We passed the
closed doors of the casual ward, where intending inmates were examined
for admittance, and casuals were lodged for the night. Every door was
unlocked to admit us and carefully locked behind us, conveying an idea
of very prison-like administration. The able-bodied were at work, I
suppose, for few were visible except women who were nursing children.
There was a large number of patients in the infirmary wards. One man
whose bed was on the floor was evidently very near the gate we all must
enter. He never opened his eyes or seemed conscious of the presence of a
stranger. I noticed a little boy lift the poor head to place it easier.
I saw no one whom I could imagine was a nurse. The kindness and
tenderness of the beggar nurses in the sick wards of the workhouse at
Ballymena struck me forcibly. The absence of anything of the kind struck
me forcibly in Manor Hamilton.
The children in this workhouse were pretty numerous. They demanded
something from me with the air of little footpads. The women were little
better. I was told, pretty imperatively, to look in my pockets. One
woman rushed after me half way up stairs as if she would compel a gift.
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