was of no further use to him, to leave it partly to the priests to pray
for his soul, and partly to the poor, that future generations might call
him blessed; and as the poor all round were well aware of the fact, there
was never a house or room that stood empty long—unhealthy as was the
place, and dilapidated as were the buildings.
One building, however, was an exception to the others, as regards age.
Originally it had been started as a boot and shoe manufactory, but that
did not pay; then it became a depot for pure literature and well-meant
publications, but no one came to buy; then it came into the hands of a
Town Councillor, who, disgusted that the Corporation would not purchase
it at an extravagant rate, to pull it down, vowed that he would never lay
out a penny on the place, only get out of it what rent he could. As he
let it out in tenements, the rents of which were collected by a somewhat
unscrupulous agent, the fact was, the locality became less respectable
and less cared for every day. It was avoided by the police as much as
possible. If there was a quarrel—as there was almost every day—between
its wretched inmates, it was hard to say who was to blame. Passing down
there one day, I saw a man savagely assaulting his wife. To my
remonstrance he replied that if he did not let her know that he was
master, she would stick a knife into him; and, according to the public
opinion of the place, he was right. Only on Sunday morning was the place
quiet, and that was not because the dwellers there were at church or
chapel, but simply because the weary were enjoying an extra hour’s sleep,
or the dissipated had not, as yet, overcome the effect of the previous
evening’s debauch.
All at once Parker’s Piece became known far and near. One night a little
one, happily, died, instead of making a feeble and ineffectual struggle
to live; an inquest was held, and the result was a revelation of misery
and wretchedness which made all Sloville stand aghast. A London radical
newspaper sent down an artist to give a rude drawing of the place, and a
special correspondent, whose report was as sensational as could be
desired. Parker’s Piece became as well known to the British community as
the Mansion House, or St. Paul’s, or Westminster Abbey, or the Houses of
Parliament.
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Crying for the Light Volume I
Crying for the Light Volume I
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940012760333 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | SAP |
| Publication date: | 07/24/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 114 KB |
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