_EXTRACTS FROM A TRAGIC INTERNATIONAL ROMANCE, WRITTEN UP TO DATE._
The Government makes no sign or move, though people who think are
clamouring and asking "How long shall such things be?"
* * * * *
[Illustration]
They were only a few poor Polish Jews, there might have been a hundred
of them all told, beaten, scourged, driven by a brutal and merciless
Government to "move on," somewhere--anywhere,--it cared not, so long
as they had no abiding home, no hope of peace, of comfort, or of even
the common necessaries of existence, and stricken with despair and
overcome with terror, they meet with their good angel.
* * * * *
The Middleman, the blessed agent, to them, of all good, tells them
of the bright free land, where a golden harvest of profit is waiting
them, if they will only realise their "all" and hand it over to him.
With a shout of joy, in grateful pæans they sing the praises of their
preserver,--and realising all their worldly wealth and making it over
to him, they arrive, greedy, hunger-smitten and expectant, one damp
May morning in Whitechapel.
* * * * *
They find a native population, struggling in terrible earnest with
want, and taking, through the Sweater who commands the situation,
starvation prices for the making of a coat, for the which, by working
nineteen hours in the day, and reducing life to the slavery of a
living death, they manage to earn two shillings and ninepence!
* * * * *
The happy and eager Polish Jews step in, and see their chance.
Eldorado lies before them. They are asked if they will make the coat
for two shillings and sevenpence. The poor starving foreigners eagerly
clutch at any chance. Who can blame _them_? No one. It is a struggle
for life. Fair but false promises have brought them to these shores,
to swell the sum of misery, already, Heaven knows, high enough!
But still they come, keeping up a steady flow of suffering, and the
Government makes no sign or move, though people who think are loudly
clamouring, and asking, "How long shall such things be?"
* * * * *