Connecticut western news., 1882-11-01
A SORE PICTURE.
Dead Children at the Morgue-An
 Episode of New York City Life.

Twelve dead children were lying at the Morgue this morning awaiting trans portation to the Potter's Field. They were sent to the Morgue by the poor, who are unable to pay for their burial. A Daily Paper.
 No better satire on the actual condi- tion of social affairs under our local, State and National Government has been developed than the revelation con- tained in tAo above paragraph. We are accustomed to boast of our gigantic buildings, our vast railroads, our thriv- ing commerce and our men of wealth. | We pride ourselves on the multitude of our church edifces, and devote large share of our time and money to their maintenance. We pretend to be civil ized Christian community, and our men of learning are still baggling over the questions of eternal punishment and the immortality of the soul.
 | The press devotes columns to the de- hection of 8 single individual from the articles of sectarian faith, while upper society palpitates in velvet pews to the strains of the oratorio that echo from the expensive choir.
 The children of the poor are taken to the Morgue and buried in the Potter's Field. This is not in Africa or Japan /; it is in New York. In the crown city of the Republic, where four men in the short period of fifty years have been able to accumulate and control $500, 900, 900, or one-balf of the entire me- dium of circulation; where the estimated value of single church organization property evceeds $75, ,000, 900; where the actual income of 8 single individual is over 1000 a day; where prohigate young man spent eighteen hundred dol lars for ''supper for two;" where ten men each own horse valued at $50, ,000; where private lady possesses jewels costing $500, ,O0O; where leader of fashion pays. $3, 900 for party dress here, in modern Babylon, the children of the poor are talk en to the Morgue and buried in the Potter's Field.
 Their innocent eyes opened upon a scene of squalid misery. Their first breath drew in the noxious vapors ot disease and death from gloomy haunts where cold starvation rides upon the wind. Their pinched and furrowed faces, old with premature distress; their shriveled hands and feshless fingers reach out in vain for the succor that never comes. Their eyes are hollow, and the deep, dark circles beneath the half-closed lids tells the story of their childish pain. The bright sunshine, the pure air, clear sky and invigorating food was not for them. They are chil- dren of the poor brought to the Morgue to be buried in the Potter's Field.
 No consecrated ground will receive their moldering dust. It was not the prattle of gladsome voices greeting a fond parents ears that ushered in their helpless lives. It was the smothered sob of 8 parents heart who knew too we'll the nature of the hungry wolf that lurked about the door. The strong arms of the father could not avert the danger or fight the unequal battle with starvation, disease and death. The victim of false political system, en- riching the few at the expense of the many, knew too well the worldly out look for his child. A citizen of the Republic, his daily toll the keystone of it's strength and greatness, while he the slave, must needs be chained to the mill-wheel of the rich. Pressed by legislative enactment to defray the ex- penses of the nation and taxed to penury in order to maintain the farce. The fruit of his efforts, diverted from it's rightful channel and absorbed by a band of monetary dictators who grow fat at his expense. The open robbery of his rights, sanctioned by law and upheld by the benighted students oi political economy, denied the first principles bequeathed in the Constitu- tion; the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness becomes to him an empty name.
 Think not that the impulses of the human heart have left the man. The blood that pulses through his veins is not white or cold. It beats with human throb and wrings his soul in agony when he thinks of the sad and deserted spot that must hold the lheless form o his murdered child. If the spirits o the dead do hover above unhallowec ground, what an unseen congregation there must be at the Potter's Field Think of those mute and ghostly chil dren, ye churches with room enough and to spare 1 Gould you not provid. decent burial for the poor mani child? Your property is exempt iron taxation which the poor man pays Could you not return moiety of the in , demnity you receive? Let the wealth, congregations answer.
 , Creators of all wealth, forget not th , lesson. Your child may yet be takel l to the Morgue. A radical wrong in tn system of government cries out for re t construction. You and your childrel are drifting to the Potter's Field througl l the operation of unjust laws, framed fol } your eternal subjection and welded upo1 [ you through the corrupt use of none. 3 in the interests of monopolistic class , whose means and methods are as wron. as they are infamous in the sight o f God and man. GRACE SOUTHLAND,
 GunpOwder Engine.