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AAAaa A AAA AAAA ^^'^f^mfm^^fmm^, #^AB^ftAmaa« ^^^^^AA- LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 1-^A^aA/ "'WAA, SAA^A, UNITED STATES .OP AMERICA. % ^AAA,' '^^aba': AnrAArvAAAAAAAAA TMm^f^f^ft^^ aAaA AAaaa, \/^AAa- ^^^AAAAAa, ^■A^.A*AAA, .mmmmmmi^:^ z^^^ :fc^AfrA !^r^AAMAA^AAAA^« Af^AAA Aft A J ^- '-^ ^; *„ i ^ .A^^A^illti A&* - ^mrM.mmj^.:^'^''' AA'AAr^/^An/ oAAn.ii '^^^^HWm^f^ iAAaa^aA^^i .^:m§M}S0^^ r\AAAAAAA(^AAA/ .AAA^^...AAAA^n^&/^A*ii ,M^f\fTmr\fsmi m^(}nf,^fYm\f\^l^m ^'■^^^mAN^^fimmm \-'.'.''AA ^r^^,M«.*||sW^^' f\f\r\^f\^f\f\r.f\f^f^-. l^iHiiil AAAAr' r^^^fsmnm^^r^' AAAA/^^iAA^A^/^^AAAAH ' '■ '/«(n/*^h AAnn':'.i,:AMfl/lK'A«^ ■AAAAAAf^^AAAAAW AAAPaW; :„' !^f^[\^f\f\lkr\l^f\f^^^ OaAAAa/,/>aa,^AaP( AnAA.^ .Aaaaai i^i^^MftAlM A'A■AA/^i ^mMHm^:'^f:,ftr^ ^AAAAAAAAArt/ ■AAAAaAAA^aAAaW aAAAAI '^^ff^^^AA^A^AA ^mma^Mh .a'Aa.'aAa^, ^A^^aaAaAAO^' .AAArKC; »iii#^fS«p^||^ F ^r'i PLACES AND PEOPLE. LONDON: BOBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. PLACES AND PEOPLE: itttiJttS ixam i^t ^ife. J^ &: PAKKINSON, AUTHOR OF " UNDER GOVERNMENT," ETC. ETC. " Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Degrees, observances, customs, and laws." Timon of Athens, LONDON: TINSLEY BKOTHEES, 18 CATHERINE ST. STRAND. 1869. NOTE. With two exceptions, these studies of ** Places and People" have been made, from time to time, for All the Year Round and the Daily News; and are now reprinted by permission. The articles ** Jamrach's" and "Over the Water" appeared originally in Tinsleys' Magazine. J. C. PARKINSON. Thornton Hill, Wimbledon, October 1869. CONTENTS. Jamrach's . . . . . ■ Lazarus, Lotus-eating Extraordinary Horse-dealing . Ealse Hair Sunday Trading .... Over the Water .... The Hole in the Wall Prisoners' Friends .... COGERS ...... Saturday-night in a Pawnbroker's Shop Lucifer-box Making The Thames Police .... #Ut of ©OiDtl. Under the Sea .... Told by a Tramp .... The Tunbridge- Wells Coach . Ifnstilutiotts. Our Pharmaceutical Chemists . The Hospital for Incurables . What is the Good of Ereemasoxry 1 PAGE I 19 38 70 81 89 III 130 138 154 165 186 197 214 230 244 254 266 VIU CONTENTS. Sporting. Against the Grain . PAGE . 282 Aristocratic Pigeon-shooting . . 300 A Suburban Fishery . 311 Genii op the King . . . . . 321 Sunday Dog-shows . . 341 PLACES AID PEOPLE. JAMRACH'S. Jamrach's is to a wild -beast sliow wliat a vast Manchester warehouse is to a small huckster's shop. Here you may be supplied with hyenas by the dozen, lions in neat little lots of twenty to five - and - twenty each; ''parcels" of giraffes, snakes, or boa -constrictors ; and *' samples" of tigers, buffaloes, eagles, monkeys, bears, and kangaroos in great variety. An ill - assorted Noah's Ark stocked by an impulsive but com- mercially - minded Noah, who has taken in too many animals of some kinds to the exclusion of the rest ; an ark which has put in at the London Docks and been carried piecemeal up Eatcliffe Highway, and scattered in detachments about the district of Shadwell, E. : such is Jamrach's. B i5 JAMRACH S. The very name is odd, and sounds like a com- bination of the Jarley whose waxworks were be- loved by the nobility, and Morok the beast-tamer in the Wandering Jetv. But there is far more of stern reality than amusing fiction about Jam- rach. The roar of his lions is very real, and has. no more of the sucking dove about it than cooling regimen, spare diet, and confinement will supply* Some years ago one of his tigers stepped from his cage into the street, and, snapping up a boy as the most toothsome morsel handy, wagged its tail, and was complacently trotting down this narrow little street, until gently roused to a sense of the restraints of civilisation by means of the very iron bar you see barricading the doorway now. Some time since, the Commercial-road was roused at six in the morning by one of Jamrach's elephants, which was being led to the docks for shipment to New York, and who resented (as who would not, save a vain woman ?) the introduction of a sharp metal instrument through the thin part of his ear. A keen-eyed lithe little man, whose clothes are patched and seamed to an extent strangely disproportionate to their apparent age, and who emphasises his discourse by waving a peculiar metal instrument — ^lialf tomahawk, half butcher's- steel ; a little man who is gifted with that sonor- JAMEACH S. 6 ous profundity of tone which signalises some branches of the theatrical and equestrian profes- sions, and who speaks of the " Woppetty Deer from the Hunited States of Hamerikee," at SOL a ''pair," and " the Hemu from South Hamerikee, or bird with-hout-(in one word) -wing- tail-or-tongue, at 14:1.," as familiarly as if they were poor relations : — such is my guide over Jamrach's. Far away in that eastern district, which has been so frequently and to such good purpose explored by the philoso- phic investigator ; past that far from silent high- way which Jack ashore is rapidly becoming wise enough to eschew ; down the unsavoury thorough- fares encircling the little Shadwell police-station, which has so frequently provided us with an in- telligent and trustworthy guide ; and hastily leav- ing our old friend the Chinese Opium-eater after a kindly word of recognition, — we are being intro- duced at Jamrach's to the lithe little man. Our belief w^as, then, that we were on untrod- den ground in a literary sense, and that it would be our privilege to first introduce this strange es- tablishment with a strange name to the world at large ; but on this head we were speedily undeceived. Our good friend and entertainer, to whom we were introduced with much formality by the sergeant of police who had kindly accompanied me en ama- teur, is Jamrach's head man. Jamrach himself is ^ JAMRACH S. at '' Vi-henner" meeting an interesting group of " 22 Hafrican 'ornbills (at 51. a-piece), 4 lions (at 3001. the lot), 10 ostriches (at 501. a-piece), 4 striped eyenas (at 600L the lot), and 14 spotted eyenas (at 45Z. each)." Jamrach's son is at the Zoological Gardens transacting a little business, in which, if we mistake not, " a group of birds, the first hever seen in Hurope by any mortal man," has some share ; and the hospitable duty of showing us over yards and lofts and dens and cellars, all crammed with wild-beasts, or birds, or reptiles, devolves upon his able representative, the man in the patched clothes. " He has been with Mr. Jamrach a many years ; once saved a boy from a tiger (the one just named) which broke loose and was a-walking down that very street with the lad in his mouth, and just a-goin' to crack 'im as if he was a nut ; has 'ad every bit of clothes he's got torn almost oif his back by * the stock' — sometimes hout of spitefulness, but hoftenest hout of play, and is keeper, describer, and performer by profession." We were certain of it. That unctuous twang, that drooping of the eyelids and rigid calmness of face after a startling announcement has been shot out like a pellet from a popgun, could only have been acquired in a circus or menagerie, or a booth of strollers. " Whenever I 'ave a few JAMRACH S. 0- words with Mr. Jamracli, wliicli I had a few not many weeks ago, I takes to the show business, and am allers ready to go in. — Eliza!" — this shouted up to the window of a loft under which were the kennels of a couple of unpleasantly lively bears, and which faces a motley family of mon- keys, porcupines, opossums, and kangaroos, — *' Eliza! how many wescuts and coats have I, Avhich you've 'ad to mend before they was worn out?" And when " Thirteen" was given in reply in a rather shrewish female voice, Jamrach's head man turned to us with a modest smile Avhich would have become a Peninsular veteran alluding to his medal of many clasps. " This 'ere scar" (baring an arm and showing a deep flesh-wound, recently cicatrised) "I got in the Kingsland-road, on the 20th of this month. A Bengal tiger it was, and I vv^as a-performing with the same beasts as was at the Crystal Palace a short time arterwards. Me and Mr. Jamrach 'ad 'ad a few words, we 'ad, and I took up with the performing, which I'd been accustomed to. Well, I see the tiger for the first time at four in the arternoon ; and I goes into her den, and puts her through her ankypanky at eight. As a mat- ter o' course I 'ad to giv' her the whip a bit, and she, not knowing my voice, don't you see, got fidgety and didn't like it. To make matters worse b JAMRACH S. moresumever, this tiger bein' fond of jumpin', tliey went and shortened the cage, so that when I giv' the word she fell short of her reg'lar jump, and came upon me. I don't believe she meant mis- chief; I only fancy she got timid-like, and not being accustomed to what she 'ad under 'er, she makes a grab and does wot you see. The com- pany got scared ; the ladies screamed, and the performance was stopped for a time. What did I do ? — why, directly they came in with iron bars and made her loose her hold, I jest giv' her the whip agen, and made her go through the jump till she got more satisfied like; but she w^as timid, very timid, to the last, and tore off the flesh right to the elbow here. No, sir, I never stopped the performance after the first time, though I was being mauled above a bit, while the people was a clapping their 'ands, and shrieking murder. It don't do with beasts to let 'em think you're un- easy, so each time she tore me with her claws, I just giv' her the whip, till she saw it wouldn't do. Wot do I mean by bein' badly treated by the literary gent who came here twelve year ago ? Why, he saw all over the place ; had the bar in his hand which I'd knocked the tiger down with when the boy was saved; 'andles my elephant-'ook, and then goes and giv's a regular account of me and of Mr. Jamrach's beasts, and never as much as mentions JAMEACH S. my name. Wliat 'arm would it 'a' clone to say Kobert Norwood was the man wlio did the trick, and that he has been a ' keeper, describer, and per- former,' for these many years? Worse than bein' torn by tigers, not having one's name in print ? Well it ain't that, but right's right, and as old Mr. Jamrach's is talked of all over Europe as the great hemporium for beasts and birds and rep- tiles, it is but natural I should like to be known as the man who is game to perform with any animal, trained or untrained, at a hour's notice; and who has bin with Mr. Jamrach these fifteen years. Why, bless your soul, sir, this place weren't nothing when I come to it. This yard wasn't half cleaned. There weren't no water to speak of, and the animals were in a regular muddle. Noav, you see what it is, and though we're not nearly so full as we are sometimes, I'll show you round with pleasure if you'd like to come." Jamrach's establishment is in three divisions ; two of these are on opposite sides of Katcliffe Highway, and the third is up a narrow street leading out of the same thoroughfare. Eobert Norwood, "keeper, describer, and performer," had taken us to the last-named one first ; and the yard, to the improved appearance of which he has referred with no little pride, is one of the most disagreeable spots it has been our fortune to ex- O JAMRACH S. plore. Open at tlie top, it is yet so narrow that we seem within touching -distance of unsavoury animals on the one hand, and ohscene birds on the other. Monkeys grin and chatter oyer our heads ; red-eyed vultures blink and wink at our sides ; while deer and bears, and tiger and hyena- cubs, roar and gambol in the confined boxes around us, as if eagerly coveting a slice of the "keeper, describer, and performer," or of ourselves. Jam- rach's is simply a wholesale warehouse for wild- beasts. Agents and touts are on the watch for it all over the world. One of its "travellers" is now in the interior of Africa bargaining for live elephants ; another telegraphed from Southamp- ton an hour ago of a homeward-bound ship hav- ing been spoken vrith, on which a lively young- bear was seen disporting in the forecastle ; while a third has run down to Oravesend to meet and board an East Indiaman which is reported to have some rare birds among its live stock. The " keeper, describer, and performer" gives us this information unaffectedly, but resumes his show- man manner like a mask directly he talks of the animals near, thus: "A young Thibet bear, bought of a captain's steward on board a ship a-going up the Nore — fellow one sent off to Bar- num's Museum in New York last week — eats three pounds o' bread a-day, and is allowed one JAMRACH S. y gill of water — price 15L," is given in that unna- turally sturdy monotone we hear in shows all over the world. Jamrach's business is, we find, mainly with the Continent and the United States, the animals sold in the United Kingdom being in the proportion of one to twelve. A brown bear of three years old is next described ; and on being addressed as " Dick" makes frantic efforts to tear down the iron bars of its cage, and so come to close quarters with Mr. Norwood. "Had to knock him about a bit with the bar when I was gitting him in here, and they don't forgit yer, animals don't," remarks that gentleman philosophically, while "Dick's" fury develops itself into a climax of impotent rage. This poor brute has lost an eye, and bears other marks of ill-usage. "Bin a little roughly handled by the sailors, coming over; besides, he's a spiteful warmint, and don't know wot to be at for wice. My little boy can go right in to him, though, without a bit of fuss ; but as for me, he can't abide me. — Can yer, Dick ? Yah ! yer old fool, wot are yer flur- rying yer self for ? Look 'ere" (rubs the bars of the cage noisily with an iron bar until the bear fairly stands upon his head and topples over and over with passion). " Yah ! yah ! poor old Dick," sneeringiy continues Mr. Norwood. "Can't he 10 jamrach's. spot me, then ? Yes, he'd maul me if he could, there ain't a doubt of it ; but the bar's very use- ful, and I daresay I'd manage to git out of his way after givin' him a crack or two, even if he were loose. He'll most likely go over to Paris, he will, and then he'll have to be moved, of course. How do we get 'em out ? Just drive 'em from their cage to the one they're to travel in, and send them orf. Big beasts — elephants, rhinoce- roses, and such-like — I walks down to the docks early in the morning before there's much stirring. — Eliza !" (to the window), " bring me my ele- phant-'ook. — Now you see, sir, this ere sharp end goes through the thin part of the ear, which is the most tenderest of parts, and I leads 'em along quite comfortable in a general way. Last Tues- day morning though, there was a big African ele- phant I was shipping at the London Docks, and do what I would I couldn't get the beast to move when we got as far as the Commercial-road. I tried him with coaxing, and I tried him with prods in every tender place I could think of, but he were as nasty as he could be ; and beyond givin' a roar, and once tryin' to roll on me, he took no notice whatsumever, but just planted his feet and stood still looking at me all the time with his wicked little eye as spiteful as you please. I thought I should never have got him down ; jameach's. 11 l)ut the 'ook did it at last, and lie moved all at once wlien lie did move. It's tlie handiest tiling out is a sharp 'ook through the ear ; for they can't go either backwards or forwards without feeling you're all there." To see this small patched figure waving the hutcher's steel much as a linendraper's shopman would a yard-measure, while he dilated on the merits of judicious coercion, with ''Dick" eyeing him hungrily meanwhile, was highly suggestive of an ultimate crunching-up and rending, v/henever the " handiness" of hooks and the efficiency of " knocking about" is not recognised by some ex- ceptionally obtuse beast. Passing carefully along the narrow flagged •open passage, and peering in at window after win- dow at beasts and birds, each of which had a suc- cinct history and a precise commercial value, we arrive at a ladder leading to the monkey-loft. "We decline many tempting invitations before reach- ing it. Now it is the bill of a bird which is sharp as a razor, and warranted to take a man's linger " orf at a snap," which Mr. Norwood holds up for our handling and inspection ; now the muzzle of a grinning brute which is commended to our notice as "bein' the treach'ousest mouth and the, cunningest biter" of its species ; now the horns of some wild-deer which are to be accli- 12 jameach's. matised hereafter. They are all " samples" or ''parcels" to Mr. Norwood. No part of the world seems to he destitute of menageries ; and we hear of cases of live animals heing shipped to, as well as from, Mexico, Australia, and remoter spots. Africa is a mere nursery for Jamrach. His " tra- vellers" make their regular "journeys" there, and are looked for hy the natives much as the York- shire farmer looks for the wool-stapler's agent at shearing- time. "It is the Yankees" — we learn from Mr. Jam- rach junior, who returns from the Eegent's-park and joins us in the monkey -loft at this time — " that have run up the price of elephants so much. Formerly one could huy two or three of them for what one fetches now ; and it is mostly because of Barnum and the rest of 'em, who have in- creased the demand." At this juncture we feel a gentle nibble at our heels ; and with a bound across the loft which would have done credit to a circus-ring, Ave are literally at the feet of a lively family of kangaroos, wdio promptly jump heavily to and fro, in their turn, as if in emulation. To feel a cold nose and a sharp set of teeth against your flesh was, in such a locality, not a little startling ; and even when we saw that it was only a mild and harm- less rabbit which had given us our fright, there jamrach's. 13 was something repugnant to our sense of fitness in any quadruped being at large at Jamracli's. " We sold our largest boa-constrictor last week," Mr. Norwood explains, '' and this is one of the rabbits left over. He just runs about and picks up what he can, and will come in for the little batch of snakes we expect to-morrow. Don't go too near that monkey-cage, please ; he's got a long arm has that old ape in the corner, and if he can get near enough is sure to do you some mischief. Yes, we generally keep a good lot of monkeys in stock. They're often wanted, you see, for public gardens ; and many private gentle- men even like to have a monkey or two about ; so that there's always a demand, as you may say. With rare animals, we generally give the Gardens [the Zoological] the first offer, and the Jar din 'cles Plantes, in Paris, the next ; but monkeys — except, of course, some kinds — are more for small shows and the places I've named. Nothing beats a monkey for paying. I've known an organ-man make his seven and eight shilling a-day with a monkey, when he's gone out, day after day, and not turned in more than a couple of shillings without it. You see children all like to look at monkeys. They're always cheerful and brisk, and are sure to cause some fun if they're played with. They're safe, too, and they're cheap. Let 14 JAMRACII'S. alone tlie cost, liowever, you couldn't take a lij^ena or a jagger [jaguar] out on a tambourine, or send a lion or tiger round with the hat. A monkey, though, never comes wrong. He just grins and chatters, cracks nuts and picks up halfpence, and amuses without frightening the children. Kan- garoos don't tame much in this country. I've heard of the bushrangers haying 'em running about their huts, but I don't know any case here. One thing is, people in the show business wouldn't take any trouble over a kangaroo. Nobody would give a sixpence to see one of them things jump through hoops, or over a whip ; and as to the per- former, he might hang live kangaroos round his neck, like sausages on the turkey at Christmas time, and not draw so much as a servant gal to see him. It's excitement and bounce, you see, sir, wot the public likes ; and a good poster, where a big Bengal tiger, or a lion or two, is capering about in a kind of ornamental den, with me or some other lion-king smiling in the middle of 'em, is a safe houseful, go where you will. The religious people send the Sunday-schools, and tell 'em all about the Prophet Daniel ; and the fathers and mothers bring the children, to teach 'em the ways of animals — natural history, they call it ; and men and women come because the performance is ex- citing ; and so the shows fill, and more and more jameach's. 15 beasts is wantecT from all parts of the world. Those kangaroos, you see, had a litter a few weeks ago, and they'll be divided and sent away to the customers who've ordered 'em, early next week. How do we manage to know when there's anything in the beast line on board a ship coming home ? Why, there ain't a leading seaport in England at which we ain't got some one stationed to let us know when there's anything likely been seen or heard of. Yes, they're all his agents in a way — that is, they're in Mr. Jamrach's employ for the time ; but I fancy it's mostly done in this way. All the people whose business it is to board the ships directly they arrive know that early in- formation as to anything in our way being aboard will be well paid for. This makes 'em allers on the 'op, as you may say, and I don't suppose there's ten head of show-beasts or birds comes into the country in a year that Mr. Jamrach don't know the pedigree of, and either make a bid for, or pass by. The sailors is getting pretty artful too, and don't — a good many of 'em, at least — want much agenting to find their way here, and to ask a good stiff price if they've anything good. Sometimes it's the captin or the chief mate that has brought over a beast, as a pet perhaps at first, when it was young and frolicsome, but who wants to get rid of an awkward customer by the time he touches 16 jamrach's. land. These are the best worth looking after, for they're nearly always in better condition than any the sailors own. You see a monkey, or a young bear, or a tiger - cub, is a good deal in the way if you're not used to 'em, and you're liv- ing and sleeping in the same place, as you must on board ship. Whenever the grub's stolen or the clothes are torn, or anything goes wrong, it's always ' that (adjective) monkey,' or ' that (blank) bear,' and then out comes the rope's end, or the first bit of iron that is handy, and as a matter of course the beast catches it. Sometimes, if he is getting big, and is of a strongish kind, he goes in and bests the sailor, mauling him, and then they all join to wop him, and he catches it hotter and heavier than ever. Well, you see, sir, all this don't improve a hanimal's condition, let alone the chance of broken limbs and scars. Now, when the captin or the mate has a fancy that way, there's less chance of the beast being wilfully hurt. If he's very troublesome he may get a sly poke now and then behind their backs, but he'll be well treated the best part of his time, and lands here plumper and fresher as a matter of course. That beast Dick is a case in point. That eye you seemed so shocked at were miles worse when he came to us, — all bleeding and bare, you know, as if it had been knocked out the day be- jamrach's. 17 fore ; and the lump on liis lieacl, wliicli looks like a mushroom, were as big as a cauliflower then. Being a nasty spiteful beast, he came off worse than ordinary, but there's a good deal of rough work on board ship both for men and beasts." A small kangaroo, the lower half of which was paralysed, and which Mr. Norwood lifted stiff and rigid from its blankets ; parrots, mocking-birds, cockatoos, Chinese and Hindoo idols ; sheep of extra wooliness for acclimatisation ; huge and fan- tastic chests and jars, and a strange medley of " curiosities," were next seen. But the crowning feature of the exhibition, the animal reserved as a bonne houche for our inspection, and the shrine of which was only gained after several anterooms had been passed through, was a diminutive pony, the fellow to which had been purchased by the great prize-fighter, James Mace. The little creature shown us had a reflected honour from this glorious circumstance. '^ Own brother to the one Jem Mace drives, which you may have seen 'im, in a fur cap and a coat with a good deal of handsome trimmings over the chest," was given out, much as I have heard the pedigree and performances of celebrated racehorses detailed by John Scott, the great " Wizard of the North." Mr. Mace had not then been ignominiously captured and brought handcuffed by policemen into the presence of law c 18 jamrach's. and justice ; and our guide spoke of liirn as of some grand wild-beast, whose tricks and training made liim a deserved favourite with the public. Subsequently, we have Japanese fireworks let off for our delectation ; hear the latest quotations from the Hindoo idol-market, and more- strange anecdotes of animal life than would be useful to quote; bid our amusing little entertainer farewell; and are slowly wending our way westward, when at that portion of Eatcliffe Highway where the masts from the adjacent docks seem to spring incontinently from back-yards of taverns and the windoY\^s of marine -store shops, we are again stopped by the familiar showman-voice. Breath- less with anxiety and haste, its owner can just pant out, as a parting legacy : " Then you won't forget the name, sir — Norwood it is, you know; keeper, performer, and describer ; and if you could just manage to introduce it in a riddle, as to why Jamrach's head man is like a London suburb, it would take with the public ! I know it would, for I'm very well known ; and as you and me is in the same line, as yer may say — performin' and describin' — why shouldn't we do one another good?" And v/e here attempt to do that good accordingly. LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATINa. Nine o'clock on a Saturday evening, the place Cornhill, and the want a policeman. Wonderfully ■empty and still are the City haunts we have passed. Curiously quiet, too, is the vast thoroughfare we are in. Shops and warehouses, banks and offices, are closed ; and though here and there a blaze of light tells you how to telegraph to India, or glim- mers out of one of the upper windows of the closely-shuttered houses you pass, the great street is wonderfully free from the feverish traffic of the day. Lazarus starts up out of the shadows which fantastically combine together on the pavement under the illuminated clock to the left, and having yielded to his prayer for pence, you and I look out anxiously for a policeman to aid us in tracing him home. Perhaps we carry with us a mysteri- ous talisman which will at once enlist the sympa- thies and insure the cooperation of the force ; per- haps we rely on our powers of personal persuasion; perhaps we have justice on our side, and claim its officers as allies ; perhaps we wish to test the 20 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATIXG. truthfulness of the pitiful story he has told us ; or perhaps we are merely animated by a holy hatred of beggars, and a wish to prosecute Lazarus to the death. Let us look at him again. Shabby canvas trousers, a loose and ragged blue jacket, high cheek-bones, small sunken eyes, a bare shaven face, and an untidy pigtail — such is Lazarus. He is one of the poor and wretched Chinamen who shiver and cower and whine at our street-corners, and are mean and dirty, squalid and contemptible, even beyond beggars generall}'. See how he slinks and shambles along; and note the astonishment of the policeman we meet at last, when we tell him we wish to follow the abject wretch home. We have gone through Cornhill and Leadenhall- street, past the corner where a waterman is potter- ing about with a lantern — a modern Diogenes, who is j)erhaps looking for an honest man — and are close by Aldgate pump, and in the full glare of the huge clothing establishment at the Minories corner, before we come upon our policeman. New- court, Palmer's Folly, Bluegate - fields — that is where the Chinese opium-smoking house is, and that is where Lazarus is bound for. " I know them Chinamen well," adds Mr. Po- liceman sententiously ; '^they'll beg, and duff, and dodge about the West-end — we won't have LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 21 'em here — and never spend notliin' of what they makes till night. They don't care for no drink, .and seem to live without eating, so far as I know. It's their opium at night they likes ; and you'll find half-a-dozen on 'em in one hed at Yahee's, a-smoking and sleeping away like so many lime- kilns and dormice ! No, sir, it w^ouldn't be at all safe for you to venture up New-court alone. It ain't the Chinamen, nor the Lascars, nor yet the Bengalees as would hurt you ; but there is an uncommon rough crew of English hangin' in and about there, and it would be better for you to have a constable with you, much better; and if you go to Leman-street, the inspector will put you in the way." This was all the information we needed from the policeman. Lazarus has shambled out of sight during our colloquy, and so, hastily following him down Butcher-row, Whitechapel, and resisting the fasci- nating blandishments of its butchers, who press upon us ''prime and nobby jintes for to-morrer's dinner at nine-a-half, and no bone to speak of," reach Leman-street and its police-station in due course. A poster outside one of the butcher's shops causes annoyance and regret, for it an- nounces a forthcoming meeting at which the diffi- culties besetting the trade are to be discussed in solemn conclave at Butchers' Hall, and inspires 22 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. one with an abortive desire to assist in the delibera- tions. To hear the rinderpest spoken of by the astute professors who have made money by it, and to learn the causes assigned by salesmen for the- present price of meat, would be both instructive and profitable; but, alas, some parochial guardians, with whom we are at issue on the propriety of stifling and otherwise maltreating paupers, meet on the same evening, and for their sake the butchers must be given up with a sigh. Pushing through the small crowd outside the- station, crossing a long flagged court, and ascend- ing a few steps to the right, we present our cre- dentials to the inspector on duty. A one-eyed gentleman is in the dock, and oscillates up and down on the iron railing round it like an inane puppet whose wires are broken. He is an Irish- man, whose impulsive nature has led him to savagely bite and scratch the landlord of a public - house near, for having dared to pronounce him drunk, and for refusing him a further supply of stimulants. The landlord prefers the charge, and shows a bleeding forefinger, from which the nail has been torn. Irishman protests that he is a poor workin' man, who doesn't like to be insulted ; tipsy friends of Irishman noisily proffer themselves as witnesses to his general virtue and the extreme- meekness of his disposition ; and then retire,, LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 25 grumbling; at "ten o'clock on Monday, before the magistrate, will be tlie time for all that," being the answer given. Inspector, methodically and with much neatness, enters name and address of both the biter and the bit, and a few other details, in the charge-sheet, and the man is re- moved. The landlord binds up his bleeding hand, and the next business, a shrieking lady with dis- hevelled hair, is proceeded with. Bluegate-fields is not in this police district, but the inspector will send a constable with me to a station which is only five minutes' walk from the place we want. Arriving here, the wail of a feeble fatuous old booby, who has been in im- proper company, and is now crying over the loss of his purse, is the first thing we hear. '' Yes, sir ; a bo'sun is right, sir ; and I only left my ship to- night. Seven pound thirteen, and a silver medal. Lord, Lord ! Felt it in my pocket five minutes before I left the house. Has a constable gone ? Deary, deary me ! — seven pound, too, and me only left my ship this blessed night !" This, with a profusion of tears, and much maudlin affection for the officers of the law. A few minutes' delay, during which booby is grufily and fruitlessly recommended to " give up blather- ing, as that won't give him his money back," and told what he ought to expect goin' along with such 24 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. cattle as tliat ; tlien a slight bustle at the dcor, and a hideous uegress is brought in. From the window of the inspector's little room we look down upon the dock, see t]ie sergeant beyond, who, pen in hand, is entering particulars in his charge- sheet, while the ridiculous old prosecutor on the one hand, and the vile and obscene bird of prey on the other, mouth and gibber at each other, and bandy compliments of the fullest flavour. " One of the worst characters about here; used to be always up for robbing sailors and that, but has been much better lately, and hasn't been here, 0, not for more than a month." The hideous creature of whom this is said now adds her ''blather" to that of the old man, and her pro- testations are the noisier of the two. Strange to say, these protestations are for once well founded ; for at a sign from the inspector the sergeant again cross-examines the fleeced boatswain as to where he felt his purse last, and the possibility of its being on his person still. In the midst of solemnly incoherent asservations that the negress has it, the sergeant's hand falls carelessly into the boat- swain's inside coat -pocket, and lo, the missing purse is held up aloft between the sergeant's fore- finger and thumb. Its contents are counted and found right; the negress declaiming vehemently against "the old wretch," and, with a shrewd eye LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. ZO to future difficulties, declaring, " It's always so with pore me ; people is always swearin' agin me, and accusin' of me wrongfully." The old man looks more foolish than ever ; and we, with an in- spector, start on our mission, leaving the sergeant and constables in the midst of warnings and ad- monitions. The time spent at the two stations has not been lost, for it is now only half-past ten, and the opium revels are seldom at their height before eleven. There is no limit to the variety of na- tionalities patronising the wretched hovel we are about to visit. From every quarter of the globe, and more immediately from every district in Lon- don, men come to old Yahee : the sole bond be- tween them being a love of opium and a partiality for Yahee' s brand. Sailors, stewards, shopmen, mountebanks, beggars, outcasts, and thieves meet on perfect equality in New-court, and there smoke themselves into dreamy stupefaction. There is a little colony of Orientals in the centre of Bluegate-fields, and in the centre of this colony is the opium divan. We reach it by a narrow passage leading up a narrow court, and easily gain admission on presenting ourselves at its door. Yahee is of great age, is never free from the influence of opium, but sings, tells stories, eats, drinks, cooks, and quarrels, and goes through 26 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. the routine of liis simple life, without ever rousing from the semi-comatose state you see him in now. The curious dry hurning odour, vvdiich is making your eyelids quiver painfully, which is giving your temples the throbbing which so often predicates a severe headache, and which is tickling your gullet as if with a feather and fine dust, is from opium. Its fumes are curling overhead, the air is laden with them, and the bed-clothes and the rags hanging on the string above are all steeped through and through with the fascinating drug. The livid, cadaverous, corpse-like visage of Yahee, the wild excited glare of the young Lascar who opens the door, the stolid sheep-like ruminations of Lazarus and the other Chinamen coiled to- gether on the floor, the incoherent anecdotes of the Bengalee squatted on the bed, the fiery ges- ticulations of the mulatto and the Manilla-man who are in conversation by the fire, the semi- idiotic jabber of the negroes huddled up behind Yahee, are all due to the same fumes. As soon as we are sufficiently acclimatised to peer through the smoke, and after the bearded Oriental, who makes faces, and passes jibes at and for the company, has lighted a small candle in our honour, we see a sorry little apartment, which is almost filled by the French bedstead, on which half-a-dozen coloured men are coiled long-wise LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. 27 across its breadth, and in the centre of which is a common japan tray and opium lamp. Turn which way you will, you see or touch opium smokers. The cramped little chamber is one large opium- pipe, and inhaling its atmosphere partially brings you under the drug's influence. Swarthy sombre faces loom out of dark corners, until the whole place seems alive with humanity ; and turning to your guides you ask, with strange puzzlement, who Yahee's customers are, where they live, and how they obtain the wherewithal for the expensive luxury of opium-smoking. But Booboo on the bed there is too quick for you, and, starting up, shouts out, with a volubility which is astounding considering his half-dead condition a fevv^ seconds before, full particulars concerning himself, his past, his future, and the grievance he unjustly labours under now. First, though, of the drug he smokes. "You see, sar, this much opium, dam him, smoke two minutes, sar — no more. Him cost four pennies — him dam dear, but him dam good. No get opium at de Home, sar" (the Home for Asiatics); ''so come to Yahee for small drunk, den go again to Home and sleep him, sar. Yes, me live at de Home, sar — me ship's steward — Ben- galee — no get opium good as dis, except to Yahee, sar. Four pennies, you und' stand, make smoke 28 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. two minutes, no more ; but liim make better drunk as tree, four, five glasses rum — you Ingie- see like rum drunk, me Bengalee like opium drunk, you und'stand — try him, sar; he much good." Thus Booboo, who is a well-dressed Asiatic, in a clean shirt, and with a watch-chain of great strength and massiveness. He has been without a ship for five months ; has just engaged to go on board one on Monday ; shows me the owner's note for four pounds, and complains bitterly that they won't change it at the Home, or give him up his box. "Me owe them very leetle, sar, very small piece ; me there five months, and pay long time, and now they say, you give us money, and we no give you change." Booboo looks a little dangerous as he brandishes his opium-pipe ; and old Yahee, who is lying on his back, with his eyes closed and his mouth open, growls out an inco- herent warning to be calm. Mother Abdallah, who has just looked in from next door, interprets for us, and we exchange com- pliments and condolences with Booboo. Mother Abdallah is a London lady, who, from long asso- ciation with Orientals, has mastered their habits and acquired their tongue. Cheeny (China) Emma and Lascar Sal, her neighbours, are both from home this evening, but Mother Abdallah does the LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. 29 honours for her male friends with much grace and propriety — a pallid wrinkled woman of fort}', who prepares and sells opium in another of the two- roomed hovels in the court : she confesses to smoking it too for company's sake, or if a friend asks her to, as yer may say, and stoutly main- tains the healthiness of the habit. ''Vy, look at this 'ere court when the fever was so bad. Who 'ad it ? Not them as took opium ; not one of 'em, which well you knows, Mr. Cox," turning to the handsome bluff sergeant of police, who has joined the inspector and the narrator ; ' ' but every one else, and look at the old gen'elman there ; vy, he's more nor eighty year old, and 'ardly ever goes to sleep, bless yer, he don't, indeed: he sings and tells stories the whole blessed night through, and is wonderful 'ealthy and clean. There ain't a cleaner old man than Mr. Yahee, not in Bluegate-fields, and if you could see him in the morning a-scrubbin' and washin' his 'ouse out, and a-rinsing his clothes, it 'ad do your 'art good. Does everythin' for liis- self, buys his own bits o' fish, and rice, and veget- ables, and cooks and prepares them in the way they like it, don't he. Chin Chin ?" Chin Chin is a Chinaman, whose face is well known at the West-end, and who lives by selling tracts and song-books in the streets. He boards 30 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. with Yaliee, and pays one shilling a-clay. Chin Chin proves more sardonic than communicative, and Mrs. Abdallah resumes : " The old gen'elman has lived here these twenty year, and has looked just the same, and allers done what he's a-doin' of now, made up the opium as they like it, and had a few of 'em lodg- ing with 'im. I don't pretend to make it as well as he does, but I've lived here these dozen year, and naturally have got into many of their ways. He ain't asleep, bless ye, sir ; he'll lay like that for hours. Look ! he's wakin' up now to light his pipe agin, and then when it's later he'll begin to sing, and '11 keep on singing right through the night. That there young Bengalee, asleep in the corner, is another of his lodgers ; he's a ship's cook, he is, only he can't get a ship. They treat ^em shameful, just because they're darkies, that they do, only allowing 'em a pound a month, and sometimes ten shillins, and they have to find they're o\vn 'bacca out o' that. These men come from all parts o' London to smoke Yahee's opium. Some on 'em sweep crossins ; some has situations in tea-shops ; some hawks ; some cadges ; some begs ; some is well off, some is ill off ; but they all likes opium, and they all knows there's no opium like Yahee's. No ; there ain't no differ- ence in the quality; but you can't smoke it as LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 31 you buy it, you see, and Yaliee has liis own way o' preparin' it, which he won't tell nobody. That tumbler with the light in the middle has the opium, and that thick stuff like treacle is it. They just take it up with a pin this way, and roll it round and round, you see, and then when it's like a little pea, so, they smoke away until it's done. Tell the gen'elman how much you sm_oke. Jack. They call 'im Chow Chee John Potter, sir, because he's been christened; but he's not right in his head, and his own country- people don't understand him." Chow Chee is of an affectionate disposition, and the effect of opium is to make him put both hands on the knee of one of our party, and, after advancing his smiling black face to within a few inches of his friend's nose, to wink solemnly, and to say he '' smoke as much as him get, some- times all day and all night, if Christians peoples good to Chow Chee." On a suggestion being made that the opium smoking should be supplemented by some other stimulant, gin was chosen by such of the com- pany as were not too stupefied to speak. Yahee, we should mention, never lifted his head after he had once silently welcomed our little party. Coiled up on the bed, in trousers and shirt, and with his shoeless feet tucked under him, he looked 32 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. like a singularly tougii trussed fowl, and only turned to the light at his side as his pipe was refilled. Save in answer to our questions, there was little talking. Chow Chee John Potter occa- sionally attempted original remarks, but they were, as a rule, failures, and were so branded by his friends. It was a sheer opium debauch ; not noisy, not tur- bulent, not quarrelsome, but fervent, all-engross- ing, and keenly enjoyable to those engaged in it. As the evening w^ore on, several fresh arrivals came in at the narrow door ; among others, two Malays, a Lascar, and the Chinaman many of us have seen performing the knife-trick for the de- lectation of the British public. This last worthy started back on seeing the police-sergeant, and in very vigorous English asked wdiat that particular reptile wanted here. In vain was it attempted to soothe him with the assurance that it w^as all riadit, and that he would come to no harm. In vain did Mrs. Abdallah and some other ladies, who had by this time joined her in the doorway, protest to the fastidious knife - thrower that we were ''on the square." It was all useless; and with a growl of baffled hate at the sergeant, and a malignant scowl at the rest of the party, he disappeared down the dark passage of the court, and was no more seen during our stay. We learnt subsequently that he had just come out of prison LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. 33 after a sojourn there of eighteen months, through the sergeant having convicted him of offences too hideous to describe. He was the only very black sheep we saw. The others are decent men in their way, whose principal weakness is devotion to opium, and who rarely give trouble to the police. Old Yahee himself has, as mother Abdallah stated, lived for more than twenty years in the same hovel, for which he pays three shillings a week rent ; and has spent the whole of that time in preparing opium for such smoking-parties as we see now, and in making provision for his boarders. Yahee is a consistent misogamist, and allows no woman to interfere in his domestic ar- rangements. The chopsticks and the plates for breakfast and supper are washed by himself ; his two rooms are cleaned and swept, and every meal is prepared in the same independent way. Such of his customers as desire other society than that of the choice spirits assembled to smoke, must seek it elsewhere than at Yahee's. He scorns to oifer adventitious attractions, and is content to rest his popularity on his favourite drug. We have now had the pleasure of visiting him four times, have invariably heard the same stories of his cleanliness and quietness, have always found him in a stupor, and his establishment steeped in opium -fumes. His sunken eyes, fallen cheeks, D 34 LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. cadaverous parchment -like skin, and deathly white- ness, make him resemble a hideous and long-for- gotten mummy; while his immobility, and the serene indifference with which he smokes on, who- ever may be by, suggest a piece of mechanism, or a cataleptic trance. How he manages his little household, how he guards against imposition, how his receipts and disbursements are regulated, what check he has over the consumption of opium by his customers, are mysteries. Yet Mrs. Abdallah, the sergeant, the inspector, Booboo, Lazarus, and Chow Chin, are unanimous in saying that Yahee is a good manager, a shrewd dealer, and, in his way, a reputable host. To lie on your back and smoke opium with your eyes shut until after midnight, and then to commence fantastic anecdotes and still more fantastic songs, the offspring of your morbidly-excited brain ; to continue these songs and stories until morning, and to then go out marketing for bits of fish and rice, — seems a trying mode of life for an octo- genarian. Yet Yahee does this, and seems to thrive ; that is to say, he is not less like life than when we were first shocked at seeing him nearly three years ago. All the other opium-smokers here are young men ; but the wrinkles of their host, his sunken eyes, and falling under-jaw, make the great age he is credited with probable enough. LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 35 Lazarus yonder is no longer the contemptible wretch he was when we threw him a penny on Cornhill two hours ago. His frame has expanded, his countenance has lightened, his mien has be- come bright and buoyant. "Who knows the rap- turous visions passing through his brain, or the blissfulness which prompts that half-expressed smile ? The smallest-feeted houris, the most appetising birds'-nests and stewed dogs, nay, the yellow mandarin's button itself, are Lazarus's now. What cares he for policemen, for the cuffs and kicks, the slurs and sneers, of the barbarians from whom he has to beg? Yahee's shabby stifling little room is his glory and delight. To it he looks forward through the long and dreary day; by its pleasures he is compensated for the pains and penalties of his weary life. Booboo, too, has already forgotten the grievance he re- counted half an hour ago, and with eyes raised to the ceiling, is in a rapturous half- trance. The visions this miserable little hole has seen — the sweet and solemn strains of music, the mighty feasts, the terrible dramas, the weird romances, the fierce love, the strange fantastic worship, the mad dreams, the gorgeous processions, the brilliant crowds, the mystic shadows, which have occupied it — would fill a volume. Mr. Inspector Koberts, a friend to whom we 36 LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. have been indebted for much interesting infor- mation, tells us that before meals the strange people lodging with Yahee are seen ' ' to kneel down, and, looking up to the ceiling, jabber some- thing to themselves" — a description which, we have no doubt, a Malay or Chinese policeman would have little difficulty in applying to the prayers of English or other barbarians. But the interest of the place is centred, not in the food or wor- ship, not in the variety of skins, and their range from drab and mahogany to ebon and jet, but in the strange unholy pleasures enjoyed in it, and the glimpse it gives you of barbaric life. Old Yahee is as exceptional an instance of opium eating and smoking being pursued with impunity, as any tremulous dotard who is seen tossing-off his dram, and it would be as ridiculous to quote the one as the other, as a fair example of the influence of a degrading habit. Booboo and the rest are full of grievances ; complain they cannot get ships, or shall never see father or mo- ther, brother or sister, again — a handsome young Malay was especially lachrymose on this last point — but the plain truth is, they are all such slaves to the drug of which Yahee is high priest, that w^hen they once fall out of the groove of labour to which they have been accustomed, recovery is impossible. Like the dreamer in Lord Lytton's LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 37 beautiful story, the day is less to tliem than the night ; their heaven may be purchased by the few pence they beg of passers-by; and those who re- member the experience of Coleridge and De Quincey when struggling to emancipate themselves from the service of the opium-demon, will not wonder at the utter self-abandonment of poor Lazarus and his tribe. Mother x^bdallah, Lascar Sal, Cheeny Emma, and the rest, are the only Englishwomen he has known ; and his existence is divided between a misery which is very real, and a happiness which is as fictitious and evanescent as that of the moth killing itself at the candle's flame. We saw Lazarus last cowering on the pavement near Westminster Bridge ; there is not a day in which he may not be found, dazed and dreary, ragged, wan, and wretched, in one or other of our West-end streets. He gave a ghastly smile when we reminded him of our evening at Yahee's ; and lifting up his lack-lustre eyes, and cringing more than ever, held out his tracts and mutely asked for alms. His manner made a suggestive contrast to the contemptuous air with which we had seen him wave the same bundle of sorry lite- rature at the opium-feast ; and in this contrast may be discerned the moral of Lazarus's life. EXTKAORDINAKY HOKSE -DEALING. Ever since we dined with the twenty-one philo- sophers who met in privacy to eat Horse system- atically and scientifically for the first time in England, we have been looking up facts and figures relating to its consumption. The made dishes on that occasion were exquisitely good. Since then, and with the sweet and pleasant flavour of horse-flesh lingering on our palate, we have won- dered how much of it we have eaten unconsciously in England and abroad. Those amiable Paris restaurant-keepers, who provide six courses and a pint of wine for a couple of francs, are they un- acquainted with the succulent merits of horse ? Is German sausage free from it ? Are polonies pure ? Can a la mode beef lay its hand upon its heart and say, Avaunt ! I know thee not ? That horse - meat is a common but unacknowledged article of food in England, just as it has been for the last fifteen years more or less common and acknow- ledged in Paris, Austria, Eussia, Prussia, Saxony, Belgium, Wiirtemberg, Denmark, and the Hanse EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 39 Towns, is insisted upon by many inquirers. They say ^ it must be so, and ask, ''Where else do the horses go to ?" Our hippophagical friends assert it must be so. They say, "Where else do the horses go to?" Not all to the domestic dogs and cats, to the wild-beasts, or to the hounds. The number killed in London alone is, we are assured, more than can be accounted for in that way ; so we present our credentials at the great horse- slaughtering establishment at Belle Isle, King's- cross, with a suspicion that we are about to see how a portion of the food of London is supplied. In the course of one of the most curious in- vestigations it has been our fortune to pursue, we learn that an average of one hundred and seventy horses are killed every week here, and that their flesh is boiled and sold for cats' meat. Their feet are made into glue, the hoof part into Prussian blue; their fat into the oil used for greasing sacks and cart-harness ; their blood makes a dye for calico - printers ; their hides are converted into leather for the best "uppers;" their bones form excellent manure ; and their tails cover chairs and sofas. Now, as the flesh of a horse is said to weigh about three hundred pounds, the foregoing figures give about fifty-one thousand pounds' weight of meat to be disposed of every week by this es- tablishment alone. About eight horses a-week, 40 EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE -DEALING. or two thousand four hundred pounds, go to the Zoological Gardens, and a ton is sent out in each of the trade carts of the establishment, and sold to dealers. The residue is delivered on the pre- mises to cats'-meat vendors, who come from all parts of London to buy it. What these people are like, and how this branch of the business is conducted — that some of them drive prize trotting ponies to carry the cats' meat away, for which a hundred guineas have been refused — that fifteen thousand pounds is spoken of as the fortune of one of them — and that their calling is, as was re- marked to us, ''a brisk, ready-money trade, for which there ain't no credit, for who'd run tick for a ha'porth of cats'-meat?" are the chief facts we master concerning them at our first visit. We spend an afternoon at Belle Isle, and go through the slaughter-houses and yards, to find all scrupulously clean. A few well-picked skele- tons, the ribs and backbone of which look bleached and white, as they rest by the wall, are indeed the only trade symbols we see. There is nothing un- pleasant. From eighty to a hundred horses are waiting to be killed, but they are in a clean farm- yard, with abundant straw, and stand in long rows at the manger of a covered shed, where they are munching hay without a suspicion of their doom. It is on a subsequent evening that we are EXTKAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 41 made thoroughly free of the place. We don't quite remember now what we expected beforehand, but we found as pleasant and snugly conyivial a little party as we have ever had the luck to spend an evening with. The horse- slaughtering chiefs are of a highly social turn, and express all sorts of warm-hearted regrets that we are compelled to keep to the business of the hour. If we will sup, we sha'n't have horse-meat, they promise us, but something comforting. It was a cold boisterous night, and Belle Isle is below King's-cross ter- minus, at a distance of about a mile. A comfort- less, dirty, dreary road, the one by which Dick Turpin galloped on Black Bess in his great ride to York. There are at first no shops, few wayfarers, little lighting. Then a monotonous blank wall and iron palisades on one side, shutting out the railway and the rows of potato warehouses ; irregular shops and buildings on the other, without symmetry, cleanliness, or, at this hour, signs of life. Huge chimneys, with tops in a blaze, peer at us out of the blank darkness behind the railway-wall, as if to say, "We're Gas — and shamefully have our share- holders been treated by Mr. Cardwell." Here and there are a stray dog and a solitary police- man, but a general sense of loneliness withal, which is oppressive. The raw fog lowers upon, and seems to close in, the road ; but we pound 42 EXTRAORDINAEY HORSE-DEALING. away through the semi-darkness, with little to break the heavy sound of our cab-wheels as they crash through the mud, until, passing under a railway - bridge, we reach a small tavern and a smaller office adjacent. There is no direct con- nection between the two, but one of the little knot of loungers outside first eyes us interro- gatively, and then, with a wink and a silent jerk of the thumb over his left shoulder, precedes us into the counting-house. We step from darkness into light, from cold to warmth, and from dreari- ness to comfort. Pushing through an outer room, which is handsomely decorated with petrified malforma- tions, and weighty excrescences found in the bodies of departed steeds, decorated, too, with the skull of a donkey said to have been ridden by the Prince of Wales, and with spirited por- traits of celebrated trotters winning their great matches, and looking as if they liked it, and we are in a cosy back parlour in which sociality reigns supreme. A stout cheery yeoman-looking man, like a gentleman-farmer, grasps us warmly by the hand and bids us welcome. This is the managing partner of the horse- slaughtering firm, who has invited friends learned in the art to meet us. We form quite a convivial council on horse- killing. The great slaughterer, the ''Jack" whose EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 43 name is familiar to every cabman and costermonger in London, is, we learn, no more. The gentlemen before us are his successors, and are incomparably the largest professional horse-slayers in the king- dom. ''Do we ever find good and sound horses among those sent to be killed?" replied the stout gentleman to one of our questions. " There's not a doubt of it. Do we ever doctor them up and turn 'em out fresh and well? Never! It's forbidden by Act of Parliament. Every horse that comes in here must be killed within three days, and we're bound to supply 'em with proper food and atten- tion while they're with us. But even if we weren't bound it would be cheaper to feed them than to starve them, you know — that stands to reason — don't we sell the meat by the pound? We're obliged, too, to enter full particulars of each horse in a book kept for the purpose, and to have an inspector present at killing-time to see that all's square and proper. What obliges us ? The Act ; and I'd like you to understand the law of this business before we show you anything else. "Parliament has legislated on horse-slaughter- ing three different times — in 1786, in 1844, and in 1849. Now, I'll just read you," pulling out a rather dirty pamphlet, which turned out to be the Acts stitched together, "some bits which will 44 EXTRxiORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. sliow you liow we're governed. * Whereas,' tlie first Act says, ' the practice of stealing horses, cows, and other cattle hath of late years increased to an alarming degree, and hath . hecn greatly facilitated hy certain persons of low condition, who keep houses or places for the purpose of slaughtering horses and other cattle : for remedy whereof be it enacted by the king's most excel- lent majesty . . .no person or persons shall keep or use an}^ house or place for the purpose of slaughtering any horse, mare, gelding, colt, filly, ass, or mule, which shall not he killed for hatcher's meat' " (we started at these words, for it seems as if George the Third's parliament had been endowed with prophecy), '" 'without first taking out a license for that purpose.' Then come regu- lations as to how we're to obtain our license, the times of slaughtering, the notice we have to give to the inspector (you'll see him presently), the accounts to be kept by the owners of slaughtering- houses, and the form of conviction for violating the Act. The inspector must have notice, mind you, whenever a horse or other animal is to be killed, is to ' take a full account and description' of each, is to look through our books, and has sixpence for every animal we kill. Our inspector's house is in our slaughter-yard, so that we make him responsible for the horses destroyed. I EXTEAOKDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 45 ''If the inspector, says this Act, 'has reason to believe' that any of the horses are in ' a sound and serviceable state,' or if he thinks they have been stolen or unlawfully come by, he is to pro- hibit the slaughtering for eight days, and to cause ' an advertisement or advertisements to be inserted in the Daily Advertiser or some other public newspaper.' Persons slaughtering horses with- out a license are, the Act says, to be guilty of felony; and any one destroying the hides of the horses they slay ' by throwing them into lime- pits, or otherwise immersing in or rubbing the same with lime or other corrosive matter,' are guilty of a misdemeanour. That, you'll under- stand, was aimed at the horse-stealers. Lending a house, barn, or stable not duly licensed for slaughtering purposes is to be punished by a fine of not less than ten nor more than twenty pounds. Then comes a clause exempting the carriers who ' shall kill any distempered or aged horse ;' and a passage enforcing some other fines winds up the bill, which remained unaltered for nearly sixty years. The next Act affecting this trade was passed in 1849, ' to amend the law for regulating places for slaughtering-houses,' and it inflicts penalties upon any one cruelly beating or ill-treating a horse about to be killed ; and makes the slaughter-house keeper's license annual. The justices in quarter- 46 EXTRAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. sessions can cancel any man's licei^se on convict- ing him of yiolating the Act; and the duty of the inspector, and penalties for neglect on his part, and for obstruction on the part of others, are stringently put forward. " These two Acts govern horse-slaughtering now ; hut I keep the hill passed for the prevention of cruelty to animals here with them, because it relates to us too. It provides that all horses im- pounded for slaying shall be properly supplied with food ; and if kept for twelve hours without a suf- ficient quantity of ' fit and wholesome food and water,' the keeper of the slaughter-house is fined five pounds. It also provides ' that the hair from the neck of such horse' shall be cut off before slaughtering. No man can be a horse- slaughterer and a horse-dealer at the same time, and all head- boroughs, parish beadles, peace-ofiicers, special constables, and members of the Metropolitan or City of London police, as well as county con- stabulary, have the right of inspecting our places, if in their districts, almost when they like. " There, sir, I think you've got pretty well hold of the laws we're bound to obey. We con- duct our business strictly by them, and horses are sent here under all sorts of circumstances. Being worn out or diseased is the commonest reason, of course; but sometimes it's whim or EXTEAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 47 fancy that sends 'em to us. A gentleman will die, perhaps, and leave instructions in his will that his favourite pony isn't to be let grow old to run the risk of being badly treated ; or a fine frisky animal has run away with a little girl or boy, and been the means of breaking an arm or a leg ; or some incurably vicious beast has been the death of a relative or friend : all these are reasons for having sound horses killed. We've nothing to do with anything of that sort here. A horse once in at that gate — excepting those we use in our own business — and he never goes out again except as cats' meat. We just pole- axe 'em, that's all. " Our foreman, Potler, is the cleverest man in Europe at that work, and we pay him the salary of three curates for knocking horses on the head. Not that he does it much himself, he goes out with the cart, and sells ; but he can do it, you know, better than any one living, and he's tho- roughly sober and trustworthy, and looks well after the men. He was here long before we were, and knows the whole business, root and branch. He's a good deal respected by gentlemen, and the people we deal with, too, and is a great swell. Why, bless your soul, sir, I've seen that man knock horses down with a hundred pounds' worth of diamonds on his fingers and about his neck ; 48 EXTRAORDINAKY HORSE-DEALING. and lie's quite a character on tlie turf, makes up Lis little book on every big race, and manages to win money. I was only saying to liim the other day, after he'd killed and ' stripped ' his horse like a regular artist, as he is — for there's as much difference, mind you, between one man's touch and another's at horse-killing as at any- thing else — I was only saying to him, 'Why, there's many a gentleman who's been to Oxford and Cambridge, and with a first-rate Latin edu- cation, who doesn't do as well as you do. Potior, and couldn't earn your salary to save his life.' And he said very fairly that he'd been doing this one thing ever since he was a little child, and it was only natural he could do it better than any one else. "But I'll tell you what he can do, and then you may judge whether he isn't a wonder. He can turn a live horse into a clean-picked skeleton in five-and-twenty minutes — Greenwich time" — the last two words were added as clinchers settling the wonder qualification off-hand. "An hour is considered pretty quick work for any one but him; but he's such a clever workman, that a horse is dead, and skinned, and cut up, I give you my word, before you've done calculating when he's going to begin. He is in the yard outside now ; I told him to keep about to-night, as I'd got some EXTRAORDINAEY HOESE-DEALING. 49 gentlemen coming ; and you've only to come into the yard to see as many horses killed as you like." The donkey's skull and the petrified diseases force themselves upon us stonily as we pass from the jolly sanctum to the office, and from the office to the yard; and the high - stepping animals still trotting on its walls seem to say, "We, too, were knocked on the head by the artistic Potler." A good-looking, muscular young fellow, with a heavy fair moustache and mutton-chop whiskers — a young man with a keen bright eye and a brisk manner, and who, in point of attire, looks as if he had stepped bodily out of some tailor's fashion- book — lifts his low-crowned hat courteously as we pass into the yard. A huge coin, like the top of a gold shaving-pot, dangles from his watch- chain, and precious stones glisten upon his cra- vat and wrists and hands. This is the expert. He stood between a string of living horses and a large heap of dead ones — a conqueror on his own battle-field. His little army of slaughterers, in white -canvas uniforms, were busily carving and cutting in the large slaughter-house to the left. Gracefully directing our attention to their doings, our new friend then proceeded to confirm what we had already heard. He is evidently proud of his professional achievements, though exercising a certain gentlemanly reserve when E 50 EXTEAORDINAEY HOESE -DEALING. speaking of himself. " Twenty-five minutes from first to last is the quickest time a horse was ever killed and stripped in by mortal man, and there's no one can't do that but me," is his answer to our first question. " Stripping," we are reminded, means clearing every atom of flesh from the bone, disposing of it in boilers and elsewhere, and leav- ing the horse's skeleton clean and bare. ' ' Let the gentleman see you settle a few yourself, Potler, and we'll reckon how long it takes you to do it," is the signal for four horses to be led in. Their halters are fastened to a beam above, and they stand side by side patiently wait- ing Mr. Potler's pleasure. That gentleman hands his blue-cloth reefing-jacket to one of his slaugh- terers in waiting, and stands in shirt-sleeves poising a poleaxe in front of his first victim. The at- tendants have covered its eyes and face with a piece of stiff oil-cloth, which delves in at the top of the forehead so as to make a bull's-eye. After a couple of feints, apparently to show his con- summate mastery over his weapon, the sharp end of the poleaxe descends with a mighty blow, and the horse falls — dead. There is no intermediate suffering. The animal rolls over upon its back simultaneously with the crashing sound of the pointed axe through its skull. A single quiver of the four legs as they fall heavily into position, EXTEAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 51 and the assistant-slaughterers are peeling its hide off and cutting it up. There is absolutely no period of transition between life and death, and the entire operation is decent, decorous, and orderly. In far less time than it has occupied to write these words the next horse in rotation has been blindfolded and poleaxed in its turn — the same formal preliminaries, the feints and poisings, hav- ing been gone through. The four horses are killed off in less than three minutes from their be- ing led into the slaughter-house ; and as we turn away, we see the first animal stretched out on its back, its four hoofs tied to hooks in the ceiling, and three busy figures in canvas peeling it as methodically and naturally as if it were an orange. The building in which this scene takes place is perfectly clean, and Mr. Potior returns to us without a speck apparent upon his boots, or clothes, or hands. Stepping easily forward, and resting on the handle of his poleaxe as he talks, much as I've seen cricketers do after a long score, he again tells us, with dignified modesty, that he attributes his proud position, not so much to natural gifts, as to long and early practice, and to having given the whole of his mind to this one subject ever since he can remember. He leaves the " stripping" to his subordinates to-night, and contents himself with what we have seen. 52 EXTEAOEDINARY HORSE -DEALING. A few days later, at the great liorse-dinner given at the Langham Hotel, we laughed heartily in our sleeve when we heard purists objecting to trifling matters of taste, which they said affected their appetites, without, we are bound to say, giving the least evidence of the fact. Their objections seemed sentimentally trivial to those who had spent hours in seeing horses slaughtered and cut up, and who were about to see their flesh sold w^holesale for cats' meat. One of these superfine gentlemen thought the veterinary surgeon's cer- tificate of the soundness of the animals we were about to eat was out of place in the drawing-room before dinner. Another declared the wooden efii- gies of dead horses, which grinned at us woodenly during the banquet, were in bad taste. A third would have it that "boiled withers," ''farci," and similar playfulnesses ought not to have been on the bill of fare ; and a fourth turned away from the photographic portraits, declaring that the sight of them made him ill. "Do you mean to tell me that this is really horse ?" said one old gentleman across the table, in a timorous whisper, but with a tremendous air of having discovered a mare's nest. " Horse bond fide, you know ; horse that's gone about, eh ?" (This definition was given as if it applied to a distinct species.) " You do ! God bless my soul ! EXTEAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 53 what are we coming to ? Horse, eh ? yes, I'm tasting it. Not bad, I daresay." (Very patron- ising here.) "/don't like the idea, though. Mere fancy, perhaps ; but I don't. So I'll wait a little, and look at you." We never quite made out why this old gentle- man had come at all. Whether he was a peripa- tetic public diner, who dropped in at great hotels whenever he felt hungry, and sat down to charity or other banquets, if they chanced to be going on ; or whether he had been hoaxed by some friend, and had accepted an invitation without compre- hending its character, it was difficult to say. But he seemed to partake of everything ; and when his plate was nearly finished, to go through the old formula. " But is this horse, eh, now ? Is it indeed ? and you like it ? Well, I can't relish the idea myself; but I'll look at you." Never were the advantages of rapid eating better exem- plified. Here was by far the largest consumer of food within our range calmly chewing the cud of bitter fancies after each dish, and assuming all the time a moral supremacy over his neighbours which was unassailable. There were many people at the horse-dinner who shared this eating philosopher's peculiarity. There is, however, an unerring test as to whether a good dinner has been enjoyed ; and if any one 54 EXTKAORDINAEY HORSE -DEALING. doubts the quantity consumed at this banquet, let him go to the manager of the Langham, and ask how much was put upon the table, and how much was left behind. To hear some men's talk, you might have fancied they had no appetite for horse; but to see the same men eat, you w^ould have concluded it to be their favourite daint}^ It was marvellous to note the discrepancies between pro- mise and performance. " I can't quite stand the notion of this," one genial spirit would remark, putting his finger on an item in the bill of fare. *' Don't think I shall be able to manage that," his brother would chime in. But lo, when the time came, both eat of both with remarkable persistence. Supposing horse-flesh to be unpalatable, the one hundred and fifty people at the Langham Hotel were exemplars of self-denial. Yet many proficients in the art of dining were there. The editor of the new Epicure's Year- Book TMhhQdi shoulders with a gallant officer whose gastronomic experiences and prowess are well known. The Pall Mall clubs might have sent up deputations ; so numerous were their members. Men from the great social centres of Toryism and Eadicalism, of the arts and sciences, of the universities, the army, the navy, and the civil service, of travelled thanes and of city commerce, were all fused in a common anxiety to know the taste of horse. Here EXTEAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 55 was tlie brilliant historian of our greatest modern wars ; there, the celebrated painter who is follow- ing the steps of Wilkie : here, a physiologist whose fame is European ; there, a lawyer whose learning is a proverb : here, a popular author whose diminutive is in the mouth of every school- boy ; there, a man of science who has given lustre to an already well-known name. It was strictly a representative gathering, and had assembled on philosophic grounds. Out of the rank and file of the hundred and fifty diners were probably some in whom curiosity had been the ruling motive for attendance ; but the men we have instanced, who are only typical of many others, were doubtless animated by something higher. It is obvious, however, that the whole question of supply, the statistics of the horses employed, and of the horses destroyed while sound, must be sifted before the effect of making horse-flesh a common article of food can be decided on. And this is not so easy as might be thought. Even the figures given from the chair that night have been seriously impugned since ; and neither the revenue returns nor the Board of Trade Blue-book will supply the exact information hippophagists want. The meeting at the Langham simply con- vinced a hundred and fifty more or less influential people of what the writer and the twenty- one other 56 EXTRAOEDINAEY HORSE-DEALING. diners at Francatelli's already knew. For tlie truth is, that the great horse-banquet differed so Httle from other good pubHc dinners, that no one pre- sent would have noticed anything unusual about soup, made dishes, or joints, had it not been for the peculiar circumstances under which we met. Let dinner-givers, whether experienced club-fre- quenters or young ladies just commencing house- keeping, picture to themselves guests who smell and taste each item, as if anxious to detect un- pleasantness. Let them imagine a scrutiny of every mouthful taken, which was almost hostile in its closeness, and let them say how many ban- quets would come out scathless from such ordeal. How many people can give a large dinner in which everything shall be faultless ? Are beef and mutton never tough ? Do gravies never belie their promise ? Is cooking invariably perfect ? Who asks or wants to know ordinarily whether every member of a mixed company thoroughly en- joys every atom of every helping he gets ? Yet this is the test the Langham dinner underwent. Men looked at each other curiously while eating, and each course ran the gauntlet of puns and satire. But the examination was in all cases close and searching ; and between the fire of blind enthusiasm on the one hand, and ice of hyper- criticism on the other, it was difficult for plain EXTEAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 57 people to form a calm judgment on the matter be- fore them. The enthusiasts who, at a consider- able expenditure of time, labour, and money, had promoted this and the preceding dinner, could scarcely be impartial. Accordingly, when a re- spectable but rather dull gentleman insisted that horse-meat was superior to venison, and spoke disrespectfully of those established favourites, beef and mutton, his talk fell as flat as the prejudiced whisperings of the queer old consumer opposite. When the trumpet -blast sounded, and the mighty baron of horse came in on the shoulders of four cooks, a neighbour nudged us to say, of the imposing trumpeter in scarlet and gold, " Ex- militia man, sir ; not a beef-eater at all. Uniform hired at a Jew clothier's ; trumpet sent in from a music-shop. Very good get-up. Uncommonly like the real thing ; but his rendering of the ' Koast Beef of Old England' savours too much of the strong beer of old England, doesn't it ? Hark! there's another of those liquid notes ! Will they march right round the room ? Is he to play before them all the way ? Well, I only hope there'll be no accident ; for if ever a beef-eater looked like a. city man-in-armour after a Lord Mayor's dinner, that's the one. Did you hear the bother they had with him just now ? Asked him to strike a gong in the intervals of trumpet- 58 EXTKAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. blowing, and he indignantly declined. Said, with a manly hiccup, that he was only ' 'ired' to play one instrument, and ' that he wouldn't be put upon for all the 'orses in Hengland !' There he goes again ; another false note. Well, well, so long as he doesn't assault the chairman, I sup- pose we must put up with it." There was something extremely funny in these criticisms, for the beef-eater was marching round all the time with solemn step and slow, and mighty if irregular fanfaronades were being blown. " You can have no idea," continued our com- municative friend, " of the difficulty the commit- tee and secretary had in making this dinner ^ go.' As for the latter, he's given up his time to it for months. His privacy has been invaded, his time absorbed, his home arrangements upset, and all because he's tried to beat down prejudice. When the controversy commenced in the newspapers as to the advisability of eating horse-flesh, this gen- tleman rashly offered to make up a party to try the experiment. From that moment his time and liberty — I'd almost said his peace of mind — were gone. Strangers wrote to him from distant parts of Britain, saying they'd be in town on the following Thursday, and would drop in at his private house and take a horse-cutlet, about two. Other prudent people asked whether he meant to EXTRAORDINAEY HOESE-DEALING. 59 feed inquiring spirits gratuitously, or if lie pro- posed to charge so much a head. Pious mono- maniacs denounced him for attempting to intro- duce a food not recommended in Scripture, and insisted on the connection between horse -meat and infidelity; and commercially-minded strangers asked him familiarly how much he hoped to make out of his ' spec' An average of thirty letters a-day arrived on this subject alone ; and what with trips to Paris, interviews with horse-dealers and horse-slaughterers" (we smiled to ourselves here), *' statistical inquiries into the progress of horse- eating on the Continent, and meeting and exposing the arguments of friends and opponents at home, I can assure you that our honorary secretary has worked as hard at the introduction of the new meat as if it were his own private business. When he commenced operations, he found pre- judice besetting him at every step. The hotels closed their doors in his face with wonderful unanimity, directly they learned his errand. The butchers refused to kill the horse he had pro- cured, because ' if the hoofs or hide were seen coming out of their shops it would be their ruin ;' and nothing but the most persevering energy would have overcome the obstacles and trade-rules which stood in the way of inaugurating a horse- dinner in London." 60 EXTRAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. This information came to us in fits and starts ; for the speaker, a stout and rather pompous per- sonage, with an enormous double chin, partook plentifully of the good cheer before us, and thought nothing of giving up in the middle of a sentence to eat, always beginning again at the precise point he left off at, with " As I w^as saying just now." Meanwhile the banquet progressed admirably. Some filets of horse (imagine the poor jokes on filly!), with a full-flavoured brown gravy, were especially delicious, and the slices of cold horse sausage tasted like a veritable product of Lyons. But we hold to our original opinion, that not one man in fifty of those present would have detected any difference in appearance, in tenderness, or in flavour, between the various preparations of horse and the ordinary dishes of a well-served dinner. A copious variety of wine w^as supplied, and long- before the chairman proposed the toast of the evening, the verdict of the company was won. Twenty-four hours later, and at midnight, we again present ourselves at the establishment at Belle Isle. It is in the full tide of work. Horses are being knocked down and cut up, and their flesh thrown into the huge boilers with infinite rapidity. At least six-and-thirty are wanted for to-morrow's supply; and, as business has been brisk during EXTEAOKDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 61 the week, it had heen feared that there would not be enough in stock for the night's killing. But condemned horses have come in from all quarters within the last few hours, including eight which have dropped down dead in the streets. The yard and pound are full in con- sequence. We stumble against a cart containing a dead roan, '' formerly belonging to the Marquis of Brandyford;" and see, by the glare of the shed- lights, a bay waiting to be stripped in another cart on its threshold. Poleaxing, hacking, carv- ing, and boiling are going on inside, and continue through the night, and it is three o'clock on a dark and drizzling morning before the animals are all killed and stripped. In this time decayed hunters, worn-out hacks, cart-horses, ponies, " Cleveland bays," cab-horses, and chargers have all succumbed to the mighty arm of Potler and his myrmidons, and have been thrown into the caldrons and boiled down. By four o'clock the slaughter-house is washed down and made clean. The horse-meat is placed in great heaps upon the stones as fast as boiled ; and is very like the huge hunks of workhouse beef I have seen turned out of parochial coppers. Soon after half-past five a cart is backed into the shed, and is piled up with boiled horse-meat. This done, it is driven off in the darkness to the 62 EXTEAOEDINARY HOESE -DEALING. branch establishment of the firm at Farringdon- street station. At six, Mr. Potler, as spruce as ever, but with a butcher's steel suspended from his waist, drives a lighter vehicle in, and, standing up in it, per- forms a remarkable feat of artificial memory. He is going round to between thirty and forty cus- tomers, all dealers in cats' meat, who have given him their orders on a preceding day. He has neither book nor note, but calls out their names and quantities with a precision that never seems to fail. ^' Three-quarter Twoshoes and six pen- n'orth !" "Arf a 'undred Biles and three pen- n'orth !" " Arf fourteen Limey and two penn'orth !" " 'Undred and a arf, 'undred and three-quarters Till and nine penn'orth !" went on in rapid suc- cession, until we made bold to ask Mr. Potler where his memorandum was, and how he knew the different quantities required. ''All in my 'ed, sir" (tapping it with a sly laugh). '"Aven't got no books nor pencils, I 'aven't, and don't want to," was his reply, which is corroborated by the stout proprietor, who stands at the scales, watches the weighing, and enters all Mr. Potler's items methodically on a sort of trade- sheet he carries in his hand. The first number, such as the " 'undred and a arf," referred, it was interesting to learn, to EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 63 the cats' meat of ordinary horse-flesli ; the " pen- n'orths" are ^' tripe," and divide the quantities of each customer in the cart. " Tripe" is for the dog and cat of jaded appetite, who cannot relish plain food. Mr. Potler has no check upon his memory. He drives round in a certain direction, calling at the same houses in regular rotation, and delivers the " meat" as ordered, without scales or weighing-machine, and purely hy eye and head. He rarely makes a mistake, and on his return at eleven o'clock will hring back from ten to twelve pounds sterling and an empty cart. Cash on delivery, is his motto, and the amount he hands in always tallies with the entries in the trade-sheet of his employer. This employer is himself a study. At our previous visit we saw him dispensing hospitality in a cosy back parlour behind his counting-house. He now wears a low-crowned white hat, a little on one side ; a large crimson shawl envelops his bulky neck, and hides his chin at will ; and a big cutaway coat with flapped pockets, and waistcoat to match, covers his capacious frame. He is up to his knees in cats' meat. That is, the quantity on the floor is piled so high, that when he is be- hind it at the scales he becomes what painters call a three-quarter length. He makes a decidedly sporting portrait. A jolly, burly, red-faced farmer 64 EXTRAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. from the Yorkshire wolds ; a stage-coacliman of the old school, when stage-coachmen were some- times humorists and gentlemen ; a prosperous- churchwarden sort of man, who could fill the large corner pew of a country church admirably; a sharp-witted, free-handed trader, who'd give sove- reigns away out of generosity, and bargain keenly for sixpences in the way of business ; — any of these characters would fit our host's appearance. The history of his present calling is told us thus, with many a jolly laugh and shrewd twinkle of the eye, slapping his trousers-pocket meanwhile for emphasis, and proffering excellent cigars : ''If any one had told me two years ago that I'd ever have been a cats'-meat man, I'd just have laughed them down. No more thought of it than you have at this moment, I give you my word. I'd done pretty well in my own business, and had retired. Got settled down in a pretty place in the suburbs, but used to ^Dop in and out the City for amusement like; putting a bit of money in here and there as a spec, and watching how it would turn out. I used to dine among my friends, very often, at a place I daresay you know, where there's a four-o'clock ordinary and a capital glass of punch. Well, sir, one afternoon, when three of us were chatting over our cigars, a man came in we all knew, and asked us if we were EXTRAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 65 game to go in for a really good thing, though a funny one. We'd a rare laugh when we heard it was the horse-killing and cats'-meat trade. After a little talk, however, very little — for we'd all been accustomed to go into new things, and to have several irons in the fire — we agreed to try it together. The three of us paid the deposit-money next morning, and became the proud possessors of the largest horse-slaughtering business in the world. Then came the question, How was it to be worked ? Not one of us had the least notion of doing what you see me doing now. To drop in on a Saturday, and divide the profits, to have little partnership dinners, with our managers coming in to dessert, drawing in a good deal of money, and having very little to do — that was our game. But the first three months told us it wouldn't do. We lost money, instead of making it. The 'meat' went anyhow, as you may say. Pounds slipped away without being accounted for. We could blame no one in particular, because we didn't know where the fault lay. What we did know, and precious quick too, was that it wouldn't answer. So another partner and myself came to a friendly arrangement with the third — the gentle- man you saw here the other night — and agreed to become managers ourselves. Three days a-week I'm here, as you've seen me, from five in the F 66 EXTEAOEDINAEY HOESE-DEALING. morning often until twelve at night, and the other three days my partner does the same. Having lived a good deal in America, where they say, ' if a man can't edit a newspaper, he can print it; and if he can't print it, he can sell it,' I always go in well when I go in at all ; so I know this business thoroughly. Where the meat goes to, what it fetches, and when its price is to rise, are all A B C to me now. I can knock horses on the head too, and could manage the concern if all the old ser- vants were to leave me to-morrow. What affects the price of cats' meat ? Why, the cost of horses, and the number of them. Sometimes they drop off like rotten sheep, at others the season's healthy, and the supply low. We buy 'em dead and alive, remember. We've standing contracts with many of the largest employers of horses to take their diseased and worn-out and dead ones at a fixed price all round." The acting partner here turned round, and with a brisk chaffy manner, which was a strong contrast to his philosophic air when speaking to lis, cried, " Hallo ! Jack, where' s the pony this morning?" " Out earning money for you, master, agin the summer," shouted a hoarse voice in reply. This was the first trade customer of the morn- ing. He had wheeled a neat little barrow into EXTEAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 67 the shed, which was filled from the heaps of *'meat" still on the floor, and paid for with all speed. From this time, ahout half-past six, until half-past eight the flow of customers was strong and stead}^ The food was carried off in a variety of ways. Shahhy-genteel women hrought peram- bulators ; children, baskets and barrows ; men and boys, little carts. " Mind my doggie don't bite yer !" was shouted in the ear of one of our party, which made him jump away from a harm- less panel-fresco of a Newfoundland dog who was eating " royal cats' meat" with the air of an epi- cure. Most of the carts had pictorial panels. Some represented scenes in high life. The late Prince Consort, her Majesty, and the Koyal Children dis- pensing cats' meat from silver spoons to a litter of spaniels at their feet ; an archbishop, seated in his study, in lawn sleeves, tempting a poodle to sit up by the promise of cats' meat ; and an elderly lady of evidently high rank, for her coro- net stood on the breakfast-table at her side, like a coffee-pot, coaxing a monster tabby with milk and meat, were among the pictures on the cart- sides. The ponies drawing them were smart trot- ters, well groomed and cared for; but the most celebrated were not brought out because of the wet- ness of the morning. The owners were as artistic 68 EXTRAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. as their vehicles : some in long drab coats reach- ing to their heels ; some in strange jackets, in which one patch of colour had been so inter- twined with another that the original hue was lost ; some in nondescript garments, of which it was difficult to discern the beginning or end ; all wonderfully brisk, funny, and personal. One man takes away a bag of horse-tongues, which are so wonderfully like those we see in the windows of ham-and-beef shops that we avoid asking its des- tination ; others purchase horses' hearts, which we, at least, could not distinguish from those of bullocks; but the majority take the "meat" as it comes, pay for it, and go on their way. " It's a curious thing," said the stout pro- prietor, " that they're all so particular about having it boiled fresh. The Act of Parliament says horses are only to be slaughtered in certain hours ; but that part of it has become a dead let- ter, simply because cats prefer the taste of horse- flesh which has been newly killed. Custom, sir, has overridden law, as it often does, and all because the London tabbies are so dainty that they don't like horse that's been killed too long overnight." " Do the old favourite horses you told us of as being slaughtered to prevent their ever being ill- treated — do they get sold for cats' mea£ too?" we ask. EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 69 '' That's just as gentlemen like. They can have the body buried, and, if they prefer it, we'll send men to their own places to kill for them. If they come here, it can be made quite private. "We'd a baronet here with an old pet only yester- day. We always close these gates at such a time; for, hang me" (with much vigour) "if people don't seem to rise out of the pavement when anything's going on on the quiet. The great thing we guar- antee is that a horse shall be put out of the way painlessly, and in the presence of witnesses, if it's wished; and that he'll not be found, ill-treated in a cab perhaps, ten years after he's supposed to be killed, as I've known happen before now." FALSE HAIK. The statistics of the false-hair trade furnish curi- ous evidence concerning the increased and increas- ing artificiality of the age. Male wigs have gone out of fashion, and it is the enormous quantities of false hair used by ladies which have caused the vast rise in its price. This has gone up 400 per cent within the last dozen years, while four times as much false hair is used now as then. Sixteen times as much money is consequently spent upon this article of adornment in the present year as was devoted to it in 1857 — a suggestive fact for the swains who are admiring the silken tresses of their fair partners in the dance, or at a sea- side promenade. Those who only know false hair from the curious lumps of it in the hairdressers' windows, and from a general suspicion that they see it on the heads of some of their friends, cannot form a notion of the extent to which the trade in it is carried on. It has wholesale dealers with large warehouses, and skilled labourers constantly at work. It is manufactured to meet the wishes and FALSE HAIR. 71 the purses of all classes of society, from tlie six- penny frisett sold to j&ll out tlie sparse locks of the servant-of-all-work, to the ten -guinea head of hair made up to aid the beauty of a duchess. To visit one of its great emporiums is to become a wiser, if not a sadder man. There may be seen samples of hair by the thousand, all of which have been cut from living heads for money, to be sold again. We were conducted over one of these emporiums recently, where huge canvas sacks, each weighing 150 lbs., and containing about six hun- dred heads of hair, were standing unpacked in one of the workshops. The contents of each sack gives out a close and fusty smell, suggesting some fur- rier's establishment where none but coarse and common furs are sold. The sacks stand on end, and are hard as well as bulky from tight pack- ing. They have crossed the Channel recently, their contents having been cut principally from French and German heads. One of them is cut open for our benefit, and a strange variety of matted, greasy, unpleasant-look- ing hair is seen. Here is the iron-gray of middle life, the snowy-white of old age, the brown and black and flaxen of youth, all roughly twisted up together like so many piebald horses' tails. Some of the hair is long, some short, some coarse, some fine, some neglected and dirty, some care- 72 FALSE HAIR. fully combed and cleaned. There is a ready de- mand for all, and all will be submitted to some twenty distinct processes before it is offered for sale. Long massive tresses are taken out of the sack and spread on the table for our inspection. This is hair in its natural state as cut from the head, and we are begged to note the difference between it and the '' manufactured" hair as sold. The contrast is great. The latter has been combed and washed, and in many cases dyed. Each in- dividual hair has been passed through what looks like a fixed small-tooth comb, and has been coaxed and teased and tortured, until the mystery is that there should be any of it left. It is then sorted according to its colour, and sold to retail houses by the ounce. It was rather melancholy to find that gray or white hair is the most valuable of all ; and that false hair which is long as well as gray commands the highest price, from the number of old ladies wishing to counterfeit nature while preserving the insignia of years. The finest specimens of this elderly hair will sell for as much as two guineas an ounce ; while the very best black or brown is priced at from eighteen shillings to a guinea, and the best flaxen at about a guinea and a half. The latter variety is, be the quality what it may, about fifty per cent dearer than black or brown FALSE HAIE. 73 liair ; while white or gray fetches more than the latter by one hundred per cent. It is unnecessary to say that much of the hair sold in this country is far less expensive than that just quoted. Quality, colour, and length determine its price, which ranges from a few shillings an ounce upwards. After the hair has been combed and washed and dried, it is folded into oblong parcels, such as large skeins of silk or worsted are kept in, in the shops. Fair Saxon hair is still greatly in demand, and as the stock of it must be kept up, many of the other colours have to be stained to the favourite hue. But dyeing hair is far less easy when it has been cut from the head. The natural perspiration of the human subject acts with the chemical compounds used; and it is the boast of the fashionable hairdresser that he can change your hair to any colour by a few appli- cations of his famous washes. Great certainty is moreover expressed as to the shade which will be produced, and dark brown, or flaxen, or black, can be prognosticated with as much certainty as if those colours were put on temporarily with a paint-brush. This, according to the hairdressers, is the reason why male wigs have gone out. "Where men used to shave the head and wear a wig when they were turning gray, they now dye their hair ; and where they are bald they grow a 74 FALSE HAIR. beard, and, if necessary, dye it," was the explana- tion given us by an eminent professor of the art of hairdressing and dyeing. The artifice of the male sex differs therefore from that of the female not so much in degree as in mode ; for while the latter wear false hair, the former give false colour to their own. Formerly there was no medium in dyeing. The hair and whiskers of an elderly man were either a bluish black, or white, as he dyed, or let Nature have her way. The proceeding was so painfully obvious as scarcely to amount to de- ception, and the purgatorial way in which men had to sit, with their heads covered with lime-powder and cabbage -leaves until their colour changed from gray to black, added to the horrors of the situation. The liquid dyes, invented and improved during the present generation, act chemically on the hair without staining the skin, and are by comparison cleanly and convenient. Hence, ac- cording to the hairdressers, the enormous increase in dyed hair, and the reduction in the sale of wigs to men. The abnormal demand for light hair has put both the dealers and their fair customers to considerable inconvenience. The lady who had stained her hair to what she considered the fa- shionable colour had in many instances attained FALSE HAIR. 75 a tinge unlike any other thing on earth. When, therefore, she wanted a new chignon or tresses to match her latest hue, it was impossible to pro- cure them. No shade of flaxen but by the side of her own metallic yellow would seem dull and flat ; and the only way out of the diffi- culty was to artificially stain the false hair gold colour, until it looked as unnatural as the hair growing. But, as we have said, it is by no means easy to insure a given shade in hair once cut from the head ; and it often goes through twenty dyeings before the coveted colour is attained. Each time it is dipped in the dye it has to be dried, so that the process is not a little tedious. We saw from fifty to a hundred batches of light hair hung up on strings to dry, the majority of which would have to be dyed again. Through the window of the room in which these were, a long line of jetty-black ringlets might be seen swaying to and fro in the sun, and looking in their extreme glossiness and deep-set hue like so many black crows swinging from the string above. The foregoing are examples of what was seen on every side. The quantities of the hair around seemed endless. Drawers, chests, boxes, and packing-cases were full. None, we were assured, had been cut from corpses. There is a cer- 76 FALSE HAIE. tain deaclness and liarshness wliicli an experi- enced hand recognises immediately in all hair not taken from a living subject. But the various circumstances under which it had been parted with, the poverty, the sickness, the sorrow, the ignorance, and the vice forcibly suggested them- selves as we turned over mass after mass of human hair, cleaned, sorted, and labelled for sale, for all the world as if it were so much fur. So nice an art is it to im^^rove the hair from the condition in which it arrives from the Con- tinent into that in which it is sold here by the ounce, that it is commonly said its practice can only be learnt when young. The man who attempted it for the first time would waste more than he cleaned. The loose hair would be combed out and lost, instead of put carefully in its place ; and "the profit," as we were feelingly told, "would be easily combed away too ; for no workman is worth his salt at the hair-business unless the fineness of his touch has been trained by con- stant practice since youth." So far we have but touched upon hair as it is sold without more manipulation than is necessary for its quality, delicacy, and colour. But the variety of ladies' head-dresses of hair which are sold ready-made is very great. Before us lies a large illustrated pattern-sheet, in which FALSE HAIR. 77 every form of '"back-hair" worn by every lady we have ever seen seems to be parodied and sold at so much an inch. Its diagrams are facsimiles of what we saw during our visits to the wholesale hair-houses. There were the curly ringlets of the romp, the fancy plaits of the demure school-girl, the porter's knot, the sausage-roll, the snake, the caterpillar, the black-pudding, the parasol, the door-knocker, and the bird's-nest, all in hair. The only inscription given them on the sheet is of this prosaic character : " six inch wide, five inch deep," or '' frisett hard" or " frisett soft ;" but the diagrams tell their own story ; and these wondrous preparations strictly resemble what we have said. We find, moreover, from an intensely interesting publication called the Hairdressers' Chronicle, that societies flourish among us for the promotion of the art of hairdressing, and that the most distinguished professors of the day prac- tise together in the following beautifully sugges- tive way: "At a meeting of the Amalgamated Academy of Hairdressers, a variety of coiffures were tried, the antique and I'Etoile being warmly applauded," while the following report of the pro- ceedings of the " Societe du Progres de la Coiffure" speaks for itself : " This society held its usual monthly meeting on Tuesday, July 7, at its rooms, Charles-street, 78 FALSE HAIR. GrosYenor- square, when the following talented artistes officiated : " Coiffure by M. Eossignot. — Execution : The hair flat on the forehead, to which was added a plait in three, about two inches from the forehead, the space between being filled with light curls. The hair of the temples was divided into two pieces, the one brought down and the other up, with several rolls across the head behind the plait. For the back, from ear to ear the hair was divided into five pieces, brought up about two inches, forming rolls, and a group of curls, droop- ing rather on the right side, completed this hand- some coiffure, which was chastely adorned with silver ornaments. *' Coiffure by M. Beaupin. — Execution : Wave the hair in front, and make an inversed puff, with the hair of the temples rolled up behind the ears. The back hair form into four rolls from the neck, not high, the centre being filled with five loops, forming a plait. A train of golden leaves passing between the loops, from the right side to the left, gave the finish to this graceful coiffure. " Coiffure by M. Camiletti. — Execution : Two rolls in front, forming a russe, the hair of the temples turned back, and two small rolls on the right and left side. For the back, five rolls, rather high, from ear to ear, and one under, form- FALSE HAIR. 79 ing a semicircle. This coiffure was adorned with roses. " The next grand course will take place on August 4, when three head-dresses will be exe- cuted." We should mention that a considerable trade is carried on in false beards, moustaches, and whiskers. During the American war a vast number of these were sent out to the United States, and a steady demand continued until the peace. Our informant did not profess to account either for the sudden craving for whiskers and beards, or for its equally sudden cessation. But the fact is curious, that the demand lasted as long as the war, and gradu- ally dropped off at its close. The moustache and whisker, like the best wig-fronts and scalps, are based upon a fine network of white hair, through which the skin of the wearer shows ; and a " part- ing" is secured which fairly rivals nature. Our investigations were made among some of the largest wholesale dealers in human hair, as well as at several fashionable retail shops. Both abound in the metropolis. The penalty of such inquiries is, that they leave a hideous doubt upon the mind as to the reality of plaits, curls, chignons, and tresses. When art imitates nature so won- derfully, and where — as figures and professional witnesses prove to us — a large proportion of the 80 FALSE HAIE. female population avail themselves of art, it be- comes exceedingly difficult to draw the line between the two. After seeing and handling hair taken from many thousands of heads, and being taught its future use, the belief is pardonable, if morbid, that false locks are as common as real ; and that whenever hair is especially beautiful, it should awaken most distrust. SUNDAY TRADING. The Sunday trading of the metropolis is too multifarious to be generalised in a heading of two words. It has its specialties and diversities, like other branches of commerce ; and the dif- ferent districts in which it flourishes have cha- racteristics which are as distinct as those of the shops in Regent - street and the stalls of Clare Market or Seven Dials. Some stress has been laid latterly upon the Sunday bird -fair at Spitalfields, an institution which has been de- scribed at intervals during the last thirty years, and the leading features of which remain unal- tered. But there are localities nearer the West- end which are at least as peculiar, and the weekly scenes in which are as startling as anything told of the noisy chaffering throng assembled every Sunday morning round the doors of St. Matthias, Bethnal-green. The New-cut Lambeth, Chapel- street near the Brill Somers-town, the railway arches in the St. Pancras-road, and Dudley-street and its tributaries in Seven Dials, were found on G 82 SUNDAY TRADING. a Sunday morning, in diurch hours, in 1869, in the full tide of a busy roaring trade. The New-cut is a promenade as well as an open-air bazaar. It is nineteen years since Mr. Henry Mayhew described the scrambling and shout- ing taking place there to get the penny profit out of the poor man's Sunday dinner as overwhelming to the thoughtful mind, and the place is as puzzling and uproarious as when he wrote. Why so many men who are not particular about other portions of their attire should pay for having their boots blacked, and be assiduous as to the degree of polish conferred, is not the least incomprehen- sible of the many little problems which beset the inquirer. We counted seventeen shoeblacks busily occupied between Waterloo station and the West- minster-bridge-road on exploring the New-cut on the morning in question between eleven and twelve. The patrons of these boys were poorly dressed — some coatless, some ragged, all shabby, but uni- formly anxious for bright boots, and all willing to pay a penny for the luxury. This done, they stood at street -corners, or strolled slowly along the pavement or roadway, stopping here and there to listen to the wiles of an unusually noisy or amusing trader; but obviously out for a holiday walk, and for a weekly chat with their friends. These were the loungers, and they w^ere in the SUNDAY TRADING. 83 majority among the crowds filling both footpath and roadway. Purchasers, with and without bas- kets, of both sexes, and people bargaining, eating, drinking, and in one or two instances gambling, made up the rest of the throng. The trades, stationary and peripatetic, were of all kinds. The refreshments taken on the spot and in the open air made a formidable item. Hot plum- cake, with a yellow groundwork of steaming sub- stance, half sponge, half flannel, and large black spots resembling petrified raisins, paid for and eaten as quickly as it could be cut up ; whelks, periwinkles, and another shell-fish picked out with pins and washed down by ginger-beer at a penny a bottle, each glass bearing an amount of froth which was alone worth the money ; pies all hot, taken from a tin case like a potato -can, and supplied with smok- ing gravy like train-oil, as fast as sold ; sausages fizzing and spluttering in the yellow river wherein they were fried ; grapes, at threepence a-pound, "from the Queen's greenhouses at Windsor Cas- tle;" walnuts sixteen a penny, "warranted the same as is eaten in Covent-garden Market by the nobility;" and biscuits, lollipops, and quack loz- enges, some of which had medical virtue as well as piquancy, and others which were piquant only, were among the delicacies consumed. The public-houses were of course closed, and 84 SUNDAY TEADING. experimental efforts to obtain spirits or beer at the coffee-shops and eating-houses ended in igno- minious failure. The druggists' shops were open, and full of customers — worn people, for the most part, who brought their own bottles, and had some of the ''same doctor's stuff as before ;" but no one was drunk, though several confessed to thirst and to an agreeable foreshadowing of the time when "the clock strikes one, and them 'ere blessed shutters" (those of the public-house) " are down." Besides the vendors of articles eaten on the premises or in the street, the butchers, the greengrocers, the grocers proper, the bakers, and the fishmen, are all kept hard at work. Noise seems to be a condition of their business life ; and the ''Buy, buy, buy;" the "Carrots a penny a lot, a lot;" the "Prime tea soothe-yer-tea" (in one word) ; the "^lio wants fish?" "Fish now, fish now; what do you want?" recalling the "What do you lack?" of the old 'prentices, — are all effectual. Nor must it be supposed that the Sunday- morning trade is confined to the necessaries of life. Tailors' shops, decked out with garments of many colours and strange names ; jewellers, iron- mongers, boot -and -shoe dealers, bird-fanciers, stationers, haberdashers, and bonnet vendors, are all here. Finery for the person, and ornaments SUNDAY TRADING. 85 for the house, necessaries and luxuries, are offered side by side, as if we were on a cheap Boulevard, or at a Palais Koyal innocent of beauty, attractive- ness, or taste ; indeed, if the motives and actions of the people we saw were analysed, the difference between them and the strollers in the French Vanity Fair would be, perhaps, found to be more apparent than real. The loungers who were not buying or selling looked about them quite as vacuously as a blase Parisian or an ignorant tourist. The pins, rings, chains, and gewgaws proffered for pence ; the imitation flowers which imitated nothing under the sun except flycatchers ; the caps and bonnets of rainbow hues ; the greatcoats with velvet cuffs reaching to the elbow, and velvet neckbands like collars of state, all for twenty shil- lings ; the boot-laces sold by a fellow in a ragged woollen garment like an old - fashioned spencer reduced, who gave bits of his autobiography de- tailing his hardships and suff'erings as a dockyard labourer until he " discovered the unparalleled strength of the five-twist lace, and made his for- tune ;" the youth in true bricklayer's fustian who asked their vendor " if they were meant for yacht- ing boots as well as shooting," and, on being satisfied they were, bought a pair on the spot ; the knowing boys who taught each other how to tell 86 SUNDAY TRADING. mock canaries from real, and how to detect impo- sition in the Hnnets at fourpence each, — all re- minded one of types to be seen elsewhere. The familiar faces of some of the best-known London beggars — notably the blind collier, the countryman with a withered arm, and the vener- able philosopher who sweeps his City crossing in straps and gloves — were to be seen edging their way among the crowd, and accepting do- nations less in the spirit of receiving alms than as Mr. Dorritt pocketed the testimonials of the collegians at the Marshalsea. It is probable that there was a good deal of cheating among the traders ; that short weight and adulteration were not unknown ; that Lord Napier had not author- ised the hawker of cheap hats to christen a par- ticularly villanous-looking wideawake by his name ; that the ' ' nobby boots warranted to do their five miles an hour, heel and toe, and to win their owner money," were not, as they said, by the maker " exclusively patronised by his Koyal Highness the Prince of Wales ;" that the '^ here, take me away, 14s. 6d.,'' and "with artful fakements down the side, 13s. 6<:L," of the cheap trousers' tickets, were intended to suggest something more than the intrinsic value of those useful articles ; and that the " real sealskin waistcoat" at 7s. 6d. was not entirely genuine, — indeed it could not be, SUNDAY TRADING. 87 unless seals have been discovered witli skins of scarlet velveteen. But it was preeminently a holi- day scene for all that — rude, and rough, and coarse — but a holiday to the majority, and a treat to all. Dudley - street, Seven Dials, gave an entirely different side of Sunday trading. There was no promenading, little jollity, and less noise. Second-hand boots, each pair suggesting a differ- ent history, from the dainty new-footed Wellingtons with coloured morocco tops to the lowly blucher bulged, knobby, and stringless, form one of the staple trades. Second-hand goods, scarcely above the rank of marine stores, and comprising odd keys, odd locks, door-handles, wearing - apparel, broken china, silk stockings, and stay-laces, are displayed at other shops; but there is no open-air fair, no lounging for amusement's sake, no hum- our, and no chaff. The customers of Dudley- street are people with a purpose, who go to buy knowing exactly what they want — a race not to be tempted by blandishment, and above the weakness of hankering after society. The Brill and Chapel- street, Somers-town, were the New-cut over again. The temperance lecturer we listened to at the latter place, and who declared *' that, in a logical point of view, your Modera- tioner" — specified as a distinct genus, like the Esquimaux or the Ojibbaway — "was worse than 88 SUNDAY TRADING. your drunkard," seeraed to liave multiplied him- self, and to be adorned with silver medals of many clasps at the Brill. At both places he had listeners ; so had the street preachers ; so had the " secularists" who expounded under the railway arch in the St. Pancras-road; so had the Cheap Johns; so had the earnest, thoughtful, intellec- tual but visionary - looking working man, who expounded a scheme for founding a colony in the Nebraska territor}^ on the cooperative principle ; so had the affable, sharp-eyed, smartly - dressed little American, who indorsed his friend's state- ments, and who made many a mouth water by his glowing description of the working man's position in the state of Chicago, from which he had come eight months before. Wherever there was any- thing to interest, or amuse, there was a crowd ; and the people who think the Sunday trading places of London are made up solely of cheaters and the cheated might do worse than explore for themselves, and see how much want of teaching, of occupation, and of a knowledge of better things, there are among their lounging crowds. OYEE THE WATER. " SooiciDES? yes, a vast o' tliem ! It's four- and- twenty years since I fust come to this toll- gate, and I must have seen forty or more. But there's funnier — that is, queerer — things than sooicides in public life ; and havin' been in public life — taking the bridge-money, that is — for so many years, I've got quite wrapped up in it, as yer may say. For I'm known to hundreds o' gentlemen I don't know except by taking their coppers ; and through the thousands I see in that way, I defy yer to take me to any part of the country without my meeting faces I know. Ten to ten day-dooty, and ten to ten night-dooty, with four-and-twenty hours at a stretch on Sundays, — that's our work- ing-time ; and the two fust and the two last hours are the busiest o' the lot in both night and day. "Well, gentlemen, it's a curious thing, but though the same faces may pass us every morn- ing and every night for years, we never miss 'em when they give up coming. They may die, or go to the bad, or leave these parts, you know, and 90 OYER THE WATER. never cross tlie bridge at all after bein' over it twice a clay all their lives ; but vre never find it out. You'd lia' thought we would ? No doubt, no doubt ; but it's the quantity that does it. If we was to go on humbuggin' about missin' peo- ple, and askin' each other why old Bellers isn't through this morning, or where the little woman with the painted black-eye's gone to, there'd be a good deal o' toll lost, you may take my word. No, gentlemen, they just come and go, puts down their ha'pennies, or hands their tuppence out of a cab, and we passes a civil word, and there's an end of it. Scores upon scores of gentlemen I know in this way, and giv' the time o' day, or say a fine morning to, or the like o' that, and will do for years ; but when they go I never find it out, un- less they come back and tell me of it. Then I'll remember 'em fast enough. No call to speak to me, or to ask me questions. The instant I sees an old face coming towards the gate, I recollect he's been away. It all comes back to me then, and I say, ' Haven't seen you for some time, sir ;' or 'Not been our way lately;' as natural as if I had ticked off his absences every morning, like they used to do at school. It's the numbers that does it. You are all right with people, and they come through as a matter of course ; but directly they drop out another comes up in their place to OVER THE WATEE. 91 keep up the average traffic ; so I defy you to miss one or two more or less. There's nothing to bring 'em to your mind, and people seem very like one another when clapping a copper down or taking change for a shillin' is all they have to do with yer. *'It seems to me, looking back on all these years, that I've been standing still while the world about me's been on the move. Day after day, wet or dry, sorry or glad, well or ill, men and women have come on like some great regi- ment, and there's hardly been a stoppage in their march. Working men, business men, rich men, poor men, happy men, sorrowful men, weddin's, funerals, pleasure -parties to Eichmond, school- treats, deserters from the army, prisoners going to gaol — all flit by and fade into one another like the figures in a magic-lantern. We see 'em for a minute, and there's an end of it. I never make a friend, gentlemen. It ain't business to make friends, and our people don't like gossiping, as in- terfering with dooty. "What is the first regular burst o' traffic in the morning ? Why, when tlie trains begin to come in. Before that, it's market-people to Covent - garden, workmen going to their day's work, shopmen, shop-girls, and here and there among 'em white-faced, staggering boozers, whose 92 OVER THE WATER. crumpled dirty look tells one pretty plain they've had a stiff night's drinking bout. But these don't come in any sort of order. It's workmen or shopmen, or shopmen and workmen, in twos and threes — plenty of 'em, you understand, to keep one busy — but not sorted like, and not of one class. Now I'd wager I'd know, even on a strange bridge, if it was near a railway station, when the trains began, just by seeing the people at the toll- gate ; they make up such a rush of well-dressed, clean-shirted men. "Here, bein' on the high-road to Lincoln's-inn and the Temple, we have lawyers in heaps — plea- sant gentlemen enough what I see of 'em, but, Lord, to think o' their clients ! It takes a power o' misery to keep so many of these lawyers going, I'll warrant. And they often walk in couples and even threes, too, smilin' and chin-waggin' as affable and chatty as if they was going across for amusement. I often ses to my mate, ses I, ' If we could look in them little blue bags, or know what was hanging to that 'ere roll of papers, we'd find some curious stories.' "Lawyers ain't bad to tell, I fancy, but they're of two kinds. There's the quick, bustling, smil- ing sort, who claps down his copper with a good ring, and looks you straight in the face, as much as to say, ' Don't tell me it's bad, my good man, OVER THE WATER. 93 I know better.' He's the man for a jury, I ex- pect. There's a kind o' pleasant, brazen, impu- dent look about him, which means hard swearing, and seems like a challenge to fight. He swaggers a little, too, in his walk, and at a muddy crossing he'll kind o' lift his coat up at the sides, as if it were a gown, and might trail in the mud. I don't mean that all the talking lawyers look bra- zen, far from it ; but there's a few who crosses regular who's like it, and the moment they come before me with their ha'penny, I'm reminded of inquests, and cross-examinations before the coro- ner as to ' what was the last words you heard her speak ?' and ' how did the body look when you see it dragged out ?' " The other kind o' lawyer is him that looks at yer without seeing yer, and stoops forward as if he were walking with his body over a desk. He's more melancholy, this sort is, and has a holler look about the cheeks, which makes one say, 'It don't seem to agree with you, whatever it may do with those employin' yer.' But it's wonderful to see how they all 'cotton' together, and how like they are to other people after all. I ain't sure a novice would know the breed. There's not anything to show that blood- sucking' s their trade; and to watch 'em arm-in-arm with their little bags before 'em, you might fancy they was 94 OYER THE WATER. respectable gentlemen-tradesmen going to their shops. But them bags ! Think o' what they contain ! Think o' the trials one reads in the papers, and the quarrellin's, and sharp practices, and ill-justice, and hard dealings which come out in the law ! Why, gentlemen, one o' those bags perhaps contains more mischief than the barrel lighted at Clerkenwell. 'There's a young woman's portion,' I sometimes say, when I see a roll of papers sticking out of a pocket. ' There's a di- vorce.' ' There's a bankruptcy, with twopence in the pound, and the unfortunate bankrupt in clover in Italy.' 'There's an estate just changing hands, because the young squire had too much of a fancy for horses and dogs.' 'Luck go with you all,' is my motter ; but lawyers is lawyers all the world over ; and if you get much out o' those bags when your affairs are once in 'em, I wish yer joy. " The young gentlemen coming up to Prince's College are among the first lots, and don't vary much. I daresay some of 'em goes to other schools as well, but they don't often play pranks here, and are just decent lads, who are bein' crammed with learning and made clever. I was a long time before I could make out what a clergy- man come over here so regularly for. It was allers between nine and ten we saw him. He was a tall man, rather gray, and with a black ribbon and a OVER THE WATER. 95 buncli of big seals for a watcli-chain, and low- lieelecl shoes, and gray stockings, which — his black trousers being short and worn — showed a good deal. He carried books with him, but they weren't ^ good' books like — you can mostly guess them ; and yet they seemed as if they were his business. Over again in the afternoon with books again, sometimes the same, sometimes different; and what he were we couldn't guess. There couldn't be any kind o' service which lasted all day and every day ; and yet he were a parson, and come through the turnstile whatever the weather were, which puzzled us finely until we heard he were a teacher at Prince's College. " Then there's Government House yonder; it sends a good many over here. You may know these by their so seldom varying in their time. I've seen middle-aged men grow old, and young men become middle-aged, without altering ten minutes in the time they put their copper down on that turn-table year after year. A sort o' cheerful ' don't-care' look the young men have mostly ; live down at Surbiton, and Kingston, and Putney, a lot of 'em, for the cricketing and boating. They're swells, too, and are smart as smart until perhaps you see 'em with a young ladylike thing on their arms, and then carrying down little baskets of fish, and then perhaps 96 OVER THE WATER. parcels of grocery; and then tliey ain't quite so smart, and then a year or two goes on and they ain't smart at all, and then they get shabby a bit, and seem to age quickly. But still they come regularly by, now and then with a big lad they seem to be taking to school or to business, until they drop out and are forgotten. '' But, there ! I could go on for ever talking to you about the people I know by sight. The cabs, mind you, ain't a bad lot to look after, and the cabmen many of 'em have their homes and their stables on the Lambeth side. They'll just pass the word to one on good or bad times, and the fares they've had. The sixpence a mile, mind yer, presses hard on them ; and when the lamp- strike was on, people who knew about it could have told yer how badly they were off, and how hard it is for many of 'em to earn the master's money, let alone enough for the wife and children at home. Everyone's hand is against a cabman, as it seems to me, and I've often given a ' Cheer up, mate !' to a poor fellow returning home after a long day out, and with a nearly empty pocket at the end of it. As for the thousands of passen- gers that are what one may call ' casuals' — people one never sees again, and never thinks of at all — they're just like play-actors to us. Wliat they are, how they live, what they're thinking about, I OVER THE WATER. 97 is just all as strange to us, and as far off, as if they weren't alive at all. It's a funny thing to think, but I suppose they've every one of 'em got their own story, and have homes and wor- ries, and people fond of 'em, just as we have our- selves. ''When do sooicides happen oftenest? 0, at night, of course; not but what there's some chooses the day-time, too. Perhaps the rummiest of these was about seven or eight year ago. I re- member it particular well, because I'd just been having a bit o' beefsteak-puddin' for my dinner, which had been brought me up hot in a basin. I live a bit o' way down the road, and it's handy for having anything sent up. I'd just finished it, and was wrapping-up the basin and plate in the handkercher, ready for it to be fetched at tea-time, when a young girl in a yellow shawl, and, I think, a black-silk dress, but I'm not sure of that, comes up. She were in a cab, she were, and she hands me a shillin', and I gives her sixpence and fourpenn'orth o' copper out. ' Keep that for yourself,' she ses, 'I sha'n't want no more o' that. I've had a row with my young man,' she ses, ' and I'm goin' to put a' end to it.' Well, I thought she was larking, for she didn't look a bit wild, and hadn't got that troubled look about the eyes most of 'em have H 98 OVER THE WATER. when tliey mean miscliief. So I up and ses, * Don't go on in that foolish way/ I ses ; ' a good- looking young woman like you ought to know bet- ter;' and she just laughed, and took the change I offered, her. Well, there was a big railway-van, and a brougham with rather a fidgety white hoss, waiting at the time, and I had to give the gent in the brougham change for a half ' skiv,' and this took my attention off the cab with the gal, after I'd seen it pass the first recess. That's the spot, I may tell you, they make for in a general way. But the next thing I heard was a great screech, and I'm blessed if she hadn't been artful enough not to stop the cab until she were oppo- site the second recess, and then, with a ' Good-bye, cabbie !' was up on the stone seat and over, with a yell that could be heard at Blackfriars -bridge. I've heard a many of 'em holler in the water, but I never heard one give mouth as she did, and I don't suppose I ever shall again. "But now comes the curious part of the affair. The wind was high at the time, and the tide running strong; and her crinoline andjDetticoats got what they call inflated, and she didn't go down. Saved ? — of course she was ; she couldn't sink, and the tide just took her and twisted her round and round like a teetotum, she screaming and bellering for help all the time, till she got O^^R THE WATER. 99 picked up just off the Temple-gardens, and she wasn't a bit worse, except being wetted and a little bruised. No, I never saw her again, nor heard how it ended, except that she were jolly well frightened, and cried, and promised the ma- gistrate she wouldn't do it again. *' Yes, it was odd her bein' saved, wasn't it? for they generally fetches their level directly, and is often dead before they touches the water. What do I mean by level ? Why, the piers sticking out at the bottom are just under each recess, and anyone jumping over generally hits these fust. Many and many one never hears their own splash. I remember one summer morning, about four years ago, coming out o' the toll-house for a stretch soon after sunrise, and was just thinking what a beautiful place London was ; the clock- tower and the Houses of Parliament, St. Paul's and the bridges, were all looking splendid; and let me tell you, that if you haven't seen London from our bridge in early morning, you've missed one of the most beautiful views in the world. " Just stand as I do, and look first one way and then the other, beyond Yauxhall-bridge on the one side, and to the Tower and Docks on the other, with the rising sun gilding the church- spires and house-tops, and the clear gray light of morning softenin' everything down; and I don't 100 0^'EE THE WATER. care what foreign parts you've been to, you'd say this beats it. The shape of the houses is so altered at that time, that you wouldn't know 'em. They seem to have been touched with something in the night that brings out their beauties, and hides away the common look I don't deny they have now. And there's not a sign of life about. You just lean over the parapet, and throw stones into the water, and you're the only living thing within sight. The whole city is asleep, the bridges are empty, and there's neither smoke nor noise to remind you of the fuss and bustle which will come on in a few hours. "It's a queer thing to think of as you look up and down the river at the hundreds upon hundreds of silent houses on both sides, the look of all the people asleep within. ^^Tiy even the laTv^ers are off their guard, I suppose, then, and have a natural expression. And so with all the men and women one sees. The ' makes- up,' and the smiles and fuss and bother that must be wiped out by sleep, often makes me look hard at the houses, as if one could see through blinds and shutters, and watch the sleep- ing figures inside. I've heard of some place be- ing called the city of the dead ; but London between night and day, when the fever of the one's over, and the fever of the other hasn't OVER THE WATER. 101 begun, reminds me more of a giant at rest, who's quiet enough now, but who'll be all fury and excitement presently, giving me tuppence out of a hansom, and flinging down ha'pennies with a bang. " Well, it was one of these mornings I'd just come out, and was looking over Westminster way, when I saw what looked like a heap o' clothes on the buttress underneath me. It wasn't quite as light as I've been talking about, and I couldn't rightly see what it was, so I hollers to a barge- man, the one man about, and who was just get- ting up, and I ses, ' That 'ere bundle on our bridge looks funny,' I ses; 'just tell us what it is.' But I'd seen for myself before he could get his boat round — it soon gets light, you know, when it once begins — and there was an old man who'd jumped over at low water, and had fetched his level, and come down plump upon the stone. He'd never moved, and not a rag on him was even wet, for he'd fallen plump on his head and settled there. A solicitor he was, and with very good friends, as it turned out. "Queer incidents besides sooicides ? Yes, I could tell you a good many o' them. One night a man come up to the toll-house stark naked. There wasn't a rag or thread on him ; and yet he looked in here, and spoke to me as cool as if 102 OVER THE WATER. he were dressed in the height o' fashion. 'What in the world are you doing in that 'ere nude state ?' I ses ; ' don't yer know yer oughtn't to ?' I ses, for I thought, he was perhaps mad, and it were better to humour him till the police came up. 'Been bathing in the river,' he ses, 'and they've stolen my clothes away from the water- side.' ' Can you pay for a cab ?' I asked, more to see wot he was made of than thinldng he could. ' Ay, and for twenty cabs,' he ses, which I thought too bumptious in a man as bare as a baby. How- ever, I giv' him a coat to wrap round him, and put him in the warmest corner. He were a re- spectable man enough, a die-sinker, out of Clerken- well, who'd got tight, and thought a swim in the river would sober him before he went home to his wife. So he just went down to the timber- wharf, and took off his clothes and went in. Some one must ha' seen him do it, for when he'd had his swim and come out to dress, his clothes were gone. He didn't know what to do, and he were afraid o' daylight coming on and his being found, so he'd come up to the bridge and asked for shelter. That were his story, and it turned out quite true. I offered to send him home in a cab with a policeman, but it couldn't be done all at once, for the peeler had to report him at Bow- street first. So he went up there in my coat— OVEE THE WATEE. 103 and a precious cold night it was — and then they dressed him up as a policeman and took him home. " Then there was that poor fellow as were hung for killing the girl in Trotter's -road. I knew him well enough — a bricklayer he was, and no more meant to kill her than you nor me did. They was living as man and wife, you'll under- stand, and had lodgings a little way down on the left, just before you come to the doll- shop. Well, he'd been out on the loose, he had, for two or three days, drinking, you know, and worse ; but he'd come back, and the two of 'em went for a drain to Blinkie's bar — you know Blinkie's big public-house at the corner, by the railway, with a gal at the bar all curls and colour ? — and that's how the mischief came about ; for, just as he'd ordered a drain of gin to make it up with his wife, up comes a little round-faced girl — she's about here now, and crosses nearly every day — and began chaffin' him, as if she knew him well. This naturally led to words, and instead of mak- ing it up as he intended, they had a blazing row, and his wife went home. He foller'd her later, after drinking more than was good for him. She began taunting and jeering, and he commenced knocking her about ; but he didn't mean to kill her : I do believe he didn't mean to kill her. 104 OVER THE WATER. However, tliey hanged liim, and there was an end o' that. But he were as nice and quiet a fellow in a general way as you'd wish to come across, and it seemed hard, didn't it, that he should suffer so terribly for his spree ? " Talking of sooicides, I prevented a young woman killing herself once in a way I sha'n't try again. It were on a market-morning, quite early, and she giv' me her ring for her toll, saying she'd bring the ha'penny and get it back later in the day. I looked at her hard, and thought she were a bit wild ; but I let her go, and vras busy for the next minute taking the money for a cart loaded with cabbages, and when I looked again, blest if she wasn't climbing over the parapet. I ran after her, and caught her by her hair when she was on the ledge outside. She was crouching down ready for a spring, and I got my fingers and my hand lapped round and round in her long hair as firm as if they had grown together. Well, she giv' a scream — I shall never forget it — and threw herself off, with me clinging to her ! I'd got my body half-way over to reach her, and what with the suddenness and her weight, I thought she'd have had me over too. And I couldn't get my hand free, that was the worst of it. If I could, of course I'd ha' let her go. You're not to go and throw away your life over a person like that. OVER THE WATER. 105 Trjdng to save 'em's your clooty, of course ; but you're not to kill yourself because they're fools. I struggled and struggled to get my hand free, and I couldn't, and all the time she kept on yell- ing ; my strength was givin' way with her weight and her kicking, and I was gradually losing my balance, when a man and another cart come by, and I hollered to him a good 'un to come and help me. He stared at first, but afterwards he come up and put his arms round my middle, and we both pulled together, and we got her up. " I never was so near death in my life; and you may take my word that I'll let any one of 'em go over altogether, rather than run such a risk again. Set to abusing the pair of us she did, too, directly we got her hauled over the parapet, and on to the stone seat of the recess, 'It's no use o' crying and o' bellering,' I ses, 'because that's foolishness, yer know ; and wot good do yer ex- pect to do yerself by going into the water ?' But there ! you might as well ha' argued with a blind pig. Keasonable talk didn't touch her nohow, and she just cried and went on, and fairly lay on her back and stamped her feet with passion at being saved. I never heard what become of her after she served the time the magistrate sentenced her to. In the dock she said she v/ere sorry, and would never do so no more : but never a word of 106 OVER THE WATER. apology, nor so much as tliankye to me for all the trouble I took and the risk I run. There's a Tulgar song you may 'ave heard about the streets, 'Not for Joseph;' and I say 'Not for Joseph, never no more, at the savin' game,' when it means risking one's life for a pack of fools who 're trying to throw away theirs, and yours too, if you'd let 'em. " There was a young woman, too, who jumped over last summer, and got clear of the piers some- how, and fell screaming into the water ; and she nearly caused a policeman to kill himself over her. She were close in shore, that's where she were, and we could see her quite well, when me and him ran down below to try to get to her. It was a beautiful moonlight night, an extraordinary bright night it was, and I'd just had my supper, and was standing on the bridge with a newspaper, and showing the peeler how light it was by read- ing to him quite easy, when we heard the screams. We ran down as hard as we could, and there she was, crying, ' Save me, save me !' and bein' jerked about by the water, until it really looked as if she were larking, only we knew better. The tide was running pretty strong, and as luck would 'ave it, a great piece of old timber came floating down just to where she were struggling. We called to her to catch hold of it, and she evidently heard, OVEE THE WATEE. 107 for she made a grab and got lier arm well over, and we thought it were all right. But it were that slimy and greasy^ — I can see it now, covered with black and green stuff like seaweed, through bein' so long in the water — it slipped from under her, and she went down screaming again. ''We were standing on the timber-rafts of the wharf below, and had shoved a ladder out over the water to try to reach her, for she were close to us, and we could see her face quite plain. The police- man went out on one end of this, and I stood hard and fast on the other ; but just as he was getting near her it broke, and he was in the water too. I thought he'd ha' bin drownded, but he managed to scramble out again, and I wouldn't let him try no more. ' One at a time,' I ses; for I knew it were all over then. She didn't scream any more, and we found afterwards she were sucked under the timbers we were standing on, and the next time she rose she were stunned by knocking her head against them. They were obliged to hush it up, she were such a dreadful sight when she were found. The tide had driven her up and down under the blocks of wood, and she were fearful to look upon. " But you mustn't think from my talk that one's nothing else to think of here besides sooi- cides. There's explosions, such as the Cricket 108 OVER THE WATER. ha'penny steamboat, which I saw go into little pieces right up into the air about twenty years ago. I forget the cause of it exactly. The cap- tain wanted to make too much speed, and tied the safety-Yalve down, or something of that kind ; but I know I heard a great noise Adelphi- ter- race way, and saw a grand burst o' steam, and as it cleared away, the pieces of the steamer falling in a great shower of iron and spars and wheels. " The bridge itself? 0, that's well taken care of, and nothing disorderly ever happens. There's a policeman on always, and since this Fenian talk there's been two. The company don't object to fruit-stalls, or, as our old secretary who's dead used to say, 'to helping anyone to get a decent living.' So they just get permission, and put up their apples and oranges, or what not, and do the best they can. I haven't seen the old fellow with a model ship for a long time, but he used to be very regular ; and the blind man who sits nearly every day in the last recess on the left reading, is a thoroughly deserving case. Got a wife, poor fellow ! and was a 'ardworking bricklayer until he lost his sight through bile. No, sir, not by an accident, but bile overflowing the system through ; but it don't much matter what it was if you think different. I know him to be a respectable man, OVER THE WATER. 109 poor fellow ! and I hardly ever pass without giving him a copper. " Then there's the accidents. You'd hardly helieve the number that's come under my notice in these four-and-twenty year. Runaway horses, upset carts and carriages, collisions from drunken drivers, slips on the snow or on orange-peel ; hoys playing at ' Charley Wag,' and jumping slap on their nose, cutting it flat to the cheek, and going straight to the hospital and having a new one, which you'd never know it ; girls dropping babies down stone steps, and women falling under horses when they're drunk. One has seen all these things from this little house. Never believing anything is the rule I've taught myself in public life ; and whatever happens, and I'm told of it, I just don't believe it till I know for certain it's true. "No, sir, we're rather less busy since the Char- ing-Cross Railway opened ; just as the Waterloo Station made us, as I may say. There's six of us collectors now, and two boys ; and the hours are what I say, and no sleeping allowed. At one time they'd let one take a nap at night and turn out when wanted ; but that was when the hours were shorter, and we're bound to be on duty always now. I like it better as it is ; but the great thing I can't get over when I'm sitting by myself at night is. What is everything for ; and 110 OVER THE WATER. "wliat does the constant bustle mean ? Seeing so much o' the world and yet so little — for I never takes a holiday, and only knows this bridge — puts queer fancies into one's head. How many of the people, I often wonder, who pass me day by day are there who find what they're so hot to seek? and how many of those, again, like it as well as they expected when they do ? Why they come across at all, and why each lot couldn't be satisfied with its own side of the water, is always a mystery to me. *' But there ! it sometimes seems as if life were nothing but a perpetual crossing of bridges, first from childishness to youth, and then on to man- hood and old age ; and it's not much use asking questions when one has to pay toll and pass on. When one dear to me were so ill I thought I should ha' lost her, it seemed strange that not one out o' all my crowd o' passengers knew o' the heavi- ness that was in my heart ; and it's curious to think that when I'm gone there's thousands upon thousands will notice a new face at the gate, and only miss me by that. But there's other places besides toll-bars where a man's known to many, and sympathised with, or prized, or loved by very few indeed. So, doing your dooty and working your hardest, is my receipt for out-o'-the-way fancies either about others or yourself." i THE HOLE IN THE WALL. The Hole is within shouting distance of Victoria Station, Belgravia, and the Wall is in the midst of the labyrinth of rails leading to and from that mighty maze. Its title and use are as well known in the official railway world as the station itself is to the world of travellers, and from it are issued daily and nightly signals of safety, by means of which the lives of thousands are secured. " There is but one line in, you see, and one out for all the different traffic of this station, and they all join opposite these signals," put the facts of the case in a nutshell, and completely satisfied us as to the meaning of the strange little private box we were peering into. But let us first walk round Victoria Station, commencing at the Grosvenor Hotel, and follow- ing the pavement until we turn the corner and gain the booking-offices of the London, Chatham, and Dover Company. It is a goodly distance, and we pass a variety of intending passengers and ticket-placeS; and, multiplying the space traversed 112 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. by the number of lines of railway which can be packed into it, we arrive at a proximate estimate of the quantity of trains, engines, " empties," or luggage-vans which may be standing side by side and waiting egress. Excursions to Brighton and the south coast ; frequent trains to the Crystal Palace ; Metropolitan, Great Western, and Lon- don, Chatham, and Dover traffic, make up a stu- pendous total, the whole of which converges into two single lines opposite the Hole in the Wall. No train leaves or enters the station until sig- nalled to do so from here, and the safety and life of every man, woman, and child leaving Victoria depends upon the vigilance of the single sentinel at his post. He is relieved three times in the twenty-four hours, and the turn of duty we are about to keep commenced at half-past seven this morning, and will terminate at half-past one this afternoon. The whole signal duty of the Hole falls upon three men, who take their eight hours' work alternately, and who with one telegraph clerk are its sole occupants. Passing up the centre platform of the London and Brighton Kailway, we step, not without some tremors of misgiving, on to the lines at its ex- treme end, and after leaving a busy signal-box to the right, and dodging a couple of passenger trains, a stray engine or two, and a long batch of return- THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 113 ing " empties" from the Crystal Palace, reach a small wooden staircase and ante-room, from which we look into the Hole. It is very like an unfur- nished private box at the theatre, into which some of the mechanist's properties have been put by mistake. Cautiously warned by our conductor not to distract the attention of the man on duty, we advance on tiptoe, and stand on the threshold between ante -room and box. A nervous jump back again, a vivid experience of the sensation known as "pins and needles," a half involuntary guarding of the face as if to ward off an impend- ing blow, are the first results of the experiment. For the mechanist's properties are of the most impulsively practicable kind, and bells ring, whis- tles shriek, hands move, and huge iron bars creak and groan apparently of their own accord, and cer- tainly by agencies which are invisible. On the right-hand wall of the box, and on a level with the eye, are fastened four cases, which communi- cate telegraphically with the platforms of the sta- tion, with Battersea Park, and with Stewart's-lane junction ; and the movable faces of these are full of mysterious eloquence. The farthest one strikes what seems to be a gong twice, and then, without waiting for a reply, bangs the gong four times ; the needle hands of the others tick away with spasmodic vigour, and the telegraphic clerk busily I 114 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. passes from one to the other, as if satisfying the wants of each. Beyond them is a small wooden desk and an open book, in which from time to time their utterances are recorded, much as if they were oracles whose sayings would be after- wards interpreted by the high priests. Beyond the desk, and at the far end of the Hole, is a narrow window, through which the workmen employed on an extension of railway, the rude chasms formed by the excavators, the premature ruins of the houses half pulled down, and the shapely indications of the coming lines, may all be seen. To the left of this window, and facing the entrance-door, is an apparatus which we can only describe as terrifying. Composed of strong and massive cranks so connected as to form a consistent whole, and resembling a tangled agri- cultural harrow, or one of the weird in struments of torture which racked the limbs of schismatics in the bad old times, it has secret springs, and bells, and joints, which creak, and act, and tingle with a direct suddenness highly discomposing to a stranger. You look mildly at one of its joints, and have a question concerning its use on the tip of your tongue, when, presto ! it gives a cumbrous flap, and becomes a staring red signboard, with " Crystal Palace up waiting," or " Brighton down waiting," staring you in the face. The bells ring THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 115 violently, the speaking faces of tlie sliut-up cases tingle in unison, and the whole proceedings re- mind you forcibly of Mr. Home and the false spirit- world. The Hole-in-the-Waller in charge, whom for brevity's sake we will for the future designate by the last word of his title, knows all about it, and acts promptly; but to the rash people who have, ventured into his cave of mystery the proceedings are awesome to the last degree. Waller stands in the front of the private box, which is, of course, open to the stage. This stage is the '' one line in and one line out," and the heavy iron handles coming inwards from the front of the box are momentarily worked by him in obedience to the shrieking direc- tions of the machinery named. Thus, when the time for starting a train arrives, word is given to Waller, and one of the red iron flaps comes down with the suddenness of a practicable shop-front in a pantomime, and it rests with him to turn a handle and arrange the ''points." Thus, too, when a train is arriving, Battersea-bridge signals Waller, who decides whether the coast is clear and it may come in. It is necessary to remember the space we have traversed, and the number of lines of rails it represented, to appreciate the de- licacy and care required. Looking down upon the two narrow rails, spreading as they do into 116 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. divers directions directly they pass the Hole and approach the station, it seemed to our uninformed observation like squeezing several gallons of liquid into a pint measure. Shriek, whiz, bang from the engine, a harsh grating sound from the wheels, a brief spasm of ponderous locomotion which shakes every fibre of our standing ground, and we learn that another and another human cargo of pleasure or health seekers, or trouble-fliers or money-hunters, have passed by. A rapid jerk upwards or downwards of one of the iron handles, another angry flap from the instrument of torture, substituting the red disc, "Crystal Palace" or "Brighton" "In" for " Out," a slight change of position in Waller, and an equally slight movement from the tele- graph clerk, are the only signs within the prison- house. At the end of the long row of iron handles is a chair, evidently placed there to taunt Waller on the impossibility of sitting down ; and keeping a fascinated e^^e on the constantly changing discs opposite, we occupy this with the firm resolve to master the mysteries of railway-signalling, and to become an affiliated member of the Hole in the Wall. The attempt was a farce, and the result a failure. Waller, a good honest fellow, with black and oily hands, what seemed to be a wisp of engineer's THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 117 *' waste" round his neck, a rather grimy face, a keen gray eye, and an expression honest as a child's smile, cast observations to us interjection- ally, which he firmly believed to be elucidatory. But they only served to increase the bewilderment, the flaps and jerks and loud tingling had brought about ; and, beyond realising very keenly that the faintest slip or mistake on his part would have wrought unmitigated disaster, we failed to master a single detail of what we had come specially to see. " You see, it's mostly cross traffic, is this." Bang went one of the cranks, and out came ^' Me- tropolitan out waiting," with its wicked red disc face ; whereupon bells rang, and Waller worked a handle, '' as I was a-sayin'." Now the train it- self rushed by, and word came that a train from Brighton was waiting to come in. "Empties" from the Crystal Palace ; a shouting game of ques- tion and answer with a pointsman, who uplifts both arms, and remains motionless, like the letter y in a charade ; several flaps from the malevolent discs, who seem to take unholy pleasure in inter- ruption ; a turning of handles affecting the three dial-signals over the lines to the left, which jut out hands and arms obediently ; shrill whistles to the right ; a constant watchfulness at the speak- ing-faces behind, occupy Waller for the next five minutes, and make conversation impossible. 118 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. ^' Now you see, sir, tliat diss (disc), it tells me tlie Brigiitin eleven forty-five it's a-waitin' to come out" — bang goes another infernal gong — " but," continues Waller, quite calmly, " I know, don't you see, that there's somethin' in the way" — two strikes on a more musical instrument here, and a rapid jerk upwards of a heavy iron handle by the speaker — " and now it's all right, as they're put- tin' another carriage on, and so, as I was sayin', the line's clear and I lets 'em through." On the instant a train rushes angrily out as if indignant at delay, and we recognise old Jawby nursing his shin in a first-class carriage just as he does in the club-library in town. Ah, Jawby, the superiority of our present position makes us view your social shortcomings with gentle pity and toleration. Uplifting your stupid old forefinger and wagging your pendulous old nose, you were, doubtless, inveighing to your travelling-companion against the infamy of a rail- way-company starting a train " three minutes and a half late, sir," just as we hear you inveighing daily against the shameful conduct of the minis- try, or the hideous incapacity of foreign statesmen. Your innocence tickles us as we sit here and know that the three minutes you complain of has saved your life. A wrong turn of this handle, Jawby, a momentary forgetfulness of the meaning of the THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 119 red ''diss," and you and your belongings would have been scattered broadcast, to prose and grumble and improve the world (in words) no more. It is curious, as this truth gains shape and force, to look from the Hole at the ever-changing stage at its feet. Trains succeed each other with strange rapidity — "a little extra traffic to-day, you know, sir, bein' Saturday and the Crystal Palace" — and as each compartment shows you a compact section of human life, with its hopes, fears, plea- sures, and cares, you come to regard Waller's potentiality for good or evil as something unna- tural. Suppose he were to go suddenly mad? Suppose the many irons entered into his soul, and he vowed hostility to his race ? Suppose he had intermittent bouts of absence of mind ? Suppose he had a fit ? Suppose he became muddled by the constant succession of whistles, bangs, and shrieks which have had such a pitiable effect on you ? — and to all these questions he makes un- conscious answer in his brisk alertness and ever- watchful eye. The stage-box simile gains force from the de- meanour of some of the people in the trains. As your first tremors wear off, and you become more hardened to the maniacal working of the practi- cable harrow in your front, you regard the car- riages more closely and with some curious optical 120 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. effects. Nothing like full speed is attained by tlie time the Hole is gained, and as the various passen- gers flit past, they seem like the phantasmagoria of a magic lantern when the slides follow each rapidly, but not without each figure being firmly impressed upon the retina. Thus, the billing and cooing of a young man in a white waistcoat and blue-spangled necktie with a rosy damsel in a buff- muslin suit was very apparent. The red hand of the young man against the dull yellow of his be- loved's waist was a study for an artist of the pre- Eaphaelite school, who might have done wonders with the finger-nails and the amorously wooden expression of the twain. There were some fine studies, too, of babies' heads in the act of taking the oldest form of nutriment ; while, without reckoning Jawby, there were some '' old men elo- quent," who would have looked marvellously well on signboards. It seemed a new view of one's fellow- creatures to see them as animated half-lengths, and, as shoal after shoal flitted by, the ease with which they might be immolated recurred again and again with terrible suggestiveness. We felt to look down upon them figuratively as well as literally, when the touch of one of the instruments at our hand could consign them to immediate destruction ; and, dreadful as the confession may seem, the THE HOLE IN THiE V/ALL. 121 speculation as to wliicli of them would suffer most, and how easily they could be all brought to naught, gained deeper and deeper hold as the trains rolled out. We cannot analyse, and of course do not attempt to justify, this feeling. It is humi- liating enough to acknowledge it, but it is certain that a morbid and an increasing longing to try the experiment of turning a wrong handle and bringing two full trains into collision was the first warning given us of the strain on the nerves pro- duced by the noises and signals described. Pup- pets in toy-boxes, some well-bedecked, pretty, and glossy, others seamed, shabby, and worn by much use, all playthings of the hour ; such was the im- pression conveyed by the well-laden trains and their cargoes as they rushed madly out and in, in obedience to the hidden springs we touched. '' I didn't let this Chatham and Dover in afore, sir, which it signalled twice, because if I had it w^ould ha' cut them Crystal Palaces in tw^o," w^as honest Waller's comment, as one train went slowly by, the guard of which nodded to us as to old acquaintance. "What's coming now?" called a porter from below, who broke through the rule otherwise ob- served during our stay, of signalling without speech. " Only Empties." 122 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. " Blessed if it ain't Jack Eeece, -mill the car- riages as went down to the Palace this morn- ing!" And Mr. Eeece, an engine-driver of scorbutic habit, and with an inflamed nose, was permitted to pass slowly in with his conY03\ The locomo- tives of the different companies grew upon us like old friends, as their distinctive marks were mas- tered and they were introduced by Waller. The situation of what he continued to call their ''diss" determined their ownership. A plain white circle on the chimney or boiler, or a white circle picked out with black, similarly placed, were the identi- fying marks ; and it required but a slight sketch of fancy to endow them with life. They certainly seemed to have more will and power than the poor puppet-heads grinning and gesticulating in the cells forming a portion of their flexible tail ; and we at last came to regard the noisy j)uffing snorters as proud-spirited genii, whose humours must be studied under fearful penalties. In the brief lulls, we questioned our companion concern- ing his mode and time of work, and other mat- ters. " Yes, sir, it do require a man to be mindful as to what he's a-doing of — there ain't no doubt o' that ; and, as I said to the superintendent the other day, a signalman must be allers right" — THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 123 Waller smiled here with a touch of bitterness — " allers right he must be, let who will be wrong, and that's where it is. No, sir, I don't make no complaint of the hours, which is considered mo- derate — eight hours in the twenty-four, which, as I told you, I came on at sivin-thirty, and at one- thirty I'm due off. Sharp work it is, sir, while it lasts, and tirin' to the arms until yer used, as I may say, but we never had nothin' wrong until that affair the other day, which you'll perhaps re- member. It was that there rod just in front of us that looks new like, that did the mischief. No, sir, I worn't on duty myself at the time, and the man that was ain't been here since — has been discharged, I believe. Yes, sir, it seems a little strict, but it ain't for m.e to judge, of course, bein' only a servant; but, as you say, it does seem rather harsh. For he was a careful man, he was — a very careful man. I don't believe he'd ever made a mistake afore — and he's fit for signal-work anywheres, but, you see, they thought he ought to ha' felt by this handle that the point didn't act, and ought to have prevented the train a-comin' in, which one certainly would ha' thought he might, though it ain't for me to judge. " No, sir, I shouldn't like to have another man at work with me ; and I'm sure it wouldn't answer. You see, a man at signal-work is con- 124 THE HOLE IX THE WALL. stantly occipied, and there's allers somethin' for liim to do. But if there was two of 'em a- work- ing the same signals, why one woukl perhaps think the other had hold o' the handles or was a-watching for the diss, and, hefore he found out his mistake, why we should have a couple o' trains cuttin' each other in two. No, sir, there weren't any passengers killed nor injured, as I've heerd, but I believe one of the porters was bruised and shaken rather bad, and was taken off to the 'orspital. The man turned the handle right enough, just as I turn this ; but, instead o' the rod moving as you see that do now, why, bein' broke, it didn't act, and brought on the accident. No, sir, you can't very well sit down, not in the daytime, at least ; and you haven't time not scarcely to eat a bit o' food" — and AValler glanced here at a basin wrapped in a pink -cotton pocket-handkerchief, and sus- pended from a nail behind me — " except stand- ing, and while you're at your work. " Well, sir, I couldn't say exactly how many trains come in and out of a day, but there's a tidy lot of 'em, and engines and empties as well. First train out, sir, is what we call the work- men's train, and leaves at four in the morning. It's a Chatham and Dover, and takes the la- bourers, and such like, to the works about. THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 125 Well, you see, it ain't only the men as starts from here, but, bein' a stoppin' train, it picks 'em up at all the stations it passes near. Then, the last train in to Yictoria, is a London and Brighton, which is due at fifty-five arter twelve at night ; so, you see, there ain't more than three hours, as you may say, when passenger trains ain't runnin' in the twenty -four. Yes, it's pretty much as you see it now through the day, but slacks a little at night. The busiest railway signal-place? Well, it used to be reck- oned so ; but, what with improvements and alter- ations, and new lines, there's several now where there's more doin' than this one. Yes, sir, more than every minute or two, as you see ; and the train-tables they don't give you but a very poor 'dear of the number of signals. The traffic of this station is a good double what you'd find in any train -table, because they don't take in what you may call the station traffic, such as engines, or carriages shunting, or empty trains which is wanted to begin again with when there's a run of specials." These facts were not given consecutively, but by fits and starts, in the intervals of handles being jerked, or whistles answered, or the flaps of the red " disses" obeyed. Waller had neither peace nor rest; and as the engine-drivers and 126 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. guards passed by, we discovered that a sharp twist of the head and a peculiar grimace, like that of an unsophisticated dram-drinker when the " nip" is unusually strong, is the settled mode of flying salutation. Only the guards' heads were seen. The glass side of the raised roof of their com- partment just allows those in the Hole to see to their shoulders, and as head after head flew by they resembled rotatory toys or a fast phase of the rapidly changing magic-lantern slides. Do what we would, we could not realise the import- ance of the arrangement, or that the noisy mon- sters we controlled were charged with precious human lives. Waller was simply a trustworthy, steady, skilled labourer, who performed his al- lotted task without wavering ; who followed the mystic instructions it was his life's business to master, and who, in the monotonous discharge of mechanical labours, exercised discretion, watch- fulness, and care. But the longer we remained, and the more he endeavoured to explain the signals, the more maddening became the con- fusion. '' There, sir, you see that there arm ? "Well, that tells me" — (aside: '^Ah, there's the Brigh- ton down") — "tells me, you know" — (renewed aside : '^ Crystal Palace a-waitin' now, then") — puff — snort — bang — "tells me that all's clear" — THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 127 (aside continued: " Battersea- bridge a -speaking now") — ^' and then by turnin' this here handle, now, you see, the diss has altered ; which means" — puff, snort, and bang — ''as I was a-sayin'." And so it went on, until, with repeated thanks, we said we should like to regain the platform, and think over what we had seen and heard. This was no easy matter, though the distance is not great. We could have made ourselves heard by shouting to the porter, picking his teeth as he leant on the wine-hamper at his side, but the mon- sters were constantly darting out, and it was only after missing several opportunities that the final '' Now, sir, you've nice time, if you start directly this next train goes by," was acted upon. A breathless rush, and what seemed a shockingly narrow es- cape of being run down and mangled, and we are by the toothpicking porter's side, who views us angrily, and asks "wot we're a-doin' of there?" The Hole looks less wonderful now. The trains and engines fly by it as before, but results only are seen, and the mechanism seems perfect. Still the questions arose, and have repeated them- selves without a satisfactory answer ever since, What if the Waller of the time being should sud- denly succumb ? What if eight hours at a stretch of work, the first eight minutes' contemplation of which had bewildered me, should be too much 128 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. for his powers ? What, in short, if the system broke down for one minute out of the many hundreds of minutes each man is consecutively employed ? Since the foregoing experience the subject has fascinated us, and we have pursued it fur- ther. We have not yet ascertained which line's " improvements" have made it exceed the Hole's for a rapid succession of trains, but we could point to several which are fully deserving of " honourable mention," if prizes were given for the greatest hazard run. Our ofi&cial friend at Victoria smiled when we said eight hours at a time seemed a long stretch for such arduous and absorbing work, and Waller evidently thought himself well treated in that particular. The maddening signals, too, are doubtless simplicity itself when understood, and it is only their num- ber and variety which make them seem perilous. The mechanism is admirable, the adaptation of means to an end deserving all praise, and the immunity from accident a point upon which those responsible have every right to lay stress. But let one link in the complex chain of cause and effect fail, let either the human or mechanical gear be out of order for an instant, and it seems certain that the Hole and kindred places on every line of railway in the kingdom would immediately THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 129 become the scene of a tragedy, at which Society would stand aghast, and at which we should all cry as with one voice, Why was not this matter sifted earlier, and the obvious dangers it led up to prevented before ? PRISONEES' FRIENDS. On certain mornings, and at regular hours, small groups of woe-begone tearful girls and women may be seen in the Old Bailey, exchanging whispers with each other, or threading their way silently through the throng of meat salesmen. City police- men, ticket -porters, warehousemen, clerks, and shopboys, with which the busy place is full. They are the female friends of prisoners in Newgate, are of all ages, and beyond misery and shabbiness have little in common. The girls look prema- turely old and worn, and many of them have the unmistakable expression all hunted animals ob- tain ; while the older women may be divided into two classes, the callous and the crushed. There is a world of misery behind the defiant as well as the careworn faces one sees here. All pause at the steps leading up to the half- door, behind which the head and shoulders of a stalwart man in uniform are seen ; and after a moment's parley they are admitted within. The PEISONERS' FRIENDS. 131 object of their journey is nearly accomplished now, for they are about to be allowed to see and con- verse with their husbands or lovers, their brothers or sons. These last are taking their prescribed amount of exercise in the prison -yards, and it is from behind one of the gratings looking on these that they are permitted to gaze from a pre- scribed distance upon, and exchange words with, their visitors. Between the prisoners and their friends runs a passage of about a yard wide, with another set of iron bars fencing it off from the place where the women stand; so that between the visitors and the visited are two stout barriers and sufficient space to preclude the possibility of articles being handed from one to the other. There are no seats. The prisoners are told to break out of the line of march, and permitted to advance to the grating of the yard in batches of three or four. The women who have come to see them stand exactly opposite, within the prison, and all have to press their faces close to the bars to make hearing possible. If a double set of wild- beast cages were planted in parallel lines, with the ironwork of each facing the others, but a yard or so apart ; if the lions and tigers were pushing their noses eagerly at the barriers, as if trying to escape ; and if a keeper or two were planted in the intervening space to watch, — a fair imitation 132 prisoners' friends. of Newgate gaol during visiting liours would be obtained. Tlie gloomy place has been vastly altered and improved during the last few years. Those who only remember its old dark wards with their long line of oakum - pickers at work in the day-time ; who saw^ the condemned cell, say about the time Palmer occupied it, or when Bousfield endeavoured to commit suicide by throwing himself in its fire, would be amazed at the transformation effected in its interior. Light iron staircases lead to airy galleries, out of which the various cells open, and from the lower floor of wdiich the exercise-grounds are gained. The condemned cell differs little now from that appropriated to ordinary prisoners, save that there is accommodation for the warders, whose duty it is to watch the wretch sentenced to die, and who never leave him until he falls from the gallows -drop. But our present business is with the exercise- yards, and the interviews held between their bars. There is a ghastly resemblance between them and the playground of some strict school. Pacing regularly round, a fixed space being maintained between each man or boy, and the rate of walking in each case the same, proceed the prisoners. It is their wicked callous faces which make the school simile seem ghastly. Dangerous beasts PKISONEKS' FRIENDS. 133 moving restlessly to and fro in a vast cage seems much nearer the mark, now that we are among them. Sordid common villany, theft, forgery, as- sault, burglary, cutting and wounding, and pass- ing bad money, make up the bulk of the offences with which the men before us are charged. A stout florid-faced man, who looks like a country farmer, and who is gesticulating violently through the bars to the cowed and crying little woman beyond them, is in on a charge of horse-stealing. He has been in prison before, and indeed was only out of it ten days when he was again appre- hended. A muscular powerful man, he looks as if he could carry off a horse bodily, if necessary ; and one wonders what the messages are he is impressing so earnestly on his wife. A warder is standing near enough to the twain to overhear their talk ; but we are assured no effort is made to eavesdrop, the presence of a prison official being insisted on simply as a precautionary measure. Next to the horse-stealer is a well-dressed young clerk, whose alleged offence is embezzlement. The elderly woman whose sobs reach us across the yard is his mother. She seems to be pleading earnestly, and he to be half-sullen, half-ashamed, but finally to yield to her entreaties. The third prisoner being visited is an older man, and the girl talking to him looks like his daughter. Their in- 134 PKISONEES' FKIENDS. terview is far calmer than those of the other two, and seems indeed of a hiisiness character; for some clean linen has heen brought, and the man is actually talking of the weather as we pass by — a proceeding which we thought a feint, but which, as we were reminded, was natural enough. The three-quarters of an hour allotted to each interview is doubtless a very precious time. It can only be had on particular days, and the strongest wish of those concerned must be to compress as many questions and answers into it as possible. Fancy the painful excitement with which a man about to be tried for some serious crime must look forward to his promised talk with those whom he can trust to act for him out- side. The anxious thoughts, the doubts, the fears, the hopes which agitate him in the solitude of his cell are all to bear fruit in the momentous conversation he is permitted to hold. The chances of the impending trial, his fate if convicted, the means to be raised for his defence, and the effect upon those dependent on him of his present state, have to be eagerly canvassed; and it is all im- portant that not a moment should be lost. But this very eagerness defeats itself. Just as it often happens, that when people meet after a long absence, and for a limited time, they fail to recall half the topics in which they are vitally inter- 135 ested, and on which they are anxious to compare notes, so with the imprisoned men before us and their friends. In the other yards we visited, men and women were absolutely staring at each other through the bars in silence, though the latter had come on purpose to talk, and the former would be shut up again in a quarter of an hour. In some cases it may have been the dumbness of despair which made them tongue - tied ; but many seemed so nervously anxious to express all they had to say, that they were unable to arrange their ideas sufficiently to give them articulate shape. Some of the women treated the whole affair lightly, smirked at the warders, and looked boldly round ; but these w^ere exceptions. The rule, both in those waiting and those in communication with their male friends, was absolute dejection. Two other kinds of accommodation are pro- vided for special visitors, both similar in char- acter. The first is an enclosed closet in the centre of the principal corridor, and is for the attorneys ; the second is for the prisoners who are Roman Catholics, and who are visited by their priest. Both have glass sides and roof, and realise ^'the light closets," upon which Clarissa laid such stress when describing the lodgings she had been entrapped into by Lovelace. The advice to little 136 PRISONEES' FRIENDS. cliildren, "to be seen but not beard," is rigidly enforced upon all people inside these two places. Tliey live for tlie time being literally in a glass- house, and every movement can be seen from almost any portion of the chamber or corridor in which they stand. Both places are empty during our stay, the only visitors being the women we have seen pressing against the iron bars. It is easy to fill up their vacancy, however ; and all but impos- sible not to realise the scenes which take place in the attorneys' box, as well as the priests'. There are seats here, and a resting-place for papers. It is, indeed, a small office under a glass case, and swept and garnished for the next tenants. The futile attempts at deceit, the half confessions, the miser- able equivocations as to the extent and circum- stances of guilt, on the one hand ; the calm business tone, the remonstrances on the suicidal folly of concealment, the penetrating questions, the prac- tised art with which the truth is wormed out, and the astute assurances of help from the professional advisers, on the other, this place has heard ! If glass walls have ears like their neighbours of stone and brick, what strange stories could this little cramped cage reveal ! There are more women in the porter's lodge, as we leave, tearful and miserable as the rest, and waiting their turn for interviews. They, too, will PEISONEES' FRIENDS. 137 be conducted to the iron barriers, and utter tlieir broken conversation across the dismal intervening space. The prison of Newgate is so obviously well managed; and the comforts — we had almost written the luxuries — of its inmates are so carefully se- cured, that its authorities have doubtless sufficient reasons for the rules under which the visits of prisoners' friends may be paid and received. Still, a vast majority of the inmates are "remand cases ;" and as they are all sent elsewhere as soon as possible after conviction, it is difficult to re- press a wish that some less -restricted mode of communication could be allowed. Although many of the evil faces we saw marching round were old prison hands, we presume that the law holds them innocent of the particular offences they are charged with until it finds them guilty. Again, it must occasionally happen that guiltless persons who have been committed for trial are detained here, and there is something repulsive in the absolutely penal character of the reception they have in each case to sjive their friends. COGEKS. A LONG low room like the saloon of a large steamer. Wainscot dimmed, and ornaments tarnished by tobacco-smoke, and the lingering dews of steam- ing compounds. A room with large niches at each end, like shrines for full-grown saints, one niche containing ''My Grand" in a framework of shabby gold, the other "My Grand's Deputy" in a bordering more substantial. My Grand is not a piano, but a human instrument of many keys, to whom his deputy acts as pitchfork ; not merely in tuning-power, but as a record of the versatility and extensive range of his chief's play. More than one hundred listeners are waiting patiently for My Grand's utterances this Saturday night, and are whiling away the time philosophically with refreshments and tobacco. The narrow tables of the long room are filled with students and performers, and quite a little crowd is congre- gated at the door and in a room adjacent until places can be found for them in the presence- chamber. " Established 1755" is inscribed on COGERS. 139 the ornamental signboard above us, and " Insti- tuted 1756" on another signboard near. Dingy portraits of departed Grands and deputies decorate the walls, and the staidly convivial people about us are the traditional representatives of oratorial champions of a century ago. We are visiting the Ancient Society of Cogers, whose presiding spirit is uniformly addressed as '^My Grand," and whose deputy or secretary com- mences the proceedings by reading the minutes of the latest discussion, and then retreating behind a newspaper, as if to abstract himself, like some lofty spirit from the petty hum and strife of mor- tals. But first let us make a humiliating confes- sion. We had up to this night been guilty of grave injustice to this venerable society. To our darkened understanding^ " Cooler" had been " Codger," and we had taken a grave and com- plimentary title for a stroke of facetious and corrupt slang. " What ! Origin of the name Codger, Old Cod- ger, sir!" said the landlord, aghast, during our pre- liminary visit of inquiry. '' Call it ' Coger' " (mak- ing his mouth like a small cart-wheel) — ''call it ' Coger,' if yoit please, for it comes from ' cogitate,' and signifies ' Thoughtful Men.' The Cogers, sir, have always been calm and deliberative politicians. The great John Wilkes was a Coger, sir" (this in 140 COGERS. a conyincing tone, as if further testimony to calm- ness would be absurd); "and there's first-rate speeches here — young barristers from the Temple, and a great many literary men, writers in the newspapers, and gentlemen who take an interest in public affairs. You've perhaps heard of Ser- geant Thrust — a Coger, sir, in his youth ; so was the late Lord Macgregor and the present Judge Owlet ; and though the speaking varies, of course, you may alius count upon hearing some that's first class, and if you wouldn't mind remembering that it's Coger, not Codger, and means ' Thought- ful Men,' I'm sure the gentlemen would be happy to see you, and perhaps to hear you speak. There is no charge for admission, and visitors may come in without being introduced. It's just a public room with a society meeting in it. And everyone present is permitted to take part in the evening's discussion ; but if a member wishes to speak, of course he takes precedence over a stranger. The niches, as you call 'em, sir, are alcoves for the Grand and the Vice-Grrand to sit in ; and these two Grands are, with the secretary, elected every 14th June, between ten and eleven at night, by show of hands among the members. This has been the way, sir, ever since 1755, when Mr. Daniel Mason founded the society, and it has prospered wonderfully and done a deal of good. COGEKS. 141 Those portraits are of gentlemen who used to speak here. That dingy one with the dim eyes was a great speaker." On the following Saturday we make up a small party at a West-end club, and, proceeding east- ward, are in due .course seated in the long low room. Punctually at nine My Grand opens the proceedings amid profound silence. The deputy buries himself in his newspaper, and maintains as profound a calm as the Speaker "in another place." I have seen the parliamentary functionary open the arms of his massive state chair, which have "practicable" lids, and, taking out writing- materials, scribble private letters on his knee dur- ing the long and dull debates, and have smiled at the straits to which the first commoner in England has been reduced. My Grand's deputy imitates the Speaker in his profound abstraction, while My Grand himself pours out an even flood of rhetoric. " The events of the week" form the subject of discussion, and the orator opens the ball by an epitome of the newspaper intelligence of the last seven days. The digest of an average weekly news- paper is fairly comprehensive, but My Grand exceeds this in versatility and length. Giving running com- ments as he goes, he passes from Bethnal-green and the poor-laws to Italy and the Pope; from 142 COGEES. the last phase of Fenianism to the natural perfidy of Napoleon ; from the decisions of the police- magistrates of London to King Theodore's victims in Abyssinia. My Grand is sarcastic on " the hopeless dulness of the middle-class intellect ;" and when complimentary to the charity and per- sonal usefulness of Eoman-Catholic priests, it is as an honourable opponent who pats a vanquished enemy on the back. He is satirical again upon the enormous stupidity of governments in general, and the transcendent ignorance and fatuity of the British Government in particular. He denounces Fenianism, pities distress, sympathises with mis- fortune, approves right, and denunciates wrong ; while the Thoughtful Men about him sip their glasses gravely, emit huge columns of smoke, and give meditative grunts of approval or dissent. Perfect order is preserved. The Speaker or deputy, who seems to know all about it, rolls silently in his chair : he is a fat dark man, with a small and rather sleepy eye, such as we have seen come to the surface and wink lazily at the fashionable people clustered round a certain tank in the Zoological Gardens. He re- folds his newspaper from time to time, until deep in the advertisements. The waiters silently re- move empty tumblers and tankards, and replace them full. COGEES. 143 Meanwhile My Grand commands profound atten- tion from the room, and a neighbour, who afterwards proved a perfect Boanerges in debate, whispered to us concerning his vast attainments and high literary position. This chieftain of the Thought- ful Men is, we learn, the leading contributor to a newspaper of large circulation, and, under his signature of "Locksley Hall," rouses the sons of toil to a sense of the dignity and rights of labour, and exposes the profligacy and corruption of the rich to the extent of a column and a quarter every week. A shrewd hard-headed man of business, with a perfect knowledge of what he had to do, and with a humorous twinkle of the eye. My Grand went steadily through his work, and gave the Thoughtful Men a complete epitome of the week's intelligence. It seemed clear that the Cogers had either not read the newspapers, or liked to be told what they already knew. They listened with every token of interest to facts which had been published for days, and it seemed difficult to understand how a debate could be carried on when the text admitted so little dispute. But we sadly underrated the capacity of the orators about us. The sound of My Grand's last sentence had not died out, when a fresh-coloured, rather aristocratic-looking elderly man, whose white hair was carefully combed and 144 COGERS. smoothed, and whose appearance and manner sug- gested an arena differing widely from the one he waged battle in now, claimed the attention of the Thoughtful ones. Addressing "Mee Grand" in the rich and unctuous tones which a Scotchman and English- man might try for in vain, this orator proceeded, with every profession of respect, to contradict most of the chief's statements, to ridicule his logic, and to compliment him with much irony on his overwhelming goodness to an institution " to which I have the honour to belong. Full of that hard northern logic" (much emphasis on " northern," which was warmly accepted as a hit by the room) — ''that hard northern logic which demonstrates everything to its own satis- faction ; abounding in that talent which makes you, sir, a leader in politics, a guide in theology, and generally an instructor of the people ; yet even you, sir, are perhaps, if I may say so, some- what deficient in the lighter graces of pathos and humour. Your speech, sir, has commanded the attention of this room. Its close accuracy of style, its exactitude of expression, its consistent argu- ment, and its generally transcendent ability, will exercise, I doubt not, an influence which will extend far beyond this chamber, filled as this chamber is by gentlemen of intellect and educa- COGERS. 145 tion, men of the time, who both think and feel, and who make their feelings and their thoughts felt by others. Still, sir," and the orator smiles the smile of ineffable superiority, '^grateful as the members of the institution you have so kindly alluded to ought to be for your countenance and patronage, it needed not" (turning to the Thoughtful Men generally with a sarcastic smile) — "it needed not even Mee Grand's encomiums to endear this institution to its people, and to strengthen their belief in its efficacy in time of trouble, its power to help, to relieve, and to as- suage. No, Mee Grand, an authoritee whose dictum even you will accept without dispute — mee Lord Macaulee — that great historian whose undying page records those struggles and trials of constitutionalism in which the Cogers have borne no mean part — mee Lord Macaulee men- tions, with a respect and reverence not exceeded by Mee Grand's utterances of to-night " (more smiles of mock humility to the room), " that great association which claims me as an unworthy son. We could therefore have dispensed with the re- cognition given us by Mee Grand ; we could afford to wait our time until the nations of the earth are fused by one common wish for each other's benefit, when the principles of Cogerism are s|)read over the civilised world, when justice reigns su- L 146 COGERS. preme, and loving - kindness takes the place of jealousy and liate." We looked round the room while these fervid words were being triumphantly rolled forth, and were struck with the calm impassiveness of the listeners. There seemed to be no feeling of par- tisanship either for the speaker or My Grand. Once, when the former was more than usually emphatic in his denunciations, a tall pale man, with a Shakespeare forehead, rose suddenly with a determined air, as if about to fiercely interrupt ; but he only wanted to catch the waiter's eye, and this done, he pointed to his empty glass, and remarked, in a stage whisper, " With- out sugar, as before." However strongly these Thoughtful people may have felt, they made no sign, and it was obvious that the discipline of the society is fairly and regularly enforced, and that, if its debates effect no other good, they foster a habit of self-control. It was equally ob- vious that the society has a profound belief in its own power. The whole tenor of the debates led us to assume that the eye of Europe was upon us. If a Coger went wrong in argument, or if a mis-statement were allowed to pass uncorrected in such an assembly as this, the consequences would, it was evident, be terrible to the world at large and to generations still unborn. COGEBS. 147 In the course of tlie evening the Cogers de- clared that the East-end distress would be a thing of the past, if their own specific for pauperism were adopted. They also held a strong opinion that the metropolitan police-arrangements should be efficient, instead of unsatisfactory, and laid down a clear and intelligible theory on the sub- ject. As for the government, '' the big-wigs," the secretaries of state, their door-keepers, their flunkeys, their officials, their ways, their deeds, their talk, they were all nowhere. The great difficulty to mere outsiders like ourselves was the impossibility of holding two diametrically oppo- site opinions at the same time. What one elo- quent Coger had made clear as daylight, another Coger, with equal gifts of speech, showed us to be mere hollow rodomontade. As soon as the sentiments first named had sunk into our souls and become incorporated with our intellectual being, presto ! another set of sentiments were hurled at us with so much precision and force as to leave us prostrate and bemuddled. Thus, according to some Cogers, Ireland was unhappy, not for the reasons given by other Cogers, but from causes familiar to the Coger speaking now; and so on throughout the subjects dealt with. A sub-spicing of personality lent flavour to the proceedings, and there could not be a doubt that 148 COGERS. eacli individual Coger had the keenest delight in hearing himself speak. We will go further, and say that the speeches were very much ahove the aver- age of those served out by many British senators to their constituents, and that some of them con- tained passages of true eloquence, overlaid and spoilt, it may be, by verbosity, but appealing di- rectly to those addressed, and showing a fair com- prehension of the subject dealt with. To say that no one was convinced by his neighbour's reason- ing is but to repeat the stale sarcasm of the government-whip, who never, in all his experi- ence, knew a speech, however powerful, change a single vote on the division- list. There were pre- judiced speeches, and a few grossly ignorant speeches ; there were rather rabid speeches, and speeches which were self - contradictor}^ But the staple of the evening's entertainment was healthy and sound. There was a rough- and - ready, cut - and - thrust style about many of the remarks which savoured of the platform, and would be invaluable on the hustings, and a dogmatism which would have done credit to a county bench. In no case did a speaker flag for lack of words. There was none of that painful stam- mering, that morbid affection of the throat, that restless shifting from leg to leg, that nervous COGERS. 149 fidgetiness of hands and buttons, that deliberate dying out from inanition, which distinguish the oratory of so many English gentlemen. What the Cogers have to say, they say out like men. The ideas may be sometimes feeble, but the lan- guage never is ; aspirates may be occasionally dropped, but the thread of the discourse is always held. We have heard much oratory in our time, and have been often present at gather- ings of influential people from whom a brief speech has been necessary — a few words to an expectant tenantry, an improvised address to the school-children of a parish, a resolution to be brought forward at a public meeting, or the proposal of a friend's health at a local dinner ; and it has too often happened that the English language has suffered terribly at their hands. Why should this be ? It is no disparagement to the Cogers to say that the bulk of them have not had a tithe of the educational advantages en- joyed by the people we name. The wooden pencil and round-topped scissors peeping from the left side waistcoat-pocket of the fiery young Liberal who has just sat down proclaim him a draper's assistant ; the ponderous knuckles and creased and rather dirty hands of the listener in hob- nails, together with his well-worn corduroys and flannels, show that his " 'ear, 'ear !" (followed by 150 COGERS. a relishing wliisper to a neighbour — '^ That's right, ain't it?") proceeds from a man engaged on manual labour; and we judge by the dress, demeanour, and appearance of the foxy little person who came in without his hat, and who throughout the evening moves upon his chair as if ready to burst forth with indignant interrup- tion, but who, when his turn comes, speaks with moderation and good sense, that he is a master- tradesman in the neighbourhood. As for the young barristers and the literary gentlemen, we are bound to say that there was nothing to dis- tinguish their oratory from that of the rest of the room. Indeed, all the members of the latter class were pointed out to us as so extremely emi- ment that they rather disappointed our expecta- tions. But even including these gentlemen in our estimate, there is nothing to show that they are not, like the rest of the room, self-taught orators, and that the fluency possessed by the Cogers might not be learnt in the schools. It has been well said, '' Everybody improvises when he talks." But the silence of an auditory, when once a speaker perceives it, produces a very contrary effect to the interruption of conversation. " All eyes being fixed on him, he is embarrassed, he stammers, and at length becomes dumb; but this is not a defect of genius, it is merely a want COGERS. 151 of self-possession. He is a weak man ; he is not master of his palpitating heart ; he has lost his self-possession; his calm judgment has abandoned him ; hence he sees nothing that he ought to see ; he can compare nothing ; he has lost the standard by which he ought to measure himself and others ; he has lost genius, because he has lost the balance of judgment. Hence the first rule of impro- visation, acquire the mastership of your own feelings." Mr. Lowe's recommendation to the middle-classes to study the English language cul- minated in the assertion, that he had found the power of speaking that language with precision and force to be the most useful of his accomplish- ments. If the ruling spirits at Cogers' Academy can turn out a fluent speaker in a few months, it is surely to be regretted that more of our schools do not teach their pupils the art of speaking in public without breaking down ? There are few more lamentable spectacles than that presented by a gentleman of well-trained mind and varied know- ledge stammering feebly, and retiring ignomini- ously, before a handful of people who are immea- surably his inferiors in all that pertains to mental discipline and education. Their charitable eager- ness to cheer him whenever a lame and flounder- ing sentence is brought to an impotent conclusion 152 COGEES. is positively insulting. The applause when he sits down, the hand-clapping and the foot-stamp- ing, fill him with shame ; for he knows himself to have talked nonsense, and to have talked non- sense cumbrously. " Men are never so likely to settle a question rightly," says Macaulay, ''as wiien they discuss it freely;" and though an older writer cynically tells us that as " we have two ears, and but one tongue, that we may hear much and talk little," even he could give no good reason why we should not talk that little well. What the Cogers can do is of course within the reach of every schoolmaster; and the wise man who suc- ceeds in imparting the art of speaking our lan- guage with, as the old grammars say, "elegance and propriety," will confer a boon on England. We left the hall vrhile a gentleman was con- victing, entirely to his own satisfaction, a pre- vious speaker of ignorance ; our friend, the landlord, meeting us with the courteous hope that we " had been interested, though the speak- ing ain't been nothin' to - night to what it is sometimes." The landlord regards the Cogers affectionately as his adopted children, but rather startles us by giving, " I won't have none of it here," as his mode of checking a debate when free- dom degenerates into license. It appears that the ardent liberalism of some advanced Cogers has COGERS. 153 occasionally led to language which a feeble-minded magistrate might disapprove, and it is perhaps with an ulterior eye on licensing-day that mine host constitutes himself the unseen arbiter of the limits of debate. But, however outspoken and revolu- tionary the bolder Coger spirits may occasion- ally be, the ancient society has a comfortable respect for order and propriety, and maintains, as its rules and our experience testify, a self- respect and self-restraint which might be imitated with advantage in many more pretentious assem- blies. SATURDAY-NIGHT IN A PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. The Act of Parliament compelling pawnbrokers to keep open until 11 p.m. on Saturdays operates with varying effect in different London neighbour- hoods. Here, it is a hardship to be called upon to burn gas and keep up the semblance of work long after its reality has departed ; there, another hour's grace is taken, and the crowded rush goes on unintermittently until midnight. To the bulk of West-end pawnbrokers, Saturday-night brings no special duty. Watches, rings, timepieces, pic- tures, plate, or nick-nacks, are as likely to re- main undisturbed by their owners during that evening as on any other throughout the week, while the sudden pecuniary needs of customers are neither more nor less pressing than at other times. The ordinary routine of their business goes on therefore undisturbed ; and were it not for the Act just cited, many shops now necessarily open until 11 would close at their usual hour. But the pawnbroker in an essentially low neigh- bourhood has to compress into a Saturday evening as many business transactions as in the whole SATUED AY-NIGHT IN A PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 155 week besides. And these operations are almost uniform in their character. He has neither time to attend to sales over the counter, nor oppor- tunity for lending money upon goods. Giving out pledges, receiving the money lent upon them, and calculating and claiming the interest due, occupies the entire night, keeps his shop full to overflow- ing, and his staff of assistants incessantly en- gaged. One Saturday evening we took up our station behind the counter of a pawnbroker's shop in one of the lowest neighbourhoods in London, and had ample facilities afforded us for observing the rou- tine of its business, the class of people who are its chief customers, the nature of their dealings, the sums they had borrowed, and the interest- money they paid. Situate in a narrow flaring thoroughfare, and imbedded in a complex web of hemp-factories, tallow-melting establishments, hat- manufactories, and a series of densely-populated colonies of bricklayers' labourers, waterside-men, shirt-makers, sempstresses, and carmen, this esta- blishment may be taken as a fair type of others of its class ; while in the number of its small opera- tions, and the variety of its customers, it is pro- bably among the most noteworthy in London. It procures from an adjacent tobacconist's, and dis- poses of during every week, from 1501. to 2001. in 156 SATURDAY-NIGHT halfpence and threepenny and fourpenny pieces. More than 2000 pledges are redeemed there each Saturday-night throughout the year, the sum lent on each rano-ino- from one shillina,- and their aver- age being a little over four shillings each. Thus, the week before our visit, the Saturday's returns showed that 2100 pledges were taken out by their owners, and a total of 418L paid for them, be- sides some 111. for interest; and during the hours we spent behind the counter, the rapid rate at which small bundles were handed over it, and the kaleidoscope -like quickness with which one set of eager struggling applicants made way for another, during what was spoken of as "a com- paratively slack night," through so many of the poor Irish being away in the hop-districts, gave convincing proof of the all-engrossing, continuous business carried on. We have seen, moreover, that the entire house is crammed with articles pledged. Bed- rooms, attics, lofts, staircases, lumber - closets, and landing-places are converted into warerooms for small parcels with tickets af&xed. The visitor knocks his head against bundles of mortgaged goods, finds it impossible to avoid treading on them, sees them stacked above and below, to the right and left of him ; and after being courteously conducted through a good-sized IN A PAWNBKOKEE's SHOP. 157 house, finds the pledges to have completely in- vaded, and all but edged out, its dwelling accom- modation. Floor after floor of open shelves, di- vided into huge pigeon-holes, running from ground to ceiling, and so arranged that there is just room to walk between each, are seen in uniform array. Each division is stacked according to the nature of the article and the sum lent on it. Thus, the eastern corner of one wall is crammed with bun- dles of " two-shilling gowns," neatly folded, and looking rather like large rolly-poly puddings still in their cloths. The next compartments have gowns on which a trifle more has been lent ; and so on to the end. Trousers, shawls, coats, over- coats, petticoats, shirts, and shifts, are similarly arranged and classified, while in the centre of the wall an opening communicates with the shop be- low. The shoot contained in this opening is never idle, and the bell calling attention to it is seldom still. Four youths are busily engaged in receiving the tickets and looking out and sending down the parcels to which they refer. As there are altoge- ther some 10,000 to 12,000 separate parcels lodged as we have described, the ease with which each is found, and the short time elapsing between the borrower's application for his goods and their de- livery, are no mean tribute to the system of organ- isation. 158 SATUEDAY-NIGHT An inspection of the trade-books of disburse- ment and receipt showed the net gains on what is commonly called "a low business" to be less than is ordinarily supposed. The immense num- ber of transactions involves the necessity of keep- ing up a numerous and expert staff of assistants, and the salaries paid them form an important item in annual outlay. Here, for example, there are five men arduously engaged behind the coun- ter, who alternately ring the shoot-bell, call up the opening, shout "Mrs. Brown, 3!" ''Name of Johnson — shift and a pair of boots." "Any- one here of the name of Jones ?" and so on, to the customers waiting, who clap down the bun- dles, and estimate and receive the money due on them with great rapidity. Two of these active busy shopmen receive 751., one 601., one 40Z., and one 301. per annum. The smallest of the urchins upstairs has 101. a-year, while his bigger brethren have from 101. to 18L a-year each. As all these people are provided with board and lodging in ad- dition to their pay, it will be readily seen that a vast amount of "low trade," and the consequent necessity of maintaining nine able-bodied assis- tants, is not, from a purely tradesmanlike point of view, an unmixed good. The capital required for such a business as we are describing is about 7000Z.; the general expenses were put to us at 1200L IN A PAWNBEOKER's SHOP. 159 a-year; and the trade-incomings at a far less sum than the aspect of the crowded shop seemed to indicate. It is right to add, that the figures given were strictly borne out by the books. Taking four months in the present year haphazard from the journal of disbursements, we found the out- lay in each to have been respectively 1351., SOL, 1201. , and 791. This total of 414Z. gives an aver- age of 103Z. per month, or about the sum per annum just named. The receipts per week for interest and ticket-money averaged from 24Z. to S5L; thus corroborating in similar fashion the annual sum mentioned. About six years since, an important altera- tion was made in pawnbroking law. Before that time, when sums of less than 5s. were lent, no charge for the ticket could be made. But it was then settled that one halfpenny should be levied by the pawnbroker upon tickets for all such small amounts ; and, in the instance before us, this concession alone makes a difference in income of some 1501. per annum to the shopkeeper. The pettiness of the transactions, and the shortness of the time for which the money is borrowed, amply show the relative importance of this extra charge, trivial though it seems. We analysed 50 out of 2000 tickets on the Saturday in ques- tion, for articles which had been redeemed, tak- 160 SATURDAY-NIGHT ing them at random, and witli the view of esti- mating how long the goods left with this parti- cular pawnbroker remained in his hands. In 36 cases out of the 50 the tickets were not a month old, in 7 cases they were not a week, and the remaining 7 were all dated less than six months from the present time. It was not, therefore, surprising to find that, on one day, not a Saturday, while on the 137 articles re- deemed the money lent amounted to 22L 3s. del., the interest came to 11. 9s. 9d., and that the ticket-money, for sums under 5s. alone, at a half- penny each, amounted to no less than 16s. 3d. Before quitting this branch of the subject, it is impossible to avoid noting the amusing absence of mystery or reticence observed in the records of the business inspected. The expenditure-book lies open on a shelf behind the counter; the ledger for daily and weekly receipts is left with its brass clasp-lock unused, exposed to view in a room open to the entire household; and, as if this were not enough, the moneys received during the last two or three weeks are pencilled in the hand of the proprietor upon the postern of his kitchen-door. While these facts are being noted, and the warerooms and their pledges examined, the re- gular business of the evening is going on with IN A PAWNBEOKEB'S SHOP. 161 unceasing vigour. The shoot-pulleys and ropes which creaked and grumbled with monotonous regularity; the downstairs bell ringing at un- certain intervals; and the rapid running to and fro of the boys with parcels and bundles in their hands — all spoke of the busy state of the shop below. From five in the afternoon, when we visited it first, to eleven at night, when we left it for the second time, the counter was crowded. Sometimes thirty, sometimes a hundred people were there at once ; and the appearance and at- mosphere of the entire place were not a little singular and exceptional. Festoons of new boots and shoes, of shirts and chemises, handkerchiefs and caps, are suspended by strings from the low ceiling and the wall behind the counter. A gaudy clock, with a coarse pictorial face, looks down upon the throng in front of it ; cheap sporting- pictures, framed and glazed, vaunt their own ex- cellence and proclaim their cheapness from the wall beyond; while the cased-in window, filled with a heterogeneous mass of articles of dress, timepieces, jewelry, watches, boots, and chimney- ornaments, speaks, no less than does the pile of many-coloured wraps and coats against which we lean, of the extent and variety of the pledges un- redeemed. Nothing is bought for stock here, and all the articles we see have- become the property M 162 SATURDAY-NIGHT of their present owner through the time for their redemption having passed hy — a source of profit, by the way, not included in the returns quoted. With the exception of one futile attempt at bar- gaining for a shirt, no approach to a sale takes place during our visits. Quite ninety per cent of those at the counter are women and children, and the object of all seems to be to obtain their goods and get away as rapidly as possible. The per- spiring countermen, who are busily working in a close miasma made up of gas, the effluvia of worn clothes, and human breath, are besieged on all sides. Sometimes they are addressed affec- tionately as " Dears ;" sometimes defiantly, as " You there !" and sometimes they are petulantly upbraided for the time the beldame speaking has been kept waiting for her pledge. Half the place is open shop, the other half is divided into little boxes, originally meant for pri- Tacy, but each of which is now crammed to reple- tion. Poverty in all its phases is represented. The young work-girl, whose bit of shabby finery has been here since Monday, takes it away with the certainty of bringing it back again when Sun- day has gone by. Shrewish-looking, slatternly women insist upon having their full complement of bundles, and decline paying for the dress, the trousers, and the bonnet, until the fourth pledge, IN A pawnbroker's SHOP. 163 a pair of boots, is produced. Capless, bonnetless children, who, standing on tiptoe, strive in vain to bring their eyes on a level with the counter, have the ticket for their father's clothes handed over for them ; while now and then, at rare inter- vals, a working man may be discerned in the moving mass of faces, who takes out his garment for himself, paying the sum demanded with a business air bespeaking long usage and <3onse- quent acclimatisation. All this time one of the shopmen remains at the shoot, and the ringing of the bell to those above, and the shouts of ^'Name of Blank, one parcel," ''Trousers and dress for Smith," go on with the regularity of '^ Make your game" at rouge et noir. Two things are especially worthy of remark. First, the demeanour of the sordid crowd, gin- sodden, tattered, and forlorn, as its component parts are, is rather jocund than otherwise — as if the circumstance of being able to take articles out of pawn more than condoned the original neces- sity of pledging them; and secondly, that with scarcely an exception the bundles were handed over, and the money and interest paid, without mention of the amount. The time for which the money had been borrowed, and the sort of sum, varied so little, and the details of the operation were so familiar, that conversation on either side 164 SATURDAY-NIGHT IN A PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. would have been, in the present clin, and push, and rattle of business, nothing but a waste of time. The gown or coat "in" for half-a-crown, or under, had 2s. GJcL paid for it ; that for 3s. had 3s. Of fL ; that for 4s. to 5s. had a penny added to the sum ; and in the rare cases where 5s. was exceeded, the adding a halfpenny for every 2s. 6d. up to 2L was a process fully understood by people unaccustomed to let their goods remain longer than a month. The free gossip between the wo- men waiting, the full market-baskets on the arms of some of them, and the purely matter-of-fact demeanour of nearly all, confirmed the theory that a Saturday's-night's visit to the pawnbroker's is not much more out of the ordinary routine of life in the district we were in — full as it is of a poverty too deep for pretence, and which knows not what *' keeping up appearances" means — than is a like call on the butcher, or baker, or other indispens- able ministrant to its wants. LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. " Giv' herself airs she has, ever smce she got up in the world through 'aving her little girl put in the newspapers, which it offended her rarely, though she's got heef and red port-wine every day through it, all the same. What call was there to pick out her little girl indeed, and kick up a fuss about her making three gross o' match- boxes a-day, and she got a mother of her own ? Why, that child working there is younger than what she is, and ain't got no parents at all, and she'd make her six or seven gross a-day if she were put to it. Wot's three gross to make a fuss about, that's what I say ; and wot 'ave the news- papers got to do with it at all ?" We are in the' centre of a lucifer-box manufac- tory in Bethnal-green, and the speaker is indig- nant at popular sympathy having been roused for what she considers a very commonplace piece of business. That children should toil unceasingly from an age when they ought to be in their cradles, is to her one of the inevitable conditions 166 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. of existence ; and tliougli unable to impugn its truthfulness, she condemns as mawkish a state- ment recently put forward by a local clergyman concerning the infant daughter of one of her neighbours and friends. Up a dark passage and a darker stair, — where the heavy balustrades and deep-set glassless win- dows speak of comforts long since fled, — and we are in two garrets, one opening into the other, and both thronged with labourers busily at work. We have passed huge blocks of wood on the first landing, of the size and shape of those strewn about shipwrights' shops and dockyards, and now walk into an atmosphere redolent of deal-shavings, sulphur, and dye. Boys and girls, some mere infants, others sturdy striplings, and all busily at work, are in every available corner, planing, stamp- ing, cutting-out, pasting, folding into box-shapes, and in other ways converting wood into the neat and slender cases w^e buy filled with lucifer- matches, at a halfpenny and a penny each. Two stout youths at the window are rapidly dashing off thin sections from a block of wood. Children pick these up as they fall, sort them, and hand them to other children, who ply machines and crease the slips into the folds requisite for con- verting them into boxes. This done, the master ' workman, who is at once employer and fellow- LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 167 labourer, clips their ends in magenta-coloured dye, and hands them to his wife in the adjoining garret. She sits at a long table, where girls of all ages paste on the paper coverings, bend the slips into shape, and turn the finished box upon the floor. Fingers and the paste -brush are alone used at this stage. . " Friday is our busiest day, because, you see, we send in on the Saturday to receive the week's money, and often have to make up a goodish quantity when there's a pressure. Me and the eight girls, you see, have turned out as many as ninety gross between Friday and Saturday morn- ing, no, they don't go away on the Friday night — that wouldn't do at all. They stay here, and work on, while I sit on the floor, and never get up or go to bed until I've tied all up in bun- dles of a gross each. Yes, it's hard work enough, but not fit to put in the newspapers," — a con- stantly recurring grievance this, — ''let alone make a stir about one little girl, when there's hundreds would do more work and is worse off than wot she is. Our regular hours for the boys you see in the other shop is eight to eight, which makes, with dinner and tea-time, about ten hours a-day. Here, in my room, they work according to pressure ; and pretty close we have to keep to it, there's no denying. What's the dye for? Well, it gives 168 LUCIFEE-BOX MAKING. a finish to the boxes, and makes 'em look worth more money for the shops. The people we work for were the first to introduce it, and the boxes you see are the best of their kind. Threepence a gross we pay for making ; and as there's not more labour in these than the commoner sorts, it ain't so bad. One hundred and forty-four boxes folded, pasted, and shaped for threepence ? A}', and a good deal less too, I can tell you. Two- pence-farthing and twopence - halfpenny is the regular price for the cheaper sorts, you'll see, when you visit the houses where they're bein' made. My master and me ain't got no family of our own, so we call these girls and boys our chil- dren ; and though they've to work hard, they're well off compared to hundreds of others." " We never drink nothing but tea in working time," struck-in the male chief here; ^'but when work's over, I take my three, or perhaps my four, pints of beer, and enjoy 'em, I can tell you. Ee- form demonstration bill on the wall ? Well, I don't bother my head about politics ; but they sent the poster here, and I just stuck it where you see" (winking), " to help to keep the roof up. No, I didn't jine in it, not I. If I go away, there's thirty people loses a day's work, and that ain't the sort of reform they'd fancy, you may be sure." This match-box maker is a jovial aristocrat in LUCIFER-EOX MAKING. 169 his way. A liale liealtliy-looking man of forty, he looks as ruddy and strong as if his days were spent in farming or at the sea - side. Besides making up boxes on the premises, he sends out the creased slips of wood and the paper labels to women and children who work at home; and acts, in short, as middle man between the dealer and the labourers. " About twopence a gross sticks to 'em when all's done," he says pleasantly, when asked as to his profits. A brazier full of coke stands in the centre of the garret where the women are at work, and a strong sulphureous odour permeates the place. '' We're obliged to keep it where it is, for drying, don't yer see? But the smell's bad at times, so we keep both windows open, and have lots of nice fresh air." We are in Bethnal-green, remember, with a view of the house-tops of Spital- fields, and are looking out on dingy broken roof- trees, smoke-dried pigeon-traps, dirt, and desola- tion. The " fresh air" has been eddying round stale fish-curing establishments and close confined homes, has apparently looked in at a gasworks, and burrowed among the district drains. Yet the people look tolerably well ; and as, according to our host's own estimate, he sometimes clears as much as ninety twopences, or fifteen shillings, in the twenty -four hours, he at least is comfortably off. 170 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. The home-workers, who make up the materials he sends them, are a very different class. The head of the household may be a dock-labourer, or a street-hawker, or a dustman, or, as was the case at a home we visited later in the day, '' a hayband- gatherer" (that is, a man who lives by collecting the haybands thrown away at markets and stables, and selling them to chairmakers for stuffing). His earnings are precarious, and are never more than enough to pay the rent and provide a moiety of the family bread. The wife and children have to work or starve. Match - box making and bead- working are their regular employments ; but though the latter is paid for at a slightly higher rate, the demand for it varies with the fashion, while for the former there is a more regular and constant supply of work. Accompanied by an experienced district-visitor and a friend well acquainted with the locality, we proceed to visit a few of the " hundreds of children who do more work and are worse off" than the poor little infant whose case had been eloquently and successfully brought before the public a short time before. First, to a little sentry-box of a room up the back stairs of a crazy tenement hard by. Here, the figure huddled on the bed, with head bound up, is so ghastly and unlifelike, that we start back to avoid intruding upon what seems the chamber of LUCIFEB-BOX MAKING. 171 death. Three children are standing at the table, and work on unremittingly. Heads are uplifted for a moment as our guide opens the door, but only to resume their steadfast gaze upon the paper, chips, and paste being deftly converted into boxes by the little hands. On being silently beckoned in, we find the mass of rags has assumed shape, and is a woman, but so weird and wan and hag- gard as to remind us of Haydon's picture of La- zarus in his grave-clothes. Swaying to and fro from sheer debility, and with dull heavy eyes, which wander purposelessly everywhere, the figure essays to speak, and with many a pant and sup- pressed groan, gives us her little history. " Bad pains in limbs, and chest so hard like, that I can't help the children as I ought, and they don't get on so fast in consequence. Wlien I'm on the ground, to pick up and sort as quickly as they can put together, we can, by never stopping, turn out our eight gross a-day. Twopence -halfpenny a gross is what we get, and find our own paste and string. Five farthings' -worth of flour, which is half-a-pound, will make enough paste for seven gross of boxes, if you're careful ; but there's waste now that I lay here, and I can't cut the labels even, though I keep the paper and scissors by my side" (showing them moaningly), '' to turn to di- rectly the pain leaves me for a little. We have to 172 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. tie the boxes up in bundles after they're made, and the hemp for doing* this comes heavy out of what we earn. A penn'orth of hemp will tie up twenty-one gross of boxes, and then there's the sending of 'em home, which takes time and pre- vents work. Ah, it makes a terrible difference my not being on the ground; for the children often can't get on, and there's time and money lost." This speech is not given consecutively as writ- ten, but with constant stoppages for breath, and from pain, through all of which the three children go on methodically pasting down. Neither the unwonted presence of strangers nor their mother's suffering breaks this monotonous labour for a mo- ment. When spoken to, they reply in a listless fashion, as if talk were a profligate expenditure of time. Five different articles are used to make the match-box. Two slender shavings of wood, one each for its inner and outer part; one label of coloured paper for the half containing the luci- fers ; one printed label bearing the dealer's names for the outer box ; and a square piece of sand-paper to strike the matches on the bottom. The wood has been creased, by the machine-work we saw in the garret factory; the paper lies in sheets, like undivided postage -labels, upon the squalid bed; the sand-paper is on the floor in long strips of the LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 173 width requisite to go lengthwise on the boxes, 'but requires snipping into pieces of the requisite width. The manipulation of this sand-paper is the most painful part of the work. The rough surface cuts the children's fingers, and leaves them raw and bleeding, much as if the cuticle were rubbed off with a file ; for each bit of sand-paper is smoothed and patted down by hand, and many hours of this work produce their inevitable effect. " Drying the boxes thoroughly, sir, is another trouble ; for we've to spread them out on the floor all night, and the wet paste makes the place damp ; and if the boxes ain't quite dry, they won't pay us for them when we send them in." It is needless to describe the place. A squalid little hole, where the bed takes up one-third of the flooring space ; a table, two chairs, half-a- dozen of the commonest utensils, and a few cheap pictures on the walls, make up the living, sleep- ing, and working home of this confirmed invalid and her three children. For bedding, are dis- coloured unexplainable rags ; athwart the bed, sus- pended from a string, hang fragments of clothes, the use of which can scarcely be distinguished. It is difficult to advance a step without crunching match-boxes under foot ; and when our party of three all stand inside the door, it is impossible to turn round or stir. The ages of the three girls 174 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. seem to range from three or four to twelve, but this is a point on which guessing is hazardous, so wan and stunted are they. Elsewhere we put searching questions, and have truthful answers in return. But in the presence of the apparently dying figure on the bed this is impossible. There was such an obvious wish to do the honours of the miserable little home, and to give strangers the information they sought, that we listened patiently to the story told with so much difficulty and pain; but it would have been cruel to pro- long the trial, so on the poor speaker sinking back exhausted, we bid the little toilers good-day, and set out again upon our prescribed round. Let us say at once that this was the most painful visit made throughout the day. Poverty, dire, bitter, crushing, we saw in sad abundance ; invalids too ill to work, infants, with the business cares of men and women, acting as bread-winners for a family, were plentiful enough; lives where one long struggle with starvation, misery, and disease is the rule, were revealed ; but we never seemed to stand so nearly in the presence of Death as here. In the antithesis between the poor woman's state and her plaint concerning farthing's-worth of flour and hemp, and her in- ability to cut out labels, there was something in- expressibly shocking. LUCIFEE-BOX MAKING. 175 A smiling brunette, wretchedly attired, but healthy and cheerful, is passing the door as we come out. On her arm she carries a bulky parcel of light goods. In a West-end thoroughfare she would be an apprentice carrying home fancy mil- linery — caps, bonnets, or what not. Here, her bundle consists of match-boxes, and match-boxes only. " Nine gross of 'em, sir, I'm just taking home, when I shall get the money and paper and ma- terial for making more. Make a good many a- day ? yes, sir, and could make more, only trade's dreadful slack, and there's such a lot at it; that's where it is. Well, I don't know the number of where I live, and that's the truth ; but it's the last house but one on the right, and glad to see you, Mrs. Jones" — a curtsey here to the district-visitor — '' as you allers know, ma'am, don't you?" All this, with a bright alacrity, an absence of fawning, or of making out a case for pity, very refreshing. Following our guide, we are soon in another interior devoted to the one calling. A larger room this, with more evidences of comfort, greater adorn- ment, and where the squalid air of bitter poverty is less apparent. " Mother is ill in bed in the corner, with pains 176 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. in her limbs, and is hard of hearing as well, so we just get on the best w^e can without her. Four of us work, me and my two little . brothers and my sister" (the speaker is a good-looking girl of nine- teen, who smiles and dimples through her be- grimed face, as if to prove that innate cheerful- ness is more than a match for worldly ills) ; " and if we work very hard indeed, we can make our fourteen gross in a day. Well, of course, that means beginning at seven in the morning and sticking to it till ten at night ; but it ain't so bad considerin', you know, and there's many worse off than what we are, of course. Father's a sawyer, but his work's been very slack, and there's not much doing anywheres, so far as I know. Wouldn't it be better for me to go out to service ? Perhaps it would" (hesitation), " only I don't know much about a house, you see, only having been at home. Yes, I'd be willing to try ; and if girls are wanted, as you say, ma'am, and you could get me a place, I'd be very glad." The mother in bed in the corner moves rest- lessly, but takes no part in this conversation, and the children go on converting paper and wood into boxes unmoved. Here, however, all we see (for the sick mother covers her head with the bed- clothes) look well and hearty; and though, on being pressed, the fourteen gross turns out to be LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 177 rather a tlieoretical than a practical standard of a day's work, the little labourers looked contented and comparatively happy. Portraits of Miss Adah Isaacs Menken, and of a huge turkey-cock, like an inflamed beadle, adorn the mantel-shelf; but match-boxes, formed and unformed, are the prin- cipal furniture of the room. Crossing the road, we are next in a little cellar, which is literally crammed. The husband is out, selling hearth- stones. A puny sickly infant is asleep on the bed ; the mother and married daughter, herself a mother, a little boy, and a neighbour, are cutting and pasting and shaping for dear life. There is wonderful uni- formity in the statistics furnished us. In this house they can, by sticking steadily at it, make eight gross of boxes a-day ; prices as before, twopence -halfpenny a gross. The extra trouble given by the labels being of thinner paper than usual, the difficulty of drying the work before sending in, owing to want of space, the dislike the sturdy urchin of ten has to Sunday-school, and the terrible decrease in the demand for hearth-stones, are all told cheerily and without a syllable of even implied murmuring. Here there is a slight variation in manufacture, for the dealers prescribe pink linings for their match- boxes, and this involves a sixth item for cutting 178 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. out and fastening, and a proportionate expenditure of time. The working tinman's, a few doors lower down, is a completely different place. Here the whole house is occupied by one family; the wife helps the husband by soldering down his work, and the business of box-making is left to the chil- dren. The eldest girl, who looks twelve, and is sixteen, is the chief of the department. The youngest, who " will be three the 7th of next month," is an active member of the staff, and has worked regularly for more than a year. "Five shillings and sixpence we pay a-week for our house, and we've no call to complain of our landlady. The noise of my husband's trade made it difficult for us to keep in apartments, for it's hammer, hammer, hammer, much as you hear it now, all day long; so we've had to take this house, which suits us very well, all things considered. No, sir, I've never no time to help at box-making myself; but when I do get five minutes from the sawdering, I just tell 'em to allers put their best work in, and they'll never want a job, and they've as much as they can do. Twopence-halfpenny a gross is what we get, the regular price ; but then, you see, making 'em, as we do, with the inside part as perfect as t'other, it's just like two boxes in one ; or twenty-four LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 179 dozen boxes, as you may say, for twopence-half- penny. It's littery work too, very littery, and our landlady didn't want us to do it at all, on account of fire ; but that, as we told her, wouldn't do nohow, if she wanted her rent regular ; so we're as careful as we can be. When I worked at the match-box trade myself, which was before I learnt sawdering, and when it was my only way of earning money, the round boxes used to be my sort. You'll remember them, I daresay. You could just get your two fingers into the round, and they paid fourpence a gross for making them. I'd be very glad if they'd come into fashion again, for I got pretty quick at it, and could turn out a gross in a hour, which weren't so very bad, and my girl there would soon pick it up, I know. It would be better for her to go out to service, I don't dispute that ; but she's very useful to us, you see, and we couldn't spare her easily. That other one, who's bin in the 'orspital twice, she'd be a better one to go out, for she likes fresh people, and isn't shy; but, however, ma'am, if you say you could get Annie a place at once, I'll talk it over with her father, and let you know. I don't want to stand in her way, not I, if she'd like to go. "We've four rooms in this house, sir, and, to tell you the truth, it ain't hardly enough, for we've seven children, though we've lost one, 180 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. through a lady at Bow taking a fancy to her, and taking her off our hands. My hushand's work takes up -a lot of room, you see, let alone the match-making ; but, however, we're better off than a good many, and mustn't cry out. No, we'd no cholera here, sir. They had it very bad a few doors lower down ; but the gentleman from the Board of Health said our house was kept cleaner and more wholesome than many, and perhaps that helped to keep us free. He ordered them to put us dust-heaps up in the yard ; but. Lord ! they've done 'em so badly they ain't no use. Very good water-supply sir, now, since some other gentle- men came round and inquired into it, though our tap's out of order just at this time ; but, when it's right, we've as much water as we can use." Another home of one small room. Husband a dustman, out with his cart ; wife daily expect- ing an addition to the family ; little boys and girls all busily at work. ' ' Fourpence each every time they fill a cart, the three of 'em, that's what dustman's pay is ; but then they often don't fill more than three carts a-day, sometimes much less, and that makes it shockin' uncertain." At every house we have visited there have been cheery allusions to a tea given on the pre- LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 181 ceding Monday at the Bedford Institution to match-box makers under fourteen years of age. The quantity of cake eaten, and of tea drunk, has been a fertile topic for jocosity, and we have diplomatically availed ourselves of an obvious dis- position to connect our call with the treat en- joyed — with which, we regret to add, we had nothing whatever to do. Here a bright lad of ten, who blushed and grinned merrily over his pasting at the reminiscence, was on the point of losing the feast for want of a pair of trousers and a waistcoat to appear in, when, presto ! a kind gentleman sent him a shilling, with which the father purchased both, and in which the lad worked proudly now. " My husband's asthma has been a good deal better, thank you, ma'am, since he went into the workhouse infirmary ; but these cold winds tell upon him, and the dust-trade's bad for that com- plaint, you see." A whispered colloquy between my companions and the speaker concerning a certain " bag," which contains baby-linen, and is lent on application from an admirable institution close by, and but for which there would often be no provision for in- fants newly born, and we pass to a room a few streets off, where one young woman and a little girl are at work. The boxes here are for the 182 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. Liverpool market, are more fragile, and less pro- fitable to make. " Twopence a gross is all we get, and tlie two of us can't make more than six gross a-day, do what we will," is cheerfully told us : the child continuing her work, and warning off some other children who peep in at the door, with a quaint wise look, which sits strangely on her pretty little face. "My husband's a hayband - gatherer for chair-stuf&ng, but he don't do very well at it, and this little girl ain't ours, but a niece of mine I'm bringing up." Another room in the same street, where the mistress is ill in bed in a sort of cupboard to the rear, where the husband is out hawking looking- glasses obtained on '' sale or return" from the manufacturers, and by means of which he earns six, seven, and sometimes eight shillings a-week. The children are taking boxes home, the fire is out, and as the invalid tells her ailments to the district-visitor, want of nourishment is as easily discernible in her feeble tremulous voice as if we had been told in so many words of her lack of food. These are a few of the cases we saw in a day's walk. The experience they give might have been multiplied indefinitely. Eight and left, in fi'ont and rear, of the border-line between Spital- LUCIFEB-BOX MAKING. 183 fields and Bethnal-green upon wliich we stood, is a mass of helpless, hopeless poverty. Such work as we have seen is the means of life to thousands upon thousands of women and chil- dren. In one of the homes left undescribed, a baby of a year and ten months old was busily labouring away with its brothers and sisters, and contributing its quota to the earnings of the day. In White- street, a regular labour-market for boys and girls is held on Monday and Tuesday morning, from eight to ten a.m., and here children of all ages may be hired by the week or month. Do- mestic service is, however, so distasteful to these people, that, though there is a constant demand for servants here as elsewhere, there is more than the usual difficulty in obtaining them. In every case when a situation was suggested for the young women whom we saw box-making, the reply was evasive ; and a few months before our visit good and remunerative places were refused under the following circumstances. One Saturday a poor woman was visited at her home by some benevolent gentlemen who interested themselves in the sanitary arrangements of the district. The cholera was then at its height, and on calling on the same woman the next Monday, they found she had died, and had been buried, in the few hours which had intervened since they found her 184 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. alive and well. She left a large family. Her three eldest girls were fit for service, and comfort- able places were offered them, and refused. Argu- ment and remonstrance were ineffectual, and pic- tures of the discomforts and laboriousness of match-box making were met by, "It's only just play for the fingers, sir." This is a fair ex- ample of the views and opinions of many of the girls we have seen. They accept their poverty bravely ; take gladly any help proffered ; but prefer the privations and misery of their pre- sent life to what they hold to be the restric- tions and drawbacks of domestic service. The married women are tied to their homes, and, spurred by stern hard necessity, the children take to work much as those in more favoured walks do to play. " The child I buried was only two years and five months, and he'd been at box-making a good six months," said the dustman's wife; " and they take to it as natural as sitting down to a meal." Not the least suggestive part of what we saw was the wholesome and positively jolly look of many of the boys and girls. There was, as we have endeavoured to show, abundant evidence of sickness and sorrow; there were plenty of wan faces and stunted frames ; but there were also many rosy-cheeked lads and lasses, who were chir- LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 185 ruping over their toil as merrily and as heartily as any plough-boy whistling for want of thought. When a wretched mother is accused of '' givin' herself airs" because her infant daughter's miser- able condition has become known, we seem to have in rough rude fashion the public opinion of this poverty -weighted place. That children should never see green fields or flowers, should never have a toy, never enjoy the innocent amusements appropriate to their age, is sad enough. Human nature, however, is so constituted, that harm- less fun and healthy laughter may be extracted from the most barren materials; and among the under-fed, over-worked, ill-clad women and children we visited were as bright eyes and as ready smiles, and at least as much honest, hearty, cheerful, helpful contentment as are found among their brothers and sisters who have not learnt sympathy through suffering, and to whom hunger and destitution have been things to read about, not taste. THE THAMES POLICE. Feom Chelsea-bridge to Barking-creek, a distance of seventeen miles, tLe river Thames is guarded by the Thames Police. To protect the property in ships, barges, and wharves, to keep the river clear of reputed thieves and suspected persons, to pre- vent crimps and the agents of low boarding-house keepers getting on board ships before they come to an anchorage, and to maintain a general super- vision over the river, are among its primary du- ties. Nor are these duties limited to the distance named; for at regatta time and at special aquatic festivals (as we saw at the Oxford and Harvard boat-race) detachments are told off and boats are despatched from the central station. The seventeen miles which properly constitute the Thames district has three stations, one on shore and two afloat, and is divided into three parts, the upper, middle, and lower. The upper division ranges from Chelsea to London-bridge, and has two regular duty boats and one boat for THE THAMES POLICE. 187 supervision attached to it. The middle division extends from London-bridge to Greenwich, and has four duty boats and two for supervision ; while the lower division has Barking-creek for one extremity and Greenwich for the other, and has one duty boat and one for supervision. The other boats belonging to the Thames Police make up with the foregoing a total of sixteen, with a com- plement of three constables and one inspector to each. The entire staff upon which the protection of the river and waterside depends is startlingly small — i. e. one hundred and twelve, thus sub- divided : one superintendent, eight first-class in- spectors, seventeen second-class inspectors, and eighty-six constables. Out of this number, those stationed in the upper and middle districts are formed into two equal divisions, each division be- ing subdivided into three reliefs, so that the duty is arranged, as far as possible with this number, that the river is never left unprotected. In addition to the functions named, the Thames Police are expected to prevent rubbish being thrown into the river, to give prompt information and assistance to the floating engines in case of fire ; to see that the regulations under the Gunpowder Act are carried out ; and to apprehend deserters, felonious absentees, and people who have com- mitted offences on the high seas. Further, each 188 THE THAMES POLICE. inspector is provided with what is technically termed a "deputation." This is an authority from the Custom-house to seize contraband goods, and to act generally on behalf of the authorities when the interests of the Reyenue are at stake. The two floating stations of the force are the Royalist, stationed off the Temple-gardens, and the Scorpion, at Blackwall ; the land station is at Wapping, which rather vague address is apparently the only one attainable. That this station is some- where near ''the Tunnel Pier;" that streets, crammed with coarse nymphs and sailors of every nationality, have to be traversed; that miles of flaring shops, cheap "gas's," and busy taverns leading suddenly up quiet, deserted, darkened lanes of brick, with sombre warehouses reaching far ahead on either side, only to be topped by a thicket of masts and spars from the docks beyond ; that a dangerous, and at night rather murderous- looking narrow wooden bridge or two must be crossed ; and that finally, in High-street, Wapp- ing, a lamp, with the words " Thames Police Office" blinking on its dingy sides, speaks of the place he is in quest of, is perhaps the closest in- formation it is possible to give a stranger. The Thames Police Office and Court near the Commercial -road East is the spot to which the West-end cabman inclines, and it is perhaps safer THE THAMES POLICE. 189 for the explorer to conceal his real destination, and to limit his instructions to "the Thames Tunnel" if he wishes to be driven to the land station of the Thames Police without engrafting upon his inquiries there researches into the man- ners and customs of Stepney, Whitechapel, and Katcliffe Highway. The smells, sounds, and sights of the neighbourhood are all maritime, or at least marine-store like. The odours of tar and bilge- water, of hemp and ardent spirits, float gently in the air ; the polyglot oaths and shouts, the deli- cate jests, the playful badinage, and the wordy bargaining at the shop-doors and stalls, all relate directly or indirectly to the men who earn their living on, or by, or about the water; while the amusements provided in the taverns, the songs which reach the street through the open windows and from the door through which a prostrate sea- man in a red shirt is being ignominiously ejected for being too drunk to drink more — all speak a population, both floating and permanent, which is indissolubly connected with water-life. Hence, there is nothing odd or inappropriate on entering a police-office from the street to find yourself in a room which partakes of the pervad- ing character of the district. That a string of heavy tarpaulin garments should be suspended from the ceiling, and keep irritably bobbing to and 190 THE THAMES POLICE. fro, as if they were so many stout pilots, whose bodies had swelled by long immersion, and were now protesting against being hung up to illustrate the effect of drowning upon the human figure ; that heavy blue-woollen wraps, the blankets used in the vain endeavour to bring back life to the pilots aforesaid, should rest near them ; and that the inspector on duty should wear a cloth cap with a glazed peak, and be pervaded generally with gilt buttons — all seem the necessary and commonplace associations of police life here. The men look nautical, the place is not unlike the 'tween-decks and cabins of a large ship ; and when, after eschew- ing the door-way by which you entered, you pass down a covered passage and some wooden steps — the companion ladder — you find yourself in a boat on the river Thames without surprise. But before personal inspection proceeds so far, the superintendent's room — with a stuffed wild- cat ornamenting one side of it, and a portrait in oils of a departed of&cer, who spent fifty-two years in the service, decorating the other — must be visited. It is gained by a tolerably long passage from the inspector's office, and, like the latter, is appointed with the usual iron bars, against which charges lean, and within which they are guarded, while particulars of their cases are being entered in the station books. Here, from three to four THE THAMES POLICE. 191 hundred prisoners are received every year ; here, we see from incident books and annual returns how much and in what the work of the water- guardians differs from that of their brethren on land. A convict escaped from the dockyards is sup- posed to have crossed the river in the night, or to be lurking in some of the barges about the docks, and who is twenty-one years of age, and very fair, with blue eyes, and slight figure ; who has a scar on his left cheek, limps slightly on one leg, is plausible in manner, soft in speech, and five feet eight inches and a half high ; has been well edu- cated, and sometimes passes for a German. Such is a type of one class of cases to be found in the incident book. The education which has profited so little, the facile bearing and the soft tones which delighted a mother's heart not many years ago, the slight figure which unfits for, and the limp and scar which bear evidence to a lawless life, are all now so many instruments in the hands of the Thames Police, who boast that out of the robberies they hear of, detection and conviction follow in nine cases out of ten. Anchor and part of a cable lost, the name of the boat given, the time when it was anchored, why the master of the boat was away, and other details, form the next item seen in a haphazard turning-over of the leaves. Then 192 THE THAMES POLICE. a robbery from a barge of sixty-four ingots of copper, and two cakes of copper weighing 56 lbs. eacb. Full but fruitless researches were made into tbe various suspected bouses in the neigh- bourhood ; next the radius of inquiry was extended ; and finally, within thirty- six hours of the loss be- ing reported, the whole of the copper was found at a house in Drury-lane, and was in due course re- stored to its owners, and the thieves convicted. Another robbery from a vessel of twenty-five bundles of whalebone, value 270L, all found in Clerkenwell, with a supplement of twenty bags of saltpetre, which had not been missed. A barge is discovered adrift in the river, when the police make her fast and report to her owners. A barge is plundered of its entire cargo by the lightermen employed on her ; a heavy fire at one of the crazy old houses by the waterside ; a defeated attempt to run contraband goods — such are, apart from the drowning cases, which is a branch of duty sufficiently extensive to call for separate notice, some of the occurrences recorded in the archives of the police at Wapping. But when the wet and slippery steps leading from the office to the water have been descended, and the stern of the supervision -boat in waiting has been reached, the inspector and the two con- stables proceed towards Deptford, the two latter THE THAMES POLICE. 193 rowing briskly with the tide, the former steering and giving an occasional word of instruction, or making an inquiry of the vessels we pass. Glid- ing smoothly and silently into the dark night, the black and shining water giving back half-suUenly the reflection of the stars and lamps, the expedi- tion seems far more romantic and mysterious than it really is. It is very dark, and during the hours we were out, 9.30 p.m. to nearly midnight, it was singularly quiet and still, the sounds of Saturday- night's revelry from some of the waterside taverns and the shriek of the distant railway- whistle being the only noises mingling with the monotonous plashing of the oars. The various craft seemed de- serted. Here and there a deck-fire, or a shrouded shapeless figure on a barge, spoke of life and oc- cupancy ; but as a rule the people on board kept out of sight, and we might have been rowing .among a ghostly fleet. The red light of the Thames Tunnel-pier glared out ostentatiously, as if it belonged to some river chemist and druggist anxious to vend his restoratives or experimentalise upon a submerged body ; the dolphins, for moor- ing vessels about to enter the decks, loomed sud- denly out of the darkness as we approached them ; and the spars and ropes of the ships right and left, many of them moored so closely to each other as to make their separate identity undistinguish- 194 THE THAMES POLICE. able, formed a fantastic fretwork against the star- lit sky. At rare intervals a craft was hailed; and when, as on three occasions, it was a Thames police-boat, the time of falling in with it and its whereabouts were carefully entered in a book. This was, in fact, the special function of the supervision-boat we were in. To ascertain that the men on duty in the middle district were actu- ally at work between London Bridge and Green- wich was the mission of the inspector ; and no sooner was a boat hailed than the dark lantern was turned on, the watch referred to, and a memo- randum made. The first detachment we fell in with prevented our running foul of a hawser made fast from a foreign vessel in the river to the shore. Kowing swiftly with the tide, we were, in the darkness, almost upon the rope before the warn- ing shouts reached us, when, by dint of rapid reverse strokes, we pushed back, and made round the vessel on the other side. Affixing ropes in this fashion is excessively dangerous, besides be- ing contrary to law; and the galley which warned us had just ordered the one in question to be taken in, and was waiting to see its instructions carried out when we arrived. Passed more vessels quietly slumbering, and by miles of bank - side, the prosaic and squalid tenements of which were invested for the time THE THAMES POLICE. 195 with a picturesque beauty certainly not their own, through the dim uncertain light in which they were viewed; past dark buoys, which danced obeis- ance as we rippled the water in nearing them ; athwart the stern of a steam-tug, the only mov- ing vessel larger than our own we saw, which was puffing on towards the Pool ; by many a floating batch of rubbish and block of wood, which was in- variably looked closely at or touched with an oar, to see if it were what is called with dreadful signi- ficance '' a subject" — every now and then grating the bottom as we pulled close in-shore — we turned when between Deptford and Greenwich, and made for London-bridge. All this time keen searching glances were directed by steerer and rowers at every object within sight.' The least obstacle in the strong tide's way, the faintest novelty of out- line in barge or wherry, the slightest sign of aught unusual in the slimy filthy ooze, from which the water had retired, made us pull to and sift and search with microscopic scrutiny. So, after hearing weird and gruesome experi- ences of the finding of '' subjects;" of suicides, and the sad stories which come to light at inquests ; of lightermen, their wages, habits, and peccadil- loes, — we gradually and more slowly, for the tide is strong and eddies are frequent, reach the Tun- nel-pier and pass the station landing-place again. From here to London-bridge the river is more 196 THE THAMES POLICE. thickly crowded. Steamers of all sizes, many of them ahoiit to start on the following morning, are moored side by side. Heavily-laden barges, many of them full of valnable property, lie thickly to- gether; and the inquiry, "Are you one of Phil- lips's folk?" elicits a sulky, ''Well, and if I are, what may you w^ant?" from a watchman, appa- rently putting on his night-coat, and indignant at being questioned. So, by tens of hundreds of thousands of pounds' worth of property, all at first sight, and from a superficial point of view, left without protection ; and after exchanging signals and speech with a Customs surveying-boat, and vainly attempting to land at the slippery, slimy stairs of London-bridge, the police-boat puts us on shore lower down the river, and with a couple of strokes of the oars is again lost in the darkness, to resume its weary watch among ships and wharves, until relieved by its successor on duty. Bentham declared that the name of the benevolent genius which has made countless multitudes living in peace and abund- ance upon the fruits of their labours, succeed to the nations of hunters who were alw^ays struggling between war and famine ; which has filled sea- ports with vessels receiving all the productions of the earth, and serving to exchange its riches — is Security. A night with the Thames Police is an admirable illustration to the text. UNDER THE SEA. Until 5.30 a.m. on a recent morning (August 1869), Mr. John Hollingsliead was the last mem- ber of the outside world who had inspected per- sonally the submarine foundations of the Ad- miralty Pier at Dover. His graphic record of diving-bell experience was published nine years ago, and the authorities have since been com- pelled to return unfavourable answers to countless applications for permission to descend. Princes of the blood had, according to Mr. Hollingsliead, been '' courteously but firmly refused" before his time ; and he adds pertinently that " princes of as little blood as possible are the best persons to de- scend in diving-bells, because of the determination of that vital fluid to the head." But the week of our visit was an exceptional one at the Dover works ; first, because a stranger, whose public mission was neither scientific, ofiicial, govern- mental, nor mechanical, explored their ocean depths ; and secondly, because one of their work- men fell from the scaffolding plump into the 198 UNDEE THE SEA. water, a distance of forty feet. The visitors wlio crave to accompany the divers, and whose motive is as innocent as their request is unreasonahle, invariably display their spirit of adventure in fine weather. Given a murky sky, a high wind, and a tempestuous sea, and no one wishes to go down ; hut let the sky he clear, and the water glassy, and the deepest diplomacy and the astutest "wire- pulling" are exerted to compass the impossible. As no later than last winter the works were stopped for months by reason of the insuperable difficulty of prosecuting them in rough weather, and as every minute is golden whenever the sea is smooth, the engineer and the contractors had to choose between fulfilling their trust and con- verting themselves and their undertaking into a raree-show. They chose the former alternative; and while every application to inspect is neces- sarily declined, the pier and breakwater progress apace. The comparative immunity from accident which this enterprise has enjoyed during the twenty-two years which have passed since it was commenced in 1847 was nearly broken in upon the day we were there. No diver has been killed or seriously hurt hitherto ; though the unhappy predecessor of the special boatman who is always in attend- ance for conveying workmen to and from the pier UNDER THE SEA. 199 to tlie bells, was crusliecl to death between liis boat and the edge of the diving-bell in a heavy sea; so that the diver who fell under and rose again, and sank once more, and was saved by the boat last week, kept the luck of his fraternity unbroken. Half an hour after his escape he was eating bread and cheese with great composure, and describing the cause of his accident, as he acted it minutely on the identical rafter from which it took place. To reach this, you must have eaten fern - seed, or have undeniable cre- dentials and a recognised errand. Far away beyond the landing-place of the Dover and Calais steamers are certain huge posts and cross-bars projecting from the extreme end of the pier into the sea. Coming across Channel, they look like the scaffolding of a very maritime house ; seen from the Castle Heights, they pro- mise a display of fireworks in the evening ; while to those on the parade and on the pier itself they suggest respectively a wooden Stonehenge on a watery plain, and a practical and solid extension of the breakwater. The last theory is correct; and on a close view the scaffolding resolves itself into something between a stone-quarry, a mason's yard, a ship-breaker's wharf, an iron-foundry, and a stationary and extremely hazardous raft. Walk- ing on high along those broad and massive tim- 200 UNDER THE SEA. bers means looking down upon the sea at forty- feet distance through gaping interstices a foot wide or more. You mount narrow incHnes, and traverse bridges made of planks; you observe large movable platforms at work, and rusty chains, and vast blocks of concrete, and tramways with wagons rushing down them at full speed, and, like the swine in the New Testament, casting themselves or their contents into the sea. Ropes and chains run from bar to bar, and from up- right to upright, mysteriously. Busy men in working dress are employed on cranks, or turn handles, or work chains. What seems to be a blank wall of granite is edging towards you with such a deceitfully regular motion, that you do not observe its progress, and would be quietly pushed into the sea, save that you are roused to your danger by the words, "Look out!" and so hasten tremulously along one of the beams ahead. It is as if the mainmasts of many great ships had been turned into bowsprits, and then trained across and about other mainmasts left in their regular station of life. The rolling sea is under you — green, treacherous, and hungry — which- ever way you turn ; and you hear explanations, and listen to the man who was half-drowned, with the full conviction that you have every facility for following his example. UNDER THE SEA. 201 The moving granite wall was a huge block of concrete being shifted into its place by machinery before it was lowered into the sea ; while the long serpents of brown leather, which look like a con- tribution from the London Fire Brigade, and around which there is such a ceaseless bubbling on the surface of the water — these serpents carry down air by aid of yonder steam-engine to the divers at work below. Now and again voices come up out of the deep. The sonorous clapper of a musical bell strikes several times, as if some local clock were impatient of the hour ; a chain rattles, or a cable - line is pulled. The workmen on the spars and movable platforms understand it all, and move the hidden diving-bell "to France," — namely, towards the end of the pier nearest that country, — or "to Dover," or "to Folkestone;" that is, in the direction of each, as the signalling- bell decrees. Sometimes the needs felt below are too elaborate for mere signalling — as when the line was seen to vibrate vigorously, and a shut-up slate with a written message on it was received ; but for ordinary purposes the bell has sufficed ever since it was substituted for the cyclopean knocks against the sides of the diving-apparatus, which were the only means of communication years ago. These tappings had to be given up simply because the plant suffered enormously by 202 UNDER THE SEA. reason of tlie clivers' vigour. When those under water could only talk to their fellows above by means of knocks, they hammered the diving-bells out of shape in an inconceivably short time. The iron walls bulged out, and their rivets threatened to give way, when the present system of clapper and rope was introduced. It was a sudden call from one of these ropes which so nearly made the man we have mentioned food for fishes. He is of middle age, and an ex- pert worker below sea. Latterly, however, he has been employed above, and was standing, as he said, '' with one foot round this 'ere line, and on the edge of this beam, my face to Shakespeare Cliff, and my back to the water. I'd got hold of the line with one hand, too, to steady myself, and my other leg and foot were loose like at the top of the beam. They gave a jerk from below which twisted my leg, pulled me out of the balance, and down I went, though I tried hard to catch the beam with my other hand." The drop was as if from the roof of a good-sized house ; but the speaker, following the law which impels man when falling to clutch fast by whatever he may have . in hand, never really let go the thin line, and was picked up with it in his grasp. Mr. Bispham, the resident superintendent for the con- tractors, Messrs. Lee and Sons, promptly adminis- UNDEE THE SEA. 203 tered brandy; and the man ate his dinner, told and acted his simple narrative with his mouth full, and resumed his work all within the hour. We regard the old boatman (who, as he leans over the bulwarks of his craft, is removing a very small fish from his line, and baiting afresh) with re- newed interest on hearing how quickly he saved the speaker's life ; and it seemed as if he were quietly conscious of the increased importance with which this eventful break in the monotony of watching and carrying had invested him. Mr. J. K. M'Clean resigned the position of consulting engineer for the Crown for the Dover Admiralty Pier upon entering Parliament; and Mr. Druce, the resident engineer, whom recent official changes have transferred from the service of the Admiiralty to that of the Board of Trade, is now the professional authority having full juris- diction and responsibility; and it is an inspector who works for the Crown under this gentleman who is our companion and guide below. This is the morning after our examination of the works above. We have seen the huge blocks of concrete, composed of shingle and cement, and hard as the granite, to which they bear no small resemblance, lowered down at intervals by means of ''lewises" and ''jennies;" have marked their slow descent into the water, and seen the sea 204 UNDER THE SEA. playfully ripple over them as tliey parted with the upper world for ever; have marked the shingle and Kentish rag heing tilted wholesale into the waters above what will be the centre of the fu- ture pier, and have learnt that its completion to low-water mark may be looked for before many months. The first contract for the Dover Pier was 800 feet, was entered into between the Government of the day and Messrs. Lee in 1847, and was finished in nine years. When in 1856 Parlia- ment decided to have it lengthened, a second contract was concluded for 1000 feet more of pier; and this was follovv^ed in 1867 by a third contract for a further addition of 300 feet, which is to complete the undertaking. What are prac- tically two huge walls of concrete, one thirty feet and the other twenty-four feet wide, and with a space between them of seven feet, into which a foundation of small stones and rubble is being poured, constitute the submarine works. The morning is bright, and the sea without a ripple, when the writer emerges from the con- tractor's offices transformed, and, accompanied by Mr. Joseph Slee, the inspector already named, disappears from the world. There is great simi- larity in the personal preparations imperative on those who descend below the level of either earth UNDEE THE SEA. 205 or water. Whether it is the coal-mines of Eng- land or Wales, the sewers of the City of London, or, as it turns out, the bottom of the English Channel, which you are about to explore, you must pull huge woollen stockings over your trousers, add a pair of thick overalls to these, divest yourself of upper garments, don something scrubby and ticklish, which is half jacket and half shirt, and does duty for both ; put on massive boots with soles and sides and tops as of cast-iron, and crown yourself with a cap or hat which looks like a dish- cover in oil-skin. Thus equipped you are ready to meet your fate. The helmet -dress, such as has frightened us all at the Polytechnic, is rarely used for practical work. It is a substitute for the diving-bell, not an accessory to it, and with its leaden and other fittings weighs some two or three hundredweight. It is only for some tem- porary purpose, however, — such as to ascertain quickly the condition of particular work, — that it is brought into play; and the ordinary descents are made in the dress described. A walk down the pier with what must look like a rowdy swagger, but is in reality a painful effort to master the unparalleled stiffness and hardness of the long boots, and we are in the centre of a group of hardy mermen attired as we have said, and waiting to go down. Some rusty 206 UNDEE THE SEA. iron vessels, like huge flat-sided weights, are sus- pended from the scaffolding, and hang over the sea ; the old boatman sits in readiness, watchful and patient, exactly as if he had not moved since the night before ; the workmen on the beams above lower one of the brown weights towards the water's suiface; and, obeying a signal, vre proceed to clamber into the boat. There is no denying that it is nervous work. It is impossible to say how the diving-bell may affect you. Your friends have, we will say, w^arned you pleasantly that you will bleed at the ^ars, nose, and mouth; that men have been known to become deaf for life after just such a trip as you are about to take ; and that you may consider yourself fortunate if a temporary loss of hearing, and a chronic singing in the head, are the only penalties you pay. The sea never looked more beautiful, nor, as it seemed, less inviting than on the morning of our trip ; and when you are told *'to come down by the chain," and the phrase means scrambling in the hard thick boots down a perpendicular wall covered with horrid slimy stuff like green hair ; and when your foot has to find resting-places, which though roomy are scarcely convenient, among the rough blocks of stone, the preliminaries are not reassuring. All goes well, however. You learn that the regular divers are UNDEE THE SEA. 207 nearly all deaf, and that tlie sliouting you have noted between them is a necessity. You will not suffer, however ; for you will, under advice, " keep bawling" directly the ear-tingling begins. A dexterous pull by the boatmen in and through the scaffolding, and we approach and are brought under the monster weight. It is hollow, and is, in fact, the diving-bell. Warned to keep a sharp look-out, and remembering the crushed boatman's death, you follow your guide's example, and while under the bell, seize first a central board and next an iron handle, and are soon seated inside it. Glancing upwards and around, you find yourself in a small apartment some six feet across and five feet high, with iron sides and roof, but without a floor, and which has hammers and other implements hanging in it, and stowed away conveniently in a sort of shelf. You feel like Gulliver when his house was car- ried off by the Brobdinagian bird. Above you are half-a-dozen bull's-eyes of glass, through which the bright sun shines, and makes your dungeon light. Your guide seats himself on one side of the bell, and after you have followed his example on the other he gives the signal, and the flooring of green sea at your feet comes up to meet you, to the cranking of machinery, and to a rumbling as of rusty nails being ground in a coffee-mill over 208 UNDER THE SEA. your head. The seats are movable, and are taken out when the men are at work. Dropping very gently and gradually down, the four sides of the bell meeting the water at exactly the same time, you ask nervously as to the arrangements for air and as to signalling up again. A self-acting valve in the centre of the roof is shown, and you are asked if you remember the steam-engine you saw pumping air down yesterday. One of the ser- pents of the Fire Brigade is, you learn, keeping up a constant supply of fresh air for you ; and the handle above your guide's head is for signal- ling to those above. Having privately ascertained before you came down that three pulls repeated twice will cause the bell to be brought to the sur- face at once, you calculate your chance of giving these upon emergency, and without your guar- dian's consent, should you be seized with a sud- den qualm. A gurgling sound overhead, and the sea is rippling over you, and you are veritably under water. The sun still shines through the frothy bubbles you discern through the thick rough glass ; and you learn that these are lenses of great power, and how a diver's garments have been known to burst into a positive flame through the tiny win- dows acting as burning-glasses even while under the water. Down and down, through the green UNDER THE SEA. 209 liquid at your feet, and the dreaded buzzing takes possession of your ears. Shouting questions out in obedience to instructions and at the top of your voice, you are conscious of several small reports, as if some children's balls had been secreted in your head and had suddenly burst. Then there is more singing, accompanied by hissing, as if an effervescing mixture were being stirred up in each ear and was in frisky condition ; then some sharp, darting pains, as if the corkscrews which have by this time supplanted the bubbling liquid as tenants-at-will had developed the properties of lancets, and were shooting out to meet each other, as if in a mimic bayonet - charge through your head ; then a plugging feeling as if you were being tightly corked up ; then some more reports, and you are better. Take it on the whole the trial has not been so severe as you expected, and you are prepared to listen to explanations by the time the bottom is reached. Out of and through the bright but thick green liquid a particularly smooth and well-laid pavement comes up to meet you. On this the bell settles, and some pulls are given to those working the machinery above to lower us no longer. The water is speedily forced out by the air, and the pavement is almost dry. We leave our seats and stand on it (it forms a flooring to P 210 rxDER THE SEA. the bell), test tlie accuracy with which it is laid with a spirit-level belonging to the bell, and find it all true. We are on a portion of the outer part of the pier, and Inspector Slee takes down a massive chain and some hooks, and shows how, when this is attached to the lewises supporting a concrete block, that block and bell and divers are all moved together bodily from above. The atmosphere is astonishingly bright and clear. Our companion appears to become swar- thier, and his voice is not so distinct as usual, by reason of the buzzing, but the smallest print could have been read at any time without diffi- culty. This is due to the extreme smoothness of the sea. Let it be ruffled ever so little on the surface, and the work below has to be per- formed by candle-light. The divers have fre- quently to burn candles all the time they are down ; and w^hen the diving-bells are pulled up, the light shining from their interior and through the lenses in their roofs make them look huge monsters, with fiery eyes, emerging from the deep. More signals, and we are conveyed along the en- tire length of the pier below water — are conveyed, that is, by its outer wall, and note its mingled strength and symmetry. We are now five-and-twenty feet from the sur- face ; but the work is as smooth and even as that UNDER THE SEA. 211 of the Thames Embankment, and we see on each block of concrete its number and the date of its make. This is necessary; for these masses of artificial granite, many of them weighing ten tons each, are moulded with mathematical nicety and according to a fixed plan. Each fits into the other like the bits in a Chinese puzzle ; and the result is that, though when viewed one by one above they look perfect cubes or squares, they form collectively a curved wall such as is essen- tial for a breakwater in this tide. Each monster piece being fitted to its fellow, is put gently into its place, and it there remains. No cement is possible here, but the foundations of the mighty pier look as if they had been turned out of a mould, so regular are they and so strong. More signalling, and we move " to Dover" and " to France," as well as over the centre of the pier where the shingle lies quiet and still. Further on, and at a far greater depth, are the excava- tions for the further continuance of the pier, where three feet of mud and decomposed veget- able matter are being removed before the chalk bottom is reached. We next hear of the extra wages paid the divers, of their being able to make 21. 10s. a week in fine weather, and of their being compelled to suspend work altogether in bad ; of their steadi- 212 UNDER THE SEA. ness and industry ; of their worldng ordinarily in turns of five hours each, and of a sixth hour being found an almost unendurable hardship, although they are paid by time; and then, having learnt the use of the various implements for stone-fixing, and that the whole of the works are carried on by means of five such diving-bells as we are in, we are told we have seen all, and the signal is given for the ascent. We have been down three- quarters of an hour, and are brought up gently, and alight into the boat as it comes under, with ears which, though hissing a little, have almost recovered themselves, and so are pulled round to some steps, which we ascend, to the astonishment and delight of the steward and crew of an Ostend steamer lying alongside. There are no submarine works like those of Dover, nothing of the same kind being carried on in the same way at the same depth. Those who only know them as the text of financial de- bates in Parliament, and as costing some 25,000?. a-3'ear, or who have noticed without regarding the water-scaffolding on crossing the Channel, or whose impressions of a diving-bell are derived chiefly from a philosophical toy, would be amazed at the economy, discipline, and exactitude per- ceptible under the sea. When the sections of the submarine wall or pier advance to the sur- UNDER THE SEA. 213 face — that is, after they have been built up forty feet from their foundations — they are rarely three- quarters of an inch out; and this fact, taken in conjunction with their grand solidity and smooth beauty, make them the symbols of scientific might and skill, contending successfully with Nature in her most difi&cult aspects and through her sternest moods. TOLD BY A TRAMP. This is a letter from one of tlie '' respectable men" who slept in the Lambeth labour-shed on the same night as the "Amateur Casual." I dis- covered him by the simple prpcess of advertising in the second column of the Times. We have subsequently had frequent communications with each other, and I spent a very agreeable day with my oddly -found friend not long ago. In reply to my request that he would put on paper some of the experiences he told me, he wrote as follows : Soon after my decline into vagabondage last summer, I went into Essex; but I will just relate how the journey came to be contemplated. I had been lounging about the Parks for two days, and, as I had not commenced begging then, I was ex- tremely hungry. In the morning, after sleeping on the benches in the Mall, another seedy-looldng tramp, who had slept beside me during the night, commenced a conversation on appearances gener- ally, remarking that he would not have been TOLD BY A TEAMP. 215 there, only lie couldn't get into a workhouse last night. Then he enumerated a few good workhouses, mentioning Mount - street as espe- cially worthy of patronage ; he told me, also, that the food was pretty good. I thought that I would go that evening and see whether I couldn't get in. I had a faint notion that Mount- street was near to Hyde Park ; and after leaning on the rail- ings in Kotten Eow, watching the " rank and fashion" for some time, I lounged into South Audley-street, and at the corner of a street saw a man with a white smock on, of whom I in- quired where Mount - street was ? He told me, and, just as I was leaving, said, with a sharp movement of his finger, "Want the big house?" I said that the workhouse was what I wanted. '^ Ah, well," he said, "just you look here, I wouldn't go there. It's a dirty, starving shop," I wished to know where else I must go, seeing that I was entirely without funds. He asked me if I was hungry; and on my replying in the affirm- ative, took me into the Albemarle Arms near, and pulled some bread and meat out of an oven in the taproom ; he also fetched a pint of beer, and while I was eating told me a little about himself. He was a farrier, but knew a better dodge than hard work. He was always about Grrosvenor and Berkeley squares, and held horses, opened cabs, 216 TOLD BY A TRAMP. and did a little cadging wlien the opportunity presented itself. Tlie meat I was eating then, had been got from a servant down the street, and was the remains of yesterday's dinner. He said that if I w^as guided by him I could do a better thing than going to workhouses. I was curious to know what the " better thing" was. All the " pins," as he termed them, would be full of gentlemen's servants about nine o'clock that night, and if I told a good tale I could get plenty of cash. This I couldn't do, I said. Well, I might hold cab-horses, and be sure of a penny. I did hold a few cab -horses; but he was close by, and got the pennies, which he never failed to expend at the nearest publichouse. At about eight o'clock I proposed that he should see what food he could get from the servant-girls he had boasted about as being his friends. The first house we went to in Hill-street made him lose heart. A liveried footman came up the area steps, and in reply to his touch of the hat said, "Didn't I tell you before, that the confectioner's man always came round for the broken meats at six o'clock?" He wouldn't go to any other house; and as I could see he was fast getting drunk, and seeing no possibility of the " better thing" yet, I left him at nine o'clock, and went towards the workhouse. TOLD BY A TRAMP. 217 They had two spare bunks at Mount-street ; and the porter at the door asked me why such a chap as I wanted lodging ? I was tidily dressed, and what on earth could I w^ant there ? A pauper took me up to the casual ward, and on the way said, '' We allers keeps a bed or two empty, a- chance the bobbies brings a cove in. We've turned some away to-night, and you're devilish lucky to be taken in." In the morning, while in the oakum-shed, dis- cussions arose as to the best counties for begging, and the merits of workhouses generally. One man, whose appearance I shall not soon forget, dressed in tattered garments, with a jolly round face, was the great umpire on everything. He had been tramping twenty years, he modestly said, and had just come in from a journey by Oxford into South Wales, and gave rapturous accounts of the workhouses there. As he was ill clad, he wanted to know what workhouse in London was good for a tear-up ? He said he knew them all; but rules and regulations, per- haps, had altered since last he visited them. This question gave rise to a long argument, some speakers expressing themselves in favour of one, some of another workhouse. He said, " I don't care so much about the month I'll get, if they only give me tidy togs." One man said he 218 TOLD EY A TRAMP. was going to Komford as soon as lie got out, and that as much skilly as you liked was given you there. I consented to go with him, as he wanted a companion, and we got to Romford about five o'clock in the afternoon. He was a quiet sort of man, and spoke very little, and did not beg on the road. On the left-hand side, going into the town, stands the reiieving-of&cer's house; a young man came out and gave us two tickets, scratched with a pen. We turned sharply round and up a narrow lane, and at the top sat down for a fev\' minutes. A young Vv^oman came past, from work I should think, and my companion asked her what she had got in the basket she was carrying ? She had some bread and cheese, the remains of her dinner, and gave it us willingly. The man at the gate would not admit us until six o'clock, and we lay down on the grass by the roadside, in company with several more. A man named Scottie had a dirty - looking woman with him, who was evidently used to such society. Another man, named Dick, of whom I shall have more to say, appeared to be the general friend of these two. The man who took our names at Eomford workhouse was an ignorant fellow, and a very slow writer, and some of the casuals gave him extra trouble. I thought I might as well try my hand, and gave him Owen Evans as my name. TOLD BY A TRAMP. 219 taking care to pronounce it ''Howing Heavens." This produced endless bother, and was only capped by the name of the town I came from, which was Llanfairfeckan. He gave this latter word up, and put Barking instead. The casual ward has no bunks, but has a raised board with mattresses, blankets, and coun- terpanes, dirty enough. It is a very small place, and might hold seven or eight ; but they managed to cram double that number in it this night. The man who takes care of this place is an old pauper, who has been at sea all his life. He had some soup and meat to sell at a penny a plateful ; but I must confess the humiliating fact, that the whole of the occupants of the ward could not produce that sum, and old Daddy — they are all called Dad- dies — said, " Well, I nivver seed anything like it ! Why, last summer there allers used to be a penny or two in the place ; but now ! why I can't get a farthing to scratch my nose with." One gentle- man said that unfortunately he had left his money on the pianer in the droring-room ; another said that he paid the whole of his money away for hin- com-tax ; while Dick said that the last time he was in quod he gave his tin to the governor for the Lancashire Distress Fund. All this " chaff" produced much laughter ; and everybody went to sleep in the best humour. I should have been a 220 TOLD BY A TRAMP. little easier if I had been less crowded. In the morning you turn a crank from seven to eight, and then have breakfast, which is the thinnest of all thin skilly I ever savv^ Two pailfuls were brought up among about fifteen or sixteen men, and all swallowed. One man had six or seven pints of it, and I hope he enjoyed it. I took a good share of it myself. After breakfast we did another hour at the crank, and w^ere then free. I had previously been talking Avith the Dick I have mentioned, and he said he was going to Bil- lericay that night, and to Chelmsford after, with Scottie and the woman ; and as he appeared to like me, I said I would go with them. The man I had come with from London was going to Edmonton, he said, and so I left him. Scottie and the woman were going towards Yarmouth, where he had some relations ; but this plan was frustrated, as will be seen. We trudged merrily away ; Dick the while giving me lots of anecdotes of his life. He had originally been a bricldayer's labourer; but having robbed a man of his watch, he got nine months for it, and had been ever since alternately thieving, cadging, and in prison. He was, even with this degrading character, a kind sort of fellow, full of joke, but couldn't help stealing anything that came in his way. In the afternoon we got to a place named TOLD BY A TRAMP. 221 Orsett, at wliich place was a workhouse. It was about two o'clock when we got there, and a police- man, who had been enjoying a noonday nap in a stable, came to us with a very sleepy air, and re- fused to allow us to stay, giving as a reason that we had plenty of time to get on to Billericay, which was nine miles further. We represented ourselves as footsore, and told many other lies of the same kind ; but the policeman knew better, and bade us go on. Did you ever see three real tramps going along a road ? If you have, you will have observed that peculiar walk they have, head hung down, and treading as if the road were paved with needles. All tramps walk so. I never saw one who had been any time in the tramping line walk otherwise. This very afternoon I was pain- fully conscious of my three companions' vagabond gait and air. People stood and watched us until we were out of sight, and children ran away fright- ened. Very little talk went on until we had been walking some time, when we all sat down on the trunk of a tree by the roadside, and Scottie then blamed Dick for being in a hurry to get into Orsett, and thus making us do this journey. Scottie grew quite sarcastic ; but Dick took little notice, and was engaged throwing stones at a lot of geese about thirty yards down the road. We got into Billericay at five o'clock, and went 222 TOLD BY A TEAMP. to a policeman for a ticket. This policeman was a long man and a great bully, and made divers grand efforts to impress us with a sense of his importance; he took our names, height, colour of hair, eyes, &c. ; and gave us a ticket with as magnificent an air as if he was conferring upon us a pension. Billericay workhouse is a fine build- ing, with an imposing gateway. An old porter took our tickets, and having made a memorandum of them, conducted us to the casual ward, which was a small place, and smelt horribly. Some straw on a raised board was the bed, and the covering was a counterpane that might have been white once, but from long service it had grown gray or nearly black. Eight opposite the bed, hung against the wall, was a figure of wood. This figure was clothed in carpet, and had the wrong or white side on one arm, one leg, and half the body, and the red or right side on the corresponding parts. It had a notice under it, that any person tearing up clothes in Billericay workhouse would be provided with a suit of the above description, and after- wards taken before a magistrate. The appearance of a person dressed in this way must be highly ludicrous ; and I was given to understand by a pauper in the house that it had the desired effect, and that the guardians were rarely troubled by a '' tear-up." The figure against the wall was as TOLD BY A TEAMP. 223 large as a man, and I remember being rather startled when I awoke in the morning by its appearance. All kinds of names were written on the whitewashed walls ; among them a piece of poetry, which began, And what do you think is Billericay law ? Why, lying till eleven in the dirty straw. I forget the rest of it, but remember that it con- tained about a dozen lines, and that towards the latter end it was very abusive of the master of the workhouse. It was signed "Bow-street." Scottie assured me that this gentleman's effusions were to be seen in most workhouses in the country, and that he had the honour of the great poet's personal acquaintance. True to the rhyme of " Bow- street," we were kept until eleven, and, what is sur- prising, had nothing to do but lie in bed. A piece of bread at night and a similar piece in the morn- ing was all the food we got. From the time I left London to when I re- turned, I never begged ; but Scottie and the wo- man did. Dick did very little begging either. He told me he didn't come exactly to cadge, but to steal. We went on very poorly in the way of eating, and except what we got from Scottie and the workhouses, had but little indeed until after we left Chelmsford. We went along very fast on this morning, which was Sunday, until we came to 224 TOLD BY A TRAMP. a brook, wliere we all washed, and wiped our faces as best we could with the inside lining of our coats ; Scottie with the girl's dress. We got near Chelms- ford in the afternoon, when the three - o'clock church bells were ringing. Profiting by the Orsett experience, we stayed a little distance outside it till a more advanced hour. It was at a sharp turn in the road, opposite a stile that led into the town, that we lay down and rolled about for full two hours. Two gentlemen came past, and offered us tracts, repeating a pious sentence that I have heard before and since. We took them. Scottie in- quired if the gentleman had any loose cash to spare. No ; but plenty of tracts. At about five o'clock we went down into the town, and made towards the police-station, and got a ticket. The tickets told us that we were vagrants, and would have to do four hours' work for the food and lodg- ings given us ; but it was not done. In going towards the workhouse, right through the town, we of course, on Sunday - night, met numerous crowds of well-dressed people, and I have a painful recollection of my humiliation. The people stared hard at us, and I felt it keenly to think I had come to this. This shame got obliterated in a few months, and I could walk in a ragged state through any street with the greatest composure. The man at the porter's lodge came out re- TOLD BY A TRAMP. 225 markably sharp, like a jack-in-the-box, and made a sharp snap at every word we said. When he had taken our names, he shouted to some one else further up the walk; and presently a gentleman was seen standing at the door in the main build- ing, smiling, and apparently on good terms with himself and everybody else. We went up to him, and he took our names and descriptions. I told him I was a compositor. '' 0, indeed ! and where have you worked last ?" ''In the Standard of&ce," I said, because it came soonest to my lips. "And pray, what made you tramp about like this ?" This being sharp questioning, I floundered a little, and have but a faint idea what answer I gave. He took it kindly, though, and gave me some private details how a brother of his was in the same trade, and even complimented me by say- ing, "I was sure, soon as ever I saw you, that you was above the ordinary run of chaps wot come here." He gave us some bread, and called out to a boy (a pauper lad), "Here, Jim, take this gentleman to the ward set apart for — for — now, then, you know — and don't stand gaping there." Jim went along at a slow march, with his chin glancing heavenward, towards the casual ward, which is a moderate-sized place, and similar to Billericay in its bedding. We were awakened at seven in the morning, 226 TOLD BY A TEAMP. when we expected to have to do our four hours' work; but my good-tempered friend let us off, and, giving us each a piece of bread, bade us good-morning. Scottie and the woman accom- panied us as far as the bottom of the road, and then we parted. I may as well mention, that in about a week after this I saw this girl at one of the workhouse-gates in London, disfigured with a black eye, and that she told me that soon after they had left Chelmsford, Scottie ill-treated her shamefully, and created such a disturbance as to get into prison. He was at that time " doing" a month in the jail at Chelmsford. I never saw Scottie afterwards. Dick and I walked on, that Monday morning, until about eleven o'clock, at a pretty good pace. We then stole some potatoes from a field, and, having kindled a fire with some wood by the roadside, roasted or baked them, and Dick begged some salt. After that, we walked on until about two o'clock, when a fellow coming on behind us got into conversation with us. This man was very young and very simple, and had been doing some labouring work a few miles distant, and was on his way to London. He said he would like to accompany us, as we were going that way. We told him that, not having had much to eat that day, we would be glad if he would pay for a little. He said he TOLD BY A TRAMP. 227 had three shillings in his pocket, and didn't mind standing bread and cheese. At the first inn the man got us the food, and Dick, having called me outside, suggested that we should "nail" the cash. The young man had a small bundle, in which were a shirt and other old rags, and Dick told him confidentially that it would be safer if he tied his money in a corner of this bundle. The young man acquies- cing, gave the remainder of it, two shillings and fourpence, to Dick to wrap up. Dick tied the fourpence in a knot of one corner of the handker- chief, and kept the two shillings. Having done so, he placed the bundle on the table, saying, ^' Noiu it's safe." The man, feeling tired, put the bundle under his head as a pillow, and said he would " do a snooze." In a few minutes Dick gave me the signal, and we speedily put half-a- dozen miles between us and the man we had robbed. I often think about this incident, and what rascals we were. Dick, during the time we walked along the road, told me many incidents of his life. He had been in nearly every jail around and in Lon- don, and could tell-off on his fingers the pudding and meat days. He was deeply in love with a certain lady in Flowery Dean-street, and of this damsel he was never tired of talking. I asked 228 TOLD BY A TRAMP. him, in consideration of Ms glowing accounts of a thieving life, would he take me as a pupil. He said, '' Now, look here ; yer a youngster, and don't know nothin'. You would be a continual trouble to me if I took you ; besides, suppose you got nabbed, wouldn't yer in your cell curse me for ever leading you on? I know you would. The first time as ever I robbed a cove, which was at Kingston (I come from near there), was of a pinchbeck watch and six bob, and the fellow that led me to do it I have allers cursed, and allers shall. You may think, by hearing me talk, that thieving is a easy game, but it ain't. I wish I knew how to get out of it easy." By dint of hard walking, we arrived at Ilford about five o'clock in the evening. This was a little over twenty miles, I understood, and we were both very tired. Under the very walls of Ilford jail we sat doAvn to rest, and Dick called back to memory how he had come out of that jail from "doing" nine months, and made many af- fecting observations on old times, and the lenient way in which the " screws" treated him. We got to Stratford about eight o'clock, and I was nearly exhausted and very footsore. Dick knew a cer- tain lodging-house in a bye-street, and thither we repaired. A woman came out, and called us " Sir" at every other word, and said she was glad to see TOLD BY A TRAEIP. 229 Dick. After a few moments' talk, slie called a man, who led us upstairs into a small room, con- taining one bed and a single cliair. We had two- pence when we got up, and with this we bought a small loaf, and made quickly into town. In passing through Whitechapel, Dick had to go to a street leading out of Petticoat-lane, and I never saw him afterwards. THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. More than a generation back " The Exquisite," running between Bristol and Exeter, was famous among coaches. Its team, its appointments, its pace, its regularity, the celebrity of its driver, and the general character of dash and "go" pervading it, combined to exalt its reputation, until not to have occupied the box-seat by the side of Harry Ward, was to confess yourself behindhand in the pleasant mysteries of whip and road. Washington Irving' s dictum, that '' a stage-coach carries ani- mation always with it, and puts the world in motion as it rolls along," applied with peculiar force to " The Exquisite;" for the immense popu- larity of its coachman and the number of plea- sure journeys taken on it purely for the sake of his society, and for the enjoyment to be derived from watching his masterly management of the reins, made it the liveliest as well as the most rapid of coaches. It is not surprising, therefore, that the memory of this *' Exquisite" is revered THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 231 by modern coaching-men, for it represented in the fullest sense the ideal of perfection which they, as revivalists, wish to keep in view. Mr. Hoare, the proprietor and driver of the coach now running from London to Tunbridge Wells and back on every week-day, has given this feeling practical expression, and by naming his vehicle '' The Exquisite," challenges comparison with the glories of past coaching. The new Ex- quisite is made as like the Bristol-and-Exeter one as is well possible. It is an uncompromising stage-coach, with the names of the places it runs to and through in great gilt letters on its boot and sides ; and its guard, its build, its harness, and its accompaniments are all on the old model. It would be impossible to mistake it for a private drag, and in this particular it differs considerably from the Brighton coach, which is also owned by private gentlemen. The latter has no writing on it, and might pass for one of the ordinary vehicles driven by a member of the Four-in-Hand Club. The proprietor of the Tunbridge- Wells coach considers this a defect, and prides himself on the minute accuracy with which he has repro- duced the best of the old-fashioned stage-coaches. The mechanical arrangement whereby the action of the skid is aided, and an effective drag put upon all four wheels by working an iron handle 232 THE TUNBKIDGE-WELLS COACH. from the box, is pointed out, almost apologetically, as a concession to modern ideas ; but it is the only particular in which change has been allowed, and the improvement scarcely mars the effect of the resuscitation. Although having in its leading features a general resemblance to the Brighton venture, Mr. Hoare's speculation yet differs from it in so many important characteristics as to be practi- cally unique. He stands alone, has no partner, and but one paid "whip" to assist him. The strain seems tremendous ; and if it were not that the proprietor of the new Exquisite has had some years' experience of this kind of public enterprise, we should be disposed to say it could not last. To drive eighty miles a-day for six days in the week — to be absorbed, that is, in a kind of skilled labour which demands great strength, considerable patience, and unswerving attention from ten. in the morning till six at night ; to be out in all weathers ; to have an unfailing stock of civility and briskness ever on hand ; to be well up in the way-bill — in other words, to be able to answer questions as to the numbers carried since the commencement of the season on the 1st of May, and of the numbers carried during any week, as compared with its predecessor ; to be in all essen- tials as completely the servant of the public whose THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 233 cooperation he asks for, as if lie were paid by a weekly wage — this it is to be a young man of for- tune and family with a passion for driving four- in-hand. We say nothing about the cost of the hobby, or of the discrepancy between disburse- ment and receipt, when coach and cattle are of the very best, and when the fare of the former is but seven shillings and sixpence a-head from Lon- don to Tunbridge. The point of interest to the public is, that it is permitted to share in the ad- vantages arising from an outlay which must be considerable ; and that neither favour nor intro- duction is needed to enable them, in return for the modest sum we have quoted, to pass through some of the most beautiful scenery in England under the most favourable circumstances in the world. The White-Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, is the me- tropolitan starting-place of the Tunbridge coach. Our experience on a certain day was, that the nu- cleus of a crowd began to assemble about it at a few minutes before ten a.m., watched the prepa- rations with intense interest, and smiled and ap- plauded the passengers taking their seats much as if these latter were discharging some noble act of public duty. The cabman, with a grievance real or fancied, against one of the passengers, and who remained sulky and dissatisfied until the 234 THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. whip was cracked, and tlie leaders, after a prelimi- nary frisk or two, broke into a steady trot, when he too burst into a genial smile ; the distin- guished-looking man who had come down hoping for a front seat, but who, finding all five engaged, promptly remembered an important business en- gagement, and supplemented his excuses by pre- senting his more fortunate friends with baskets of strawberries from the great fruit-and-flower shop hard by ; the old gentlemen at breakfast in club-chambers, who looked up from their news- papers, clean, but cross at being disturbed by the spirit-stirring bugle-call of the guard, — were all people whose valedictory congratulations were marked and real. It is such a palpable holiday, this coach-trip, that every one is pitied who is left behind. Those of the public who are driving go slowly as the coach comes near, those on the pavement stop to mark the action of the bounding team. The four magnificent chestnuts rattle along bravely; thread through crowded Whitehall, turn round by Par- liament-street, and over Westminster-bridge at a splendid pace, and are guided as much by voice as by hand. There is some skilled driving in the Westminster-road, which reminds one a little of poor Baron Nathan and his dance among the eggs at Eosherville. An omnibus or two, a few cabs, a THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 235 selection of costermongers' barrows, a railway van, and many tradesmen's carts, are jumbled together intricately; and the coach glides in and out as easily as if it and its team were a many-jointed serpent, though the road has been macadamised the day before, and two of the vehicles sprawled on it are without guidance, through their masters having betaken themselves to the public-house. New-cross, and the road lined with well-built ter- races which leads to Lewisham, both express wel- come in hand-waving from windows, and by long and sympathetic looks. The experience recorded occurred on a Monday in 1869, which was quoted afterwards as the first very hot day of the year. Under the low rail- way-bridge at Lewisham, over which engines and trains seem always passing, and which is so ex- posed as to be a permanent cause of disturbance to horses in the road below; past the running stream in which vehicles are being washed, and steeds and cattle wading to their middles ; when the guard suddenly becomes more merrily ener- getic with the horn than ever. The reason is not far to seek. A gentleman and lady, a servant, and a noble dog, stand at the bottom of an avenue hard by. A moment's delay, and the steps are down, and the lady and gentleman seated on the coach. Another moment, and the dog has given 236 THE TUNBPJDGE- WELLS COACH. up the basket he held in his mouth, and the ser- vant the plaid and dust-coat he carried ; and we are off again. " Long, lazy, lingering Lewisham" looks in a transition state. The complete rusticity of its early days has fled for ever; but it has not yet given it"self thoroughly up to suburban conven- tionality. The four chestnuts bound along its main thoroughfare grandly, and never flag or give a moment's trouble until pulled up, and horses are changed. This is at a tavern to the left ; and children with a bouquet for our popular amateur coachman, helpers all alive and wreathed in smiles, a village quidnunc or two, and a flock of migra- tory geese, are assembled to watch the taking of the coach's photograph. The operator is all ready on the patch of waste green to the right of the road, and passengers pose themselves and look amiable. Attempts are made to coax the fresh four horses into momentary quietness, the artist puts his head in a bag, after which, and a second's pause, he vouchsafes the words " All right," and we bound along the country again, hoping that the impressions to be printed by our return will prove complimentary. Bromley, with its quaint old red-brick Bishop's College, its snug but sleepy little streets, its country-town look, its ancient mansions, its traditions of treasonable plots and THE TUNBEIDGE-WELLS COACH. 237 counterplots, is gained almost as soon as tlie remote confines of Lewisliam are left. We pull up for a moment at the White Hart, just newly painted, it is said in honour of the coach, to admire the delicious peep of gaily-co- loured garden to be seen through its hall-door, and hold cheery converse with some gentlemen farmers and their wives, who have so timed their drive as to be halting here as we pass. Then on again with the old musical clatter of the ever- active hoofs on the hard dry road, down the steep hill, merrily up the road on the other side the hollow, and so past Bromley-common. The country has been rapidly increasing in beauty for the last half hour. The rich fat meadows bend and undulate before the summer wind, their long grass moving to and fro in the bright sun like water. The view expands to right and left, and mighty trees throw their leafy shadows across the road in every variety. The cones of the red- and-white chestnut, the mayflower, the sycamore spreading " in gentle pomp its honeyed shade," the oak in full leaf, and the elm stretching forth its broad arms, are all seen to advantage this glori- ous day. Myriads of insects, too, keep the air alive with their busy hum ; and the mellow sweetness of the fresh-cut grass comes pleasantly over hedge and field. Off the coach it is intensely hot ; but 238 THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. the speed at which it goes keeps up a constant breeze, which fans the faces of the passengers, and brings them sweet scents fresh from the country-side. Is it now, or further on, that we meet the picnic party, and take up the comfortable couple with the fat portmanteau ? We seem to be always taking up or putting down, or making ourselves agreeably felt in other ways, along the road. Now it is a smart barouche, waiting under the spread- ing oaks by the corner of the shady lane, which intrusts us with its fair and fashionable freight; now a couple of bicycles, which, having carried two gentlemen to the foot of a good stiff hill, prompt them, red and perspiring as they are, to telegraph playfully, but fruitlessly, for a lift ; now a knot of husbandmen, busy with barrows, who make the coach's coming a reason for a rest, while brows are wiped and sympathetic grins exchanged ; now a race for coppers between the children of the one shabby and deserted village we see. Such incidents run into each other when you are career- ing through a country at an average rate of eleven miles an hour, and when your pace, at certain parts of the road, reaches fourteen for a whole stage. Horses are changed again at Farnborough ; "Darkie," a mulatto keeper, making himself espe- THE TUNBRIDGE -WELLS COACH. 239 cially active with the harness, his white teeth gleaming in the sun as he gave back the chaff he got. A peep into the old inn here, auricular confession from the landlady that " the whole place was asleep until the coach begun to run again ;" and we dash off to the grand old tune. Now is the mystery of that basket which the re- triever gave up at Lewisham explained. Moselle and ice are handed round from it, and make, with the strawberries previously named, a cool and light refection. Such is the good-fellowship in- spired by the Exquisite, that Englishmen actually exchange civilities without being introduced, and hospitalities are rendered, and stories told, as genially as if all present belonged to the same party. The scenery grows more lovely, and the atmo- sphere is singularly clear; there is no summer haze to-day, and the vast expanse is full of colour. Far away, where the dark purple hills meet the bright sky, the line they form is as sharp and clear as if it had been cut out with a knife ; and over all the intervening ground, parks, houses, and spires, and even the shape and limit of fields, can be discerned as clearly as on a map. Every now and then, though, the road changes, and we are shut-in by lofty trees, through which glimpses of soft bright sward are gained ; and once a cro- 240 THE TUNBKIDGE-WELLS COACH. quet party, with its gay dresses and merry laugh- ter, makes a charming foreground to a gray old mansion looking soberly on. All this time there seems no limit to the enjoyment of the horses. Well selected and in capital condition, they be- come fidgety when asked to moderate their speed, as if they spurned such prosaic considerations as hilly ground or a heavy load, and they never seemed so really happy as when permitted to in- dulge in a brief gallop. They literally gambolled at times, but always within the proper bounds of discipline, and to the acceleration of pace. Another change — a roadside inn this time — at the Polehill Arms, and then to Sevenoaks be- hind a team which excels its predecessor, and causes us to run through Riverhead, and pull-up at the Crown like conquerors. Madamscourt-hill, and the other scenery on each side of Sevenoaks, astonishes every one who sees it for the first time. The first view of Italy from Mont Cenis is re- called, save that the foliage is more plentiful, and the signs of agricultural prosperity more marked. There is nothing finer in England, there are few things finer in Europe, than the views here ; and when Mr. Hoare told us that he had selected the Tunbridge-wells road for his coaching experiment solely out of love for its scenery, it was impos- sible not to commend his taste. Stretching in a THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 241 vast panorama, tlie expanse the coach-road wmcls through and commands includes every requisite for landscape beauty. There is water, there are trees, there are old mansions, there are secluded dells, there are winding-paths, and hill and dale, and quiet nooks and peaceful-looking glades, all blended into a series of harmonious pictures, over which the eye lingers with an enjoyment which never palls. Through the narrow streets of Sevenoaks, and past the queer old gabled houses still remaining to prove its antiquity, at a pace which makes their windows rattle again, and the site of Knole Park and house to the left conjures up a world of anecdote. The original Sir Joshuas, including those from which the best -known likenesses of Dr. Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith are engraved ; the quaint rooms and furniture, all speaking of a bygone and artistic period ; the pictures, each with a history attached ; the grounds, the family vicissitudes, are all chatted over ; while the mar- vellous effects of sun and shadow are observed through the brown trunks of clustered trees. The attractions of the road culminate from here to Sevenoaks, and picnic parties may take the hint. Nothing would be easier than to leave Piccadilly for one of the many charming spots we are pass- ing now, to dispose of the contents of a hamper, 242 THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. and to have an hour or two's ramble in the fields or woods, drinking-in the view, and to then drive back by the return coach in the afternoon. It needs but a little forethought as to the securing of seats to carry such a programme out, and to enjoy advantages of speed and varied scenery to an extent unattainable in any other way. Tunbridge and Tunbridge Wells are too well known for description. Mr. Hoare gives up the reins to Mr. Pawley, the host of the White Horse, and an old " whip," at the former place, and takes his seat behind ; but the pace does not flag, and we rattle round the sharp corner by the Koyal Sussex at Tunbridge Wells, amid the cheers and nods of a tolerably large assembly of fashionable idlers. Quite a collection of mail phaetons and dogcarts, carriages and flys, are drawn up under the trees and by the road ; and it is easy to see that the arrival and departure of the Exquisite is the event in many a valetudinarian's day. The coach we have come down by is put aside, and a duplicate vehicle stands in readiness for the re- turn ; for the journey is a trying one, and it is expedient to have the plant well seen to each time it is used. There were prodigious appetites at lunch. The elderly gentleman staying in the house, who was indulging in a light and classic meal of claret and biscuits, with an old edition THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 243 of Horace for his companion, seemed absolutely startled at the vigour with which the coach people applied themselves to the hot roast beef; but time was precious, and the execution done spoke vol- umes as to the effect of the open air. A rest of three-quarters of an hour, and we were on the road again ; Mr. Hoare resuming the reins at Tunbridge, and the splendid pace being a little accelerated on the level bits near Bromley and Lewisham. We took several fresh passengers back, and left and exchanged many others on the road ; the regular coach-traf&c being rather local than metropolitan. But all who had made a day of it from London agreed to repeat the experi- ment ; and it was with fervent but not altogether disinterested wishes that the fashion of inviting the English public to see the most beautiful parts of their own country from a costly coach may spread among those capable of indulging it, that hands were shaken, and farewells interchanged. OUE PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. The trade of chemist and druggist is on its way to acquire the dignity of a profession. The in- fluential society which has its headquarters in Bloomsbury - square has been steadily working toward this end ever since its incorporation by Royal Charter in 1841 ; and the " crowning of the edifice" took place when the new Pharmacy Act received the royal assent. The scientific knowledge and practical skill which our chemists and druggists must in future attain before they are allowed to make - up medicines or dispense drugs, are such as are demanded by no other trade under Heaven. By the Act which came into operation on the first of January in the year 1869 it is unlawful "for any person to sell or to keep open shop, for retailing or compounding poisons, or to assume or use the title of chemist and druggist, or chemist or druggist ... in any part of Great Britain un- less he be registered as a pharmaceutical chemist, or a chemist and druggist, and conform to such OUR PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 245 regulations as to the keeping, dispensing, and selling of poisons, as may be prescribed by the Pharmaceutical Society, with the consent of the Privy Council." To prevent hardship to those already established in the business, it was decided that where men had kept shop three years prior to the passing of the Act, the fact of their having done so should be taken as a qualification ; and that when they had acted as assistants or shop- men for the same period, they should be registered as chemists and druggists on passing a modified examination. With these exceptions, it will be unlawful for any one to compound or dispense drugs to the public who has not passed one of the two tests prescribed by the Pharmaceutical So- ciety ; the first, or minor examination, giving them the title of chemist and druggist ; the second, or major one, conferring the rank of pharmaceutical chemist, together with an exemption from serving on juries. At the establishment of the Pharmaceutical Society in Bloomsbury- square may be seen young men from all parts of Great Britain, pursuing an elaborate course of study under skilled professors. Their apprenticeship over, they will aspire to situations as shopmen, and are now at work fit- ting themselves for the necessary certificate. A museum containing specimens of drugs and die- 246 OUR PHAEMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. micals of all kinds, all of which are open to the inspection and handling of the student, is the first department seen. A spacious lecture-theatre is the next, its stage being fitted with the "pro- perties" of the last lecturer, and its black board still containing his symbols and illustrations in chalk. The lectures given here each morning are so well attended that the place is always full. Upstairs is the library, with 3000 volumes of scientific literature, and every periodical published on pharmacy and chemistry. The number of candidates presenting them- selves has increased so enormously during the current year (1869), that the council-chamber on the next floor has been added to the ordinary ex- amination-room ; both apartments being, on cer- tain days in the week, filled with young men endeavouring to prove themselves worthy of the diploma of the society. About a dozen examiners are employed ; the candidates sitting at long tables like counters, some mixing drugs, others analysing medicine, and others, again, solving crabbed pro- blems as to the efi'ect of certain ingredients under specified conditions. Those up for the minor examination, to pass which is to gain the title of chemist and druggist, are called upon to prove their capacity under the six heads of prescrip- tions, practical dispensing, pharmacy, materia OUR PHAEMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS o 247 medica, botany, and cliemistry. Tliey must sliow themselves able to read without abbreviation au- tograph prescriptions ; to translate them into English, and to render a literal as well as an appropriate translation of the directions for use. But a glance round the room during the ex- amination gives us its character very clearly. Some of the candidates appear to be playing at shop. There are two pale-faced young men mak- ing pills as if for dear life ; here is one weighing and mixing drugs, which he afterwards turns into a draught, writing the directions with great neat- ness, and informing an imaginary patient that '^ two table spoonfuls are to be taken every three hours." Others are spreading plasters, leaving the requisite amount of white margin round the yellow sea of sticky composition, and looking as if they thought the results of their handiwork were masterpieces of realistic art. A bunch of dead leaves and a handful of dry twigs and roots are produced, and their character distinguished with great rapidity. The botanical names of the plants yielding them ; the natural order to which each belongs ; the countries from which they are ob- tained ; and the medicinal preparations into which they enter, are all given to the satisfaction of the examining Board, as well as the sources of the chief animal substances used in medicine. A 248 OUR PHAEMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. general knowledge of tlie elementary structure of plants, and of their stem, root, and leaf, is looked for ; while the names and parts of the flower also must be given. It is of course held necessary that candidates should be able to recognise the several acids, oxides, salts, and other definite chemical bodies at sight ; while to describe the processes by which they are produced, the compo- sition of such as are compound, and the decom- positions that occur in their production, is essen- tial to all men who do not wish to be plucked. What does the reader think of the knowledge demanded now from everyone wishing to become a simple chemist and druggist? This, be it re- membered, is the minor ■ examination ; if the title of pharmaceutical chemist be aspired to, the can- didate must render into good Latin prescriptions written in English ; must detect errors in Latin prescriptions, and know when a dose is unusually large. All the subjects of the first examination are carried further. The qualities of drugs and the means of distinguishing the genuine from the spurious, the laws of chemical combination, the Linnean system of botany, and De Candolle's natural system, must be known ; while the means of testing poisons, and the antidotes to be given in emergencies, are fair examples of the subjects in which proficiency must be shown. OUE PHAKMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 249 It is clear that for such examinations as these special means of preparation are, if not necessary, at least highly desirahle. Some studious shop- lads may, and do, with the aid of textbooks, to- gether with apparatus purchased for the purpose, experimentalise, and solve practical problems until they are up to the required standard; but these cases are exceptional; and it is by attending at the medical schools of such places as Edinburgh, Man- chester, or Newcastle, or by spending some months in the laboratories of the society in Bloomsbury- square, that the requirements of the Pharmacy Act are most readily fulfilled. The last-named establishments are well worth a visit. To spend an hour in them during work- ing hours is to see an endless variety of experi- ments in pharmacy and practical chemistry, carried on by young men fresh from the counter, and who hope to return to it again. There are some fifty students busily employed at this time, each follow- ing an independent course of study, the scope of which is determined by his previous knowledge and future pursuits. One is analysing a mixture of food and water, and ascertaining by proved tests the nature and quantity of a poison said to be contained in it. Another has an artificial human stomach before him, and is testing its con- tents in the same way. The degrees of impurity 250 OUR PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. found in water sent up from different parts of the country ; the effect of a given poison when mixed with liquids otherwise innocuous ; the operation of acids or alkalis under certain conditions ; and kindred problems, are being patiently worked out. Each student is provided with a working bench and lock-up cupboards, together with a variety of apparatus and chemicals, as well as fuel. Dis- tillation is going on in several places at once. Long glass tubes, with big heads like swollen walking-sticks, are being tapped as if for dropsy by small vessels, and sweat their contents out charily drop by drop. Such sweet trifles as am- monia and sulphuretted hydrogen stand among the crowd of bottles with which each student is supplied, and murky fluids are being handled and mixed on all sides. Still there is no smell to speak of. There is nothing half so bad as a cook-shop on a summer's day, or an Indian pickle factory all the year round. The laboratory chambers are at the top of the house, are very lofty, and their roof- windows are so arranged as to carry off all noxious vapours a few minutes after their presence is discerned. Nor is this all. Whenever the work in hand is likely to smell offensively, glass cupboards are employed which communicate with the outer air ; and during our stay the con- tents of half a dozen "beakers" and other strange OUR PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 251 vessels like bulbous dwarfs, might be observed in a state of fierce agitation behind windows, the flavour of any one of which, if inhaled, would have made assafoetida seem a rather desirable change. Once uncovered, however, they are shut up by the student engaged on them, who watches their pro- gress over the jet of gas within, or in the process of emptying by aid of syphons, from the pure atmo- sphere of the main room. The blow-pipe is a never-ending puzzle to the uninitiated. It is being worked in several places, and with the most curious effects. One young gentleman stands at a centre table in the midst of what looks like a heap of minced syringes, and plays with the broken glass with one hand, hold- ing in the other a broken bottle, one end of which he blows into a white heat as calmly as if he were a salamander. Another is apparently making the glass bubbles into which sweetmeats are sometimes put ; while a third and fourth are rapidly convert- ing some corpulent bottles with wide mouths into tubes of genteel slimness, wherewith some scien- tific legerdemain is subsequently gone through. Everybody is busy; and the earnest, absorbed faces about one make any question as to the steadiness of the pupils and their devotion to work superfluous. Apparently of the same social grade as the medical student, they feel the ne- 252 OUK PHAEMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. cessity of making the best use of their time ; for their means are perhaps slenderer, and the period to be devoted to instruction less. Indeed, the general fault is, that they work too hard : trifling with Nature in the way she most certainly resents, and giving up the time properly due to sleep and exercise to mental labour. This of course only continues until the examination is over, when they depart to their several destinations fairly cultured men. Such are the chemists and drug- gists of the future as settled by Act of Parliament. It will gradually become impossible that accidents should occur, or poisons be vended unwittingly through the ignorance of drug-dealing shop-keepers or shopmen ; and the calling will, by degrees, rank, and properly rank, next to the learned pro- fessions in the various towns and villages in which it obtains. A collateral advantage connected with such a practical school of pharmacy and chemistry as the laboratories of the Pharmaceutical Society afford, is that the leading principles of both sciences may be acquired by any one with twenty-five guineas and ten months to spare. For this sum and in this time a fair general knowledge may be ac- quired. There are connected with this admirable school two scholarships of the value of SOL a-year each, bequeathed by the late Jacob Bell — one of OUR PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 253 the founders of the society, and whose bust, pre- sented by Mr. T. H. Hills, is a conspicuous object in the hall — and several prizes of books and medals to be competed for by students. There are also a benevolent fund, and other advantages, open to members of the Pharmaceutical Society ; the authorities of which seem to have had the twofold object of securing by law that the public shall have its medicines dispensed by educated men, and of elevating the calling they preside over by making it conscious of a powerful corporate support. THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. There is a spacious mansion close by Putney- lieatli and Wimbledon-common, which it is good to visit. Under the painful name heading this chapter, it provides a home for some of the most afflicted members of the community, and is a standing sermoii to all upon whom the fever of life presses hard, and who are discontented with their lot. Do your burdens seem too heavy for your strength ? Have you sorrows which embitter your life, and turn w^hat should be happiness into gall ? Are you mortified by the disappointments and w^earied with the crosses of the world? Do you sigh, and sigh vainly, for peace and rest, or for at least variety in your humiliation and pain ? Are you suffering from any or all of these phases of human trial ? Visit the Hospital for Incurables; and you will be forthwith carried out of yourself and your repinings by a feeling of sympathy and pity. On the other hand, are you among those w^hose lines have fallen in pleasant places, whose heaviest suffering has touched no vital part, and THE HOSPITAL FOR INCUEABLES. 255 whose creed and liabit is of that comfortable opti- mist kind which long -continued prosperity in- duces ? You also might with profit visit this Home, and ponder over the inscrutable wisdom which so apportions happiness and misery, that you are rejoicing in, or calmly tolerant of, the blessings of this life, while so many of your fel- lows know pleasure only in the cessation or mode- ration of pain. The Hospital for Incurables is one of the many institutions which owe their origin to the noble benevolence of the late Kev. Dr. Andrew Eeed. Towards the close of his useful life, it occurred to Dr. Reed that out of the innumerable medical charities with which England abounds, there was none for the reception of patients who were dis- missed from the hospitals as past cure. His efforts to supply the deficiency met with success, and in 1854 the present institution started into life. The beauty of the grounds and site first strike the visitor. Standing in a garden many acres in extent, commanding a view which has the mansions and plantations of Wimbledon -park as a foreground, and is flanked by a wide range of distant Surrey hills, the Home is exquisitely placed. Past the lodge-gate and up an avenue of ancient trees, and you are at its front door. It was a bright sunshiny afternoon at our visit, 256 THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. and the contrast between the gay verdure of the trim lawn and flower-beds and the smiling peace- ful look of the landscape beyond them, and the helplessness and racking pains we knew to be contained in the great house before us, asserted itself at once. There are many invalid-chairs in the garden space to the left, and one deformed youth is being wheeled down the gravel path by a soldier in uniform. The latter, as we learn afterwards, i§ a relative, who is employing his periodical afternoon visit in giving his afflicted kinsman a ride. Basking in the sun by the side of the house are some paralytics, one of whom is smoking, while those around him talk and chat and twist themselves laboriously into easier atti- tudes in their chairs. A word of introduction to the matron, and we are courteously conducted over the Home. The entrance-hall is a portion of an old family mansion which the parents of the present Duke of Suther- land occupied for many years, and in the morning- room beyond. Sir Walter Scott, Lockhart, and Sir Humphrey Davy have often met. It has been converted into a day-room for the female patients, and is tolerably full. In easy-chairs, on couches, engaged on fancy-work, or gazing listlessly up at the ceiling or out of window, are afflicted women of all asfes and various deeTees and kinds of sufferins". THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 257 The one thing they have in common is the impos- sibility, as far as man can see, of ever being re- stored to health. Here was a young woman with a bright eager smile and gentle expression, who was helplessly paralysed ; there, an old lady who had lost the use of her limbs, but who was em- ploying the only two fingers she had available on Berlin wool. There is no uniform dress, save that worn by the attendants, and nothing in the room or its furniture to mark it as part of a charitable in- stitution. A spacious sitting-room, into which the morning - callers of a month or so have been all aggregated, is the first impression it gives ; for the moulding and medallions on the walls, the pictures and books, and the organ given by the treasurer, Mr. Huth, all combine to give the place a cheerful habitable look. Many of the patients betray no sign of the infirmities under which they labour ; the sufferings of many others are only discovered when personal investigation succeeds the first glance round. The greatest marvel is the benign cheerfulness on nearly every face. There are no sick-room meanings, no sick-room expressions anywhere. The matron herself has one of those contagiously beaming countenances which are a blessing to their possessors, and her tone and manner are advisedly of the briskest. s 258 THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. To aYoicT showing the afflicted that you think them in pitiable case, and to seem to accept chronic pain and permanent helplessness as com- mon conditions of life, are the points to aim at when visiting and conversing here ; and it was positively startling to see how thoroughly those addressed caught this spirit in their replies. But, save for our presence, the great room is very quiet. The occupants of the sofas and re- clining chairs are in acute pain, or are perma- nently crippled, or are dulled by repeated fits, and are all without hope of ever discharging the duties or enjoying the blessings of life. To be carried down from the floor on which theii' sleep- ing-chamber is, to hobble painfully, or be wheeled to its lift ; to take up one position in the sitting- room, and to keep it all day; to know that to- morrow will bring no change, unless it be in increase of pain ; and to look to the end of life as the only solace ; — this is to be smitten deeply with incurable disease. There is a wistful look on some of the faces turned wearily to the windows, as if the buds and tender leaves of spring sent thoughts wandering ; and a general air of patient waiting over all. You do not master this at first. The cheerfulness with which your inquiries are met, and the bright interest which lights up each countenance directly THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 259 its owner is addressed, throws the visitor off his guard. Perhaps expecting something repulsive, the mere every-day snugness of the sitting-room, with its sheltered nooks and cosy coteries of neatly- attired gentlewomen, leads observation astray. For there is a something in the general aspect of the place which differs utterly from anything you have ever seen or heard of, or imagined ; it puzzles you to define it to yourself; and it is only when by what seems an incongruous association of ideas — for no two things could be more dissimilar in accessories, occupants, and surroundings — the waiting-room of a railway- station occurs to you, that the vagrant simile is caught and remains fixed in the memory. For behind all their genial cheerfulness and pa- tient gratitude these poor people know empha- tically that they are waiting for the end, and it seems as if each one were sitting there for the ex- press purpose of receiving her summons of release. We pass upstairs, and through neat, light, and pleasant chambers, in which the bedridden are living. " It's a most beautiful view from this window," said one lady, who gracefully did the honours of her room ; '' and when it's a little clearer, the Crystal Palace is easily seen ; so that when I'm tired of my lace-work, I just lean back on my pillow, and draw this curtain on one side, and look at it." Then, in reply to questions from 260 THE HOSPITAL FOR INCUEABLES. the matron, we learnt that "the patient was much easier" to-day, and that the sight of the bright sunshine and spring freshness had done her good. Again, all was so cheerful — so chirpy, if we may use the word — that the matron's remark, "one of our greatest sufferers, has intense and almost constant pain," came with an actual sense of surprise. In another room were two old ladies, one of whom had been confined to her bed for thirty years, and who "tried to make the best of it," as she said, and who evidently succeeded; while her neigh- bour, who had been rendered helpless by rheu- matism, smilingly "hoped this beautiful weather would give her a good deal of relief, though it was trying at first, as all changes were." The last speaker could just move herself to and from her work-table, but could not rise from her chaii' — a piece of furniture which had been thoughtfully adapted to her wants ; wheels and castors being so arranged that its occupant could move it gently with her elbows, and infinite relief had been af- forded by the limited power thus given. One handsome young woman, who looks the picture of happiness, and who assures us she "has very good health," is literally dead from the chin down- wards. Her winsome face, intelligent eyes and thick brown curls, come before us as we write, for it was difficult to believe that they belonged THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 261 to a paralytic. This inmate has taught herself to write with her teeth, on a rest which the nurse arranges for her on herhed; and she showed some of her writing with an innocent pride it was very agreeable to see. It was pleasant to note in this and the other rooms the efforts to give them a cheerful look. Books and periodicals were lying about, and there were pictures on the walls. Such of our readers as have a superfluity of either of these things may be reminded that they could not put them to a better use than by giving them to the Hospital for Incurables, where there is a constant demand for both, and where they are not mere luxuries, but substantial alleviations of life. Through many rooms, some containing men and others women, all in pitiable case, all being cared for thoughtfully and tenderly, and all bear- ing glad testimony to the comforts of their home, and we are taken to the men's sitting-room down- stairs. Our inspection has included the room not usually shown, and the dwellers in which labour under maladies which make them painful to the eye ; and has ranged over almost every room. One door is closed to all but doctor and nurse, for the poor creature within is more than usually ill, and the word has gone quietly round among her fellow -inmates that she is passing away. It is 262 THE HOSPITAL FOR INCUEABLES. astonishing to learn the position in life which many of those we see have filled. There are pro- fessional men who have been struck down just as their position and prospects seemed at their best, but before they had made provision for the future; commercial people upon whom a cold hand has fallen when their schemes and hopes were ap- proaching fruition ; educated labourers in various walks, to whom paralysis has come suddenly, like a grim spectre calling them to solemn account for neglected regimen and overwork. Down in the sitting-room men are talking quietly, but with the same curious air of waiting we noted before ; and one old fellow lies blind and helpless on a settle by the door. He is unable to move without help ; but his face is ruddy and his voice strong, and he tells us lustily how he has been many years in the institution, and how grateful he is for all the comforts he enjoys. We should mention that the asylum only re- presents a portion of the good worked by the institution. Pensions of 201. a-year are granted to sufferers who have a home, but no means of support ; so that the invalid is relieved of the pain of dependence, while the family circle is un- broken. We hear this, and of the vast number of additional patients the new wing will accommo- date when finished, as well as of the comprehen- THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 263 sive views of duty taken by the committee. The shadows have grown longer as we walk down the broad walk, again pondering on the change which has come over the faded lives of those who were once as busy and struggling, perhaps as ambitious and strong, as people we know outside. Surely this Home for Incurables is a place to see. Most of us find time for some or other of the exhibitions, the festal gatherings, the pro- menades, the concerts, the drives, the pleasant idlenesses of which the London season is full. When an odd hour can be spared from these en- grossing things, can it be bestowed better than on this Putney Home ? To see how ** Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased ;" to learn that pain is less subject than pleasure to caprices of expression ; and to make comparisons between your own career and the pathetic life- histories you see written out by an omnipotent hand ; and to remember that but for this institu- tion its poor inmates would have had to contend with the horrors of abject poverty in addition to their other ills — all this has a wholesomely chas- tening effect upon the mind. If it be good, as moralists tell us, to step aside occasionally from the bustle and turmoil, the shouting and the pos- ture-making of our Yanity Fair ; if it be good to 264 THE HOSPITAL FOE INCUKABLES. suspend the material aims, the fierce ambitions, the passionate activities of life, and to give it mo- ments of quiet reflection and solemn thought, assuredly there is neither sanctuary nor shrine where these ends can be better achieved than here. If those who are fighting the battle of life erect and strong should, out of their great abund- ance, extend succour to fellow-sojourners, who were perhaps as courageous and active as them- selves until they were mysteriously selected to fall wounded by the wayside, they may at least be satisfied that their liberality will be blessed. Concerning some charities, doubts may arise as to whether they engender any of the miseries they profess to relieve ; but no sort of cavilling can arise here. These people have been struck down by an irresistible power, and ask only to spend the remnant of their broken lives uncom- plainingly and in quiet. Our immediate object, however, is not so much to plead for material aid, though hundreds of the incurably afilicted are waiting patiently at the institution's door until the public generosity shall admit them, or until they die — sometimes for lack of the comforts their sad condition demands — as to ask that the expe- rience we record shall be shared. The Home itself is its own best advocate; and in the hope of promoting visiting, we announce that what we THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 265 have described may be seen on any week-day, between two and five, by tlie simple process of ringing the gate-bell of the well-known house on West Hill. WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FEEE- MASONEY ? Extolled as the true faith ; denounced as an off- shoot of Satan ; praised by crowned, and banned by tonsured heads ; dreaded as a subtle political engine, and admired for its profound indifference to politics ; the essence of goodness according to some men, and the spirit of evil if you listen to others, — Freemasonry is as complete a mystery to the uninitiated as when the mythical lady hid herself in the lodge clock-case, or the equally mythical American citizen was slain for tampering with its secrets. Listen to the words of wisdom, according to Brother Stodgers, P.M., and you will learn that men may be Freemasons for years with- out penetrating the arcana of the order ; may at- tain divers dignities without comprehending their true import ; may die in the fulness of masonic parts without having emerged from masonic baby- hood ; and after having spent as much time and labour on the art as would, to put it modestly, suffice for the acquisition of every European WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONEY ? 267 tongue, yet fall short of the supreme distinction of being "a good mason." Whether, as the elder Mr. Weller, and the charity-boy he quotes, re- spectively remarked of the institutions of holy matrimony, and of getting to the end of the al- phabet, it be worth while going through so much to learn so little, is, I hear the cynic whisper, entirely a matter of opinion ; but that neither the labour involved nor its reward is under-estimated, the most superficial knowledge with the subject proves. Brother Plover and myself have some right to our opinion, for we are past-masters, mark-masters, and royal arch companions — are officers of our chapters, and treasurers of our lodge. What our mutual and horsey friend Tibbins irreverently calls our " plated harness," involves medals, jewels, and ornate ribbons for our manly breasts, aprons for our fronts, and broad collars like those worn by knights of the Garter (but handsomer) for our necks. The Victoria Cross is an ugly excrescence compared to the costly decoration given me as a testimonial by the brethren of my mother lodge; the clasps to the jewels of some of our friends exceed in number those of the oldest Peninsular veteran ; and we calculate that we might now be Sanskrit scholars of some eminence had we thought fit to serve that language as faithfully 268 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONKY ? as we have served the craft. Upon sordid money considerations we scorn to dwell. Initiation fees, exaltation fees, fees for advancement, emergencies, subscriptions to charities, to lodges, and for special purposes, make up a pretty sum to look back upon ; and if the upshot of it all were but the amusement and gratification derived, I am not prepared to say that we have had full value for our money. Joy- ous evenings, periodical feasts (in which some- thing else flows besides soul), mutual compli- ments, and pleasant friendships, may all spring from other sources than what Burns called "the mystic tie." With the warmest appreciation of the plea- sures of freemasonry, I, for one, should renounce the whole paraphernalia of colours, aprons, and gewgaws, were I not satisfied of their practical value, and deeply impressed with their usefulness in stimulating to benevolent impulses and charit- able deeds. This is, in truth, the chief virtue I care to claim for the order, in this country and in these times. Abroad, the Freemasons, so fiercely cursed by his Holiness the Pope, may mix up democratic caballing with their ceremonials, and play an important part in the spread of liberal principles, but in England, religious and political discussion are alike forbidden in lodge ; and though in the olden days, when skilled craftsmen worked WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONEY ? 269 together in travelling bands, leaving magnificent monuments of civilisation and piety in their train, the objects of association were better understood, they were not more practical in their results than now. It is impossible to belong to a masonic lodge, or even to eat masonic dinners with regu- larity, without helping to support some of the most noble charities in the land. You are caught, we will say, by the promise of festivity and the hope of enjoyment. You know a jovial set, and would like to be one of them ; and you are in due course proposed, elected, and ini- tiated in some masonic body. From that moment you are a cog in a mighty wheel, and can no more help moving with the rest of the machinery in the direction of good works than you can avoid wear- ing your apron when on duty in your lodge. Your earliest lesson is that of charity and toleration ; but the great advantage of the rules of the com- munity you have entered is, that no individual demerits or torpor can long withstand their bene- ficial tendency. Other precepts you may neglect or ignore. Your private life may be far from irre- proachable. You may be depreciated by your fel- low-members as " a knife-and-fork mason" — that is, one who cares more for the table of the tavern than the table of the law — and may be quoted by outsiders in proof of the evil effect of belonging 270 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? to a secret society. All this rests with yourself. Even what we call the inner mysteries of our order — mysteries which it takes so much time and application to master and comprehend — do not pretend to alter character. A selfish man will be a selfish mason, a churlish man a churlish mason, a conscientious man a conscientious ma- son, to the end of time. It is wiser to disclaim all legerdemain, and freely confess that no purifying or awakening talisman is given to the masonic neophyte. The knowledge imparted is moderate in extent, and the man obtaining it finds that he has but learnt the rudiments of an elaborate sj^stem, the true bearing of which is veiled in allegory and illus- trated by symbols. Those who sneer at masonic symbols, who ask with conventional irony why masons cannot accomplish the good they profess to seek without donning aprons and bedecking themselves with glittering baubles, should, to be consistent, denounce symbolism altogether. Take the House of Commons, and note the precise for- mality with which old rites and customs are ob- served there, and say whether the solemn Speaker would look as wise and dignified in a shooting- jacket or a dressing - gown ; and whether the quaintly wigged and go^oied figures below him are not more appropriately attired than if they WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FEEEMASONRY ? 271 wore the paletot and wide-awake of country life. Eegard the throne with its surroundings of velvet and ermine and jewels and gold ; the pulpit with its conventional black and white ; the bench with its time-honoured robes ; the bar with its wigs and gowns ; or, turning to private life, remark how the symbolism of dress and ornament attends us from the cradle to the grave. The white dra- peries of the christening ceremony, the orange- flowers and favours of the wedding, the ghastly mockery of the nodding black feathers on the hearse, are surely as open to criticism as our masonic blue-and-white aprons, or the gay orna- ments. Freemasons, let it be remembered, rarely ob- trude their finery on the outer world. There are other excellent societies, the members of which periodically break out in buff boots and green tunics, or march with linked fingers through the town, to the clashing of wind instruments, and behind banners bearing copy-book axioms of ap- proved morality. But with Freemasons it is a point of honour not to wear the costume of their craft, or any adornment pertaining to it, save in their own lodges. To do otherwise — to flaunt collar, apron, or jewel in other places — is a serious masonic offence, and one censured with severity by the authorities. The sole exception to this 272 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? rule is some important public occasion, when a dispensation is granted by the grand master of the order, and the first stone of some great building- is laid, or the remains of some distinguished brother is committed to the earth. The excep- tional character of these occurrences entitles us to the boast that our symbols are only worn for the benefit of those who understand them, and to whose technical knowledge they appeal. In some cases, they mark the rank of the wearer, like the soldier's uniform ; in others, the practical good he has effected, like — shall we say, the bishop's mitre ? Each division of the order, called a lodge, is ruled over by certain officers, who are appointed by its master. To be eligible for this high post, you must have served in one of two subordinate offices for twelve months, and must be sufficiently skilled in what is called the " working," to con- duct the elaborate rites creditably. The first con- dition is imperative; the second is sometimes evaded, though neither the master accepting office, nor the lodge electing him, acts up to the bounden obligation when this is the case. The cost of free- masonry depends almost entirely upon the lodge you join, and is governed by the habits of the brethren composing it, and the bye-laws they have themselves agreed on. The broad rules control- WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 273 ling all lodges, and all Masons owing allegiance to the Grand Lodge of England, are things apart from these bye-laws, though the latter have to be formally sanctioned as containing nothing opposed to the book of constitutions or the leading prin- ciples of the craft. Each lodge meets several times a-year, and in London the members usually dine or sup together at the conclusion of their " work." The master, the past-masters, and the two wardens, are all members of the masonic parliament ; in this way every Freemason has directly or indirectly a voice in the government of the order. Each past-master has been master of a lodge for twelve months, and both master and wardens are elected by their fel- lows. The masonic parliament meets four times a year, and is called Grand Lodge. Its debates are held in the really magnificent temple in Great Queen -street, London, which has been rebuilt under the auspices of the grand superintendent of works. Brother Frederick Cockerell, and is the property of the craft. It is presided over by a grand master, who is nominally elected every year, but who is eligible for reelection, and who is, as some Masons think unwisely, virtually appointed for life. Once in every year, some one is proposed and seconded as a fit and proper person to fill the position of grand master, and the votes of those T 274 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONEY ? assembled in Grand Lodge are taken. Tlie pre- sent grand master of English Freemasons, the Earl of Zetland, who succeeded the late Duke of Sussex, is so widely and deservedly popular, that he has held this position for more than twenty years. The propriety of limiting the grand mas- ter's eligibility for office, and electing him for four or six years and no longer, is a point upon which there is considerable difference of opinion, and one which it is unnecessary to do more than allude to here. The grand master is aided by a council, and supported by grand officers, who may be termed the upper house of the masonic parliament. These dignitaries are appointed by the grand master, hold office for a year, have past rank, and wear distinguishing insignia for life. All questions of masonic law — and problems affecting these are of constant occurrence — all difficulties of administra- tion, all disputes and dissensions — and, despite their brotherly love, even Masons occasionally quarrel — can be brought before Grand Lodge as the final authority. Committees of its members sit regularly to adjudicate and present periodical reports, advise on the bestowal of money-gifts to necessitous brethren, and on the answers to be given to those asking for interference or advice. The time devoted to the subject, by those who WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 275 take a leading part in these councils ; the patient unwearying attention given to minute and fre- quently tedious details ; the constant sacrifice of private interests to the common good ; and the careful and laborious discussion which precedes every decision — all this would astonish those who regard freemasonry as a mere plea for conviviality. It is a simple fact that busy professional men habitually devote a considerable portion of their time to business drudgery ; that boards and com- mittees meet to debate and divide; that in no case is remuneration or reward looked for. This voluntary self-absorption is not the least striking part of freemasonry, for, at the meetings I speak of, neither convivial pleasures nor indirect personal advantage can be hoped for. It is sheer dogged hard work, performed gratuitously and cheerfully by men upon whom the rules and pre- cepts I have hinted at, have made full impression. Let it be borne in mind that more than ten thou- sand initiations take place in a single year ; that the income of the craft exceeds that of many a principality; that its members subscribe to their three charitable institutions — the Freemasons' Girls' School, the Freemasons' Boys' School, and the Asylum for Aged Freemasons and their Widows — some twenty thousand pounds annually; that the cares of administration and distribution de- 276 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? Tolve upon tlie busy men forming the committees and sub-committees named ; and it will be readily seen tbat, apart from its ^^ secrets," this time- bonoured institution lias worked, and is worldng, substantial and undeniable good. Its bold on earnest members is the best proof I can advance of the reality of its tie. But it is time you saw one of the institutions we are so proud of. Let us take a railway-ticket from either Waterloo or Victoria Station, and after a twenty minutes' run alight at Clapham junction. A few minutes' bewilderment in the dreary sub- terranean caverns of that mighty maze ; a few abortive ascents up steps which are so ingeniously placed at the sides of the tubular dungeon we tra- verse as to lure us upon wrong platforms, whence we are sent below again ignominiously ; a short game at question and answer with the old crone selling oranges at the corner ; and, crossing an- other railway-bridge, we are in front of a spacious red-brick building, on the lofty tower of which, besides the clock, are a pair of compasses and a blazing sun. We will not stop to talk farther about sym- bols now. After admiring the spacious well- kept garden of this place, and enjoying the sweet scents rising up from every flower-bed, we make for the front-door, when the sharp click of WHAT IS THE GOOD OP FEEEMASONRY ? 277 a croquet-mallet reaches us from the right, and, turning a corner, we come upon a thoroughly happy party. Some twenty girls, from twelve to fifteen years old, are laughing merrily at the vigour with which one of their number has just sent the ball rattling through the little croquet- hoops. The healthy, happy, laughing group framed in by foliage, and relieved by the bright green of the velvety turf upon which they play; the frankly modest confidence with which we, as strangers, are received ; the courteous offer to ac- company us round the grounds and the house ; the revelation that, as this is the matron's birth- day, every one is making merry in her honour — are all a capital commentary upon the masonic virtues I have vaunted. Next, we learn that some ladies and gentlemen are playing in another portion of the grounds, and in a few paces we are in their midst, being wel- comed by house-committeemen, are hearing that our chance visit has happened on a red-letter day, and that other brethren are expected down. The speaker is an exalted Mason who has five capital letters after his name, and, as I have never seen him out of masonic costume before, it does not seem quite natural that he should play croquet without his apron and decorations. This gentle- 278 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? man (who will, I am sure, accept this kindly- meant remembrance in the spirit dictating it) is SO pleasantly paternal, his exuberant playfulness and affectionate interest in the games played, and in the pretty little players, is so prominent, that I soon forget his grander attributes, and settle down to a quiet chat on the discipline and rules of the establishment. This is the Freemasons' Girls' School. It clothes, educates, and thoroughly provides for, one hundred and three girls, who must be daugh- ters of Freemasons, between eight and sixteen years of age, and who are elected by the votes of its subscribers. The comfort of its internal ar- rangements, its spotless cleanliness, the healthi- ness of its site, the judicious training and con- siderate kindness of its matron and governesses, are themes we descant upon at length ; the rosy faces and unrestrained laughter of the children bearing forcible testimony to us. The committee of management visit this school frequently and regularly, and their deliberations generally ter- minate in a romp with the school-girls. The little gardens, some with paper notices pinned to the shrubs, with, " Please do not come too near, as we have sown seed near the border. — Signed, 28 and 22," written in pencil in a girlish hand; the healthy cleanly dormitories ; the light and airy WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FBEEMASONRY ? 279 glass-covered exercise-liall, where the young people drill and dance ; the matron's private sanctum, which is like a fancy fair to-day in the extent and variety of the gay hirthday-presents laid out ; the tea-room, where we all have jam in honour of the matron's nativity ; the board-room, hung with the portraits of grand masters and masonic benefac- tors, and which is placed at our disposal that we may enjoy a quiet chat with the two dear little girls in whom we have a special interest, are all visited in turn. Then a procession is formed, and '*We love Miss Smoothetwig dearly, and so say all of us !" is sung, while Brother Buss, P.M. and P.Z,, who has just come in, and Brother Putt, G.A.D.C., his fellow house-committeeman who has already welcomed us, beat time joyously to the good old "jolly good fellow" tune. This song is a little surprise prepared every year for the birthdays of governess and matron, and the amiable assump- tion of delight at an unexpected novelty which beams from the latter's kindly face when the well- worn tune is sung, is not the least pleasing in- cident of the day. The Freemasons' Boys' School is at Wood- lane, Tottenham, and in it from eighty to a hun- dred sons of Freemasons are clothed, educated, and provided for, with similar comfort and com- 280 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? pleteness. The institution for the relief of aged Freemasons and their widows, though neither so wealth}^ nor so Hberal as the other two, provides an asylum for, and grants annuities to, the old and infirm. These are some of the secrets of freemasonry. The coffins in which, as many of my friends firmly believe, we immure young and tender candidates ; the painful brandings which make sitting down impossible ; the raw heads, red-hot pokers, and gory bones, with which we heighten the awesome- ness of our dreadful oaths ; the wild revels and orgies which some ladies believe in, — must be left in obscurity. Having shown the fair fruits of masonry, I must leave you to form your un- aided judgment of the tree which brings them forth. Besides, I dare not reveal more. The learned author of many volumes of masonic lore has stated his firm conviction that Adam was a Freemason, and that the order, and its accom- panying blessings, extend to other worlds than this. I offer no opinion on any such highly imagi- native hypothesis, but confine myself to the stout assertion that Freemasons have a tie which is unknown to the outer world, and that their in- stitution is carefully adapted to the needs, hopes, fears, weaknesses, and aspirations, of human na- ture. That it has unworthy members is no more WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 281 an argument against the order, than the bitter sectarianism of the Rev. Pitt Howler, and the fierce uncharitableness of Mrs. Backbite, are ar- guments against Christianity. AGAINST THE GKAIN. (1865.) Against the grain we went in searcli of tlie low Betting - Men, and against the grain we found them. After earnest consultations with persons learned in their crooked ways ; after studying their literature, and hearing many a story of their nefarious cunning ; after holding commune with experienced members of the metropolitan force, and learning from all sources that personal con- tact and face - to - face intercourse were essential to the comprehension of their evil natures and corrupt pursuits, — our distasteful explorations were inaugurated by a trip to " the Euins." Not the picturesque ruins of abbey or castle ; not a spot familiar to picnic parties and beloved of artists ; not a crumbling old mansion, with haunted cham- ber and ghost-walk, with traditions of murder and dreary look of desolation ; but a large blank space, like an exaggerated pound, in which the noble sportsmen of Whitechapel and Seven Dials were daily congregated. These were the creatures we AGAINST THE GRAIN. 283 had decided on looking for ; — tliese were the crea- tures we found against the grain. For, after in- festing for years the vast area of waste ground between the Farringdon - road and Saffron - hill ; after impudently vaunting their superiority to the law, and their right to make bets in public, — the disreputable crew of small book-makers, touts, thieves, and tipsters, who gave the ground an unholy fame, and made it, as ^' the Kuins," fa- miliar to the lower grade of turf followers all over the kingdom, have been *' moved on" to a narrow thoroughfare behind one of the great London breweries; and here they bet, and lie, and shuffle, in an atmosphere pleasantly laden with the flavour of malt and hops, and with the aromatic grain heaped above and behind them in great profu- sion. Wonderful were the stories concerning the impotence of the police; and profound was the belief in '' the Kuins" as a stronghold. The com- mercial prejudices of the narrow-minded dwellers in Bride-lane, City, had certainly triumphed over the lovers of sport ; and out of a mistaken defer- ence to the petty interests of trade, the patrons of the turf had been forcibly removed. But here, at "the Euins," who had a right to interfere? Not the authorities of the Refuge for the Home- less Poor just opposite, nor those of the Metro- 284 AGAINST THE GRAIN. politan Eailway station, nearer still ; nor the Italian handicraftsmen, organ-keeepers, plate-glass polishers, monkey and marmozet boys, who form the population on the western side. Field-lane even, though denuded of its festoons of purloined handkerchiefs, and now steadily aiming at re- spectability, could not decently make a protest. Saffron - hill did not understand its rights, and would not exercise them if it did ; and " the Ruins," flanked and surrounded as it is by such localities, was clearly designed as an oasis in the cold desert of London, upon and from which lovers of the turf and those interested in the pre- servation of the manly sport of betting, might flourish and hold forth. Quiet wayfarers passed with a shudder, or meekly crossed the road. Knowing omnibus- drivers pointed to the shouting disreputable crowd with a sportsman-like jerk of the whip-hand; news- paper essayists described the foul spot and its customs ; argumentative reasoners quoted the act of parliament, and made it clear that the words " house or place" could not apply to " the Ruins;" and the public and the authorities seemed to concur in the notion that here bets could be booked, and lists kept, and fools swindled, in spite of special enactments, and in defiance of the law. Now and again some troublesome nobody would AGAINST THE GEAIN. 285 take exception to tliis condition of things, and an indignant letter would find its way into the papers ; but the rule seemed to be that policemen and magistrates, beadles and moralists, should wink at what they knew to be wrong, but which, by some strange freak of parliamentary wisdom, could not be boldly grappled with and put down. All this came to an end a few weeks ago. ** The Kuins" were enclosed by a hoarding instead of posts and rails, and all trespassers warned off under legal penalties, by the authorities of the City of London. Attempting to meet on the ad- jacent pavement and roadway, they were sum- marily cautioned against causing an obstruction, and if recalcitrant, were taken into custody by the metropolitan police. A double jurisdiction ob- tains in this district ; and while the City consta- bles had power over the list-keepers who ventured in the enclosure. Sir Kichard Mayne's merry men pounced upon them if they presumed to pitch their tents in the street. It seems but a prosaic ending to such a grandiloquent and apparently successful protest against conventionality, but neither difficulty nor delay attended the rout when it was once determined on ; and after one or two feeble attempts at self-assertion, the frouzy black- guards to whom "the Euins" had seemed a pri- vileged Alsatia, slunk away into congenial holes 286 AGAINST THE GRAIN. and corners, and were no more seen. So, at least, thought the reformers. But, as if in obedience to the physical law which declares that nothing shall be destroyed, and that what we call destruc- tion is only another name for change of condition, the nuisance was transferred, and now flourishes in rank luxuriance against the brewery grain. Starting from a police-station in a long flagged court in St. Giles's — a police-station so modestly retiring that it seems to be playing at hide-and- seek with its customers, and to have won the game — the first evidence we have of the contiguity of the noble sportsmen is furnished by a gentleman who comes to prefer a charge. A tall fresh-look- ing man of fifty, a prosperous farmer, or perhaps a country attorney with a good seat across country ; this gentleman nervously twiddles two small bits of pink pasteboard — not unlike the checks given for readmission to the theatres — and with a troubled expression — ^half indignation, half shame — on his good-tempered florid face, explains that one piece of pasteboard represents three pounds, and the other two pounds ten. He staked these sums upon the horse which came in firsb yesterday, and on applying this morning for the money he had consequently won, the list-keeper, although then prosecuting his calling, had first laughed in his face, and subsequently threatened to ''punch his AGAINST THE GRAIN. 287 head if lie didn't hook it, and that (adverb) quick too." Staggered and discomfited, the luckless winner now came to the police-office, with a vague hope, which his own common sense obviously told him to be baseless, that some steps might be taken to punish the swindler, and indemnify him for his loss. Clearly not a case for the police. Perhaps a summons in the county court for the money borrowed might answer the gentleman's purpose; perhaps some means of exposing the fraudulent list-keeper might occur to him; but his money was gone for ever, and the best advice that could be given him was, " Don't bet with stran- gers in the street again." We saw the ^' Welsher" — is it not a dubious compliment to the Principality that this should be the slang name for turf-defaulters, who are at once petty and fraudulent ? — a few minutes after- wards, calmly pursuing his vocation amid a crowd of his fellows. The victim was detailing his wrongs, and showing his tickets as corroborative evidence, within earshot of the swindler, who smoked a cigar in the intervals of shouting '' I'll lay four to one, bar one !" with imperturbable calm. No one seemed surprised, or shocked, or indignant. The farmer was stared at as he told his little story, with a sheepish, woe-begone look on his jolly visage, which made it wonderfully ludicrous ; and then the 288 AGAINST THE GRAIN. starers elbowed tlirougli the crowd to gaze on tlie Welsher, who was decidedly the more popular of the two. The mournful, "He won't even answer me, and says he'll punch my head," was heard concurrently with the jubilant, " I'll lay four to one;" and three half-crowns went into the pocket of the list-keeper for a fresh ticket, while within a few paces the worthlessness of his promises was being half-timorously, half-indignantly pro- claimed. We are by this time in the thick of the jostling and shouting crowd. A narrow street destitute of shops and dwelling houses, the huge brewery forming one side of it, and the back of warerooms in Oxford-street filling up the other, this place is not unlike a long and narrow prison-yard. The height of the dull and dirty brick walls, the ab- sence of windows or other signs of habitation, the circumscribed area, and the lack of view, strengthen this comparison. But the prisoners have run riot, and discipline is at an end. " How do, Tom ?" remarks with careless dignity one of the two de- tectives who kindly accompany us. "How do you do, sir? Fine morning, isn't it?" replies a fat coarse fellow, who looks like a fraudulent pig- jobber in reduced circumstances. He is the first sportsman we speak to, and after scanning his vil- lanous countenance, we learn with much satisfac- AGAINST THE GHAIN. 289 tion tliat ''he's just had six months for theft." Our companions are speedily recognised, and the word is passed that some one must be " wanted." This is uniformly effected by a whisper from lips twisted as if practising ventriloquism, and in such fashion that the sound proceeds in an entirely opposite direction to that of the speaker's cunning eyes and shifty face. The list-keepers are ranged in an unbroken line from one end of the street to the other. The lists are mounted upon poles, the odds for each forthcoming race being printed upon small white cards, of the size and shape of photographic cartes de visite. These are placed side by side, the proprietor waiting for victims, and in most instances his clerk or partner booking the bets as soon as made. There are between seventy and eighty of these lists, and we are assured that it is only about ten per cent of this number who are " square." In other words, nearly all the vociferous blackguards we see pocketing shill- ings, and half-crowns, and sovereigns, are thieves, or skittle-sharpers, or three-card men, or their associates. They may redeem their pledges and pay the money they lose, but only if it suits their pocket to do so ; and as to-day is the last great turf event of the year, the probabilities of " bolt- ing" are greater than usual. Amid the crowd of dupes and hangers-on is u 290 AGAINST THE GEAIN. a leaven of respectability. Kailway - guards in uniform are "putting on" small sums on com- mission for country clients. That shiny-looking man, whose stiff black curls protrude from under his wide-brimmed hat, and whose rounded face — of a polished red and yellow, like a Normandy pippin — speaks somehow of the footlights, is one whose name is familiar to us as the advertised '' only successor to Grimaldi." He is no list- keeper, but has come to invest some of the pro- ceeds of ''Hot Codlins" and " Tippety-Witchet" with the great Mr. Gather, who is one of the few trustworthy men here. " Good for thousands ; has a house in Great Bustle-street, and a tidy little farm in the country; keeps two clerks to book his bets for him, and is as safe as the Bank of England." Such is the character we have of Mr. Gather, who, as he leans against the wall, is beset by dozens of people eagerly holding out gold and silver, which he drops mechanically into the pocket of his brown overcoat, saying in a mono- tone, " Fours — Harlequin — right." " Sevens — Disappointment — right." A fresh-coloured rather anxious-looking man of thirty, with a fair mous- tache and smooth cheeks, Mr. Gather neither smiles nor speaks further, save when the crowd becomes more than usually oppressive, when ^' Please keep back, those who don't want to AGAINST THE GBAIN. 291 bet," is extorted from him in a melancholy voice, and with a weary air, as if even unbounded suc- cess as an out-door betting-man had its draw- backs, and as if, in the duties involved in that high position, there lurked corresponding cares. Blight and Lovenote is also a firm in which unlimited confidence may be placed, and we show our faith in this testimony to character by mod- estly putting half-a-crown upon the favourite of the day. Neither the name of the people we bet with, nor that of the horse we back, nor the sum we pay, nor the sum we are to receive if he wins — he made what the sporting papers subsequently called " a bad fifth" — are given on the ticket we received from Blight. " Four half-crowns — Fa- vourite, Jem," to the clerk; and the pleasant clink made by our half-crown, as it joins the half- crowns of other investors, in the capacious pocket of the firm, is the only evidence afforded us of our contingent rights. So when another respect- able list-keeper is pointed out to us — our com- panions select the honest men out of the crowd, and show them as curiosities ; much as a gardener would point out a singular case of grafting, or a rare exotic which had been transplanted without injury — we are checked in our desire to give him money by the candid words : ''I can't afford to lay a fair price, for my book is full." As this 292 AGAINST THE GKAIN. man pays wlieii he loses, lie makes calculations as to tlie state of his book. Not so the ordinary run of list-keepers here. The proverb as to all being fish that comes to net, is rigidly acted up to, and the terms they offer are not unfrequently threefold the market price. Above their lists are printed a name, generally assumed, and an address, almost always fictitious. Bound them, besides their clerk or partner, stand a little group of associates, who make sham bets, or who volunteer false informa- tion with genial readiness. That man in the loose claret paletot, and the large glass-headed pin in his shabby stock, has been known to the police for the last twenty years as living *' by besting people." " Besting," we learn, is a playful term for gaining an unfair advantage, and applies equally to the three-card trick, to skittle-sharping, to fraudulent tossing, and to larceny. That bullet- headed ruffian, who is truculently shouting out the large odds he'll give, is a convicted thief; and the short bristly hair you see fringing the back of his fleshy neck was last trimmed and cut in the prison he has just left. The Jew whom we afterwards see greedily calling for hot pork-sau- sages at the tavern round the corner, as if to realise that combined " gust of eating and plea- sure of sinning" craved after by Boswell's friend, AGAINST THE GRAIN. 293 and whose name is familiar to every reader of police - reports, was a night - house keeper near the Haymarket, until the bill for the early-closing of refreshment - houses was passed. He winks knowingly to his fellows as we come near his stand, and with mock earnestness solicits us to j)ut " a trifle on." " Who are the other list-keepers ?" repeat our friends the detectives. ^' Cross-men, every one of 'em. By cross-men, meaning men on the cross ; men, in fact, who'd rob you if they could. There's a man now" — indicating, with a quiver of the eyelid, a bull -necked muscular scamp in Si. frogged coat two sizes too small for him — " there's a man who'd garrotte you the very minute you gave him a chance. That fellow next him has been in prison three times to my knowledge, and the big man booking that young butcher's half-crown used to keep a gambling- house and take a table round to the races." A retired publican, who's lost all his money; a cab- owner, who's been through the court ; a broken- down gentleman's servant, who's lost his character and can't get. another place ; a clerk in the City who was up for embezzlement, but wasn't con- victed, — these were the descriptions given of some of the list - keepers, whose comparatively decent look made us ask their history. 294 AGAINST THE GBAIN. But tlie preponderating scum was of a much less reputable character, and a large majority of the workpeople, shopboys, small tradesmen, and country people, who, either in person or by deputy, invested their small sums, placed them in the hands of men whose calling has been to batten upon the public from their youth up. " Is Sir Kichard a - goin' to move us from here next ?" asked a pock-marked vagabond in a long drab coat. *' I hope not," was dryly given in reply, and the emphasis was so marked that the ques- tion, " Yy so? — vot difference would it make to you?" naturally followed. "We should be troubled with so many burglary cases," was quietly ans- wered ; whereupon drab-coat leered and grinned, as if to return thanks for the compliment paid to the predatory instincts of himself and friends* The experience was unvaried during our stay. A stooping, slouching fellow, with a battered ugly face, was pointed out as an ex-champion in the prize-ring, who had since taken to betting, and who now kept a list "on the square;" and we chatted with three old women like modern witches, with stout cotton umbrellas for familiars, who are to be seen here daily, and who back horses and talk on "merits" and "performances" and pedi- grees with a full mastery of stable slang. " The brewery people ain't likely to interfere," we learnt^ AGAINST THE GRAIN. 295 " because these betting fellows spend tbeir time and their money in public - houses, and it's good for trade ;" and as long as the foul sore their pre- sence implies keeps in its present locality, it may perhaps be permitted to fester on with impunity. One thing is worth remarking. After an hour or two's sojourn, we adjourned to converse on the characters and antecedents of some of the men we had just left. On our return, neither the con- victed ^'Welsher" nor his stand could be seen. " There's been a little fuss up yonder, and they've bonneted a cove as wouldn't pay!" was the in- formation vouchsafed to us, and we failed to learn anything more specific. Plenty of eager inform- ants to tell us there had been a row, but none of these would confess to having witnessed it, or that they knew its precise nature. Whether the in- jured farmer had hired hangers-on to pay those punching compliments to his debtor, which had been so freely promised to the farmer himself; whether he had taken the law into his own hands and boldly fought it out ; or whether, out of de- ference to the presence of my friends, a council of war had been held in our absence, and the other fraudulent list -keepers had forcibly urged their brother to depart for the common good, we could not learn. The men were gone, and " Judas's telegrams from the course" were being sold from 296 AGAINST THE GEAIN. their late standing-point. We purchased one of these, and on opening its sealed envelope were edi- fied by reading : " The only one I'm afraid of is No. 13, blue 1. He is very fit and strong. Signed for Judas, T. Scroper." What " blue 1" meant, or who was "fit," could, of course, only be known to Judas's initiated clients ; and we preserve the magic tissue-paper as one more of the many use- less purchases accumulated during a desultory life. Soon after two p.m. the street began to clear. *' From eleven to two is their time for business, so as to catch the workmen in their dinner-hour ; and you'll often see three men club together to make up half-a-crown to put on a horse they fancy." Before three the lists and list-keepers, the huge gig umbrellas with ''From the Kuins" painted in large black letters on their white ging- ham covering, the bonnets, victims, hangers-on, and thieves, the boys with the handicap-books, the respectable countrymen, and the ornaments of the prize-ring, had departed. At four the same day the place was a solitude, broken only by the brewer's drays in which the bags of grain were being dexterously piled, and from which the rope, half hemp, half metal, ascended and descended with monotonous rapidity, twining and writhing as it went, like some monstrous serpent, into the ear-like wooden excrescences near the roof above. AGAINST THE GEAIN. 297 Tlie same scene goes on daily during the racing season, and similar nests of ruffianism are known to exist elsewhere in London. For two or three hours in each day, common swindlers openly practise their calling with impunity, and they so choose their hours as to prey upon the class which can afford it least. The small mi- nority of solvent men — the people who gamble legitimately, pay when they lose, and bet upon scientific principles — have, to the uninitiated eye, nothing to distinguish them from their thievish compeers ; and the workmen or shop-lad who foolishly risks his money in Grain-land, does so, as was proved by what we saw and heard, in most cases, with the certainty of never seeing it again. This is surely a case in which the strong hand of authority might be exerted with advantage, and the exodus from " the Kuins" be follov\^ed by a like purifying process elsewhere. That men will gamble, and that horse-racing is a national amuse- ment, are not pleas for the encouragement of open fraud. It is time that the miserable nonsense about "upholding English sports," and "inter- fering with the pastimes of the people," was ex- ploded and put down. The sport here is of that gay and festive character for the encouragement of which we build prisons and maintain hulks. The sportsmen, apart from the honest minority 298 AGAINST THE GEAIN. we have instanced, are jail-birds, or men at open war with society. The nuisance as it exists now is a far worse pest and deeper disgrace than the petty tavern sweep-stakes and small list-houses, which were, amid a chorus of national self-praise,, put down by act of parliament a few years ago. It would be curious to know how far the im- punity accorded to these scoundrels is due to that superstitious veneration for what is called " the old school," and that servile admiration of "pa- trons of the turf," which is one of the most curious weaknesses of English society. The finest speci- men we ever knew of the class to whom it is the fashion to apply these stock phrases was always- unexceptionably dressed in drab cords, top-boots, and a blue body -coat with brass buttons. He was blessed with a hale and hearty constitution,, regular features, a florid complexion, and venerable white hair. Apart from his clothes, his personal advantages, and his love of horse-flesh, his chief peculiarities were excessive testiness, a dislike to reading, a habit of taking more liquor than was good for him, and of swearing in his drawing- room. Whenever he distinguished himself in any of these capacities, we looked admiringly at the drab cords and the brass buttons, and murmured ap- provingly of his love of sport, and of his undoubted right to the title of a fine old English gentleman. AGAINST THE GRAIN. 299 He was not particularly wise nor particularly use- ful in his generation, and but for the peculiar fascination of his dress, flippant people might have thought him uninteresting and dull. All his weaknesses — improvidence, coarse language, and incapacity — were, however, accepted as so many virtues, out of deference to his attachment to the turf. This was among a pastoral people, by whom he was regarded as a sort of king ; but our experience in Grain-land makes us ask if the^ same sort of fetish worship exists among those entrusted with the execution of the law, and whe- ther a purely supposititious connection with the race-course is held to entitle detected swindlers and convicted felons to prey upon the credulous and ignorant, without dread of punishment or' prospect of interference. ARISTOCEATIC PIGEON- SHOOTING. It would be difficult to find a more charming suburban retreat than Huiiingham-park, Fulham. " The New Eed-house and Kiver-side Club," as it has been recently dubbed, gives but an inadequate notion of its quiet retirement and silvan beauty. " The Red - house !" — coupled, too, with the "river-side" — suggests the dreadful tavern, now no more, which made Sunday hideous, which caused the steamboats to be crammed with cheap and noisy pleasure-takers, and made the old Bat- tersea-fields the centre of the kind of jollity we associate with Bartlemy or Greenwich fair. Don- key-boys from Hampstead-heath, pigeon-fanciers from Spitalfields, Jew cigar-vendors from White- chapel, the "knock-'em-downs," three-card men, hawkers of cheap jewelry, Punch-and-Judy shows, the sharpers and " bonnets" of our race-courses, were all crowded together to shout and swear on Sunday evenings in the vicinity of the Red-house. The tavern itself was respectably conducted, but ARISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 301 tlie grounds near it had the fortune to collect together as motley and boisterous a crew as Lon- don could furnish ; and the Ked-house is a syn- onym with most people who remember it for coarse and turbulent enjoyment, and rough-and- ready deeds. But it had a smack of sporting too, and shoot- ing-matches were held to be its specialty. The new Eed-house — or, as most people prefer still to call it, Hurlingham-house — is the reverse of all this, save that, like its departed namesake, it is supported by both sexes, is situated on the banks of the Thames, and is devoted to the slaughter of pigeons. But these points of similarity ad- mitted, the divergence is complete. The " red" of Hurlingham, instead of being the blaze of coarse colour appropriate to a public-house, is of the mellow respectable sort we all admire in ancient palaces and well-established country-seats. It is quiet, secluded, aristocratic. No vulgar omnibus or fussy coach runs by its gates ; no noisier thoroughfare than '' the silent highway" can be seen from its park or grounds. The ple- beian who seeks to visit it for the first time had better lose himself about Parson's-green, and then select the quietest and most retired lane he can find to take him to his destination. Down this — not without a passing sense of wonder at the 302 AEISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. green fields and fresli country on either side of liim, — and our representative stranger finds a lodge to liis right, beyond which is a spacious avenue of grand old trees. But for the glimpse he has had on his way of some new oak-palings, — suggesting, in their unpainted freshness, a re- cently-erected circus or show, — coupled with the ^harp and continuous crack of gun-firing beyond them, he would have hesitated at stopping. As it is, he asks one of the policemen who are loung- ing near the lodge - gate whether this be the suburban club he is in search of; and then, showing his credentials to the lodge-keeper, he passes through a handsome private garden up to an equally handsome, old-fashioned, private house. Through this, again, and noting that it is only partially and temporarily furnished, and he is on a grassy and flower-bedecked bank, looking on to the Thames. Once admitted by the lodge-keeper, he is free of the place. The garden he is in now is full of rich and varied beauty. The river glides swiftly by the lawn and the sloping banks to the left, while, hidden by the umbrageous trees which bound the grounds by the west, are Putney-bridge, Fulham Palace, and the modest little house still pointed out as the whilom residence of Theodore Hook. But turning from the water and looking ARISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 303 into the grounds, the leafy splendour of the noble trees, — the one feature in landscape-gardening which money cannot buy ready-made, — the quiet calm of the shady vistas, and carefully-protected grassy knolls to right and left, extort admiration •even from the least observant. The place is so •calm and still and beautiful, that it is difficult io realise that it is only a short drive from the most bustling parts of London ; and one pro- ceeds in the direction of the shooting-ground with a vague sense of staying at a country-house with a mixed party to dinner in the evening. For here ^nd there among the trees and shrubs may be -seen a light and wavy robe or two, a bit of bright ■colour, or a gay head-dress ; and the soft sound of feminine laughter floats upon the air as we proceed. Through the gardens, and past more fine oaks and elms, greenhouses, retired paths, undulating grass-plots and flower-beds, and a park is reached, in the best part of which is a spacious enclosure, separated from the rest by the oak-palings previously seen. The house and gar- dens and park, the retirement, the cultivation, the beauty, are all dependent upon what is taking place here. These things are kept up that pigeons may be killed. Here is a grand-stand, which is unoccu- pied to-day, through the wind being, as we are 304 AKISTOCEATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. told subsequently, in ''the wrong quarter for kill- ing from it;" and those who would have filled it occup}^ a long line of chairs upon the grass. Youth and age, beauty, rank, fashion, culture, high names, and lofty lineage, are all present. The ladies seated with their attendant cavaliers come first. Whatever England has to show of refined and high-bred beauty is to be seen among them. The most ancient blood and the most graceful forms, the people, not who are admitted amongst, but who themselves constitute the crcmc cle la crcme of modern society of both sexes, are here. The arrangements are admirably suited to their purpose, and every fair sitter has a full view of half-a-dozen little square boxes, — like those for bonbons, — which are stationed in a row from twenty to thirty yards from the line of chairs. Each box contains a pigeon, which it liberates by coming to pieces directly the string attached to its roof and sides is pulled. The instant the bird moves it is shot down. A little lower down, but in the same line with the ladies, the gentlemen are seated who have come unattached; and from these the pigeon- shooters principally come. The July Handicap of five sovereigns each, and confined to members of the Hurlingham Club, was shot for on the after- noon of our visit. Among its competitors were ARISTOCEATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 60b peers of various ranks — peers of tlie future, from the lieir to a dukedom downwards ; members of the House of Commons, baronets, officers in the army, including at least one whose valour in the field has been rewarded by the Victoria Cross ; and county gentlemen with historic names, and great London " swells" by the score. Each of these had been handicapped by Mr. Frank Heathcote, one of the leading authorities of the world on this particular phase of sport, and followed each other in rapid succession to the firing-place. The dis- tance at which they stood from the pigeons varied according to skill and reputation ; but in no case was the person firing more than twenty-eight or less than twentj^-one yards from the bird he aimed at. It is superfluous to add that a general slaugh- ter was the result. (At twenty-one yards, accord- ing to Cunningham's Handbook of London, the crack shots of the old Red-house would always back themselves to kill nineteen pigeons out of twenty-one.) Guns, ammunition, loaders, and at- tendants behind the chairs ; a table with scorers and list-keep'ers in front; long strings running from the little boxes to the table-feet, and men to pull them when each shooter has taken his place and given the word ; a pile of hampers, from which the pigeons were taken alive to the boxes, and to which they are brought back dead by an X 306 AEISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. Ugly but sagacious black retriever, made up the properties of the scene. The proceedings lasted through the afternoon,. and every bird shot at was wounded, and with few exceptions killed. It was said that the pigeons supplied were less strong on the wing than usual, and were quiet and frightened, and that the wind impelled them to fly on to the guns. Whether this was so or not the betting -men — without whom no English sport, however aristocratic, would be complete — made a harvest by laying three, three and a half, and even four to one, that the bird would die. Those who backed the gun always won ; and as fast as each man killed his pigeon another was carried out, — from a hamper, through the chinks of which, by the way, those waiting their turn could see their fellows shot down, — and the box put together again to de- tain it. It was capital fun for everybody but the pigeons. The fair young girls and aristocratic matrons watched it eagerly, and sat with scoring-card and pencil in hand, noting down the performance of each of their male friends. To an uneducated eye the element of sport seemed wanting, for the sim- ple reason that the wretched birds had no chance of escape. Each gentleman was allowed to fire two barrels, and the second of these effectually AKISTOCEATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 307 accomplished what the first began. Now and again a wounded bird would essay to fly out of the deadly enclosure, and then all present watched its agonised struggles with real anxiety ; for if it got beyond the prescribed limits to die, it was pro- nounced ''No bird," and the gentleman shooting it lost the score. This set the betting-men, both amateur and professional, on tenter -hooks, and fresh offers and new bets were made. Once a pigeon which had been hit, but not killed, sought shelter in the spreading branches of one of the trees under the shade of which the ladies sat. It was badly wounded, and gave a piteous little cry as it alighted. A few seconds' suspense, during which the backers of gun or bird anxiously looked upwards while making and taking fresh bets as to whether it would die ; and their suspense was ended by a mangled mass of palpitating flesh and warm blood and feathers falling plump into a lady's lap, to the infinite detriment of the pale and deli- cate dress she wore. To seize the quivering little moribund, and with a dexterous wring of the neck to put it out of its misery, was of course but the work of a moment to the gentleman at her side ; but blood does not harmonise somehow with la- vender-silk and pretty laces, and though the inci- dent evoked much laughter from both the ladies and gentlemen present, it brought the nature of 308 AEISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. tlie spectacle tliey were enjoying rather forcibly home. The feathers of departed birds were floating in the air like moths on a summer's evening, a pile of large hampers was filled with the slain, one wounded bird which had got away was endeavour- ing to balance its wearied body on the palings, the dog which picked up the fallen was almost beaten with fatigue, and the odds against the birds were going up steadily at the time we left. But ladies were still flocking in, and every variety of fashionable vehicle and a crowd of liveried ser- vants were in waiting at the doors. The grounds looked lovely as ever, and hurrying through them to the killing-place were the elegant figures to be seen on Drawing-room days and at botanical fetes. "Whatever else pigeon-shooting may be, it is undoubtedly the aristocratic amusement of the hour. Yet it is difficult to absolve it from cruelty, and cruelty to dumb animals was once held to be the distinguishing vice of the low and base. To torture these has been described as "the certain mark of ignorance and meanness — an intrinsic mark which all the external advantages of wealth, splendour, and nobility cannot obliterate." But diff'erent times have different manners, and to see hundreds of the birds universally regarded as the ARISTOCEATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 309 type of innocence mercilessly and painfully slaugh- tered from seats so conveniently placed that not a flutter of the ruffled plumage, not a gyration of the dying agony, not a helpless struggle to use again the pinions which have been destroyed, not a confiding look when the poor wretch sits down and, without attempting to fly, looks its destroyer piteously in the face, is missed — to see these things closely and minutely is a cherished amuse- ment with the classes to whom all amusements are within reach, and whose station and advan- tages entitle them to be looked up to and emulated as examples. Two days after the experience recorded, we were present at a boors' shooting-match in a Sur- rey field. Nothing could be more vulgar and com- monplace than the surroundings, nothing coarser or more essentially plebeian than the men. Spar- rows were the birds here, the prize was beer instead of sovereigns, and the spectators were the rough- est of the rough. But they gave their birds a chance, and they had left their womenfolk at home. Some- times a whole cluster of sparrows escaped scot- free, frequently only one or two out of a batch were killed, and no female was in sight. The sig- nificance of such pigeon-shooting as we saw at the exquisite Hurlingham grounds lay in the murder- 310 AEISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. ous certainty with which each aristocratic sports- man fell upon his poor little prey, and the keen relish and close interest displayed hy the delicate and exclusive crowd of ladies looking on. A SUBUEBAN FISHERY. Teavellees by the Midland Railway see a large station in course of erection between Hendon and the Finchley-road, which rouses their curiosity. There is neither town nor village within sight ; the station which does duty for Hendon and the district adjacent is only a few hundred yards ahead ; and as the eye wanders over the pleasant meadows and thick foliage skirting both sides of the line, and then notes wonderingly the propor- tions of the railway-buildings nearly completed, men ask each other what these last are for, and why they are here. It is evidently a large station, with extensive platforms, booking-offices; and wait- ing-rooms. There is a signal -house on posts, which, after the manner of those erections, peers over the country as if from stilts, as well as the other apparatus of a considerable traffic. But you look in vain for residences near. Wood and water, pasturage, sheaves of cut corn, cattle and horses, there are in abundance ; for the land hereabouts is rich and fruitful, and the farming good. Look- 812 A SUBUKBAN FISHERY. ing to the right on your way clown the line, you see nothing but fields at this particular spot ; but the left-hand view gives you a roadside house and gardens, situate on the banks of what seems to be a river as wide as the Thames at Putney. You trace this river deviously winding in its full breadth for a mile or more until it is hidden by a bend in the tree-covered headland ; and when, if you are a veritable stranger, you ask its name, the meaning of the railway-buildings, and the history of the sheet of water, together with the uses and the joys of the mansion near it, are told you in a breath. '^ The Old Welsh Harp Station" is, as you learn at the Old Welsh Harp itself, to be the name of the new stopping -place for Midland trains* This one tavern, you gather, brings down so many passengers from London as to need the railway accommodation of a good - sized market - town ; and, though the authorities have, doubtless, well- founded convictions as to the residential traf&c of the future, it pleases the gallant sportsmen of the Harp to consider themselves the sole cause of a new station being thought necessary. The river turns out to be a large artificial pond a mile and a quarter in length, and of some three hundred and fifty acres on the surface ; and is, in fact, the Brent reservoir of the Eegent's Canal Company. A SUBURBAN FISHERY. 313 The fish, with which it is plentifully stocked, tempt down Cockney anglers in every station of life, and, on such an afternoon as this, the punts and rods at work may he counted up in scores. We may say at once that though there are countless other attractions connected with the Harp — large dinners, small dinners, singing-par- ties, garden-parties, occasional horse-racing and pigeon-shooting, music and the dance, our present business with it is as a fishery only, and that the anglers and angling to he seen, and if you wish it, to be joined there, form its leading features, on off-days. So think many a clergyman, doctor, and lawyer. So thought Prince Lucien Bonaparte the other day when, as you are proudly told, he spent some hours on the waters of the Harp, catching much small fish, " for which he has a special relish and don't mind how small they are." The anglers here are divided into two classes — the annual subscribers, and the casual customers who pay by the day. For a guinea a year you may fish for jack from the first of June to the last day in February, on the understanding that you return any jack of less than a pound weight into the water. You are required to fish with a rod not less than six feet in length, and " no trimmer, peg-line, or net is to be used, except a landing or keep net." Should the supply of water run low, 314 A SUBUEBAN FISHERY. whicli does not often happen, you are expected to limit your fishing to two days a-week, after notice to that effect has been given by the proprietor, who also reserves to himself the right ''to stop the angling altogether in the event of their being a scarcity of water, and upon his giving notice in BelVs Li/e.'^ Subscribers are further "requested to prevent encroachments on these rules ; also to confine themselves to gentlemanly language." In addition to jack there are abundance of silver eels, carp, tench, and bream ; and the anglers who pay by the day are subdivided into those charged half- ;a-crown for jack-fishing, and those charged one shilling for catching, or trying to catch, the other varieties. We learn these details on board the good yacht Madoline, " called after a song you may have heard," and on which we have embarked from " the pontoon put up for the Prince of Wales and the aristocratic pigeon -club, that they might prac- tise at shooting birds over water before they went io Paris, where all the matches are done so." In this yacht we explore the whole of the fishery, tacking and re-tacking so as to catch the faint puffs of wind, and listening to wondrous stories of heavy takes of fish. Eecords of these are kept with strictness ; and to learn that 179 fine pike or jack were caught on the first day of the season A SUBUEBAN FISHERY. 315 of 1869 seemed a fitting introduction to the feats of individual prowess we heard of later on. That the curate of a certain well-known metropolitan parish, and the popular rector of an equally well- known suburb, delight to run down here, and each betaking himself to his own familiar corner land loads of fish, is a pleasant thing to hear of. So, in a different way, is it inspiring to know that the original genius who introduced the Perfect Cure to the world, and one of his fellow comic-vocalists, ,-are among the most successful fishermen visiting the Harp. " Mr. W. Eandall, sir, he killed four- teen jack from three pound to eleven pound each on the 14th June ; and Mr. Stead he caught eleven jack in the first week in June, one of 'em weighing fifteen pounds and a quarter, which isn't what you'd call dusty, is it ?" Other names are quoted as belonging to the great fishermen of the year ; and members of Parliament, aldermen, and other dignitaries are rattled off" in rapid succession, each with a label round his neck, as it were, of the quantity he has caught. To the late Alderman Harmer belongs the credit of taking the largest fish found in the Harp waters, a jack weighing 24 pounds ; and though 370 of these voracities had been caught in the weeks preceding our visit, nothing weighing more than sixteen pounds had been found among them. 316 A SUBURBAN FISHEEY. But these are tlie deeds of the great guns — the Izaak Waltons, the Cottons, the Stoddarts of the place. Out of the hundred annual subscribers, there are many such; but it is the day-fishers- with whom we are chiefly concerned — the men who "try the water" because it is the thing to do, and whose angling is original in its conception,, and primitive in its accessories. These come down, in their thousands every year. Scarcely a day passes without some great middle-class or trade banquet taking place, and the United Tailors or the Associated Button-moulders, having first eaten pleasantly at two or three in the afternoon, pro- ceed to fish. At our visit there were five separate gatherings of this kind, and, after convivial songs and speech-making, many a diner set to work with rod and line with as much zest as sportsmen of another kind can possibly be displaying at the moors. The vast sheet of water is strangely rural in its surroundings, and when on it or at its banks you need reminding that you are but five miles from the Marble Arch. There are not a dozen houses in sight. The low -lying meadows are backed up by umbrageous trees, and the hay- stacks and droves of well-fed cattle at the large dairy-farm to the left carry you in imagination far away from the smoky town. It is very quiet too,. A SUBUEBAN FISHERY. 317 ihe noise of the railway-wliistle being the chief thing heard ; and the little spire of Kingsbury parish church peeps out of a framework of oak- leaves, and looks rusticity itself. As the day goes on, the fishermen become more and more nume- rous. The high-road assumes a processional cha- racter, and brakes hired for the day, knowing little carts drawn by swift ponies, velocipedes, gigs, and modest phaetons, combine to bring the anglers ■down. There is room enough for all, and as the Madeline sails slowly by the different sets, she teaches those on board her the strangely-various modes in which fishing is possible. Yonder is a master watchmaker from Clerkenwell, who, first seating his wife and children in a compact group, as if to be photographed, and at a prescribed number of yards from himself, "feeds the water" solemnly, while his hostages eat buns. There is too much small fish in it already he opines, and this always makes pike lazy ; but he keeps in good heart, and exercises himself eccentrically with a line. Not far from him are two United Tailors asleep in a punt, and this reminds our pilot of the old gentleman last summer, who took somo frogs for bait and some big bung-corks for floats, and who was found snoring in his punt hours after ^ wards, " with the frogs squatting on the corks in the water, and as it were laughing in his face." 318 A SUBURBAN FISHERY. Next we drift slowly by an enthusiast from one of the great linenclraper's shops, who is spending his Saturday half-holiday up to his anldes in water, which he whips as if with a flail. Then comes a salesman from Billingsgate, who, not having enough of fish in the ordinary way of business, is looking on delightedly at the hauling-in of roach and carp by his companion and friend. There are young ladies fishing, too, and the fixing the bait and adjusting their line give oppor- tunities for tender attentions which their fellow- anglers are too gallant to miss. Now stalks with mock solemnity across the fields a detachment from another Welsh Harp, where there is no water. The detachment consists of half-a-dozen damsels and as many swains, armed with fishing- rods. They form in open order, and march across the sward down to the pontoon, stopping only at the word "halt," and dressing to the right and left at the word of command. Round the corner, and by the outfall, where the Canal Company's officer lives, and from which there is a telegraphic communication with its head office concerning the depth of the water, we see a family boat in which everybody, from the. baby upwards, is angling. There is not much fish in the basket, and jocu- larly evasive answers are returned to questions concerning their haul ; but there is abundant A SUBURBAN FISHERY. 319 merriment, and when the boats turn tavernwards for tea — an important meal at the Harp — there is a joyous comparing of notes, in which, strange to say, every one seems satisfied. There is something recalHng the traditional relations between mine host and his guests in the warm greetings and cordial invitations which pass between the proprietor of the Harp and those as- sembled there ; and when the museum comes to be visited, we learn from men who "haven't missed coming here on a Saturday for the last ten years," how "it's all Mr. Warner that's made the fishing what it is." " There is wild -duck shooting in the winter, and herons are constantly caught," and we are referred to Harting on the Birds of Middlesex for further particulars of the Harp's capabilities in that direction. But it is the fishing which peculiarly marks the Harp in the season as one of the most curious of London plea- sure-places. The intense love shown for the rod and the line, and the regularity with which men come down from the most confined and most re- mote districts of London to use them, would seem remarkable to persons unaware how deeply rooted is the love of sport in the heart of the true Lon- doner. You see this love of fishing strongly deve- loped at certain well-known villages on the Thames, but for concentration of numbers and diversity 320 A SUBURBAN FISHERY. of character in a given space, the waters of the Welsh Harp are unrivalled. The talk is all of lishing at certain times ; and whether you dine at the eighteenpenny ordinary on Sundays, or lounge about the grounds or lake on a Saturday afternoon, you are sure to hear strange gossip respecting the prowess of the anglers, as well as some hitherto-unnoticed habits and customs among fish. GENII OF THE EING. (1866.) The ring is a prize-ring, and the genii are pugil- ists. The cabaHstic signs and words used by the latter ; the magical effects produced and the rapid changes effected on the human face by the weird mysteries they practise ; the strange rites observed by them, their laws, penalties, and rewards, have always had a painful fascination for me. I am pained that I can never hope to be affiliated, and fascinated because the fortunate beings whose at- tributes I covet are, by virtue of their magic, en- dowed with strange strength, skill, and hardihood, and are apparently impervious to blows and shocks which would stretch ordinary mortals lifeless on the ground. As unlawful magicians they would be worth studying, but it is as professors of a more or less recognised art we have to consider them now. Their hopes and fears, emotions, pleasures, sorrows, cares — how far do they differ in these from you and me, from the tradesman who sells us beef and mutton, from the inventor of a new Y 322 GENII OF THE EING. piece of mechanism, from tlie painters of pictures and the writers and readers of books ? Bent upon gauging this, I sought and obtained an introduction to the editor of a journal (and let me add, a really upright and honest journal) which is known wherever the English tongue is spoken ; a journal whose boast is that it never sleeps ; and which, having long survived the generation of bucks and bloods and Corinthians to whose tastes it ministered originally, is still the guide, philo- sopher, and friend of the great sporting world. Few things have surprised me more than the con- trast between the newspaper-office of my imagina- tion and the newspaper-office of sober fact. Every expectation I had formed was falsified by results. The printers were not slangy ; the sober decorum of the boys, messengers, and clerks was such that they might have been in the service of an evan- gelical magazine ; while the gentlemen composing the editorial department were the gentlemen of society, the gentlemen you meet in clubs and drawing-rooms, and, so far as I saw, without a fox's head or a horse's hoof amongst them in the way of ornament. Had the compositors smacked of the race-course, the literary staff been unmis- takably fast, the publishers loud, and the boys and messengers redolent of stable-talk, I should have accepted all as the appropriate condition and GENII OF THE KING. 323 surroundings of a great sporting organ. Instead of this, I was politely welcomed in an establish- ment which is not merely sedately respectable in tone, but is one where the kindliness and good feeling existing among its members are so obvious and marked as to convey the impression of a family party in some Utopia where relations never quar- rel. The constant chronicling of prize-fights, the weekly analysis of studs, the commenting week after week upon the "performances" of horses, the "points" of dogs, and the scores at cricket and billiards, have had no effect on the demeanour of those deputed to discharge these trusts. Hav- ing seen the offices of newspapers celebrated for the strictness of their principles and the purity of their tone, I declare that of The Sleepless Life to excel them all in its air of placid respectability and genteel quiet. I am introduced to the room where the editor holds a levee every Friday afternoon throughout the year. Portraits of the late Mr. Sayers and other famous professors adorn one side of it ; while the great fight at Farnborough, the celebrated trott- ing mare Yixen — apparently pursued by a large velocipede — and other interesting pictures, cover the remaining walls. I soon hear a fund of in- structive anecdotes concerning the genii. The three gentlemen present have all been at different 324 GENII OF THE RING. times maltreated or threatened at their hands. The office of referee at great prize-fights has been filled by each of them, and a refined - looking man writing at the table in the corner was beaten until he was insensible a few weeks ago. A fight was in progress, and he had been appealed to as umpire whether a certain blow came within the conditions laid down by the rules of the ring. The backers of the two men, not unnaturally, took difi'erent views, one party maintaining it was "a foul," and claiming the victory for the man struck, the other insisting it was legitimate, and that the combat must proceed. Some shouting and strong language, amid which the second of the man said to have been improperly hit appealed to the re- feree, "Yosn't that a foul, now, sir?" and almost in the same breath, "0, it weren't, weren't it? — then take that, yer (noun substantive), and tliaty and tliatP' accompanying each "that " with a savage blow under the ear, in the region of the heart, and upon the head. The referee fell insen- sible, and his physical monitor, Mr. Eoss Filer, having thus satisfied his Spartan sense of justice, went back to his corner with the air of a man who had done his duty in spite of opposition. Legal redress for the outrage was of course impossible, the business of the gathering and the gathering itself being alike forbidden by law ; but retribu- GENII OF THE RING. 325 tion has, for all that, fallen upon Mr. Filer. That energetic zealot unites the business of a publican with the pastime of prize-fighting, and he has, since his brutal conduct, been declared dead to the world of sporting readers. His name is properly tabooed by the sporting press, his sparring dis- plays and benefits are never chronicled, and the genii themselves speak of him as a blackguard whom there is no redeeming. So much for Mr. Filer, who had, at a previous fight, encouraged another of the gentlemen before me, in the im- partial discharge of his judicial functions, by the cheering speech, "If he doesn't do wot's right" {i. e. what it suits the pocket of me, Eoss Filer, to call right), " we'll murder him !" A previous editor of The Sleepless Life, while acting as judge at a prize-ring, received a blow from a bludgeon, from which he never really rallied, and which caused his death. His immediate suc- cessor has been hitherto more fortunate, never having been actually struck, though frequently threatened. He pointed out a particular corner of the room we were in, between the window and the fire, where, by placing your back firmly against the wall and seizing the poker, you may, always supposing you are a good hand at single-stick, protect yourself effectually against violence. This was no imaginary hypothesis. The speaker has 326 GENII or THE EING. had to adopt these precautions more than once when conversing with the genii, and when the arguments of the latter have assumed the shape of clenched fists and foul threats. While I mastered these suggestive details, and learned that several well-known pugilists were ex- pected to drop in that afternoon, the crowd outside had gradually increased. The small groups out- side the two public-houses opposite had received numerous additions, and had now merged together so as to form a thick fringe of frouzy humanity, which covered the pavement to right and left, balanced itself uneasily on the kerbstone, and at last overflowed on to the roadway. Not a pre- possessing crowd by any means. Irish labourers of distinctly bibulous tendencies, who looked list- lessly to right and left, as if for a new excitement, and expectorated thoughtfully when a prize-fighter passed them ; hangers-on of the ring, who might be hired for sparring purposes at a shilling an hour, and who stood like cab-horses on a stand; hangers-on of the pugilists, who were waiting patiently in the hope that stakes would be drawn or deposits made, and that eleemosynary stimu- lants would be the conditions upon which their services as witnesses or friends would be required ; dissipated - looking men whose abstract love for pugilism had brought them here to feast their GENII OF THE RING. 327 eyes upon the heroes of their worship ; thieves and card-sharpers on the look-out for prey; and over all an indescrihahle air of v^orthless, dissolute raffishness : such was the mob in waiting outside The Sleepless Life office. For two mighty combats had been fought in the preceding week; and the principals and se- conds in each were, as it was well known, expected to confer with the editor, and talk over their future. On the previous Monday the Welsh mam- moth, O'Boldwin, had beaten Augustus Oils, after a protracted fight, for one hundred pounds, in which, I have since read, the latter was " defeated, but not disgraced;" and on the very day before our interview those well-known heroes. Raven and Rile, had fought for three hours and a half, for four hundred pounds, when, to the intense disgust of their backers and admirers, "both men got very weak, and showed symptoms of the cold shivers setting in," so it was agreed to draw the stakes, from the physical impossibility of either man striking a finishing blow to make him winner. These champions and their friends were the attractions of the day, and a knock at the door announced the arrival of the gallant Rile's second, Mr. Black Kicks. This gentleman's patience had been sorely tried by the disappointment of yester- day, and his expressions of disgust at the un- 328 GENII OF THE RING. toward ending of "wot oughter been a finish one way or the other," were uttered with much feeling and sincerity. ''He'd rather ha' lost his money, he would indeed, than 'ave a fight end nohow, as yer may say. No, he couldn't say one was more blown than another; they was both blown, and that's truth. Eile gets wonderful slow arter he's been fightin' about two hours — wonderful slow, indeed ; while Eaven's never bin able to finish his man since he fought Cuss, and is, besides, allers on the slip, which ain't what Mr. Kicks calls fightin' — it ain't indeed." Kicks is a bullet- headed black-browed young fellow, whose civility to the editor reminded one somehow of veneer. A few more genial remarks on the sport of the day before, and he retires, after handing in a slip of written paper, which is carefully filed. To him succeeds a podgy pale-faced man of middle age, who can scarcely speak from cold, and whose words hiss out like steam from a teakettle. This is the veteran Tommy Stalker, of whom I hear that his fighting weight twenty years ago was nine stone four pounds, and whose arm — a great point this — now measures fifteen inches round. Stalker's errand is pacific, and his round full- moon face smiling. ''It is a little benefit I'm fehinkin' of takin', and if you'd be kind enough to give me a word in to-morrow's paper, I thought GENII OF THE RING. 329 you might like to see this." " This" is a flaming red bill of the Fitzroy Music Hall, and sets forth the allurements of Stalker's night. The hero himself will, by particular desire, give his cele- brated Grecian delineations — and very curious must that corpulent figure look in a skin-tight dress. The term " Grecian" has liberal interpre- tation at Stalker's hands, for the delineations range from Hercules and the Nemsean Lion, to Piomulus and Kemus. Long before I have settled how this " well- known scientific fighter" contrives to represent twins in his own fat person — a problem I have yet to solve — he retires with many smiles, and is succeeded by Eat Bangem, affectionately spoken of as "ould Eat," and Beau Cuss. Bangem, a well-worn veteran, who is almost without front teeth, and whose chief peculiarity is that he al- ways seems to be talking with his mouth full, wears a tasteful breast-pin, in which the personal pronoun ''My" in large letters of gold surmounts a counterfeit human eye, and so symbolises its owner's acuteness. He is a civil-spoken fellow, who has retired from the ring, and now keeps a well-known tavern. Cuss is a candidate for the championship of England, being pledged to fight Zebedee Spice next May, for two hundred pounds and the belt ; and both Eat and he are very full 330 GENII OF THE RING. of the contest of last Monday. O'Boldwin was originally a pupil of Bangem's, who picked him up in the streets, and, fascinated by his size and promise, gave him the rudiments of his fistic edu- cation. Another publican and ex-pugilist, David Garden, was O'Boldwin' s second at the fight he won last Monday; but Bangem does not mind this, and talks with great feeling of old times, before O'Boldwin was anything but physically great. Cuss is a dark-complexioned man of middle height, and apparently of immense strength. A deep broad chest, which seems almost bursting through the rough-napped black cutaway coat and waistcoat buttoned over it, a short neck, lips which move, when their owner speaks or laughs, so as to show their inner half, and to thus intensify the animal expression of the face, a hand and arm which look fit to fell a bullock, and sturdy legSy which seem as if a bullock's strength could not shake them, make Cuss a formidable competitor for the honours of the ring. His conversation is saturnine rather than animated, and turns chiefly upon the amount of deposit-money he and Spice have yet to pay. I gather that whereas five pounds were now paid by each man every Friday, the time approaches when the weekly instalment must be doubled. Of the drawn battle yesterday GENII OF THE RING. 331 between Eaven and Kile, it is Mr. Cuss's opinion " both men bad a chance to win ;" while his con- tempt for a combatant who admitted after a battle that he wasn't " so much hurt as he thought he was," is too deep for words, and finds vent in expectoration. The point is mooted whether, in the event of Cuss winning the belt, he will be able to keep it afterwards, against O'Boldwin the redoubtable ; whereupon the face of Cuss assumes as doggedly savage an expression as it has been my lot to see, and his resolution finds words in " He won't get it without fighting for it, that's all I've got to say." The Fates were propitious, for Cuss and old Davie had scarcely left the room when the former's opponent in the coming fight, the great Zeb Spice, whose " science" is a proverb, came in. He looked clean, smart, and prosperous, was faultlessly attired as a sporting gentleman, smiled benignly but knowingly at me, much as if we shared between us the secrets of the ring, and then gracefully presented the editor with a couple of portraits of himself. A much more agreeable specimen of humanity than the savage - looking Cuss, Mr. Spice verges on dandyism in his ap- parel and ornaments. His magnificent chest and limbs were clothed in garments befitting the daily associate of the rank and fashion of Puddlcpool, 532 GENII OF THE RING. his breast - pin, ring, watcli - chain, and silver- mounted switch, were massive and costly, his voice was persuasive, and his manner ingratiat- ing. It pleased me to hear him say that after May he would fight no more, but limit his atten- tion to the great Puddlepool gymnasium he is said to rule so well. I learn with breathless in- terest, though, that he has " a big 'un in training, who'll be quite clever enough for O'Boldwin," and infer that Spice's heart is, after all, in the ring he promises to leave. Tommy Scotch, a respectable-looking middle- aged man, formerly, I hear, a well-known fighter at eight stone five — I like exactitude — has a boy he wishes to put to school, and, after the usual knock at the door, comes up to the desk to con- sult with, and receive encouragement and advice from, the editor. Beattie is about to take a benefit, and hands in the particulars, which are duly filed and published. Wolloper and friend are uneasy as to the day fixed for their fighting, and request another look at " the articles." Bloss brings in the news that a second bobby's been sent to watch the crowd outside ; — there was a fight there of seven rounds without interruption -a fortnight before. Benny Bailey thinks he won't be ''fit" in time for his mill ; and George Fibbins asks for the return of the two pounds deposit- GENII OF THE RING. 833 money lie left here some time back, '' which ain't never been covered yet." All these people, and many others who enter in rapid succession, are prize-fighters, or their tutors, disciples and abet- tors, and every arrangement is made upon the purest business principles and in the most sys- tematic way. The deposit -receipt is produced, examined, and indorsed by the editor, and Fib- bins walks down to the cashier's department much as a man would do who was transferring his sav- ings, or drawing the interest due to him from some provident-bank. To him succeeds Mr. Jennett, "Farmer Jen- nett," the well-known bookmaker, of the great Guelph betting-club, who is interested in the monument about to be erected to the memory of the late Mr. Sayers, and who, I take the liberty of remarking, is as clean and wholesome-looking a little gentleman as the most fastidious could desire. A shrewd bright eye and pleasant smile, a hard and rather dried-up face, quick decided movements of hands and arms, and a neat assort- ment of jewelry, including a very horsey breast- pin, are the points in Farmer Jennett' s appearance I remember best. He was Mr. Sayers's principal backer as well as one of his most influential and trustworthy friends ; and he is now his executor and the guardian of his memory. The farmer 334 GENII OF THE RING. is disappointed at not seeing the design for the monument, but is gratified to hear that it will be completed in about nine months, and that it is to consist of a mausoleum with closed doors, guarded by Mr. Sayers's mastiff, in white marble, and adorned by a medallion portrait of Mr. Sayers outside. Should the sculptor want an advance, Mr. Jennett is ready for him; should the editor wish to see the farmer at any time, a line to the Guelph will be his best plan, for "being so much out of town when racing's on, I ain't always good to find in London." Enter here, hoarse and toothless. Bill Kind, of Westminster, who is fifty-two years of age, and is engaged to fight another man as old as himself. Mr. Kind looks older than he is, and hands in the announcement of the public-house benefit he proposes to take before going into training, with an agreeable growl, such as one might look for from an amiable wild-beast. " Honly thirty shil- lings a-side stated in last Saturday's Sleepless, which it oughter be twopundten," refers to the amount of the weekly instalment paid by each combatant. And Mr. Kind departs gladdened by the promise that this important matter shall be set right. Another knock at the much- suffering door, and a tall young fellow, with heavy bloodshot GENII OF THE EING. 335 eyes, swollen discoloured cheeks, and a good- tempered sheepish expression on his vacuous face, comes in. This is Augustus Oils, " the defeated, but not disgraced," of Monday. The sympathetic greeting, "He's too big for you, Gus !" was evi- dently appreciated by the vanquished man, who fumbled nervously at his cap, and, though he smiled and laughed when speaking of his defeat, was evidently mortified, and out of spirits. The repetition of " It only shows, sir, wot a bad judge Willy Sands must be, who told me I could beat him," seemed to afford some meagre comfort; but the "He's too big for anyone, that's my belief," came out with marked sincerity; and poor Oils retired, after thanking all present for their kind- ness. Having brought his poor battered carcass to be seen, he was grateful not to be tvdtted on its having suffered in vain. He was accompanied by a very funny old man, whose eyes seemed staring in astonishment at their owner being still alive. Trainer, valet, hanger-on, or backer — it was not quite clear in which of these capacities he figured, or why he figured here at all. Mournfully de- spondent when insisting that the condition of Oils was perfect on the day of fighting, he became timid and nervous when mention was made of the com- pensation-benefit to be announced in to-morrow's Sleejokss Life. " Let us 'ave no names mentioned 336 GENII OF THE EING. as backing Gus, or bringing him to fight; — a old friend of Field's, that's all." This speech, given with the air of a detected conspirator, was repeated mechanically and at short intervals during the stay of himself and Oils. Nay, five minutes after they had left, the door reopened, and the pro- minent eyes and queer figure-head face again looked timorously in, and as a parting shot, whispered mysteriously: "No names mentioned, ii you please — " and then pointing with thumb to waistcoat, with the air of a man making a startling and perfectly novel admission — "an old friend of Field's, that's all." When this elderly nuisance has retired finally, I ask whether Oils had his front teeth knocked out last Monday, or in pre- vious conflicts, and much to my surprise receive " Stomach" for answer. The curious point of this reply, and of its eff'ect, is, that it seems to be made, and is certainly received, under a dim sense of injury. That poor Oils should lose his teeth from natural causes, instead of having them knocked down his throat, seems a violation of the fitness of things, and an irregularity on the part of Oils to be condemned. So, when I hear that the " clever lad," young Walloper, who is engaged to fight another " clever lad" for five pounds a- side, and who has heard that Spice and Cuss " 'as changed their day of fightin' " — when I hear that GENII OF THE RING. 337 liis false eye is due to an accident instead of to the prize-ring, I cannot help feeling that Wal- loper is to blame. The victorious Welsh mammoth, O'Boldwin, comes in jubilant, attended by his friend and second, Davie Garden, whose hostelry is his head- quarters, and as such is regularly advertised as the champion's home. The mammoth has a grievance. He is described in the papers as O'Boldwin, and as six feet seven inches high ; whereas he " never 'ad a Ho to his name, and six foot five and a 'arf is the most he hever stood." Rectification is promised, and the mammoth is appeased. I look respectfully at the hands which have made the cheeks of Oils to be like over-ripe pears, and the eyes of Oils to be as if set in beet- root ; and I find them large, bony, and not over- clean. I glance at the feet which have "toed the scratch" so recently and triumphantly, and I see that they are of a size proportionate to the mam- moth's height. ''Mind you don't knock your head," was a necessary warning as he stooped to enter the doorway; and the ''Don't understand anything about it, sir," in reply to a question as to his alleged leaning to Fenianism, sums up to a nicety my estimate of his character. Not un- derstanding anything about it, would, I imagine, but too accurately express poor Boldwin's ideas of z 338 GENII OF THE EING. the world outside the prize-ring. Like his late opponent, he seemed the personij&cation of good temper; and if it were respectful to so describe the heroes of a protracted battle, I should say they were a couple of overgrown school-boys, each of whom is as wax in the hands of associates and leaders craftier than themselves. The red-faced publican, old Davie Garden, is in great force, for as the ostensible backer and trainer of Boldwin — I drop the "Ho," as requested — he has made money and reaped honour from the victory. Full of cheery suggestions for the future, and successive triumphs for his man, the alloy in- separable from earthly happiness appears in the profoundly sad reflection: *'You see, you can't fight everybody !" which chastens his otherwise exuberant joyousness. That Spice has " a dark big 'un" down at Puddlepool, who might do for Boldwin; that Turpin might fight agin if we tempted him with a hoffer ; that Pike Badun wants to fight the mammoth ; and that a jint benefit for 'im and Oils will be shortly given in the hopen, so as to keep off the East-enders, are the heads of Mr. Garden's discourse; who throughout the in- terview gives one the impression of a man on con- summately good terms with himself and his little world. The next visitor, Kaven, bore a striking con- GENII OF THE KING. 339 trast to Boldwin ; for while the latter' s face had scarcely a scratch upon it, the former was plas- tered and patched, and had the disappointment of going home that night to Warwickham without having settled the supremacy with his rival, Kile. " I have very good flesh, sir, very good indeed !" was his modest acknowledgment of the compliments paid to the fewness of his scars. For though, to my uninitiated gaze, a monster cavity over the right eye, seamed and swollen cheeks, and divers strips of white plaster over and about a face which looks pallid from loss of blood, present a shocking spectacle enough, they are but slight indications, if the battered condition of the man at the fight of the day before be remembered. Cob Kivers and a sharp business-looking man, who was one of Raven's backers, accompany the latter now, and an order is made for the money staked to be given up. Eile had drawn his before my arrival; and a terrible rumour reached the editor's room soon after, that he was " in the hands of the Philis- tines," and had been accompanied to the bank where the cheque from The Sleepless office would be cashed by two light-hearted gentlemen, who are fond of card-playing, and renowned for their good fortune. Cob looks half Jew, half mulatto, and is fashionably dressed in a long black surtout, an obtrusive bright green scarf covering his chest. 340 GENII OF THE EING. Tlie backer, the fighter, and lie cliat pleasantly about Raven, " first taking a little rest," and then challenging some presumptuous person unnamed, who has publicly vaunted his superiority. A short talk as to the probability of the other backers fol- lowing the liberal example of the one present, and giving Raven the money they staked on him ; and the trio depart. I thank the editor of The Sleepless Life for the privilege so courteously accorded me, and take my leave. Pondering upon what I have seen and heard, I pass absently into the street, still filled with raffish loungers, and am only roused from a painful reverie by having a dirty finger thrust in my face, while its owner asseverates with many oaths as he points me out for the admiration of his fellows : " Tell yer he's the cove as found the money for Davie Garden to back Boldwin with, and he's just come out o' the Life office, vere he's bin a droring the stakes." SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. Eeadees of BelVs Life must have remarked tliat under the heading *' Canine Fancy" a series of announcements are regularly given, which are not quite intelligible to the world at large. The "re- nowned old house at home will, on the following Sunday, show a stud of matchless beauties, the arrangements being in the hands of old fanciers ;" " dog Pincher and his master have returned home, and, by way of a treat, the former will destroy 100 rats under five and a half minutes," as a sort of preliminary to the more important duty of two days later, when he is pledged to a '' 200 rat match;" "a respected veteran" gives a house- warming, and invites thereto all the bull-dogs of his acquaintance, when " the great number of those majestic animals will surpass anything of the kind ever witnessed," and when " several of the ^ upper ten' will be present ;" shares in the " Limited Toy-dog Company" may be secured by paying a modest call of 2s. 6c/. per share ; tavern bars at which the printed pedigree of the cham- 342 SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. pion bull Crib and the ratting rules may be had at any time;" rat-matches "between two gentle- men for 51. a-side ;" and Sunday - evening shows, whereat the chairman '^will show his prize -dog Jerry against all comers, faced by a gentleman who will produce his stud of little pets," and where the same functionary "will exhibit his stud of black-and-tan spaniels, vice some one who will show his stud of toy- dogs." Such are the mystic bits of information to which the great sporting organ devotes each week more .than half a column of its space. Occupying the centre part of a page, having yachting intelli- gence and chess problems as its out-guards, it is to be presumed that these paragraphs are in- tensely interesting to those to whom they are ad- dressed. Here, then, is a field for philosophic inquiry. Given statements which are so much gib- berish to nineteen educated readers out of twenty ; given a class to whom they are all-important : how shall we ascertain the conditions governing the members of that class, the links binding them to- gether, and the exceptional circumstances of their lives? The problem is easily solved. If the inquirer will select between " matchless beauties" and " old fanciers," "majestic animals" and "toy- dogs," and then give up an hour some Sunday evening, he may ascertain all particulars for him- SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 343 self. Let us look in first at the back parlour of a tavern in Long-acre, when, just as the adjacent church, St. Paul's, Covent-garden, is discharging its congregation, and when a fair proportion of the pedestrians you meet have prayer-books in their hands the '^show" is going on. There is neither let nor hindrance to your admission. You are told to walk in by a gentleman at the bar, and find yourself one of a mixed company of a dozen or so. Five of these are men, the rest dogs. The rattling of chains proceeds from the dogs, the oaths and strong language from the men. The former are chained to iron rings fixed in the wall, or to the legs of the tables at which the latter sit ; or share the table with tumblers of gin-and-water, pewter tankards of beer, and clay pipes and tobacco. The " show" is very like a tap-room, and the guests are a rough-and-ready, plain-spoken set. They call spades spades very fre- quently during your stay, and tell you of the '^bob- bies having stopped a fight which wos to 'ave come off near the Welsh 'Arp this wery Sunday morn- ing." Reminiscences of other fights, not stopped, whereat the speakers looked on ; anticipations of a great ratting-match to come, with speculations as to the victor, and hopes for the guvnor's suc- cess, follow this ; and then you hear, under the moist seal of tavern confidence, of a coming dog- 344 SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. figlit, *' which you'll keep it dark, for some folks makes themselves so nasty perticler." All this time a white bull- dog in the corner whines approval, and rushing to the end of his chain places his chin against your knee, and looks "long live our national sports," with all the au- thority conferred by a heavy growl, watery eyes, bow legs, and a brawny chest. Now thirsty customers produce dogs from unexpected parts of their body, like the conjuror's vase of gold fish, and whisper inquiries as to the fight and the "guv- nor's chances;" and a little black-and-tan spaniel in a right-hand corner, of a vain exacting spirit, not receiving the attention his self-estimated merits demand, proceeds to leisurely choke himself with his chain by twisting it round the leg of the table, thus evincing a suicidal tendency almost human in its governing cause. His master — a hard-mouthed prosaic man in a white-linen jacket and brown cords — administers consolation in the shape of strong language, together with blows on the head and jerks at the collar, and emulates Alderman Cute in his determination to put sui- cide down. The conversation is only momentarily interrupted by this incident, and continues to re- volve round dog-fight, match, and " Welsh 'Arp," up to the time we leave. Now wending our steps across Leicester-square, SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 345 and turning up tlie street facing the end of the Haymarket, we proceed to the " old house at home," to enjoy the society of " old fanciers," and '' matchless beauties," and to still further test the conversation of the dog-dealing, dog-wor- shipping classes. At the end of a flagged court, where the windows of every house are open, and show people panting for air as they lean out, with children popping round and about the path, and a strong smell of old boots and strong tobacco com- bining to assail your nose ; where you read in staring characters " Great Eatting Match," and pushing at a swing-door some yards farther on, are in a bar, with gay cotton pocket-handkerchiefs hanging on a clothesline — apparently to dry, but really to show off the colours of a prize-fighting champion — above it, some rather disreputable- looking men around, and a highly ornate young lady behind it. There is no need to ask the whereabouts of the show. The chinking of chains, the pattering of small soft feet on the wooden floor of the room to the right, the ''matchless beauty" on the squinting gentleman's knee, and the playful bark of the small Skye opposite — all point this out to your inexperienced mind, even if the ready, ''Walk in, gentlemen, please," of the bright-eyed, sharp-faced youth, who is said to be the landlord, but who looks strangely young for 346 SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. that liigh position, did not promptly greet every new-comer. A low-roofed room, with portraits of pugilists, game-cocks, and dogs, bills of the ratting match, and a large picture of a prize-fight upon its walls ; •sawdust, wooden benches, chairs, tables, dogs, and si)ittoons on its floor, and forty to fifty "fanciers" of different ages, smoking, drinking, and talking round its centre. Such is the parlour. The his- tory and pursuits of your companions are written on their faces, even if they did not unconsciously paint them in their talk. The resemblance be- tween some of the bull-dogs and their owners is so remarkable as to be strong testimony in favour of the theory of natural selection. Hanging jowls, protruding teeth from half-closed mouths, and ag- gressively prominent ears, are common to both; though, as if to defy generalisation and to scoff at rules, there are men present who might, as far as externals go, be easily made up for the pulpit, and whose thoughtful, lofty countenances show some- thing of the fire of genius when the merits of *' 'Arry's Novice," or the remembrance of the vir- tues of a departed " purty a little dawg as ever you see, with a palate as black as hink — I giv' yer my word," rouses their latent eloquence, and inspires their souls. A high-cheeked man in a Scotch bonnet, who has a lovely little Skye terrier SUNDAY DOG- SHOWS. 347 under each arm, and is just about to produce another, as it seems, from his watch-pocket, is in interesting conversation with a sharp-eyed Jewish- looking man opposite, whose "Bring yer dawgs 'ere; that's the way; and if yer make a little money, why yer can spend it, and" (with much emphasis) " if yer don't, yer can't, and that's where it is," receives " That is right !" in approving answer. We are now at a toy-dog show, and all present are toys, from the bright-eyed little King Charles, with floss-silk ears, to the ferocious-looking bull- dog, which the equally ferocious-looking man is nursing as if it were a kitten. " Like lambs, until they're roused, and then they're devils ; that's their sort," explains this gentleman, who again strengthened the likeness between his ani- mal and himself by the contrast between the fierceness of his appearance and the mellifluous civility of his tones. A little playful badinage between the Jewish gentleman and a new arrival, who is sceptical as to the "certainty" of some coming event; con- stant and stentorian shouts of " Any orders, gen- tlemen, please ?" from a bustling waiter, whose costume is that of a patron of the ring, who has donned the white apron in fun ; surprise at the great excitement about the dog-fight for five-and- 348 SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. twenty a-side (" wich it ain't 'arf so much as if two men were goin' to mill for a 'underd, and yet it's thought ten times as much of," from a broken-nosed gentleman, who is as palpably dis- gusted with the degeneracy of the age as was Dennis the hangman when he heard poor Barnaby loved his mother) ; repetitions of the landlord's " Walk in, gentlemen," as men, whose dress shows them to be mechanics, and with dogs under their arms, slouch to the doorway; potations of " 'arf-and-'arf," " cooper," and hot grog on every side ; conversation concerning departed dogs ; the present whereabouts of famous dogs ; the recent addition of stuffed dogs to a tavern -parlour ; some whispered information to the effect that our lithe- figured, urbane landlord was formerly the " cham- pion of the feather-weights;" comments upon dogs present, and chronological ana as to dogs absent, their prowess, their capabilities, and their pluck, — while away the time. Perfect order is observed. All present appear to regard dogs as the great business of life ; and though the exigencies of bread-winning may compel some of them to keep small general-shops, to deal in coals and potatoes, or to vend fruit, they evidently reserve their best energies for the animals that surround us now. Here, then, as it seemed to us, is a phase of SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 349 London life as little known to the general reader as the atomic theory is to an African savage. We have in our midst a race of dog-worshippers, who spend their leisure in cultivating the society of their idols, and their Sunday evenings in exhibit- ing and bragging about their goodness. Taverns are opened for these worshippers, " respected veterans" minister to their wants, newspaper- columns are devoted to the subject they affect, and other accessories are not wanting to gratify their tastes. Thus, in the days of cheap educa- tion and national progress, within a stone's throw of fashionable thoroughfares, assemblages are held regularly of men who concentrate their hopes and aspirations upon one animal, and vaunt it as the object of their affections, and the master of their time. THE END. London: robson and sons, printers, panckas road, n.w. TINSLEYS' MAGAZINE, An Illustrated Monthly, price One Shilling, CONTAINS : George Canterbury's "Will. A Serial Story. By Mrs. Henry "Wood, author of "East Lynne," &c. Austin Friars. By the Author of '' George Geith." &c. &c. &c. TINSLEY BEOTHEES' TWO-SHILLING VOLUMES, To be had at every Hallway Stall and of every Boohseller in the Kinydom. Brakespeare. By the Author of " Guy Living- stone," &c. The Adventures of Dr. Brady. By W. H. Eussell, LL.D. JSTot Wisely, but Too Well. By the Author of " Cometh up as a Flower." Sans Merci. By the Author of " Guy Living- stone." Eecommended to Mercy. By the Author of '^ Sink or Swim ?" 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