THE UNJUST JUDGEMENT.

Wairarapa Standard, Volume I, Issue 42, 21 October 1867, Page 4

THE UNJUST JUDGEMENT.

c lAPXER I. Reader ! Did you ever stand opposite Newg: te and meditate ?—not alone on all who Dave entered there, to pass out by a narrow door on the scaffold, but on those who sent them thither ?—those who turned aside, possibly, from a reponti ig sinner, and crushed him, until the uumane nature within turned togall, bit "ness, and revenge a.umai mankind?

Dave you thought, still more, of what judgement must he against tho.-e wiu> nave -led a man—v il ally led a man—into temptation and error, and then uctraved him ?

There are those living to whom this tale m iy sound as a warning and a call from that sure iud- meat tiny >.ui some ■day >e called t • • -eet. i-: was a g.iawin p , bitterly cold night in February,.colder than that month has f>r many years been felt; all who had a home to shelter th<m in were hurrying t iwards it, unless business forced them tj direct their footsteps elsewhere, and then, even as they went, they cowed beneath the biting blast, longing to be within the precincts »f their own house, and fancying, as they sped along, the cheering fire-light and domestic hearth. Men shuffled as they walked, beating their half-frozen feet, whilst they wrapped their cloaks around them. Few women were abroad, unless it were the homeless, toiling—or class most unfortunate so well named.

Let ns creep up that dark narrow passage in one of the diriest portions oi the city. What do we see ? High gloomy •houees, with here and there a flickering light a narrow, dirty-paned window. Half the glass in those dingy frames has long since departed, and hits of paper, rags, anything fills up the space. Heaven knows the upper part of those liouses is gloomy enough, but just let us look downwards—down in those dank dark underground kitchens (as they are called) —cellars is the proper word. (Jan those he human beings lying ■down there on the stone floor this bitter, freezing night ? Bags, they can only be he ips of rags, thrown carelessly there! Yet, no, they move. A gas-lamp outside, which shines dimlv trough the fog, just suffices to give a feeble light down in that cellar; and •by it we can see, you and I, reader, a grate, in winch not a particle of coal is to be seen, a broken stool, some bricks in two different piles, as if brought there to tom* other seats cold—cold and bleak stony cold and hard, as the hearts which brought the dwellers in that cellar down os its floor.

There is a sparkle-as from a diamond down in that dark, damp abode. *Tis the gas-light which just falls on that frozen tear on the mother’s lid, like the glitter of some stalactite cn the root oi a cavern.

A while longer those weary eyes wat-hed up, up, ever upwards at thegaslight in the street. The child feebly moaned, and dropped back in her arms. Up sprang the woman -as it electrified, but that sudden «lurt seemed almost too much for her: she staggered and nearly fell. Starvation sadly impairs the poor aortal frame!

“I can’t—can’t bear it!’’ she sobbed at length. “John does not return. I can’t stay. An, ye ’ll starve outright; I mua be up an, doin’ zummit!” And wjtn hasty, hut staggering steps, she climbed the stone stairs, down the passage, pushing aside a group of dirty ragged children who were congregated ft we door, even that bit*er night, and so she hurried down the passage, aad ino the busy thoroughfares.

uow very plea a. i. t ato twity ourselves up iu a good warm (to ourselves) mautle of stern morality, and say, as we sit cosily by our fire sipping good old port after dinner, and pealing our walnuts to flavour it—“ On principle, I nevtr give to a' beggar in the streets. I hold it downright criminal to encourage lying hypocrisy, and laziness! All can obtain work, if they'choose; or if not, look at our glorious institutions for the poor. All who please can find shelter!” Come alorijr, reader, you and I will just piep at the outside of Workhouse or workhouse. Just let us glance,

no more than that, lest your delicate nerves should be shaken at the huddled masses there. A e they human being t, or bundles of rags? Where are their heads or limbs ?

Bent down on their knees, and doubled up beneath them, to keep their extremities from freezing; and they are sleeping —yes, the starving sleep well, the coiu, numbed stupor of coming death. If you doubt me, try it. On principle, would you refuse a mite to that shivering woman and half-inani-mate babv.

Possibly you would, for see many who do so. I don’t know, but I fancy you will sleep better to-night if you give her wherewithal to buv a loaf of bread.

What if a dozen dupe you, one may be fed, and rely upon it, a righteous God looks to the will, not the result. “ For God’s sake do ’e give I zummit, good gentleman,” uttered the quivering tone.

“Oh! for the dear Lord’s sake doanl ’e let my child die of want!” On, on passed the crowd, thinking how very cold it was, and the snow just beginning to fall.

“ Oh! for the dear Lord’s sake! have do ’e!” “ Come, I say, you woman there, move on. or I shall take you to the station. Come, move on!”

The policeman behind, the cold flaky snow beating in her face, the starved worn m moved away. Again and again she tried the same heart-aching- crv, with the like result, ' '

Oh! if they would take her to the station-house surely there she would have something to eat, something for her child!

“Do take me, do’e take!” she exclaimed to the last one. “I am starving !” “Yes, yes, we know your tricks! Come, move on! why don’t you go to your parish, if you’re starving ?” It be a long way off, zur!” she an-swered,-hoping this parley might end wd:.

“ I daresay it is !” and the man laughed. “ lou couldn’t reach it, could you? AVell suppose you move on now, and "Is there anything the matter?” asked a dainty young lady, wrapped up in furs, hurrying by on her brother’s arm to a pleasant little tea-party. “ Only some beggars, that’s all! Oh ! how cold it is.”

“ How dreadfully the streets are infested with them!” ■

“ I’d have everyone sent to hard labor for a month!”

And just when they arrived at their friend’s house, and had unmuffled themselves before a comfortable fire, the starving desperate mother, and her baby, found themselves worried, harried, weary and tainting on a bridge. No—it was notrauraer, reader, though next day the papers headed the paragraph :

“ MURDER At D SUICIDE.”

It was not murder, for the baby was dead before the mother crawled up somehow on the parapet, and dropped with her burden into the ‘freezing, sullen water, and therein they were found next morning, the child closely clasped to that frozen bosom.

Scarcely had she left her underground cellar the night before, when a tall, once handsome, but now pale, thin man entered the passage of the house. A dark, despairing look was on his brow. Displacing the children at the door, and yet gently done, as by .a kind man, he silently crept down the stone stairs, and entered the cellar. Of course the door was open. There was nothing to tempt the thief there.

•“Jenny, lass I” he said, tenderly, yet in so sad a tone it almost sounded a sullen one, ‘ get the up, and let’s tramp it somewhere together 5 maybe the Christen will have pity on a mother and child this freezin’ night, I can’t get nothink." As he spoke he groped his way towards where the heap of cloths had lain.

Ivothinganswered him save a dull, rustling sound. It was a whole patch of black beetles congregated round a few crumbs which had fallen from the only morsel of bread the women who quitte-.i the cellar had seen that day. The greedy ; vermin, scared by man, were rushing to their holes every way. “Jenny, lass! ’ he called agnin, stooping down, aud groping over the stony, vacant floor. •* AVhere he she gone ?” he asked, in alarm, standing erect, and looking around him. Kothing! Accustomed to the faint light from the street, he could see every corner of the celiar.

“ Poor lass! poor lass!” he uttered at length, as the partial truth seemed to flash upon his mind, “T see how it be.

Hunger will make the most timrpuse bird cum an* eat from the hand! Poor Jenny! an’ she so fearful like, be gone out beggin’ a morsel o’ h.eed ! Well God speed her bettet than me!” Sinking down oh the wicks where the poor woman had sat looking up at the gas-light watching for his return, he, too, Fstened in heartbreaking suspense, until the tension of his nerves, the cold and hunger combined, induced torpor, not sleep, but a heavy, cold, insensible state, where thought was dulled only, for the body still suffered. TO BE CONTINUED.