The disease seems to spread with the multiplication of the family:  the sons have it, and the sons’ sons after them, so much so that even to bear the name is sufficient to stamp the owner as a miserable helpless being.  All human wretchedness is, of course, to be deeply commiserated, and yet it is exasperating to see one man still doing his best under real trouble, and another eating contentedly the bread of idleness when there seems nothing wrong except a total lack of energy.  The old men go to the workhouse, the young men go, the women and the children; if they are out one month the next sees their return.  These again are but broken reeds to rely upon.  The golden harvest might rot upon the ground for all their gathering, the grass wither and die as it stands, without the touch of the scythe, the very waggons and carts fall to pieces in the sheds.  There is no work to be got out of them.

The village, too, has its rookery, though not quite in the same sense as the city.  Traced to its beginning, it is generally found to have originated upon a waste piece of ground, where some squatters settled and built their cabins.  These, by the growth of better houses around, and the rise of property, have now become of some value, not so much for the materials as the site.  To the original hovels additions have been made by degrees, and fresh huts squeezed in till every inch of space is as closely occupied as in a back court of the metropolis.  Within the cottages are low pitched, dirty, narrow, and contracted, without proper conveniences, or even a yard or court.

The social condition of the inhabitants is unpleasant to contemplate.  The young men, as they grow up, arrive at an exaggerated idea of the value of their parents’ property—­the cottage of three rooms—­and bitter animosities arise between them.  One is accused of having had his share out in money; another has got into trouble and had his fine paid for him; the eldest was probably born before wedlock; so there are plenty of materials for recrimination.  Then one, or even two of them bring home a wife, or at least a woman, and three families live beneath a single roof—­with results it is easy to imagine, both as regards bickering and immorality.  They have no wish to quit the place and enter cottages with better accommodation:  they might rent others of the farmers, but they prefer to be independent, and, besides, will not move lest they should lose their rights.  Very likely a few lodgers are taken in to add to the confusion.  As regularly as clockwork cross summonses are taken out before the Bench, and then the women on either side reveal an unequalled power of abuse and loquacity, leaving a decided impression that it is six to one and half a dozen to the other.