that to the weakness of my mind, they have wrongfully seemed to contain some interest.
You, of the higher classes, write your thousands of books. Are they less mistaken or hurtful than mine? And yet yours are approved and published.
But we, of the lower class, write this little essay for all time and in self-defence, and doubtless you will reject it, as I have been assured you will, claiming that it possesses neither talent nor eloquence. It will be great injury to us, and even to God; and I know with great certainty that Heaven will one day come to our side if you thus reject the bread of life, which is the truth.
Can you deny this truth, and live without food? No! In an hour you would stretch out your hand to the tree of life which is forbidden to you,—to gather the bread earned by another's labor, and to carry it away with you. That deserves thought.
Therefore I pray you, reader, to have pity on yourself; give due thought to this question, and you will be reasonable. If others refuse to examine it, you will not be responsible.
Do I expect a recompense for the trouble I am taking? Is it for that that I labor and write? No; I expect but punishment for it, as the rich have assured me.
If you would address your reproaches, say they, to an inferior class, you would receive a recompense; but since you stab to the quick
