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218 The Floral King.
our children, for afterwards we cannot help them.
The tears of our parents for their children rose
through the clouds, and stopped not before they were
before God’s countenance, who looked to it, and
built the houses of their children. That same God
liveth for ever ; happy our children if He vouchsafe
to become their guardian. He alone saves the
children of the poor, when those of the rich often do
not get a morsel of bread to put into their mouths.
‘Up here everyone complains of hard times, iron
masters and mine owners cry out as loudly as they
can that they are being undone. The rich cedera
bonis, as fast as they can. The country people com-
plain to-day when last year they got fifty-four dlr.
for a tun of grain, now twenty-seven, and no corn is
in demand. Credit is lost, and one cannot help
another, money seems to have vanished, the poor
alone seem to find no change. We have hada wetter
autumn this year than I ever remember. The
winter-rye, which was early sown, is all rotten,
the poor who did not possess any rye to sow before
they had threshed, have their fields preserved and:
verdant. Here is spoken of the urgency of the
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