"But why do I talk of death? That phantom of grisly bone? I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own! It seems so like my own, Because of the fasts I keep-- Oh, God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap! "Work--work--work! My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread, and--rags. That shatter'd roof, and this naked floor, A table--a broken chair; And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there! "Work--work--work! From weary chime to chime, Work--work--work, As prisoners work for crime! Band and gusset and seam, Seam and gusset and band, Till the heart is sick and the brain benumb'd, As well as weary hand. "Work--work--work! In dull December light, And work--work--work, When the weather is warm and bright-- While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs And twit me with the Spring. "Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet-- With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet, For only one short hour-- To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal! "Oh, but for one short hour! A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, But only time for Grief! A little weeping would ease my heart-- But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread! "With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread-- Stitch--stitch--stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Would that its tone could reach the rich! She sang this 'Song of the Shirt!'" We annex part of an article from Jerrold's Magazine, which draws quite as clear a picture of the condition of the English poor, and points out the only feasible remedy for the evils of that condition: SLAVERY. THE ONLY REMEDY FOR THE MISERIES OF THE ENGLISH POOR. BY A PHILANTHROPIST. Whoever is unprepared to cast aside not only his prejudices, but many of what may be considered well-formed opinions, had better not attempt to peruse the following few pages. I must demand of my reader that he come to the perusal, the _beau ideal_ of a juryman. No information that he has gained elsewhere, no feelings that he has cherished as virtues, no sentiments that he has cultivated as noble, and no opinions that he may have formed as infallible, must interfere with his purely and simply receiving the following arguments on their own cogency and truth alone.