Arous exploitation, we find, at least, pain in the back, hips, a

Tch_, March 16th, 1844. {211} Thomas Hood, the most talented of all the
English humorists now living, and, like all humorists, full of human
feeling, but wanting in mental energy, published at the beginning of
1844 a beautiful poem, "The Song of the Shirt," which drew sympathetic
but unavailing tears from the eyes of the daughters of the bourgeoisie.
Originally published in _Punch_, it made the round of all the papers. As
discussions of the condition of the sewing-women filled all the papers
at the time, special extracts are needless. {214} "Arts and Artisans,"
p. 137, _et seq_. {221a} So called from the East Indian tribe, whose
only trade is the murder of all the strangers who fall into its hands.
{221b} "What kind of wild justice must it be in the hearts of these men
that prompts them, with cold deliberation, in conclave assembled, to
doom their brother workman, as the deserter of his order and his order's
cause, to die a traitor's and a deserter's death, have him executed, in
default of any public judge and hangman, then by a secret one; like your
old Chivalry Fehmgericht and Secret Tribunal, suddenly revived in this
strange guise; suddenly rising once more on the astonished eye, dressed
not now in mail shirts, but in fustian jackets, meeting not in
Westphalian forests, but in the paved Gallowgate of Glasgow! Such a
temper must be widesprea