BY THE SAME AUTHOR, Croion 8vo. 9 price 6s. 6d. A REASO NABL E FAITH. Published by Longmans and Co., Paternoster Row. _ Tlie Standard. — Mr. Hopkins has clearly thought out the path of safety for himself; he "boldly tries to meet every difficulty with the weapon of fair logic and the armoury of the written Word, and has followed earnestly wherever the light pointed, whether according to his own inclinations or not, and thus reaped the sure reward of all such consistent endeavours for the truth, .... Thus, in brief outline, runs the argument of this earnest, well-meaning little book ; out of which all who are really in search of plain reasons for holding on to what they believe, or of light and guidance to extricate them from the meshes of doubt and unbelief, may gather help. The Morning Post.— Mr. Hopkins's book is a remarkable one, and merits strictest examination, as being characterised by profound thought and powerful reasoning on one of the most difficult subjects of ethical speculation. From its exten- sive comparisons between the two revelations, the moral and the physical, or the works of God as revealed in nature and in the Bible, it will be valued by the believer as no unworthy companion and sequel to Butler's great work on the Analogies of Religion. The Record.— In spite, however, of these things there is some good material in Mr. Hopkins's book, and many of his points will be studied with advantage by searchers in the boundless field of Christian evidence. The Literary Churchman.— We have here one more attempt (and a clever-one) to deal with the difficulties about faith and reason. The Weekly Dispatch.— This work contains evidence that the author is a man of much good sense, independent thought, and subtle observation. . . . "When- ever Mr. Hopkins is not bedevilled with orthodoxy, he is intelligent and liberal. The Westminster Review. — Mr. Hopkins's Christianity appears to consist in the reception of the mysteries, as of the Trinity and Incarnation, by Faith. \The Clerical Journal. — This book is full of thought exercised on the things of God, and while readers of different mental tendencies will demur here and there to the author's positions, they must,, if they are ingenuous and candid, derive pleasure and profit from his observations. Church and State Rcvieio.—Mr, Hopkins's book is, throughout, well worthy of perusal. It is really a remarkable book. John Bull. — The whole essay is clever and well written, and to certain minds possibly it may prove to be of use. The Patriot. — Without note or preface, Mr. Hopkins submits his book to his readers on its own merits ; and, on the whole, he need not fear the result. On the part of opponents of revealed religion it will be easier to cavil at it than to answer it. . . . As a whole, we may cordially commend this very able, very judicious, and very useful little volume. To those who have not access to larger works on Christian evidence it will be invaluable. . The British Standard.— The author of this work has not given to the public that which cost him little: He has very thoroughly digested his subject ; his own views are presented with a completeness, and luminousness which show him to be a hard student. The Christian World. — This is a pointed and vigorous little book. We are glad to see a man writing so liberally in a genial strain. There are not a few temptations to write caustic satires upon the weak and limping essays against the Bible. There is a beauty and ease in Mr. Hopkins's treatment of his subject which will undoubtedly assist his effort to show that reason and faith are bound together in indissoluble union. The Observer. — A reviewer who may differ on many points, will, at any rate, be impressed by a thoughtful perusal of such a work as this. The London Review. — Mr. Hopkins joins the ranks of Christianity versus Scepticism. In his work entitled " A Reasonable Faith," he shows triumphantly that the Christian is always ready and able to give a reason for the faith that is in him. Such books as these are especially calculated to be useful to the mass of general readers, who would disregard a bulky, argumentative volume on the subject, but who will peruse with pleasure a work in which the somewhat dry thread of logic is hidden beneath the flowers of an easy and pleasing style. Spectator.— Mr. Hopkins holds fully to the popular view of the Atonement, and we may be thankful for a protest in favour of religious liberty from such a quarter. Public Opinion.— Embodying much thought, clearly and beautifully expressed, on those subjects which are constantly occupying the minds of all earnest persons. Pre-eminently religious in its tone, it yet sustains the arguments against sceptics with what might be termed " secular power" holding fearlessly to the truth, while dealing gently but firmly with that which is opposed to it, COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. BY JOHN BAKER HOPKINS LpNDON:— H. HOLLO WAY," 291, STRAND. NEW YORK :—WILLMER & ROGERS. AND AT THE EAILWAY BOOK STALLS. 18 6 7. CONTENTS. PAGE Saturday Night Marketing . . . . .1 Bubble Blowing . * 12 The Railway Station ...... 23 A Christmas Vision . 1. .32 A Breeding Establishment . . . . .42 Two Midnight Meetings ..... 52 In a London Police Court . . . . .62 Life in Barracks ...... 68 A Beggars' Supper and a Thieves' Hop . . . 75 Found Dead . . . . . . 81- Constable's Hotel ...... 93 "Mary Anne," A 1 for ever ..... 102 Easter Monday . . . . . . .110 Our Domestic Servants ..... 117 Our Suburban Hotel . . . . . .127 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. SATUKDAY SIGHT MAKEETING. Mr. and Mrs. Gubbins, with their olive branches, four in number and two of a sort — and " a duke cannot have more sorts of kids," as father says — reside on the first floor of No. I, Deal Court, Brick Lane, Spitalfields. Mr. Gubbins is a carpenter, and Mrs. Gubbins adds to the family revenue by a partnership in the ground-floor-back mangle. The Gubbinses are the great folks and envy of Deal Court, and are considered rather stuck-up people. Thanks to hard work and frugality they are pretty well to do. They have a banking account at the Post-office ; Grubbins belongs to a sick and burial society ; and his provident wife, about the middle of June, joins two Christmas clubs — one at the "public," from which she gets a fat goose and a bottle of gin; and the other at the grocer's, from which she derives a, new shilling, and plums and peel enough to compound a pudding which makes one dyspeptic to think upon. Mrs. Gubbins is brown, squabby, and on the eternity side of forty. Mr. Gubbins is about the same age, and looks as healthy as a man can do who works for ten hours a day, fares mode- rately, and sleeps in an atmosphere terribly overcharged with nitrogen. 2 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. It is half-pas fc six on Saturday night. A tub of grimy suds is before the fire. The last Gubbins offshoot, cetat. five years, is on a truckle bedstead in a corner of the reception- room. Offshoot No. 2 is being rubbed down by the eldest daughter, the fair Jemima. The mother is engaged in the needful weekly performance of scouring the family heir. All the darling children (Jemima excepted) are undergoing their Saturday wash. Hence the tub of water and its griminess. The junior branches being in bed, Mr. Gubbins puts down his pipe, Mrs. Gubbins puts on her bonnet and shawl, and Miss Jemima arrays herself in a hat, from beneath which there hangs a net containing the young lady's hair, which by the tallowy light of the room looks like a collection of alarmed kittens' tails. Father pockets a half-pint medicine bottle, mother and daughter each take a large basket, and thus equipped they sally forth to market. Not, however, before Mrs. Gubbins with maternal solicitude has exhorted the ground-floor-back mangle to go to the children if they cry. The ground-floor-back mangle, who has a vision of some- thing short' and strong, in the form of speerits, about two hours later, readily promises to look after the brats. Through November mud and November darkness, the latter rendered uncomfortably visible by London gas, glimmering through dirty and unfrequent lamps, the Gub- binses, discussing to-morrow's dinner, en route, walk through sundry by-streets, until they emerge in Shoreditch, and behold a scene not easily described and never to be forgotten. No darkness now, but light— glaring light ! Tradesman vies with tradesman in consuming gas. The unprotected burners at the butchers, the greengrocers, the fishmon- gers, and the tripe shops, are flaring and flickering, and make a loud rumbling noise as they battle with the wind. On either side of the road there is an uninterrupted mile of stalls lighted with unrefined oils, which emit a smell as much unlike attar of roses as any smell can well be. At these stalls everything useful and decorative is to be bought, save coffins and anchors, and rouge for faded cheeks. SATTTBDAY NIGHT MABKETING. 3 Fish that were alive a week ago, vegetables that have not been in London more than a fortnight, crockery- ware warranted to be China, children's toys cheap and frail — it is really very wicked that the children of the poor should be indulged in any such extravagancies as toys — benevolent eel-pies — that is, pies made with unskinned eels — oysters too large and tough to be swallowed without chewing, apples rather the worse for time at a penny a pound — cutlery that looks in the unrefined light as though it might possibly cut, and haberdashery dirt cheap, The male and female stall-keepers call out their wares without ceasing, and almost drown the voices of the butchers who are hoarsely persuading Her Majesty's subjects to " Buy, buy, buy !" To add to the confusion, there is the wonder- ful cheap Jack, with a miscellaneous collection in his cart, and who does not mind presenting every customer who will invest a sixpence with a gold ring — " None of your Brum- magem stuff, my dears, but 'all-marked." A little way off is the itinerant quack : " Is there anything the matter with you? Have you got the rheumatism, mum? Has your good man got the bile ? Ha^e your children got the worms ? This candy, at a penny a stick, will cure all com- plaints. It is made by the Indians, was always used by the Duke of "Wellington, and is eaten by the Queen every night before going to bed, by order of the Lord Mayor." At a corner of a street is a nigger band, singing and de- lighting the listeners. Execrable singing we admit, but, on the whole, not much worse than the drawing-room ballad singing one is sometimes obliged to hear ; and, alas ! to applaud. On the other side of the way is an opposition — to wit, two men selling flimsy sheets of songs, and shouting title and words as they sell them. They do a thriving trade, and a continuous stream of copper flows into their capacious pockets. The pavement is crowded. If anyone is in a hurry he must take to the road. Such a seething and incongruous mass of humanity ! Decently clad wives of City clerks b 2 4 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. who have to keep up appearances upon £100 a-year, and who have come a long distance to buy the necessaries of life cheaply. Mechanics' wives comfortably clad, who evidently enjoy the marketing. Women in unwomanly rags. Girls with their sweethearts. Children who were better at home. Those who are homeless and who find that the poor are prone to take compassion on the wretched, frequent shoreditch on Saturday nights. Drunken men and drunken women. Take it altogether, a bewildering scene to the novice. But the Gubbins family are not in the least disconcerted by the noise and the bustling crowd. They stop before a vendor of whelks, and each has a little white saucer full of a small glutinous fish floating in a greenish oily -looking gravy. In addition to this, Miss Jemima, who is a growing girl of thirteen years, is treated to a hot potatoe, which, with a sprinkling of salt and a small pinch of what passes for butter, cost the modest sum of one halfpenny. Mr. Gubbins, who is a fond parent — you see the working classes have their weaknesses — invests threepence in toys for the bairns at Deal Court. These preliminaries over, the serious business of the evening commences. First to the butcher's. Such a show of meat, though ribs and sirloins of beef are conspicuous by their absence. When a family has to be kept upon rather less than 30s. a week, it will not do to pay lOd. per pound for bone, to be resold at Jd. per pound. So the best cuts go west- ward. Mrs. Gubbins is a meat critic. The butcher shows her a piece of beef. She plunges her fingers into it, and shakes her head. She does not like the feel of it, it is too flabby. Will she take the knuckle end of a leg of mutton ? No, it cuts to nothing. Her eye lights upon a piece of pork. She examines the skin. All right, there is no trace of the measles. She looks at the fat. It is hard as lard, and nearly as white. The pork is the thing. It is weighed, and she goes to a little glass box to pay the butcher's wife, whose red and juicy appearance is a :• SATURDAY NIGHT MARKETING. proof that the smell of meat is salubrious. At this point there is a slight row between Mrs. Gubbins and her husband. Mrs. Gubbins can tell you in the twinkling of an eye what three dozen and six of mangling come to at l^d. a dozen, but when the question is 51b. 2oz. of meat at 8|d. per lb., she is at the mercy of the butcher's wife. She tries to reckon it with her fingers and signally fails. She appeals to Gubbins, but she might as well ask him to cal- culate the transit of the planet Venus. Gubbins says no doubt the young woman is correct. Mrs. Gubbins says he does not care how she's put upon, thrusts the pork into Jemima's basket, counts her change, and leaves the shop, firmly per- suaded that she has been cheated by the butcher, neglected by her husband, and is a very badly-used woman. Yet, Mrs. Gubbins, you excited the envy of the woman who was buy- ing bullock's liver — bullock's liver pudding is cheap and satisfying food — and who wished she could afford to buy pork. Next door, to the greengrocer's. After trying several cabbages, Mrs. Gubbins selects a big-hearted one ; then buys some potatoes — not kidneys, but Yorkshire reds. Gubbins is cheerful, and Jemima's mouth waters. Won't it be jolly to-morrow? The earthenware baking dish, which is divided into two compartments, will be brought into requisition. Into one compartment the potatoes will be sliced and sprinkled over with salt. In the other com- partment there will be batter pudding. Over both, on an iron stand, will be the pork. It will go to the baker's just as the genteel world is going to church. As the meat gets warm, fat will rain down upon the pudding and upon the potatoes, and won't they be rich ? Mrs. Gubbins, careful wife, has a very deep baking-dish. She will not let the baker have her fat. Not she, indeed. Oh, that pudding, Jemima ! Oh, those potatoes, rather pale-looking and sod- dened, but so uncommonly greasy ! Now for a surprise ! Does not Gubbins recollect what to-morrow is ? " Lor, I never see such a man as Gubbins. Why, wasn't to-morrow their wedding-day ?" Therefore, t) COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. Mrs. Gubbins bought some apples, so that, in addition to the rich batter, there would be apple pudding. Jemima was in ecstacies. Gubbins was obliged to calm his feelings by chewing a quid of tobacco. "Won't there be a scene to- morrow when mother peels the apples? "Won't the children snatch at the peel and devour it with inordinate relish? Won't mother cut out big cores to please her little flock ? Fat pork, fat potatoes, fat batter, apple pud- ding with suet crust. Oh, how supremely vulgar and coarse ! Strasbourg pie. The diseased livers of geese. Oh, how supremely genteel ! Gubbins, why don't you mend your manners, eschew fat pork, and eat pate fois de gras ? Jemima is sent home with meat, potatoes, and ap- ples. She is to go straight home, and not to gossip. Jemima is tolerably obedient, yet before she gets to the parental first floor she will let all the world of Deal Court know about the fat pork and the apple pudding. The Deal Court community is as curious about the Gubbinses , Sunday dinner as the lower middle classes are to know whether the Queen walked in the Park or on the Slopes. Jemima being despatched home, Mr. and Mrs. Gubbins enter one of the numerous palaces — gin palaces — of Shore- ditch. They go into what is called the private bar, at which pipe-smoking is forbidden, and " heavy wet," that is porter, is not served. Mr. Gubbins brings out his half-pint medicine bottle, and requests the youth behind the bar to fill it with "Old Tom," and to give him a pint of the bee^ mixture known as " Cooper." The barman having drawn the beer and blown into the pewter to see if it was full, and Mr. Gubbins having blown away the froth, hands the flowing tankard to his wife. Gubbins is anxious. His better-half is rather partial to beer, and generally leaves him the worser half-pint. Saturday is such a busy day with Mrs. Gubbins. There is helping to get home the mangling ; there is cleaning the place ; there is cleaning the children, which Mrs. Gubbins says is equal to standing for six hours at the wash-tub. If, then, she SATURDAY NIGHT MARKETING. / drinks more than her share, she is to be forgiven. Mr. and Mrs. Gubbins having refreshed, visit the grocer's, where amongst other things, Mrs, G-ubbins will buy a quarter of a pound of tea. Well, to be sure, it is a crush to get into the grocer's. Gubbins does not attempt it, but leaves his wife to fight it out, and meantime goes to the tobacconist's for his usual supply of the weed. Sly Mr. Gubbins ! Does not a fascinating damsel vend the tobacco ? Clever young woman ! All her male customers are enraptured with her, but the female snuff-takers consider her "a 'orrid and hodiouscat." Gubbins is as innocent as a lamb, yet enjoys the unfounded idea that the young damsel is a little taken with him. At length Mrs. Gubbins is nearing the grocer's counter What a splendid text for an anthem of praise does that shop afford ! Do you deny that a cup of • tea is a boon ? Years ago the poorer classes could not afford to drink good tea, but they can do so now. Not by reason of free trade only, but through a countless number of agencies. To buy that quarter of a pound of tea with the limited means of Mrs. Gubbins the labours of the Free-traders were indeed neces- sary, but not these only. Those who advanced and improved the art of navigation, those whose valour and diplomacy opened China and India to the commerce of the world — . those who invented machinery by which England is enabled to clothe the East — all these and ten thousand other noble and wise deeds were necessary preliminaries to Mrs. Gub- bins getting a quarter of a pound of mixed tea for 8|d. How the Euler of all the Earth has circumscribed the in- fluence of our selfishness ! We may labour for fame, or for riches, or for family, or for a class, but whatsoever good thing we do is done unto all mankind. It may or ma}^ not be that this principle is equally true of evil, but it is certain that whatever good we do is not interred with our bones, but is an everlasting and, so far as mankind is concerned, a universal benefit. Mrs. Gubbins, of course, does not bother herself with philosophy. To her the tea only sug- 8 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. gests the thought of a warm drink. Being served, she rejoins Gubbins, who is slightly pensive and, perhaps, peni- tent in respect to the tobacco-shop enchantress. Soon after nine our couple return to Deal Court. The children are safe and sleeping. At least, they are pretend- ing to sleep, for Jemima has been entertaining them with an account of the marketing, and the arrangements for the Sunday dinner. So much, then, for the Saturday night mar- keting of the Gubbinses ! Putting aside the little disagreea- bles, the lack of refinement, and the time of night,, it is, after all, not an unpleasant picture to look upon. Would to God such was the invariable character of Saturday night mar- keting in London ! Once more to Shoreditch. Do you see that woman steal- ing out of the pawnbroker's — tall, thin, haggard, and dressed in draggling black ? She has just received a few shillings on a pair of blankets and on some child's clothing — only fourpence on the latter, and she let fall a tear when she parted with the little bundle. See her glide into the baker's for some bread, and into the chandler's for some candles, and then home. Let us follow her. In the worst room of perhaps the worst house of Spitaliields, see her sitting. Where is her husband ? Oh ! dead, months ago. Her eldest daughter, the same age as Jemima Gubbins, is away doing a little charing for a tradesman at twopence per day and her board. Her boy has been apprenticed by the parish. She has a third child in the room with her — a fair-haired child, the pet of the family. It was five years old yesterday. It is in bed. It was this child's clothes the mother pawned — oh, how cruel ! No matter ! the child is dead, and will never need them more. " What a relief to the wretched mother !" says the parish poor law guardian. Ah, wretched mother, indeed ! To bury her child will cost her about three shillings more than she has been able to get together. She goes to the bed — well, well, to the straw — on which her child is lying. Death in this case was as much like sleep as it can be, yet even then it was fearfully SATURDAY NIGHT MARKETING. 9 different. The mother cried, never thinking that it was a relief to lose her child. These poor people are not political economists. It was noteworthy how, as she turned from the bed, she tucked in the tattered cloak that covered her child, as though the little one was only dozing, and might get cold. She knew it was dead ; but a mother does not easily realise that her child is but clay — but clay. The outburst of grief is over, the candle is lighted, and she begins to sew. Let her persevere — and if her taskmaster is not worse than the average — she may earn nearly a penny an hour. The door opens. The daughter has returned from her day's work. She kisses her mother affectionately, and the mother caresses her child. And the mother is touched with the sorrow of her girl ; and, to lighten it, tries for a moment to forget her heavy bereavement. She endeavours to look cheerful, and almost succeeds, and reproaches her child with giving way to grief. The girl has looked towards the bed, and is sob- bing. " Mother," says the girl, "let us go and buy the coffin." " On Monday," says the mother, pointing to the work on the table.