It seems to me to be a most cruel and monstrous custom to dig up a dead man’s bones and stock them up under a tree just because his friends are too poverty stricken to pay the rent on a pitiful two by six plot of ground.

They are able-bodied men here who work from early morning until late at night, in the ice-cold cellars with a quarter inch of water on the floor -- men who for six or seven months in the year never see sunlight from Sunday afternoon till the next Sunday morning -- and who cannot earn three hundred dollars in a year. There are little children here, scarce in their teens, who can hardly see the tops of work benches -- whose parents have lied to get them their places -- and who