the dwellers do not have enough to eat, are inade
quately clothed, sheltered, and warmed in a rigorous
climate, and are doomed to a moral degeneracy
which puts them lower than the savage in cleanli
ness and decency.

After listening to the wail of an old Irish peasant
in Kerry, Robert Blatchford asked him what he
wanted. " The old man leaned upon his spade and
looked out across the black peat fields at the lower
ing skies. What is it that I m wantun ? he said;
then in a deep plaintive tone he continued, more to
himself than to me, All our brave bhoys and dear
gurrls is away an over the says, an the agent has
taken the pig off me, an the wet has spiled the
praties, an I m an owld man, an I want the Day av
Judgment?"

The Day of Judgment! More than he want
it. From all the land rises the hunger wail, from
Ghetto and countryside, from prison and casual
ward, from asylum and workhouse the cry of the
people who have not enough to eat. Millions of
people, men, women, children, little babes, the blind,
the deaf, the halt, the sick, vagabonds and toilers,
prisoners and paupers, the people Of Ireland, Eng
land, Scotland, Wales, who have not enough to
eat. And this, in face of the fact that five men can
produce bread for a thousand; that one workman
can produce cotton cloth for 250 people, woollens

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