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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9df1c7a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55847 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55847) diff --git a/old/55847-8.txt b/old/55847-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2a1dda4..0000000 --- a/old/55847-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7279 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Known to the Police, by Thomas Holmes - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Known to the Police - -Author: Thomas Holmes - -Release Date: October 29, 2017 [EBook #55847] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KNOWN TO THE POLICE *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -KNOWN TO THE POLICE - -BY - -THOMAS HOLMES - -SECRETARY TO THE HOWARD ASSOCIATION - -AUTHOR OF -"PICTURES AND PROBLEMS FROM LONDON POLICE COURTS," ETC. - -LONDON - -EDWARD ARNOLD -1908 - -[_All rights reserved_] - - - - -DEDICATION - - -TO HER WHO HAS SHARED MY LIFE, WHO HAS PARTICIPATED IN ALL MY JOYS AND -SORROWS, IN ALL MY HOPES AND FEARS, WHOSE GENTLENESS HAS SOFTENED ME, -WHOSE PATIENCE HAS CURBED MY IMPATIENCE, WHOSE FAITH HAS INSPIRED ME, -WHOSE SYMPATHY AND SELF-DENIAL HAVE MADE MY LIFE POSSIBLE--TO HER WHOSE -LOVE HAS NEVER FAILED DO I GRATEFULLY DEDICATE THIS BOOK. - -T. H. - - - - -PREFACE - - -The kind reception accorded to a previous book encourages me to believe -that another volume dealing with my experiences in the great under-world -of London may not prove unacceptable. - -For twenty-five years I have practically lived in this under-world, and -the knowledge that I have obtained has been gathered from sad, and often -wearying, experience. Yet I have seen so much to encourage and inspire -me, that now, in my latter days, I am more hopeful of humanity's -ultimate good than ever. Hopeful--nay, I am certain, for I have felt the -pulse of humanity, and I know that it throbs with true sympathy. I have -listened to its heart-beats, and I know that they tell in no uncertain -manner that the heart of humanity is sound and true. - -Most gladly do I take this opportunity of proclaiming--and I would that -I could proclaim it with a far-reaching voice--that, in spite of all -appearances to the contrary, in spite of apparent carelessness, -indifference, and selfishness, the rich are not unmindful of the poor; -they do not hate the poor, for I know--and no one knows it better--that -with many of the rich the present condition of the very poor is a matter -of deep and almost heartbreaking concern. - -They will be glad--ay, with a great gladness--if some practical way of -ameliorating our present conditions can be shown. - -But I can speak with more authority for the poor, whom I know, love, and -serve. The poor have no ill-feeling toward the rich; they harbour no -suspicions; no envy, hatred, or malice dwell in their simple minds. -Their goodness astonishes me, and it rebukes me. - -Ah, when we get at the heart of things, rich and poor are very close -together, and this closeness makes me hopeful; for out of it social -salvation will come and the day arrive when experiences like unto mine -will be impossible, and mine will have passed away as an evil dream. - -Sincerely and devoutly I hope that this simple record of some parts of -my life and my work may tend to bind rich and poor still closer. - -One result of my former book, "Pictures and Problems from London Police -Courts," is to be found at Walton-on-the-Naze--a Home of Rest for -London's poorest toilers, which the readers of that book generously gave -me the means of establishing. During the present year five hundred poor -women have rested in it, some of them never having previously seen the -sea. Such profits as accrue to me from the sale of this book will be -devoted to the maintenance and development of this Home. - -One word more. I want it to be distinctly understood that _I am no -longer a Police Court Missionary_. I resigned that position four years -ago that I might be free to devote my life to London's poorest toilers, -the home-workers, to whom frequent references are made in my pages, and -for whom I hope great things. But I am not free altogether of my old -kind of work, for, as secretary of the Howard Association, one half of -my life is still devoted to prisons and prisoners. - -THOMAS HOLMES. - -12, BEDFORD ROAD, -TOTTENHAM, N. - -_September, 1908._ - - - - -CONTENTS - -CHAPTER PAGE - I. MEMORIES AND CONTRASTS 1 - - II. SOME BURGLARS I HAVE MET 33 - - III. THE BLACK LIST AND INEBRIATES 45 - - IV. POLICE-COURT MARRIAGES 65 - - V. EXTRAORDINARY SENTENCES 74 - - VI. DISCHARGED PRISONERS 92 - - VII. THE LAST DREAD PENALTY 125 - -VIII. HOUSING THE POOR 147 - - IX. THE HOOLIGANISM OF THE POOR 166 - - X. THE HEROISM OF THE SLUMS 182 - - XI. A PENNYWORTH OF COAL 198 - - XII. OLD BOOTS AND SHOES 212 - -XIII. JONATHAN PINCHBECK, THE SLUM AUTOLYCUS 222 - - XIV. PEOPLE WHO HAVE "COME DOWN" 243 - - - - -KNOWN TO THE POLICE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MEMORIES AND CONTRASTS - - -During the summer of 1904 there were in London few men more unsettled in -mind and miserable than myself. I had severed my connection with London -police-courts--and well I knew it. I was not sure that I had done wisely -or well, and was troubled accordingly. I missed more than words can -express the miseries that had hitherto been inseparable from the routine -of my life. For twenty-one years, day after day at a regular hour, I had -turned my steps in one direction, and had gone from home morning by -morning with my mind attuned to a certain note. It was not, then, a -strange thing to find that mechanical habits had been formed, and that -sometimes I found myself on the way to the police-court before I -discovered my mistake. Still less was it a marvel to find that my mind -refused to accept all at once the fact that I was no longer a -Police-Court Missionary. I must in truth confess I felt a bit ashamed -that I had given up the work. I felt that I was something of a traitor, -who had deserted the poor and the outcast, many of whom had learned to -love and trust me. - -I am not ashamed to say that I had been somewhat proud of my name and -title, for the words "Police-Court Missionary" meant much to me, and I -had loved my work and had suffered for it. - -It was doubtless in accordance with the fitness of things that I should -retire from the work when I did, for I am getting old, and dead -officialism might have crept upon me, and whatever power for good I may -have might have been atrophied. Of such a fate I always felt afraid; -mercifully from such a fate I was prevented or delivered. - -Still, I sorrowed till time lightened the sense of loss. By-and-by new -interests arose, new duties claimed me, and other phases of life -interested me. Four years have now lapsed, a length of time that allows -sufficient perspective, and enables me to calmly take stock of the -twenty-one years I spent in London police-courts. I do not in this -chapter, or in this book, intend to review the whole of those years, but -I do hope to make some comparisons of the things of to-day with those of -twenty-one years ago. - -The comparisons will, I trust, be encouraging, and show that we have -progressed in a right direction, and that we are all still progressing. -Two days of those years will remain ever with me--the day I entered on -my work and the day I gave it up. - -Of the latter I will not speak; but as the former opened my eyes to -wonders of humanity, and humanity being of all wonders the greatest, I -have something to say. - -The conditions at London police-courts in those days were bad, past -conception. No words of mine can adequately describe them, and only for -the sake of comparison and encouragement do I attempt briefly to portray -some of the most striking features of those days. Even now I feel faint -when I recall the "prisoners' waiting-room," with its dirty floor, its -greasy walls, and its vile atmosphere. - -The sanitary arrangements were disgusting. There was no female attendant -to be found on the premises. - -Strong benches attached to the walls provided the only seats; neither -was there separation of the sexes. In this room old and young, pure and -impure, clean and verminous, sane and insane, awaited their turn to -appear before the magistrate; for the insane in those days were brought -by local authorities that the magistrate might certify them, and they -sat, too, amongst the waiting prisoners. - -The sufferings of a decent woman who found herself in such company in -such a room may easily be imagined; but the sufferings of a pure-minded -girl, who for some trifling offence found herself in like position, -cannot be described. The coarse women of Alsatia made jests upon her, -and coarse blackguards, though sometimes well dressed, vaunted their -obscenity before her. Deformed beggars, old hags from the workhouse--or -from worse places--thieves, gamblers, drunkards, and harlots, men and -women on the verge of delirium tremens--all these, and others that are -unmentionable, combine to make the prisoners' room a horrid memory. -Things are far different to-day, for light and cleanliness, fresh air -and decency, prevail at police-courts. At every court there is now a -female attendant; the sexes are rigidly separated. Children's cases are -heard separately; neither are children placed in the cells or prisoners' -room. - -In those days policemen waited for the men and women who had been in -their custody, and against whom they had given evidence, and, after -their fines were paid, went to the nearest public-house and drank at -their expense. Hundreds of times I have heard prisoners ask the -prosecuting policeman to "Make it light for me," and many times I have -heard the required promise given and an arrangement made. Sometimes I am -glad to think that I have heard policemen give the reply: "I shall speak -the truth"; but not often was this straightforward answer given. - -In this respect a great change has come about, for policemen do not hold -a conference with their prisoners in the waiting-room, and it is now a -rare occurrence for a policeman to take a drink at his prisoner's -expense. - -And this improvement is to be welcomed, for it is typical of the -improvement that has been going on all round. Gaolers in those days were -"civil servants," and were not under police authority; now they are -sergeants of the police, and under police discipline and authority. The -old civil servant gaoler looked down from his greater altitude with -something like contempt upon the common policemen, and this often led to -much friction and unpleasantness. Now things work smoothly and easily, -for every police-court official knows his duties and to whom he is -responsible. - -But a great change has also come over the magistrates--perhaps the -greatest change of all. Doubtless the magistrates of those days were -excellent men, but they were not only officials, but official also. - -It was their business to mete out punishment, and they did it. Some were -old--too old for the office. I have seen one sleeping on the bench -frequently, and only waking up to give sentence. Once while the justice -nodded his false teeth fell on his desk; he awoke with a start, and made -a frantic effort to recover them. No doubt these men were sound lawyers, -but they were representatives of the community as it then existed; there -was no sentimentality about them, but they were rarely vindictive. - -The legal profession, too, has changed. Where are the greasy, drunken -old solicitors that haunted the precincts of police-courts twenty-five -years ago? Gone. But they were common enough in those days, and touted -for five-shilling jobs, money down, or higher prices when payment was -deferred. With droughty throats and trembling limbs, they hastened to -the nearest public-house to spend what payment had been given in -advance. Here they would remain till their clients were before the -magistrate, and would then appear just in time to say: "I appear for the -prisoner, your Worship." Horrid old men they were, the fronts of their -coats and vests all stained and shiny with the droppings of beer. -Frequently the magistrate, unable to tolerate their drunken or -half-drunken maunderings, would order them out of court; but even this -drastic treatment had little effect upon them, for the next day, or even -on the latter part of the same day, they, apparently without shame or -humiliation, would inform his Worship that they were in So-and-so's -case, and ask at what time it would be taken--as if, forsooth, their -engagements were numerous and important. - -The bullying solicitor, too, has disappeared or mended his ways. No -longer is he allowed to bully and insult witnesses or prosecutors, and -cast scurrilous and unclean imputations on the lives and characters of -those opposed to him. Generally these fellows were engaged for the -"defence." - -They one and all acted on the principle that to attack was the best -defence. I once heard an athletic young doctor ask a solicitor of this -kind, who had been unusually insulting, to meet him when the case was -over, assuring him also that he would receive his deserts--a good -thrashing. The pompous, ignorant solicitor, with neither wit, words, -action, utterance, nor the power of speech--he, too, has gone. One -wondered at the strange fate that made solicitors of such men; wondered, -too, how they passed the necessary examinations; but wondered most of -all why people paid money for such fellows to defend them. Invariably -they made their client's case much worse; they always declined to let -"sleeping dogs lie," and were positively certain to reveal something or -discover something to the disadvantage of the person whose interests -they were supposed to be upholding. I remember one magistrate, sitting -impatient and fidgety while the weary drip of words went on, calling out -suddenly: "Three months' hard labour, during which you can ruminate on -the brilliant defence made by your solicitor!" - -All these have passed, and police-courts have been civilized; for law is -more dignified, and its administration more refined. Magistrates are -up-to-date, too, and quite in touch with the new order of things and -with the aspirations of the community. - -Bullying, drunken, and stupid solicitors have no chance to-day. In all -these directions great changes have come about, and great progress has -been made. - -But the greatest change of all is that which has taken place in the -appearance of the prisoners and of police-court humanity generally. - -Where are the "blue-bottle" noses now? Twenty-five years ago they were -numerous, but now London police-courts know them not. - -Where are the reddened faces that told of protracted debauch? They are -seldom to be met with. Hundreds of times in the years gone by, in the -prisoners' waiting-room, I have heard the expression, "He's got them -on"; and I have seen poor wretches trembling violently with terror in -their faces, seeking to avoid some imaginary horror. But delirium -tremens seems to have vanished from London police-courts. - -Do people drink less? is a question often asked. If I may be permitted -to reply, I would say they do, and very much less; but whether they are -more sober is another question. - -Of one thing I am perfectly certain, and it is this: people are more -susceptible to the effects of drink than they were twenty-five years -ago. - -Whether this susceptibility is due to some change in the drink or to -physiological causes in the drinkers I do not know, but of the result I -am, as I have said, quite sure. - -I am inclined to believe that we possess less power to withstand the -effects of alcohol than formerly. We seem to arrive at the varying -stages of drunkenness with very much less trouble, and at very much less -cost. The reverse process, too, is equally rapid. Formerly there was not -much doubt about the guilt of a man or woman who was charged with being -drunk. If the policeman's word was not quite sufficient, the appearance -of the prisoner completed the evidence. But now men and women are mad -drunk one hour and practically sober the next. Red noses and inflamed -faces cannot be developed under these conditions. I have seen in later -years a long array of prisoners charged with being drunk, and no -evidence of tarrying long at wine upon any one of them, and no evidence -of drinking either, excepting the bruises or injuries received. - -This ability to get drunk quickly and to recover quickly leads sometimes -to unexpected results; for some men, when released on bail, rush -promptly to their own doctor and get a certificate of sobriety, and then -bring the doctor as a witness. - -His Worship is in a dilemma when the case is brought before him, for the -police state that the man was mad drunk at 1 a.m., while, on the other -hand, medical testimony is forthcoming that at 2 a.m. he was perfectly -sober. - -Other men, when detained in the cells, get quickly sober. Nor can they -believe they have been drunk; indignantly they demand an examination by -the police divisional doctor, and willingly pay the necessary bill of -seven and sixpence for his attendance. This time it is the doctor who is -in a dilemma; he knows in his heart that the man _has been_ drunk; he -also naturally wishes to confirm the police evidence; still, he cannot -conscientiously say that the man _is_ drunk. "He appears to be -recovering from the effects of drink," is the testimony that he gives, -and his opinion is attached to the charge-sheet for the magistrate's -guidance. "No," says the prisoner, "I was not drunk; neither had I been -drunk; but I was excited at being detained in the cells on a false -charge." And he will call as witnesses friends who were in his company -during the evening, and from whom he had parted only a few minutes -previous to arrest. They declare that the prisoner was perfectly sober; -that he could not possibly have been drunk; that they had only a limited -number of drinks; that he was as sober as they were--the latter -statement being probably true! - -What can the magistrate do under such circumstances but discharge the -prisoner?--and "Another unfounded charge by the police" is duly -advertised by the Press. - -I believe this to be the secret of so much contradictory evidence, and -this new physiological factor must be taken into account when weighing -evidence, or much discredit will fall upon the police, when they have -but honestly done their duty. It ought no longer to avail a prisoner who -proves sobriety at one o'clock, sobriety at three o'clock, to contend -that he could not possibly have been drunk at two o'clock. I have seen -so much of drunkenness that I believe two hours a sufficient length of -time to allow many men to get drunk and to get sober too. - -I must not enter on an inquiry as to why this change has come about; I -merely content myself with stating a fact, that must be recognized, and -which is as worthy of consideration by sociologists and politicians as -it is by judges and magistrates. - -This facility of getting drunk means danger, for passions are readily -excited, and delusions readily arise, and are most tenaciously held in -brains so easily disturbed by drink. All sorts of things are possible, -from silly antics to frenzy and murder; but, as I have said, the varying -stages pass so quickly that only onlookers can realize the truth: for -the victim of this facility is nearly always sure that the evidence -given against him is absolutely false. - -But prisoners generally have changed: I am not sure that the change is -for the better. Time was when prisoners had character, grit, pluck, and -personality, but now these qualities are not often met with. Formerly a -good number of the vagabonds were interesting vagabonds, and were -possessed of some redeeming features: they seemed to have a keen sense -of humour; but to-day this feature cannot often be seen. - -Prisoners have put on a kind of veneer, for both youthful offenders and -offenders of older growth are better dressed. - -They are cleaner, too, in person, for which I suppose one ought to be -thankful--even though, to a large extent, rags and tatters were -picturesque compared with the styles of dress now too often seen. Loss -of the picturesque has, I am afraid, been accompanied by loss of -individuality, and the processions that pass through London -police-courts now are not so striking as formerly. They are devoid of -strong personality, and the mass of people in many respects resembles a -flock of sheep. They have no desire to do wrong, but they constantly go -wrong; they have no particular wish to do evil, but they have little -inclination for good. In a word, weakness, not wickedness, is their -great characteristic. - -But weakness is often more mischievous and disastrous in its -consequences than wickedness. - -In the young offenders this lack of grit is combined with an absence of -moral principles, and though the majority of them appear to know right -from wrong, they certainly act as if they possess little moral -consciousness. - -Again I content myself with merely stating a fact, for I must not be led -into philosophic inquiry or speculation as to the causes of this loss of -grit, though I hope to say something upon the subject later on. - -Crime, too, has changed in some respects. There are fewer crimes of -violence; there is less brutality, less debauchery, less drinking; -but--and I would like to write it very large--there is more dishonesty, -which is a more insidious evil. - -Here again I am tempted to philosophic inquiry, or to engage in some -attempt to answer the question--Are we as a nation becoming more -dishonest? I answer at once, We are. - -For twenty-five years I have watched the trend of crime, for the past -ten years I have closely studied our criminal statistics, and I can say -that personal experience and a close study of our annual criminal -statistics confirm me in this matter. - -Some explanation of the growth of dishonesty may be found in the social -changes that have been going on. As education advanced the number of men -and women employed as clerks, salesmen, and business assistants -multiplied, and it follows that the temptations to, and opportunities -for, dishonesty multiplied also. For years a large transference of boys -and young men from the labouring and artisan life to the clerk's desk or -to the shop-counter has been going on. The growth in the number of -persons employed as distributors of the necessaries of life, who day -after day receive, on behalf of their employers, payments for bread, -milk, meat, coal, etc., multiplies enormously the facilities for -dishonest actions. - -Most of those engaged in this class of work come from the homes of the -poor, and in too many cases receive insufficient payment for arduous and -responsible services. Still, I am sure that we must not look for the -reason of this growing dishonesty in the multiplication of the -opportunities, or to sudden temptations caused by the stress of poverty. - -To what, then, shall it be attributed? I do not hesitate to answer this -question, by replying at once: To that lack of moral backbone and grit -to which I have alluded; to the absence of direct principles; to the -desire of enjoying pleasures that cannot be afforded, and of spending -money not honestly acquired. Some people to whom I have spoken on this -subject have said to me: "But these are the faults of the rich; surely -they are not the sins of the poor." And I have said: "Well, you know -more of the rich than I do, so maybe they are characteristic of both." -Though I do not believe them to be national characteristics, sorrowfully -I say the trend is in that direction. I know perfectly well that some -people will say that this is the croaking of one who is growing old, and -that old men always did, and always will, believe in the decadence of -the present age. - -But this is not so. I am a born optimist. I believe in the ultimate -triumph of good. I believe that humanity has within itself a sufficiency -of good qualities to effect its social salvation. Nevertheless, I am -afraid of this growing dishonesty, for I have seen something of its -consequences. Sneaking peculations, small acts of dishonesty, miserable -embezzlements, falsified accounts, and contemptible frauds, have damned -the lives of thousands, and the strands of life are covered by human -wrecks, whose anchorage has been so weak that the veriest puff of wind -has driven them to destruction. - -I know something of the evils of drink; I have seen much of the -blighting influence of gambling; but dishonesty is more certain and -deadly in its effects among educated and ignorant alike: for it begins -in secrecy, it is continued in duplicity, it destroys the moral fibre, -and it ends with death. - -I have said that the police-court processions are not so interesting as -in years gone by: probably that is a superficial view, for humanity is, -and must be always, equally interesting. It may not be as picturesque, -but that is a surface view only, and we really want to know what is -beneath. But the underneath takes some discovering, and when we get -there it is only to find that there is still something lower still. - -Much has been said of late years about the increase of insanity. Whether -this increase is more apparent than real is a debatable point. I am glad -to know that more people are certified than formerly, and that greater -care is taken of them. This undoubtedly prolongs their existence, and -consequently adds to their number. But whatever doubt I may have about -the actually insane, I have no doubt whatever about the increase in the -number of those who live on the borderland between sanity and insanity, -and whose case is far more pitiful than that of the altogether mad. - -Poor wretches! who are banged from pillar to post, helpless and -hopeless, they are the sport of circumstances; they are an eyesore to -humanity, a danger to the community, and a puzzle to themselves. For -such neither the State nor local authorities have anything to offer. If -committed to prison, they are certified as "unfit for prison -discipline." If they enter the workhouse, they are encouraged to take -their discharge at the earliest moment. They cannot work, but they can -steal, and they can beg. They have animal passions, but they have less -than animal control. They can perpetuate their species, and pile up -burdens for other generations to bear. Nothing in all my experiences -astonishes me so much as the continued neglect of these unfortunate -people. Prisons have been revolutionized; dealing with young offenders -has developed into a cult; prisoners' aid societies abound; the care, -the feeding, the education, the health, and the play of children have -become national or municipal business: but the nation still shirks its -responsibility to those who have the greatest claim upon its care; for -these people are still in as parlous condition as the lepers of old. My -memory recalls many of them, and profoundly do I hope that in the great -changes that are impending, and in the great improvements that are -taking place, consideration of the poor, smitten, unfortunate half-mad -will not be wanting. - -Surely I am not wrong in affirming that, when the State finds in its -prisons a number of people who are constantly committing offences, who -are helpless and penniless, and whose mental condition is so low that -they are not fit to be detained even in prison, provision should be made -for their being permanently detained and controlled in institutions or -colonies, with no opportunity for perpetuating their kind. In our -dealings with the "unfit" we have, then, made no progress, and we are -still waiting and hoping for a solution of this distressing evil. To -show how this evil grows by neglect, I offer the following instance: - -I happen to be a churchwarden, and when leaving church one Sunday -morning I was asked by the verger to speak to a man and woman who sat -by the door. They had come in during the service, and asked for the -Vicar, in the hope of obtaining relief. - -The man was wretched in appearance--much below the usual size--and was -more than half blind; the woman was equally wretched in appearance, and -not far removed from imbecility. I knew the man at once, and had known -him for twenty years. I had met him scores of times at London -police-courts, where he had been invariably committed to prison, -although certified as "unfit." He had been in the workhouse many times. -In the workhouse he had met with the poor wretch that sat by his side. -They were legally and lawfully married, and were possessed of three -children--or, rather, they were the parents of three children, for other -folk possessed them; but doubtless they would make their losses good in -due time, the couple being by no means old. - - -The number of women charged with drunkenness has increased largely -during late years, and the list of those constantly charged has grown -considerably. - -From this it would appear safe to conclude that female intemperance -generally has largely increased. - -Many people have come to this conclusion, and are very apt with figures -which seem to prove their case. - -But even figures can lie, for a woman who has been convicted ten or -twelve times in the year has furnished ten or twelve examples of female -inebriety; but, after all, she is but one individual. And to get at -approximate truth, we must ascertain the number of separate individuals -who have been charged. Nor will this give us the whole truth, for it -must also be ascertained who are the women that are constantly charged. -To what class do they belong? What is the matter with them? Why are they -different from women generally? Such inquiries as these have been -conveniently avoided. - -I will endeavour to supply the missing answers. - -Eighty per cent. of the women charged repeatedly with drunkenness belong -to one class, and may be described as "unfortunates." The number of -these women has increased tremendously during the last twenty years. The -growth of London accounts partly for this increase in the number of -"unfortunates," and the growth of provincial towns supplements the -growth of London. In all our large centres we have, then, a large army -of women whose lives are beyond description, whose vocation renders -drinking compulsory, and whose habits bring them into conflict with the -police. Their convictions, which number many thousands, should be -charged to another evil. - -Of the remaining twenty per cent. I must also give some description. Ten -per cent. of them are demented old women, who spend their lives in -workhouses or prisons, upon whom a small amount of drink takes great -effect. - -The remaining ten per cent. may be considered more or less respectable, -but my experience has led me to believe that less rather than more would -be a fitting description. I want it to be clearly understood that I am -now speaking of women "repeaters," not of women who are occasionally -charged with drunkenness. - -In considering female intemperance, the above must be eliminated, and -when this is done I think it will be found that the alleged increase of -drunkenness among women is not proved. At any rate, it is not proved by -criminal statistics. But a great change has come over women: they are no -longer ashamed of being seen in public-houses, for respectable women are -by no means careful about the company they meet and associate with in -the public-houses. In police-courts I have noticed this growing change. -Time was when few or no women were found among the audiences that -assembled day by day in the courts. It is not the case now. Formerly, if -women had any connection with cases that were coming on, they discreetly -waited in the precincts of the court till they were called by the police -or the usher. - -It is very different now, for there is no scarcity of women, ready to -listen to all repulsive details of police-court charges. Sometimes, when -the order is given for women to leave the court, some women are ready to -argue the matter with the usher; and when ultimately compelled to leave, -it is evident they do so under protest, and with a sense of personal -grievance. - -Perhaps it may be natural for police-courts to supply to the poor and -the tradesman class that excitement and relish the higher courts and -divorce courts furnish to those better off. - -In one direction I am able to bear direct testimony to the virtue of -women, for they are more honest than men, and their honesty increases -rather than diminishes. This is the more remarkable as opportunities for -dishonesty have become much more numerous among women. Still, in spite -of multiplied opportunities, dishonesty among women seems to be a -diminishing quantity. I am glad to find that our annual statistics for -some years past confirm me in this experience. - -But my experiences do not furnish me with any reason for believing that -we have made any progress with the housing of the very poor. The State, -municipal authorities, and philanthropists still act upon the principle, -"To him that hath it shall be given." Consequently, they continue to -provide dwellings for those who can pay good rents. In another chapter -some of my experiences with regard to the housing of the very poor will -be found, so I content myself here with a few reflections and -statements. During the years covered by my experience the rents of the -very poor have increased out of all proportion to their earnings. I have -taken some trouble to inquire into this question, and when speaking to -elderly men and women living in congested streets, I have obtained much -information. "How long have you lived in this house?" I asked an elderly -widow. "Thirty years. I was here long before my husband died." "What -rent do you pay?" "Thirteen shillings per week." "But you can't pay -thirteen shillings." "No, I let off every room and live in this -kitchen." We were then in the kitchen, which was about nine feet square. -The house consisted of four rooms and a back-yard about the same size as -the kitchen; there was no forecourt. "What rent did you pay when you -first came here?" "Six shillings and sixpence." The rent had doubled in -thirty years. - -"Who is your landlord?" "I don't know who it is now, but a collector -calls every week." - -"Why don't you go somewhere else?" "I can't get anything cheaper, and I -like the old place, and I don't have to climb a lot of stairs." - -This little conversation exactly outlines the lot of the poor, so far as -their housing is concerned: they must either take a "little house and -let off," or make their homes in one or more of the very little rooms. -Let me be explicit. By the very poor I mean families whose income is -under twenty-five shillings weekly--women whose husbands have but fitful -work; women who have to maintain themselves, their children and sick -husbands, when those husbands are not in the infirmary; widows who have -to maintain themselves and their children, with or without parish -assistance; and elderly widows or spinsters who, by great efforts, -maintain themselves. - -For these and similar classes no housing accommodation has yet been -attempted. Yet for them the need is greatest, and from neglecting them -the most disastrous consequences ensue. - -The State will lend money to the man who has a fair and regular income; -municipal authorities and philanthropic trusts will build for those who -can regularly pay high rents; but the very poor are still hidden in -prison-houses, and for them no gaol deliverance is proclaimed, so they -huddle together, and the more numerous the building improvements, the -closer they huddle. The new tenements are not for them, neither is any -provision made for them before they are displaced, so a great deal of -police-court business arises in consequence, to say nothing of greater -and more far-reaching evils. But I deal more fully with housing in my -next chapter. - - -In dealing with child offenders, vast improvements have been made. -To-day rarely, indeed, are children sent to prison, and we appear to be -on the verge of the time when it will be impossible for anyone under the -age of fourteen to receive a sentence of imprisonment. The birch, too, -is more sparingly used, and only when there appears to be no other -fitting punishment. One magistrate quite recently, in ordering its -infliction, declared it was the first time he had done so for twelve -years. The courts do not run with the blood of naughty lads, as some -suppose; but the birch has not disappeared, and the lusty cries of -youthful delinquents are sometimes to be heard. - -While I hate cruelty and do not love the birch, I would like to place on -record the fact that I have never known it administered too severely, or -any serious injury inflicted. - -The statement that the most powerful policeman is selected for the duty -is fiction pure and simple. In London, at any rate, the sergeant-gaoler -or his deputy administers the birch. Whatever else may be charged -against the police, cruelty to children cannot be brought against them, -for the kindness of the Force to children is proverbial. And this -kindness is reflected in police-courts. Nowhere are children more -considerately treated. I agree with the movement in favour of separate -courts for children, because I would not have children's actions -considered as criminal; but, in the light of my experience, I am bound -to disagree with many of the statements made by some advocates of the -movement. Children are tenderly treated and considered in the London -police-courts of to-day. - -But I am more concerned for the Toms, Dicks, and Harrys between fourteen -and twenty years of age, who, having little or no home accommodation, -crowd our streets, especially on Sunday evenings, and make themselves a -nuisance to the staid and respectable. - -For these the bad old rule and simple plan of fines to be promptly paid, -or imprisonment in default of payment, still prevails; but of this I -have more to say in a chapter on Hooliganism. - -Years ago the brute, coarse and cruel though he was, was different from -the brute of to-day; for, at any rate, he was an undisguised brute. -Youthful offenders, too, had more pluck and self-reliance; in fact, -while offences remain much the same, and the ways in which offences are -committed have not altered greatly, the bearing and appearance of the -offenders have completely changed. Rags are not so plentiful as they -were, and child offenders are very much better dressed; for civilization -cannot endure rags, and shoeless feet are an abomination. Veneer, then, -is very palpable to-day in police-courts. This may be indicative of good -or evil. It may have its origin in self-respect, in changing fashions, -or in deceit; it may be one of the effects of insufficient education, or -it may be a by-product of the general desire to appear respectable. It -may also be claimed as an outward and visible sign of the improved -social condition and the enlarged financial resources of the poor. The -change in speech, too, is strongly noticeable; the old blood-curdling -oaths and curses spiced with blasphemy are quite out of fashion. - -Emphasis can only be given to speech to-day by interlarding it with -filthy words and obscene allusions. This method of expression is not -confined to the poorest, for even well-dressed men adopt it, and the -style and words have now passed on to thoughtless young people of both -sexes. - -There are no "women" to-day. Times have improved so greatly that every -woman has become "a lady." The term "woman" is one of reproach, and must -only be used as indicative of scorn or to impute immorality. Magistrates -have tried hard to preserve the good old word and give it a proper -place, but in vain. "Another woman" always means something very bad -indeed; she is one that must be spoken of with bated breath. Even the -word "female" carries with it an implication of non-respectability. - -Indeed, so far have we progressed in this direction, and so far does the -politeness of the Force extend, that when giving evidence against a -woman of the worst possible character an officer will refer to her as -"the lady," not as the prisoner. Sometimes, as I have already hinted, -the magistrate intervenes at this point, and tries to preserve some of -the last shreds of respectability that still attach to the once-honoured -word. - -Here again one might speculate as to what has produced this change, and -ask whether the development of obscene language has anything to do with -the abandonment of the words "woman" and "female." Personally, I am -inclined to believe that it has. "What did he say?" peremptorily asked -an irate magistrate of a young and modest constable. "Your Worship, the -words were so bad that I don't like to repeat them." "Write them down, -then." The officer did so. "Well, they are pretty bad, but you will soon -get used to them. They don't shock me, for I hear them all the day, and -every day." The magistrate was correct, and, more the pity, his words -are true. The old oaths were far less disgusting and far less -demoralizing. The invocation of the Deity, either for confirmation of -speech or for a curse upon others, argued some belief in God, which -belief has probably suffered decay even among the coarse and ignorant. -Still, if police-court habitués and their friends continue to embellish -their speech with obscenity, then their last state will be worse than -their first. Likely enough, this fashion in speech has much to do with -the substitution of the word "lady" and the abandonment of the word -"woman." It may be, after all, only a clumsy attempt to speak -courteously, without casting any imputation on the moral character of -the person referred to. That, however, is the only redeeming feature I -can find in the matter, which is altogether too bad for words. I only -refer to the subject because I wish to be a faithful witness, and these -changes cannot be ignored, for they are full of grave portent. - -Profoundly I hope this fashion will change, and if appeal were of any -use, I would honestly and earnestly appeal to all my poor and -working-class friends to set themselves against this vile method of -expression, and to encourage a higher standard of thought and speech. - - -But I must now give a little consideration to some legal changes that -have taken place, from which much was expected, and from which much has -followed. Whether the results have been exactly what were expected, and -whether the good has been as large as we looked for, are moot points. It -is, of course, true of social problems, and peculiarly true of humanity -itself, that evil defeated in one direction is certain to manifest -itself in another, so that standing still in social life, or in -individual life, must and does mean retrogression, when the old evils -assert themselves differently, but more speciously guised. Briefly, the -new Acts that have had most effect in London police-courts are the First -Offenders Act, the Married Women's Protection Act (1905), and some -clauses in the Licensing Act of 1902. - -The former Act has undoubtedly kept thousands of young people from -prison, for which everyone ought to be supremely thankful. It was, -perhaps, impossible for us to have a reform of this magnitude without -some evil attaching to it, for we have not as yet discovered an unmixed -good. This beneficent Act has been much talked of and widely advertised. -The public generally have been enraptured with it, and magistrates have -not been slow to avail themselves of its merciful provisions, though -generally exercising a wise discretion as to their application. - -But human nature is a strange mixture, for while excessive punishment -hardens and demoralizes a wrong-doer, leniency often confirms him. It -is, and must always be, a serious matter to interpose between a wilful -wrong-doer and the punishment of his deeds; but the punishment must be -just and sensible, or worse evils will follow. The utmost that can be -urged against this well-known Act is that it has not impressed on the -delinquent youth the heinousness of his wrong-doing, and this is the -case. True, he has been in the hands of the police, and he has been -admonished by the magistrate; he has also been in the gaoler's office, -and bound in recognizance to be of good behaviour. But this is all, for -nothing else has happened to him. He has not been made to pay back the -money stolen, neither has he been compelled to make any reparation to -those he has injured. The law, then, has considered his offence but -slight, and his dishonesty but a trivial matter. In his heart he knows -that, though he has purged his offence as far as the law is concerned, -he has not absolved his own conscience by any attempt to put the matter -right with the person he has wronged; consequently, he is quite right in -arguing that the law has condoned his offence. Frequently, then, he goes -from the court a rogue at heart. Hundreds of times I have tried to -persuade young persons, who have been charged with dishonesty and dealt -with as first offenders, of the duty and necessity of paying back the -money dishonestly obtained, but I never succeeded. The law had done with -them; nothing else mattered. The wrong to the individual and to their -own conscience was of no consequence. - -Human nature being, then, so constructed, it cannot be a matter for -surprise that the First Offenders Act failed in conveying to young -persons who had fastened around themselves the deadly grip of dishonesty -that the law considered dishonesty a most serious matter. Many of the -young offenders could not realize this, for, to use their own -expression, "They got jolly well out of it." But such results might have -been foreseen, and ought to have been foreseen. - -This matter is, however, now attended to, for Mr. Gladstone's Probation -Act (1908) empowers magistrates to compel all dishonest persons that are -dealt with under the Act to make restitution of stolen property or money -up to the value of £10. I have long advocated this course, which is both -just and merciful--just to the person who has been robbed and just to -the robber; merciful because it compels the wrong-doer in some degree to -undo the wrong, and enables him to break the chains of his deadly habit. -It will also prove to him that the law is not so tolerant of dishonesty -as he believed. Common-sense, too, says that the pardoned rogue ought -not to profit from his roguery, while the person he has robbed has to -suffer, not only the loss of goods or money, but also the trouble and -expense of prosecution. - -Most respectfully, then, would I like to point out to all magistrates -that they may now order dishonest persons dealt with under this Act to -make restitution up to £10. It is to be hoped that our magistrates will -freely avail themselves of this permissive power, and make young rogues -"pay, pay, pay." It matters not how small the instalments nor how long a -time the payments may be continued, for I feel assured that nothing will -stem the onward sweep of dishonesty, and that nothing will bring home to -young offenders the serious character of dishonesty so much as the -knowledge that great inconvenience, but no pecuniary benefit, can come -to those who indulge in it. - -The Married Women's Protection Act came at last. It was inevitable. -There was a horrible satire contained in the suggestion that in England, -with its humanity and civilization, after a thousand years of -Christianity an Act to protect women against their legal husbands should -be necessary; but it was. - -This Act came in the very fulness of time. Everybody was tired and -altogether dissatisfied with the old and ineffectual plan of sending -brutal husbands to prison. This feeling arose not from sympathy with -brutal husbands, but from pity to ill-treated wives, for it was -recognized that sending brutal husbands to prison only made matters -worse. Briefly, the Act empowered married women who had persistently -cruel husbands to leave them, and having left them, to apply to the -magistrates for a separation and maintenance order, which magistrates -were empowered to grant when persistent cruelty was proved. - -Police-courts then became practically divorce-courts for the poor, for -thousands of women have claimed and obtained these separation orders. -It seems just, and I have no hesitation in saying it is right, whatever -may be the consequences, that decent suffering women whose agony has -been long drawn out should be protected from and delivered out of the -power of human brutes. But in a community like ours we are bound to have -an eye to the consequences. - -Women very soon found that it was much easier to get separation than it -was to get maintenance. However modest the weekly amount ordered--and to -my mind magistrates were very lenient in this respect--comparatively few -of the discarded husbands paid the amounts ordered: some few paid -irregularly, the majority paid nothing. The "other woman" became an -important factor, and the money that should have gone to the support of -the legal wife and legitimate children went to her and to illegitimate -children. Such fellows were, then, in straits. If they left the "other -woman," affiliation orders loomed over them; if they did not pay their -legalized wives, they might be sent to prison. Some men I know found -this the easiest way of paying their wives "maintenance," for they would -go cheerfully to prison, and when released would promptly start on the -task of again accumulating arrears. - -Undoubtedly very many women were much better off apart from their -husbands--at any rate, they had some peace--but mostly they lived lives -of unremitting toil and partial, if not actual, starvation. On the -whole, this Act, which was quite necessary and inspired by good -intentions, has not proved satisfactory. But married men began to ask, -"Why cannot we have separation orders against habitually drunken -wives?" - -Why, indeed! The principle had been admitted, and "sauce for the goose -must be sauce for the gander." Joan had been protected; Darby must have -equal rights. And Darby got them, with something added. The Licensing -Bill of 1902 put him right, or rather wrong. Under some provisions of -this Act habitual drunkenness in case of either husband or wife became a -sufficient reason for separation, and police-courts became more than -ever divorce-courts for the poor. But Darby came best, or rather worst, -out of this unseemly matter, for there was no need for him to leave his -wife and his home before applying for a separation. He might live with -his wife in their home, and while living with her apply for a summons -against her, and this granted, he might continue to live with her right -up to the time the summons was heard--might even accompany her to the -court, and drink with her on the way thither. Then, proving her -drunkenness to the magistrate's satisfaction, he could get his order, -give her a few shillings, go home and close the door against her, -leaving her homeless and helpless in the streets. She may have borne him -many children, she might be about to become a mother once more; in fact, -the frequent repetition of motherhood might be the root-cause of her -drunkenness. No matter, the law empowers him to put her out and keep her -out. Such is the law, and to such a point has the chivalry of many -husbands come. But Darby may go still further, for he may call in -"another woman" to keep house and look after the children. In a sense -he may live in a sort of legalized immorality, and do his wife no legal -wrong; while, if she, poor wretched woman, with all her temptations and -weaknesses, yields but once to a similar sin, all claim to support is -forfeited, and she goes down with dreadful celerity to the lowest -depths. Plenty of good husbands, and brave men they are, refuse to take -advantage of this Act, and bear all the unspeakable ills and sorrows -connected with a drunken wife, bearing all things, enduring all things, -and hoping all things, rather than turn the mothers of their children -into the streets. But it is far different with some husbands, whose -lives and habits have conduced to, if they have not actually caused, -their wives' inebriety; to them the Act is a boon, and they are not -backward in applying for relief. I have elsewhere given my views as to -the working of these special clauses, but I again take an opportunity of -saying that the whole proceedings are founded in stupidity. In action -they are cruel, and in results they are demoralizing to the individuals -concerned, and to the State generally. All this is the more astounding -when one realizes that the Act might easily have been made a real -blessing; and it is more astounding still when the temper and tone of -society is considered. - -We demand, and rightfully demand, that first offenders shall have -another chance. Has it come to this--that a wretched wife, who, through -suffering, worry, neglect, or ill-health or mental disturbance, has -given way to drink, shall have less consideration than the young thief? -So it appears. We scour London's streets, we seek out the grossest -women even civilization can furnish--women whose only hope lies with the -Eternal Father--and we put them in inebriates' reformatories, and keep -them there, at a great expense, for two or three years. Money without -stint is spent that they may have the shadow of a chance for -reclamation. Organized societies are formed for their after-care when -released from the reformatories. And yet we calmly contemplate married -women, otherwise decent but for drink, real victims of inebriety, being -thrust homeless into the streets, with the dead certainty that they will -descend to the Inferno out of which we are seeking to deliver the -unfortunates. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -SOME BURGLARS I HAVE MET - - -The common London burglar is by no means a formidable fellow. Speaking -generally, there is nothing of Bill Sikes about him, for he has not much -stature, strength, courage, or brains. Most of those that I have met -have been poor specimens of manhood, ready alike to surrender to a -self-possessed woman or to a young policeman. Idle, worthless fellows, -who, having no regular work to do, and being quite indifferent as to -what happens to them, often attempt burglary, but of the crudest -description. - -These young fellows evince no skill, exhibit little daring, and when -caught show about as much pluck as a guinea-pig. For them one may feel -contempt, but contempt must be tempered by pity. Circumstances have been -against them. Underfed and undersized, of little intelligence, with no -moral consciousness, they are a by-product of our civilization, a direct -product of our slum-life. If caught young and given some years' manual -training and technical education, together with manly recreation and -some share in competitive games, many of them would go straight on -their release, provided a reasonable start in life were given them. - -Idle liberty is dangerous to young men who have no desire for -wrong-doing, but who at the same time have little aspiration for -right-doing. Our prisons are crowded with them, and a series of short -imprisonments only serves to harden them, until they become confirmed -but clumsy criminals. But real burglars are men of different stamp, and, -if I may be pardoned, men of better metal, for at any rate they possess -nerve, brain, and grit. They may be divided into two classes: first, the -men who are at war with society, who live by plunder, and who mean to -live by plunder, who often show marvellous skill, energy, presence of -mind, and pluck; secondly, men who, having once engaged in burglary, -find it so thrilling that no other pleasure, passion, or sport has to -them one tithe of the joy and glamour that a midnight raid presents. Let -me give you one example of the former. - -A well-dressed gentleman--frock-coat, silk hat, gold-rimmed eyeglasses, -etc.--took a house in a swell neighbourhood at £120 a year rental. His -references were to all appearances undeniable; his manner, speech, and -bearing were beyond reproach; so he obtained a lease of the premises, -and entered into possession. His next step was to call on the local -superintendent of the police and give him his address, asking also that -the police might keep a watchful eye upon the house till he took up his -residence in it. He was, he said, a practical consulting and analytical -chemist; he was fitting up an expensive laboratory on the premises, and -a good many things of value to him would be sent to the house. He -himself would be there during the day, but he would be grateful if the -police would, when on their beat at night, sometimes see that all was -right. The police were charmed with him. He was a small man, about 5 -feet 4 inches in height. The same night a mean-looking little man was -converted at an open-air meeting of the Salvation Army. He wished for -lodgings for a time, that he might be shielded from temptation, for -which he was prepared to pay. So he went to lodge with the officer in -command, and donned a red guernsey. He was employed on night-work, he -told his landlady, but sometimes he had to go away for a day or two. His -friends were well pleased with him; his conversion seemed genuine, and -he gave but little trouble. Meanwhile, at the large house close by -consignments of goods were, constantly arriving, and sometimes the -frock-coated gentleman showed himself to the police. For many weeks this -went on, till one day the convert was missing from his lodging. He did -not return the next day, nor the day after that. They were anxious about -him; they were poor, too, and he owed money. But they could get no -tidings of him. Thinking something might have happened to him by way of -accident, they went to the police-station to inquire. A keen detective -heard their inquiry, and kept his own counsel; but next morning he went -to the remand prison, and sure enough he found the missing man there -among the prisoners. He had been arrested for "failing to report." He -was on "ticket-of-leave," and had to report himself once a month to the -police. Either his religious emotion or the interest of his night -employment had caused him to neglect this trivial matter. - -About this time the consulting and analytical chemist disappeared, and -no more consignments of goods for the laboratory arrived. The little -convert was once more remanded, for the magistrate and the police wanted -to know what he had been doing. The police, too, had been keeping an eye -on the big house; they thought, too, that something had happened to the -chemist, so they forced the door and entered. It was verily a robbers' -cave they found. No trace of scientific implements, except burglars' -tools, no trace of chemicals or laboratory; but they found the proceeds -of many clever burglaries that had been committed in various parts of -London. The chemist and the convert were one; their identity was -established. When I spoke to him in the cells, he called himself an -"ass" for failing to report himself to the police. "If it had not been -for that, I should have been all right," he said. - -In a previous book I have given at some length my experiences of a -burglar who is a living example of the second class; but I have -something to add to the story, for since "Pictures and Problems" was -issued his fifth term of penal servitude terminated, and the man came -back to me. - -Twice had I given him a good start in life, for he was both clever and -industrious, and in many respects honest. I do not think he would have -cheated anyone, and I know that he would have scorned to pick anyone's -pocket. I had twice previously set him up in his business--bookbinding. -Twice had he appeared to be on the way to thorough reformation of -character and good social standing; but twice, when things were -prospering with him, and when he had acquired plenty of good clothing, -etc., and had saved at least £10, had he lapsed into burglary, with the -inevitable result--he was caught. Well under fifty years of age, yet his -accumulated sentences amounted to nearly forty years; but it must be -borne in mind that one-fourth of the time he had been on -"ticket-of-leave," for he behaved well in prison, and obtained every -possible mark for good conduct, etc. I had not expected to see any more -of him, for I knew that he had heart trouble, and, moreover, had been -ill in prison. The officials had, however, taken good care of him, and -during the months previous to his discharge he had been an occupant of -the prison hospital. He appeared to be in fair health. The hair on his -head had been allowed to grow; he had been decently shaved. His -clothing, however, betrayed him, for there was no mistaking it. - -He had earned £6 in prison, which sum had been placed with the Church -Army for his benefit. Neither the Church Army nor the Salvation Army -could find or give him any employment, and the £6 was soon spent. I saw -much of him, and watched him closely, for he interested me. When he was -quite penniless and apparently hopeless, I obtained work for him with a -local tradesman, for which he was to receive £1 weekly, but was required -to do a certain amount of work every day; for I was anxious for him to -have regular work, and to be able to earn sufficient for his need, but -no more. I also agreed to find or procure sufficient work to keep him -going. This arrangement seemed likely to prosper, and I felt some hope. -There was no sign of repentance to be observed in him, neither was he in -the least ashamed of his past; indeed, he seemed to think, like a good -many other ex-convicts, that it was the duty of the community to help -him and compensate him for the years he had spent in prison. I soon had -cause for suspicion, but kept silent, till one day I saw him with -something that he could not possibly have purchased. I told him that I -should warn the police. He did not deny the impeachment, but he wanted -to argue the matter, and seemed to believe that in some way or other his -conduct was justifiable. - -Within a fortnight from the time of this conversation he was again in -the hands of the police, who charged him with attempted burglary, and -once more he went back to penal servitude. He has not written to me; I -hope he will not write. I confess myself hopeless with such men. The -chances of their reformation are almost nil, and I for one welcome -heartily and unreservedly the proposals of the present Home Secretary, -and sincerely hope that those proposals will soon become part and parcel -of our penal administration. No Prisoners' Aid Society can help such -men, and those of us who are behind the scenes know perfectly that no -Prisoners' Aid Society tries to help them. They naturally prefer more -plastic material to work upon. - -The strangest part of this matter is the undoubted fact that these men -have within them a great deal that is good, for sometimes I have known -them to be stirred by pity and animated by love; but it requires someone -in much worse plight than they themselves are to evoke that pity and -kindle that love. - -The following story, true in all particulars, will be of interest: - -In one of our large prisons I saw an old man acting as "orderly" in the -prison hospital. He was leaning over the bed of a young man who was -dying of consumption. He was pointed out to me as an "old lag"--that is, -an ex-convict. He was a habitual criminal, a sin-seared, oft-convicted, -hardened old man, of whom and for whom there was no hope; a danger to -the community and a pest to society, well known to prison officials. His -last offence being of a technical character, he was sent to prison for a -short term only. What could the Governor do with him? Solitude and -severity had proved ineffectual for his reformation; deadening and -soul-destroying monotony had failed to soften him; the good advice of -various chaplains had fallen like seed in a stony place. He seemed -impervious to feeling, not susceptible to kindness--a hopeless, -dead-alive man. - -An inspiration came to the Governor. He made the "old lag" into a nurse, -and sent him into the hospital. Muttering and cursing, he went among the -sick and the weak. He was brought face to face with suffering and death. -Prison does not secure immunity from the fell scourge consumption, and -the old man's days had to be spent among some upon whom the scourge had -fixed its relentless grip. Sometimes death makes a long tarrying, and -the wheels of consumption's death-car are long delayed. - -Suffering, waiting, hoping for the end, lay a young man who was alone in -the world. Too ill and too near death, he could not be discharged from -prison; he had no friends into whose care he could be committed; so he -must suffer, wait and hope for the end. And the old convict had to nurse -him. Soon strange sensations began to thrill the old man, for pity took -possession of him. By-and-by the old man's heart became tender again, -and the foundations of the frozen deep were broken up; the "old lag" had -learned to love! He had found someone in worse plight than himself, -someone who needed his care, and someone whom he could care for. As the -weary days passed, and the days lengthened into weeks, and the weeks -into weary months, the affection between the two men grew in intensity, -till the fear of separation filled their minds--a separation not caused -by death. - -Would the old man's sentence expire before the young man died? - -Would the young man die before the old man's time was up? Who would be -nurse for the young man when the old man was gone? Alas! the convict's -time was up first, and the day came when the prison-gates were opened -and he must go free, when he must say farewell to his friend. The day -came, but the old man refused to leave, and he implored the Governor to -let him stay "and see the last of him." Surely it was a beautiful -exhibition of the power of love. The old man had passed through love to -light, and the dear old sinner was ready to sacrifice himself for the -benefit of the dying lad. But it was not to be. Prison rules and prison -discipline could not be relaxed, and the old convict must needs go. -There was no place for him in the prison, so with sad heart he bade his -friend farewell and departed. But three days later he was back in the -same prison, and once more he was "orderly" in the hospital. - -On leaving prison the convict said to the Governor: "You won't let me -stop, but you will soon have me back again, and you won't be able to -refuse me admission." - -In prison he had earned a few shillings, so into the nearest -public-house he went, got drunk, came out and "went for" the first -policeman, who naturally took him into custody. When before the -magistrate he asked for three months, but the magistrate thought that -one month met the justice of the case. So back he went to prison, where -the Governor promptly gave him his "old job." - -When I saw the old man, his month was running out. - -I have since learnt that when he was again discharged, he said to his -friend, "Cheer up! I shall soon be back." But the dying youth lingers -on, and waits for him in vain. - -Eagerly he scans every fresh comer, but no glint of recognition lights -up his poor face. The officials, too, scan every list that comes with a -fresh consignment of prisoners, but the "old lag's" name has not -appeared. Neither do the police know anything of him. What has happened -to the old convict? Perhaps, after all, his time was up first. Maybe he -waits in the spirit-world for the coming of his friend. Maybe the young -man will plead for the old convict, and say: "Lord, I was sick and in -prison, and he came unto me." And the Lord will answer and say: -"Inasmuch as ye did it unto him, ye did it unto Me." - -The police effect many smart and plucky captures. Sometimes they are -aided by a stupid oversight on the part of the criminal, but quite as -often by some extraordinary piece of luck. Let me give an instance of -the latter. - -A six-foot fellow from the country joined the London police-force. He -also, as soon as possible, joined himself in matrimony to a servant-girl -living in London. Her health proved to be very bad, but this did not -prevent her having children quickly, and so it came about that, before -he had been in the police-force many years he was in debt and -difficulties. Four young children and a wife constantly ill do not help -to make a policeman's life a happy one. His friends made a collection -for him on the quiet, but it had little beneficial effect. The children -became ill, the wife became worse, the debts heavier, and exposure -threatened. It was winter-time. He left his ailing wife and crying -children to go on night-duty, wishing he was dead and out of it all. As -he went quietly to his beat, his step became slower and slower, until it -stopped altogether, and he found himself standing with his back to the -wall thinking of suicide. - -Some months afterwards he gave me this account of what happened. - -"Mr. Holmes, pluck and courage had nothing to do with it, for I had -just made up my mind to make a hole in the water, when I happened to -look at the window of a jeweller's shop, in which a light was burning. - -"I saw somebody move in the shop, so I took out my truncheon and went -softly into the shop door. I had an idea it was unfastened, so I stood -still for a minute or two, hardly breathing, and then I rushed at the -door, and sure enough it opened, and in I went. - -"The three fellows were just packing up the jewellery. One of them came -for me with a pistol, but before he could get it to fire I caught him on -the head with my truncheon, and down he went. Another made for the door, -but he had to pass me, and I laid him out. The third came at me with a -big jemmy, and we had a fight, but I was too big and quick for him. I -almost broke his arm. So I took the lot; but I should not have cared if -they had killed me. I was just in a mad fury, and it was nothing but a -piece of luck." - -Yes, it was a bit of luck. A large sum of money was collected for him by -the public. His praises were duly sung in the Press, his debts were -paid, and his wife sent for a time to a convalescent home. He might have -made headway in the Force, but he was no scholar. I went sometimes to -give him lessons in arithmetic, spelling, etc., but it was of no use. He -wanted to catch more thieves, and sometimes made the terrible mistake of -arresting an innocent person. The last time I saw him he told me that -his wife was no better, but that she had had another child. - -Not long ago a singular mistake occurred in North London. Burglars had -infested a respectable road for some time. An attempt to enter had -evidently been made at one house without success, for they had left -jemmy-marks upon the door, but did not enter. The police resolved to -watch this house from the outside. The owner and his stalwart son -resolved to watch inside, but neither communicated with the other. At -midnight two men were seen by the police to enter the garden and go to -the front door, so the constables softly followed and listened at the -door, which was closed. Evidently there was someone inside, so they -cautiously opened the door, when suddenly they were set on by two men -armed with heavy hammers. A severe blow fell on the shoulder of one of -the officers, who responded with a crack on the head with a truncheon, -and the man inside fell on the floor. Poor fellow, he was the owner! The -son also got injured, and when the police were about to handcuff him, -the affair was explained. Meanwhile the thieves went higher up the road, -made a real attempt, and were caught. But the owner of the house lay ill -for some days, suffering from concussion of the brain, while the officer -was incapacitated from duty for some weeks. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE BLACK LIST AND INEBRIATES - - -In my opening chapter a slight reference was made to the Habitual -Inebriates Act of 1898. - -I now wish to deal more fully with this subject, for it has occupied -much time in police-courts, and has held a large place in the public -mind and interest. - -The uselessness of short terms of imprisonment for persons frequently -charged with drunkenness had been fully proved; they had not been found -deterrent or reformative, the only practical result being that the lives -of those constantly committed were considerably lengthened. - -Sometimes I have felt that it would be good if the women to whom I now -refer could have gone quietly out of existence, for I believe that the -All-Merciful would extend greater mercy to them than they show to -themselves. - -But life has a firm grip upon women; and when it is devoted to animalism -and idleness, when the cares and worries of home, children, and -employment do not concern them, then indeed those lives are often -lengthened out beyond the lives of their more virtuous and industrious -sisters. - -For these women prisons had proved useful sanatoria, and frequent -sentences times of recuperation. - -Small wonder, then, that new methods should at length be tried. The -Habitual Inebriates Act came into being in 1898. - -The Act adopted the definition of a much earlier Act as to what -constituted the habitual inebriate, which was as follows: - -"Those who, by the excessive use of intoxicating drink, are unable to -control their affairs or are dangerous to themselves or others." - -I quite believe that if the framers of this Act had realized the -character of those who would come within its provisions, a far different -definition would have been found. But the Act also conditioned that only -those who were charged four times during the year with drunkenness -should be dealt with, the great mistake being that no attempt was made -previously to inquire into the character and condition of those that -happened to be charged four times in the year. I suppose it was a -natural inference that anyone so frequently charged must be of necessity -a confirmed and regular inebriate. But the reverse proved true, for the -worst inebriates, dipsomaniacs, and sots, escaped the meshes of the net -so carefully spread. - -They at any rate did not fall into the hands of the police so -frequently; indeed, many of them did not at all. But the Act netted a -very different kind of fish--a kind that ought to have been netted many -years previously, and dealt with in a far more effectual manner than was -now proposed. - -The Act gave power to local authorities and philanthropic societies to -establish inebriates' reformatories, which, after satisfying the -requirements of the Home Office, were to be duly licensed to receive -habitual inebriates qualified under the new law. These institutions were -to be supported by an Imperial capitation grant for every inebriate -committed, the local authorities being empowered to draw upon the rates -for the balance. - -Magistrates were given power to commit to these establishments for one, -two, or three years, when the persons charged before them pleaded guilty -to being habitual inebriates, and desired the question settled without -reference to a higher court; but magistrates could not deal with them -until they had been charged four times within the year. - -If consent was refused, magistrates were empowered to send them for -trial before the Judge and jury. Early in 1898 I took considerable pains -to ascertain the exact character and condition of the persons who came -within the provision of the Act. I found, as I expected to find, that -they were idle and dissolute persons, nearly all of them women, and such -women as only the streets of our large towns could furnish. - -So much misapprehension and uncertainty prevailed as to the kind and sex -of the persons who would be affected by the new law that the London -County Council, after acquiring a valuable property in Surrey for the -purposes of the Act, prepared for the reception of males. For this there -was no excuse. A glance at the annual criminal statistics would have -shown to what sex the oft-convicted inebriates belonged, and an inquiry -among the police would have revealed their true character and condition. -A considerable time elapsed before these reformatories were ready, local -authorities being very reluctant to use their powers, but at length the -task of trying to cure London's grossest women of inebriety began. It -was a hopeless task from the first. After eight years' experience its -futility has been fully demonstrated. - -In the _Contemporary Review_ of May, 1899, I ventured to give a -description of the men and women who would be dealt with. The women, I -said, would consist of 80 per cent. of gross unfortunates, dominated by -vice or mental disease, homeless and shameless women; 10 per cent. old -women who live alternately in workhouses and prisons, with occasional -spells of liberty and licence; and 10 per cent. of otherwise decent -women, the majority of whom would be mentally weak. - -The men I described as idle, dissolute, and dishonest fellows, or worse. -Eight years' experience of the working of the Act has verified my -analysis. The report of the Government Inspector for 1906 amply proves -it. Dr. Branthwaite (the Government Inspector), a properly qualified -medical officer, has taken infinite pains to ascertain the mental -condition of those committed to certified reformatories, and who became -his special charge. I quote from his report for 1906: - -"During the eight years the Act has been in operation 2,277 men and -women had been committed to reformatories. Of these, 375 were men and -1,902 were women." He thus classifies them as to mental condition: 16·1 -per cent. as insane, defective, imbecile, or epileptic; 46·5 per cent. -as eccentric, dull, or senile; 37·4 per cent. as of average mental -capacity. This means that out of the total admissions for the eight -years, 62·6 per cent. were practically insane, and therefore hopeless -from a reformatory point of view. The remaining 37·4 per cent. were, he -says, of average mental capacity. But the Inspector can only speak of -them as he finds them; he cannot speak of their mental capacity when -outside his reformatories. I can; therefore I wish to say here something -about them. There exists a large class of men and women who, when placed -under absolute control in prisons or reformatories, submit themselves -quietly to the authority that controls and the conditions that environ -them. They obey orders, they display no anger, they offer no violence; -they are not moody or spiteful, but they fulfil their duties with some -degree of cheerfulness and alacrity. Those who have charge of them -naturally look upon them as the most hopeful of their prisoners. A -greater mistake could not be made. It may be vice, it may be drink, it -may be dishonesty, that is the master passion of their lives; it may be, -for aught I know--and in reality I believe that it is--some inscrutable -mental disease that causes their passions or weaknesses; but whatever -the passion, and however caused or controlled, when these people are -under absolute authority in places where the vice, passion, or weakness -cannot possibly be indulged, then that passion, vice, or weakness is -absolutely non-existent for the time, and its victims appear as normal -people. - -But a far different state of mind and body exists when they are released -from authority, for with liberty the old instinct or passion comes into -fierce existence, and instantly demands gratification. While the -released person has on the one hand gained considerably in health of -mind and body, the sleeping passion too has gained in strength during -the time it has hibernated. These persons, I am happy to believe, are -not of normal mind, for they are helpless before the stress of -temptation. In fact, decent as they may seem while in custody, the -gratification of their particular vice is the only thing of importance -in life to them. These unfortunate people, when at liberty, are in -reality under authority of a different kind, and their obedience to the -dark, mysterious authority that controls them is as implicit as if they -were detained in prison or reformatory, for they do not question or -gainsay its imperious demands. Small wonder, then, that nearly all the -women who have been committed to inebriate reformatories revert to their -old habits of life. To speak of their relapse is wrong, for in reality -there is no relapse about it; they have only been held by force from -their old life, which they resume when that preventive force is -withdrawn. - -But it has been a costly experience so far, at any rate, as London is -concerned. The Government led off with a capitation grant of 10s. 6d. -weekly. For the first few years it cost about £1 10s. per week, in -addition to the outlay on land, buildings, and appointments, to keep -each of these demented women. Though this cost has now been -considerably reduced, it is even now about £1 weekly. No one, I feel -sure, would begrudge this outlay if there was the remotest chance of -these extraordinary women living decently when released from the -reformatories. - -Sadly, but emphatically, I say no such chance exists. Let it be clearly -understood that I am not making this terrible statement about inebriates -generally, but only with regard to those women who fall into the hands -of the police four times in one year, thus qualifying for committal -according to the Act. The very hopelessness of these women excites my -deepest pity, and because I pity them I point out plainly their -condition, in the sincere hope that more satisfactory methods of dealing -with them may be provided. The Inspector claims that it is better for -these women to be detained in inebriate reformatories than to undergo a -continual round of short terms of imprisonment, varied by spells of -liberty spent in gross orgies upon the street. He says, too, that it is -the cheaper course. There is some truth in his contention. Of the exact -proportion of the monetary cost of the two methods I am not concerned, -but undoubtedly, for the good of the community and the purity of our -streets, lengthened detention in inebriate reformatories is infinitely -better than short detention in prisons. I am not objecting to their -lengthened detention, but to the method and objects of detention. If -their detention is to be for the good of the public, let it be -understood that the common weal demands it. But as they are a class -altogether apart from ordinary women, even from ordinary drunken women, -they ought to be detained in institutions adapted for women of their -condition only, and the absurdity of trying to cure vice-possessed women -of the drink habit ought to cease. - -But the legal advantages attaching to the life of a gross and disorderly -woman are considerable--far greater than the advantages that are -attached to a life of virtue and honest toil. "Only be bad enough, gross -enough, violent enough, and you shall have your reward. Only get into -conflict with the guardians of law and order four times in one year, and -three years' comfort in an inebriate reformatory shall be your reward. -There your work shall be limited, your leisure shall be certain, your -food shall be plentiful and varied, and your recreation, indoors and out -of doors, shall not be forgotten. There you shall live lives of comfort -and comparative ease." So the State seems to say to the women of the -class who at present fill our inebriate reformatories. And some are not -slow to accept the invitation. I remember one massive young Irishwoman, -who had a strong aversion to anything like honest work, saying to me one -morning when she was again in custody: "Mr. Holmes, I am about sick of -this: I'll go to a home for a year. Ask the magistrate to send me; it -will do me good." - -I declined to be the intermediary, so she appealed to the magistrate to -send her away under the Act. - -There being some doubt as to the requisite number of convictions, the -magistrate added to the list by giving her fourteen days. At the -expiration of her sentence--indeed, on the very day of her discharge -from prison--she got into collision with the police, and next day was -again before the magistrate. She again asked the magistrate to send her -to a reformatory. But she had another grievance this time: she told the -magistrate that Mr. Holmes had insulted her. On being asked for -particulars, she said that I had refused to help her to get into an -inebriate reformatory, and further (and this was the insult), that I had -said that she was big enough, strong enough, and young enough to work -for her living. I pleaded guilty to the insult, and pointed out to the -magistrate the physical dimensions of the prisoner. He smiled, and said -there was some truth in my statement; but as the prisoner was young, -there was hope of her reformation, so he committed her for two years. I -ventured respectfully to tell him that he had but allowed her one of the -legal advantages of an idle and disorderly woman. - -Drink had no more to do with her condition than it has with mine, though -to some extent it was useful to her; but vice and idleness were the -dominant factors in her life, not drink. - -The Habitual Inebriates Act of 1898 was followed by the Licensing Act of -1902, some clauses of which dealt with habitual inebriates, and provided -for the compilation of a Black List. - -Every person, male or female, charged with drunkenness, or some crime -connected with drunkenness, four times in one year, was to be placed on -an official list, whether sent or not sent to an inebriate reformatory. -Their photographs were to be taken and circulated to the police and to -the publicans. Publicans were prohibited under a severe penalty from -serving the "listed" with intoxicating drink within a period of three -years. If the "listed" persons procured, or attempted to procure, any -drink during that time they, too, were liable to a penalty not exceeding -£1 or fourteen days. There was considerable fear and a strange anxiety -among many of the repeatedly convicted as to what would happen to them -when this Act began its operations. - -But this wholesome dread soon disappeared. When its operations became -known, the lists were duly made and circulated; the photographs were -accurately, if not beautifully, taken; the police were supplied with the -lists and the publicans with the photographs. But very soon the "listed" -proceeded to procure drink and get drunk as usual, for a wonder had come -to light. When charged under the new Act, instead of getting their usual -month they received but a fortnight, for the Act did not allow a more -severe punishment. True, they had committed more heinous offences, for -they had defied the law, which said they must not procure drink, and -their offences had been _dual_, for they had been drunk, too, and -disorderly and disgusting as of yore. Nevertheless, their double offence -entitled them to but half their former reward. Magistrates soon saw the -humour of it, and soon got tired of it, and sometimes, when a charge was -preferred against a "lister" under the Act, they ordered the police to -charge the prisoners under the old Act, that more punishment might be -given. But if these clauses were not successful from a legal point of -view, they were from another. - -The Act came into force on January 1, 1902. At the beginning of May in -the same year--that is, in four months from commencing operations--339 -names, mostly women, were on that List. I sometimes have the privilege -of looking at the List, which has now grown to a portentous length. It -is an education to look at those hundreds of portraits. I look at them -with fear and wonderment, for they are a revelation--an awe-inspiring -picture-gallery! I would like every student of humanity and every lover -of his kind to have a copy of that List, to study those photographs, and -ponder the letterpress description that accompanies each photograph. It -would almost appear that we are getting back to primeval man, the faces -are so strange and weird. Different as the faces are, one look is -stamped upon them all--the look of bewilderment. They one and all seem -to think that there is something wrong, and they wonder what it is. No -one can glance for a single moment at those terrible photographs without -seeing that there is something more than drink at the root of things. No -one can meet them, as I have met them, face to face, can look into their -eyes, and know, as I know, how pitifully sad, yet how horrible, are -their lives, without affirming, as I affirm, that the State proclaims -its ignorance when it classifies them as inebriates, and its impotence -when it asks others to cure them of the love of drink. These are the -women that fill our inebriate reformatories, and of whom the Home Office -Inspector reports that 62·6 per cent. are not sane. Certainly they are -not sane, and it is high time that the truth was realized and the fact -faced. Is it scientific to call their disease inebriety, when in sober -truth it is something far worse--something that comes down through the -ages, and in all climes and at all times has seized hold upon certain -women--a something that never releases its hold till the portals of -death are open for its victims? Oh, I could almost laugh at the irony of -it all! Cure them of animal passion elemental in its intensity? Cure -them of diseased minds and disordered brains, by keeping them for two or -three years without drink? It cannot be done. But something can be done; -only it is so simple a thing that I feel sure it will not be done. Yet -if we had any thought for the purity of our streets, any concern for -public morality and public decency, any consideration for the public -weal, we should take these women aside, and keep them aside--not for -one, two, or three years, but for the remainder of their natural lives, -justified by the knowledge that they are not responsible creatures, and -that pity itself demands their submission to kindly control and to -strong-handed restraint. - -But the Licensing Act of 1902 dealt with another class of women -inebriates, and dealt with them in a drastic but unsatisfactory way. The -law got hold of really drunken women this time, but it did not give them -half the consideration extended to gross and demented unfortunates. It -empowered magistrates to grant separation orders between married couples -when either husband or wife became habitually drunken. In this Act the -same definition of habitual inebriety that governed the 1898 Act was -adopted, and husbands very promptly began to demand separation orders -on account of their wives' drunkenness. My experiences of the result of -this Act are sorrowful to a degree; but I expected those results, for I -knew that the clauses that empowered separation orders must be either -inoperative or disastrous. Alas! they did not remain inoperative, for -the number of discarded wives began quickly to multiply. - -When the Bill was before Parliament I spent some weeks in a vain -endeavour to prevent some of the worst consequences that I knew would -follow, and have followed. I contributed several articles to leading -reviews; I wrote to _The Times_ and scores of other influential papers; -I wrote to leaders of temperance societies; I circularized the Members -of both Houses, pointing out the enormity and the absurdity of putting -drunken wives homeless on the streets; I pleaded, I begged, with heart, -voice, and pen, for just one chance to be given the miserable women. My -efforts were vain. No one supported me. I was a voice crying in the -wilderness. It might be thought that I was asking for some great thing -or some silly thing. I asked for neither. Let my readers judge. We had -established inebriate reformatories at the public cost. We were filling -them with the grossest unfortunates, of whom there was no hope of -redemption; these women we were maintaining for two or three years in -comfort. Will it be believed? I asked that drunken, but not immoral, -women should be given equal chances of reformation. I asked that when a -wife's drunkenness was proved, that she should, whether she consented or -not, be committed for one year to an inebriate reformatory, and that -the husband's contribution for her support should be paid to the -institution that controlled her. But the House of Commons would have -none of it; the House of Lords would not entertain it; the Christian -Churches would not support it; the guardians of public morality ignored -it. Drunken wives, though physically weak and ill, though mothers of -young children, though decent in other ways, were not to be allowed one -chance of reformation, were not to be considered for one moment worthy -of treatment equal to that given to demented and gross women of the -streets. "Pitch them out!" said our lords and gentlemen of both Houses. -"Get rid of them!" said the Christian Churches. Husbands have not been -slow in taking this advice, for they have been pitching wives out and -have been getting rid of wives ever since. But the public do not get rid -of them so easily. It has to bear the burden that cast-off wives bring, -and that burden grows with every separation granted; so wives hitherto -moral are fast qualifying for the legal advantages given to unspeakable -women, and by-and-by, when the cast-out women behave themselves -sufficiently badly, and the police take them into custody four times in -a year--then, and not till then, when it is too late, both Houses of -Parliament, the Christian Churches, and the guardians of public morality -offer them the reforming influences of an institution for the cure of -inebriety. - - -CONTRASTS: THE YOUNG COMMISSION AGENT AND A BRAVE OLD MAN. - -One of the first men to apply for a separation order under the Act was a -thriving commission agent--_i.e._, a bookmaker--who had married a -barmaid. His jewellery was massive, and there was all over him the -appearance of being extremely well-to-do. He brought with him a -solicitor to advocate his cause, and witnesses, too, were forthcoming. -His young wife, when asked for her statement, did not attempt to deny -that she was sometimes the worse for drink, but contented herself by -saying that her husband drank a great deal more than she did, but it -took less effect. She also said if she did drink, her husband was the -cause of it, for he was unfaithful to her. She readily agreed to her -husband's offer of £1 weekly, so the order was promptly granted, and she -went her way alone. The husband, I noticed, was not so lonely, being -accompanied by a well-dressed female. - -The second act of this unseemly farce was played before the same court -after a three months' interval. The commission agent, again fortified by -his solicitor's presence, applied for an abrogation of the order made -upon him for his wife's maintenance. Her lapse into immorality was duly -proved, her defence--which, of course, was no defence at all--being that -her husband was worse than herself, for he had been living with the -woman now in court for some months. The magistrate had no option--for -private opinion must not prevent the due fulfilment of the law--so the -order was quashed. Henceforth the husband was free of all obligations, -pecuniary or otherwise, excepting that he might not legally marry till -his wife's death. Whatever her faults were, I must confess that I felt -very sorry for her. Young, friendless, and homeless, she was already on -that polished, inclined plane down which many are precipitated to the -lowest depths, from which nothing short of a miracle could save her. A -few minutes later I was speaking to her outside the court, and asking -about her future, when the opulent commission agent and his expensively -dressed but non-legalized wife passed us. Triumph was written on his -coarse face, and, turning to his cast-off wife, he snapped his fingers -in her face, and said: "I knew I should soon get rid of you!" using, of -course, vulgar embellishment. To such contemptible blackguards, men -without an atom of decency, this Act has provided a ready means for -getting rid of wives when their company proves distasteful. But oh the -chivalry of it, especially when the fellow who participated in the -wife's wrong-doing comes cheerfully to give evidence against her! When I -think on these things, I believe that I have some faith still in -physical chastisement. - -But I turn gladly--nay, eagerly--to another side of the question; for -all men are not made on the same lines as the opulent bookie, for which -we have need to be thankful. Among some of the men who, driven almost -distraught by the misery they had endured--and only those who have to -endure it can tell how great that misery is--have applied for separation -orders on account of their wives' habitual drunkenness, I have met some -that shone resplendent amid the moral darkness so often connected with -police-court cases. - -A sorrowful-faced old man, nearly seventy years of age, applied to the -magistrate for advice. His wife for some years had been giving way -constantly to drink. His home was ruined; he was in debt. He produced a -bundle of pawn-tickets, etc. "Have you any sons and daughters? Cannot -they influence her?" "They are married, and are all abroad. They cannot -help me; but they send me money when I require any. They want me to go -to them, but I cannot leave her." "Do you earn any money?" "Oh yes! -quite sufficient to keep us. I have had a good place for forty years." -"Well," said the magistrate, "I cannot advise you, but you can have a -summons against her for habitual drunkenness. Will you have one?" "Yes, -sir," said the bewildered old man. The summons was served upon the wife, -and in due time they appeared before the court. - -A pathetic couple they were; neither of them appeared to exactly -understand why they were there. He knew that he had to prove his wife's -drunkenness, and he did it simply enough. It was the old, old story of -drink, neglect, waste, and dirt--no food provided, no house made tidy, -no beds made, no washing of clothes. That was the negative side. The -pawnings and debts, and cuts and wounds she had received from falling, -formed the positive. - -The old woman denied nothing, but said it was all true. When asked for -her defence, she could only reiterate: "He's been very good to me; he's -been very good to me." When asked about his means, the old man said he -thought that he could allow his wife 10s. a week. The magistrate thought -that 7s. was as much as he could afford, and made the order accordingly. -The couple waited in court till the separate orders were delivered to -them, and then tremblingly rose to go, he to his lonely home and she to -----. I accompanied them into the streets, and said to the old woman: -"Where are you going to live?" She replied: "I am going home." "But you -are separated. The magistrate has given your husband an order which says -that you must no longer live with him." "Not live with my husband! Where -am I to live, then?" I do not think that either of them understood till -that moment what a separation order meant, for the old man said: "You -can't live anywhere else." Then, turning to me, he said half defiantly: -"I suppose I can take her back home if I like?" "Certainly," I said; -"but you cannot come to the magistrate for another order." "I will never -ask for another. I don't want this"; and he tore it in twain. - -"Come on." And he offered his arm to his old and bewildered partner, and -away they went--he to endure patiently and still to hope; she, touched -by his faithful love, to struggle and, perchance, to conquer. He was a -brave old man--a Sir Galahad with bent back and frosty locks. I watched -them as they slowly disappeared along the street. Old as they were, they -were passing through love to light. For I saw them many times after -that day; I made it my business to see them, and to give them such -encouragement as I could: they sorely needed it. So I learned the story -of their lives. - -She had been a good wife and mother till late in life. Then her children -had all dispersed, and great loneliness came upon her. She had not even -the prattle of a grandchild to cheer her. Her husband was away so much -from home, for he worked many hours. - -Old age steals away the power of self-control, and loneliness is hard to -bear, and drink promised to cheer her. The old man's faithfulness was -her only anchorage, but it held. The battle went sometimes against her, -but from the day they stood before the magistrate the old woman began to -gain strength, and with strength came hope and happier days. - -I have selected these two instances because they fully illustrate the -dangers and the weakness of this system. But these two by no means stand -alone, and I am not exaggerating when I say that hundreds of men have -consulted me about their wives' drunkenness, all of them expecting some -help or relief from the Act. When I have explained to them exactly how -it affected them and what a separation order meant, by far the greater -number went away sorrowing, and most of them have added: "I thought she -would be put in a home for a time, where I could pay a little for her. I -cannot put her homeless into the streets; I should not be able to sleep -if I knew she was out." Of course not; what decent husband could? And -this feeling has, I am glad to say, been characteristic of husbands who -have suffered intensely and long, and who through it all have been good -and patient husbands. I do not wish it to be understood that I think -evil of every husband who enforces a separation order on account of his -wife's habitual drunkenness--far from it; for I know only too well that -with some it has been a bitter and last resource, nothing else being -apparently possible. But I do say this, and for this reason I have told -the above stories: that this law places it in the power of a worthless -husband, who cares not what becomes of his wife, to get rid of her and -his responsibilities at practically the same time, but does nothing for -the unfortunate husband who hopes for his wife's reformation, and who -has still some respect for her; also that it consigns wretched women to -a position that is certain to bring about their complete demoralization, -for it submits them to temptations they cannot withstand. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -POLICE-COURT MARRIAGES - - -The fashion that has arisen of late years of judges or magistrates -engineering weddings among the wretched and often penniless people who -sometimes come before them savours of indecency. Such proceedings ought -to have no place in our courts of penal administration. The effects of -thriftless and ill-assorted marriages are so palpable in police-courts -that one wonders to what malign source of inspiration the suggestion -that some criminal youth or some vicious young woman can be reincarnated -by marriage is to be attributed. - -Some of the most effective and eloquent homilies I have ever listened to -have been delivered from the bench upon youthful and thriftless -marriages, and upon the folly of obtaining household goods by the -hire-purchase system. - -In spite, however, of the well-known results of such marriages--for -squalor and misery inevitably attend them--educated gentlemen of -position and experience appear to take pleasure in arranging them, and -Police-Court Missionaries find occupation and joy in seeing the -arrangements duly carried out. - -The altogether unwholesome effect of arranging these marriages is -considerably enhanced by the press, which duly chronicles in heavy type -and sensational headings a "Police-Court Romance." - -Romance! I would like to find the romance. I have seen much of the -results of such marriages, but I never discovered any romance; they were -anything but romantic. While I have seen the results, and have had to -alleviate some of the miseries following such marriages, I am thankful -to say that I never did anything quite so foolish as to take part in -arranging or giving any assistance in carrying out the arrangements for -a single marriage of this description. - -Many years ago I was asked by a worthy magistrate to see that the -arrangements for a marriage of this kind were duly carried out; I told -him that I must respectfully decline. - -He reminded me, with a humorous twinkle in the eye, "that marriages were -made in heaven." The reply was obvious: "Sometimes in hell, your -Worship." And the sequel proved my reply to be true. Magistrates seldom -see the after-results, but those results are far-reaching. From this one -case alone grievous burdens have already been cast upon the public, and -future generations will be called upon to bear an aggravated burden. For -in a short time the couple were homeless, with three young children, and -were found sleeping, or trying to sleep, in a van one winter's night. - -It requires no prophetical vision to see the consequences of these -marriages, but a few instances may stimulate imagination. - -Three years ago a decent-looking young woman of twenty was charged in -one of our courts with abandoning her illegitimate child. She was young, -pretty, and told a sad tale about her wrongs. - -The press account of the matter appeared with such embellishment as -befitted a "romance," for a young man had risen in court and offered to -marry the girl, and make her into an "honest woman." Now, this -chivalrous young man had not seen the girl previously--they were -complete strangers; nevertheless, the magistrate adjourned the case, and -offered a sovereign towards the wedding expenses. The hero in this -business--the chivalrous young man!--was penniless and out of work; in -fact, if he himself spoke truly, he had done no work for a year; but, -seeing publicity had been gained and interest excited, he wrote a letter -to the press, asking the public to supplement the magistrate's -contribution, and supply him with funds to furnish a home for himself -and future wife His letter was not published, but it was sent in to me -by the editor, for I had written to the press on the subject. - -I have said that he was out of work, and certainly he was likely to -remain out of work, for he was one of the audience to be seen regularly -at the police-court, many of whom never seem to seek for work. I have no -hesitation in saying that the man who comes forward in a police-court -and offers to marry a young woman to whom he is a complete stranger, and -who is, moreover, charged with serious crime, is either a fool or a -rogue--probably both. - -Why magistrates should smile on these impromptu proposals, and order -remands that the consummation may take place, I cannot possibly -understand. If I were a magistrate and a fellow came forward with a like -proposal, I would order him out of court; in fact, I should experience -some pleasure in kicking him out. But in this case the magistrate gave a -fatherly benediction and twenty shillings. The missionary, too, was by -no means out of it, for he afterwards took some credit for this sorry -business. - -The true story of the girl came out afterwards. It was not one to excite -pity, for it was a shameful one to a degree. But morbid, and I think I -may say maudlin, sympathy is one of the prevailing evils of the day, and -is not founded in real pity or love, or controlled by common-sense or by -the least discretion, as the following will show: - -The case of a young woman in whom I was interested was placed before the -public as a "romance," and consequently well advertised. She was by no -means a desirable person; as a matter of fact, there was nothing to be -said in her favour. The untrue statement she made before the magistrate -was, however, duly circulated. In a few days I received a large number -of letters, many of them from men with proposals of marriage. I did the -best thing possible by burning the latter, with one exception, for this -interested me, as it contained a membership ticket of a religious -society. - -The writer told me that he was a God-fearing man, a Church member for -many years, a carpenter in business on his own account, a widower with -several children; that he had prayed over the matter, and it was laid -upon his conscience that he must marry the young woman and save her. He -also enclosed a postal order for 10s., and asked me to pay her rail-fare -and send him a telegram. I returned his membership ticket, his letter, -and his postal order, and some words of my own--brief and pointed: - - - "SIR, - - "You may be a well-meaning man, but you are an ass. What right have - you to submit your children to the care of an abandoned woman? - Marry some decent woman you are acquainted with, and save them and - yourself. - - "Yours truly, - - "T. HOLMES." - - -Quite recently a Police-Court Missionary told us through the press that -he had arranged seventy such weddings, that he raised £200 to give the -various couples a start in life, many of whom were so poor that he -loaned them a wedding-ring for the ceremony, as he always kept one by -him for emergencies. Yet he assured us, in spite of the poverty of the -persons concerned, and notwithstanding the disgraceful circumstances -that had brought them within his province, all these marriages had -turned out happily. I sincerely wish that I could believe in the -happiness of couples of this description, married under such -circumstances, but I cannot, for my experience of them has been so very -different. Indeed, I was not surprised to read an account in the press -of the trial of a young man for the murder of his wife, when the wife's -mother stated that the marriage had been arranged by a Police-Court -Missionary. - -When I reflect upon this subject, I must confess myself astonished that -our Bishops and clergy, who insist so strongly on the sacredness of -marriage and of its indissolubility, are silent upon the matter, and -have no advice to give to their representatives upon it. - -Especially am I surprised that our good Bishop of London, who is -conversant with every phase of London life, and who has spoken so -fearlessly upon the extent and evils of immorality, is silent on -police-court marriages and police-court separations; for these marriages -are none the less immoral though they be legalized by the State and -blessed by the Church, and the evils of them will not bear -recapitulation. On divorce our leaders have much to say; on marriage -with deceased wives' sisters they have advice to give. Are the poor to -have no guidance? Are penniless, ignorant, and often gross young people -to be engineered into promiscuous marriage without a protest? Is the -widespread evil that attaches to wholesale "separation" of no -consequence? Are these and suchlike arrangements good enough for the -poor? - -But there is another light in which these engineered marriages must be -considered. Not very long since one of our judges had before him a young -man charged with the attempted murder of the girl with whom he had kept -company. His jealousy and brutality had alarmed her, so she had given -him up. But he was not to be got rid of so easily, for he waylaid her -and attempted to murder her by cutting her throat. He was charged, but -the charge was reduced to one of grievous bodily harm. At the trial the -young woman was asked by the judge whether she would consent to marry -the prisoner, adding that if she would consent it would make a -difference in the sentence imposed. The matter was adjourned to the next -session, the prisoner being allowed his liberty that the marriage might -be effected. During the adjournment they were married, and when next -before the magistrate the marriage certificate was produced. She saved -the man from prison, and the judge bestowed his benediction in the -following words: "Take her away" (as if, forsooth, she had been the -prisoner) "and be good to her. You have assaulted her before: don't do -it again"--thus giving him every opportunity of doing at his leisure -what he had barely failed to do in his haste. I ask, Is not a procedure -of this kind a grave misuse of the power of the courts? Is there any -justice about it? Is it fair to place on a young and inexperienced girl -the onus of deciding whether or not her would-be murderer shall be -punished? Is there any sense of propriety in holding a half-veiled -threat over her, and inducing her, against her better judgment, to marry -a jealous and murderous brute? I can find no satisfactory answers to -these questions, and contend such proceedings ought to be impossible in -our courts of justice. - -If our penal administrators think that brutality, jealousy, and -murderous instincts can be cured by matrimonial ties, especially when -these ties are forged and riveted under such circumstances, then their -knowledge of human nature is small indeed. - -The jealous brute when single is in all conscience bad enough, but when -married he is infinitely worse; for with him jealousy becomes an -absolute mania, and tragedy is almost inevitable. It must not be -understood that all magistrates and judges bring pressure to bear on -wretched or sinning couples for the purpose of compelling matrimony, for -this is not the case. We have need to be thankful that comparatively few -do so. But there is enough of this business done to warrant my calling -attention to it, and in expressing the hope that "romance" of this kind -may speedily die a death from which there is no resurrection. It may be -that among the long list of sordid cases that come before the courts -there are some in which marriage seems the best way out of the tangle, -financial or otherwise. Sometimes, perhaps, it is the only honourable -course, especially where the mother of a child is desirous of it. But it -must be remembered that in these cases the parties have had plenty of -opportunity for marriage previous to appearing before the court, and -would have like opportunities after going from the court, without -magistrates intervening. - -But it becomes a public matter when judges or magistrates use their -positions and the power of the law to compel young people, sometimes -mere boys and girls, to marry. - -Better a thousand times that many should bear the ills and sorrows that -they have, and go through life with the shadow of disgrace over them, -rather than take as partners those that have been either forced by -circumstances or terrorized by representatives of the law into the -unhappy position. - -It may seem strange that, while some of our judges, magistrates, and -missionaries betray anxiety to hurry on these indecent marriages, and to -coerce penniless young people into them, the State should find ready -means for undoing them. It is no uncommon thing for very young women who -have been married but a few months to apply for separation orders and -maintenance orders. I may add also that it is no uncommon thing for -magistrates to grant them. The extent to which separation prevails may -be gathered from the fact that under the Summary Jurisdiction (Married -Women) Act, 1895, there have been granted up to the end of 1906 (the -latest date for which statistics are available) 72,537 separation -orders; and, assuming the average for the years 1902 to 1906 to be -maintained, up to the end of 1907 there would have to be added a further -1,048 separation orders, making a total since the Act came into force of -79,583 such orders. - -Surely these figures ought to compel serious thought. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -EXTRAORDINARY SENTENCES - - -I owe my readers an apology for introducing this chapter, inasmuch as it -does not deal chiefly with my own experiences, but with two -extraordinary sentences recently given, and made public through the -press; though it is fair to say that I know something of the friends in -the one case and the victims in the other of the prisoners who received -those sentences. I have seen nothing during my personal experiences to -cause me any misgivings as to the administration of justice. I have not -seen people punished for crimes they had not committed, but I have seen -a large number of prisoners discharged about whose guilt there was no -moral doubt. It stands to the credit of our penal system that it is much -easier for a guilty man to escape than it is for an innocent man to be -punished. This is a just and safe position. I would like also to say -that among all the sentences that I have known imposed upon prisoners, -there have been very few--indeed, scarcely any--that I have thought did -not meet the justice of the case. I have, therefore, no sympathy with -the organized outcries that are from time to time raised against our -judges and magistrates and the police. Judges and magistrates are but -human, and that they will err sometimes in their judgments is certain. -We censure them sometimes because their sentences are too severe; we -blame them sometimes because they have been too lenient; but it is -always well to remember that judges and magistrates see and know more of -the attendant circumstances of a case than the press and the public -possibly can see or know. This knowledge, of course, cannot have any -bearing on the question of guilt or innocence; but it can have, and -ought to have, some effect upon the length of sentence imposed. - -Within limits, then, judges and magistrates must be allowed latitude -with regard to degrees of sentence, for a cast-iron method allowing no -latitude would entail a tremendous amount of injustice. - -Nine times out of ten, when a judge or magistrate errs in the imposition -of sentence, he errs on the side of leniency, and it is right that it -should be so. But an error on the side of mercy does not create a public -sensation; and this speaks well for the public, for it is good to know -that the community is better pleased to hear of leniency than of -severity. Nevertheless, an error on the side of leniency is an error, -and may be followed with results as disastrous as those that follow from -an error on the side of severity; for while those results are not so -quickly palpable, they may be more extensive. - -I want, then, in this chapter to select two sentences--one given by a -judge, the other by a magistrate: the judge erring, in my opinion, on -the side of severity; the magistrate erring, in my judgment, on the side -of leniency. - -Neither of these sentences seems to have attracted public attention, -though both are of recent date. - -Let me quote from a letter received on June 4, 1907: - - - "DEAR SIR, - - "I hope you will excuse me writing to you about my son, who is a - young man not twenty-three years of age. - - "He is a carpenter and joiner, and has a good little business of - his own, with a shop and yard. - - "On January 4, 1906, there was a burglary at the house next to - mine, and in a fortnight after my son was arrested on suspicion. - The people--very old friends of ours--being awake, heard voices, - but did not recognize one of the voices as that of my son. - - "At the trial there was no evidence produced to prove that my son - was in the house. My wife and myself are prepared to say that he - went to bed at ten o'clock, and that we called him at seven o'clock - next morning. - - "The jury brought my son in guilty, and the judge gave him - _fourteen years' penal servitude_. The whole court was shocked; no - one could understand it. I cannot understand it, for I have read - many instances of real old criminals, after committing robberies, - being sentenced to a few months or a year or so. But fourteen years - for a young man! Oh, sir, my family have lived in this old town - for nearly three hundred years, and no member of it had ever been - in a prisoner's dock till now. I have written to the Home - Secretary, and his answer was that he could not at present - interfere. I pray to Heaven that you will be kind enough to write - to him and beg of him to pardon my son. I am sending to you a paper - with a full account of the trial. - - "I remain, - - "Yours truly, - - "X." - - -I have that paper now before me--the _Coventry Times_, dated Wednesday, -December 12, 1906. The trial took place on the previous Friday at -Warwick Assizes. Taylor was charged with breaking and entering, and -feloniously stealing twenty-four farthings, one gold locket, one metal -chain, and ten spoons; to make assurance doubly sure, he also was -charged with receiving the same property. Taylor had been in custody -since January 23, 1906. On December 7 of the same year he received his -extraordinary sentence, after being detained in prison nearly eleven -months. Everything seems extraordinary about this case--the long delay -before trial, the severe sentence, the trumpery character of the -articles stolen. I express no opinion about the prisoner's guilt. Some -of the articles were found in his possession, and it was proved that he -had been spending farthings. That the people whose house had been -entered did not suspect the prisoner was clear, as they sent for him -next morning to repair the door that had been broken. But, at any rate, -the jury believed Taylor guilty, for, without leaving the box, they -gave their verdict to that effect. - -One of the objects of the burglary appears to have been the acquisition -of the silver teaspoons. - -Mrs. Wilson, the prosecutor's wife, had been previously married to a man -named Vernon, and the spoons in question belonged to him. It was said -that the friends of Vernon wanted the spoons, and Mrs. Wilson admitted -that "they would like them; but they had let her alone for twenty -years." - -These spoons disappeared. They were not found in Taylor's possession, -but someone had undoubtedly taken them. Mrs. Wilson stated in her -evidence that after the burglary there was a piece of paper left on the -parlour table, on which was written in pencil the words, "Mrs. Vernon, -after twenty years"; but this paper was missing, and the prisoner's -mother had been in the parlour and had seen the paper, which could not -be found after she left. - -Whether Taylor committed a trumpery burglary, or whether he did the -thing out of mean spirit, or whether he was in collusion with others, -does not matter very much. Punishment he doubtless deserved, but -fourteen years for a young man for a silly offence seems beyond the -bound of credibility. But it is true; for in June, 1907, I approached -the Home Secretary, begging for a revision of the sentence, and received -a reply similar to that sent to the prisoner's father--that it was too -early a date for interference. It is only fair to assume that the judge -was in possession of knowledge that justified his words, if not his -sentence, for in addressing the prisoner he said: "You have been -convicted, and properly convicted; but I know the sort of man you are, -from this case and from the fact that there is another charge against -you in this calendar. Fourteen years' penal servitude!" - -I am not surprised to read that "The prisoner appeared to be stunned -when he heard the sentence, and fell into the warders' arms who -surrounded him!" I am not surprised to read that the prisoner's father -and mother rose to their feet, and that the one shouted, "He is -innocent!" and that the other went into hysterics; but I am surprised to -read that an English judge could not allow something for parental -feelings, and that he said fiercely: "Take those people away!" and when -the prisoner's father shouted, "I can go out, but he is innocent!" that -the judge instantly retorted: "If you don't go out, I will commit you to -prison." Fourteen years for a young man of twenty-two! Fourteen years -for a first offender! It requires an effort to make oneself believe it, -but it is a fact. - -I should like to know what was at the back of Mr. Justice Ridley's mind -when he gave that sentence. Surely he had some reasons that he, at any -rate, considered sufficient to justify it. It is difficult to imagine -what they were, for no personal violence had been offered, no firearms -had been carried, no burglar's tools had been discovered. Taylor was not -even suspected of connection with any professional criminals. It was, -moreover, the first time he had been in the hands of the police. Taylor -seems to have been industrious, for at twenty-two years of age he was -in business on his own account. I can't help thinking that there was -something wrong with Taylor, some mental twist or peculiarity; for, -admitting him to be guilty, he acted like a fool. To leave a piece of -paper, in his own handwriting, referring to matters of which only -intimate friends could have knowledge, was of itself an extraordinary -thing; but to go spending openly at public-houses stolen farthings was -more extraordinary still. So the responsibility for his conviction rests -largely with himself. - -But fourteen years even for a fool is unthinkable, and the -responsibility for that rests with his judge. - -This leads me to say that stupid and half-witted criminals are often -more severely dealt with than clever and dangerous rogues. The former -"give themselves away" in such sweetly simple fashion that they appear -hardened and indifferent, and are punished accordingly. I am afraid, -too, that sometimes judges and magistrates cannot attain to Pauline -excellence and "suffer fools gladly." Hundreds of times I have heard the -expression about someone who had received a severe sentence: "Well, he -deserved it for being such a fool!" Even the public is more prepared to -tolerate severe punishments for the men whose crimes savour of crass -folly, if not of downright idiocy, than it is for dangerous, clever -daring, and calculating rogues. My second example will tend to show that -magistrates are not exempt from this kind of feeling, but when led by -it, rush to the other extreme, and inflict no punishment whatever. The -hearing of the case I am about to relate took place at Tower Bridge -Police-Court in July, 1908. - -A young married woman was charged with obtaining by false pretences £75 -in cash and £15 worth of jewellery from an old woman who had been a -domestic servant, but who at the age of seventy had given up regular -work, and was hoping to make her little savings suffice for the -remainder of her days. The prisoner was also charged with obtaining by -fraud £10 5s. from a working man in whose house she had lodgings. - -Evidence was given that the prisoner had an uncle abroad, but nothing -had been heard of him for a very long time. Two years ago the prisoner -spread a report that he had died immensely rich, and had left her -thousands of pounds. In order to pay legal expenses, she said, she -borrowed money from her aunt, an old woman of eighty. Having exhausted -her aunt's money, and leaving her to the workhouse authorities, the -prisoner then proceeded to draw upon the retired domestic, who parted -with every penny of her savings and her jewellery. - -In due time she was penniless also, and had again to seek work, at -seventy years of age, having no friends to help her. The prisoner then -turned her attention to her landlord, and obtained £10 5s. from him; but -he became suspicious, and wanted to see some documents or solicitors. -She gave him the address of her solicitors in Chancery Lane. Then he -insisted upon her accompanying him to see them; he compelled her to go, -and, on arriving, found the address to be a bank. The landlord then -communicated with the police, and she was arrested. The prisoner -admitted that the whole story was false, and that she was very wicked. -It was stated in evidence that the prisoner had an illegitimate child, -which she said was the child of a gentleman, and that she had persuaded -a young man to marry her by promising him £300 from the child's father, -when the wedding took place; but the young husband had never received -the money. - -The lady missionary told the magistrate that she had received a letter -from the prisoner, whilst under remand in Holloway Prison, expressing -her deep sorrow, and promising to work hard and pay the money back. - -Mr. Hutton bound the prisoner over under the Probation Act! I wonder -what was at the back of Mr. Hutton's mind when he practically discharged -her. - -If the Probation Act is to bring us such judgments as this, it would -have been well if we had never heard of it. - -I can imagine no more heartless and cruel series of frauds than those -perpetrated in this case. - -The prisoner seems to have pursued her victims with unerring instinct -and skill: the old aunt was robbed and ruined; the old domestic, after a -long life of hard work and economy, was robbed and ruined; then, with -confidence in her own powers, she proceeded to rob her landlord. A -continual succession of lies, deceptions, and frauds, extending over -years! And then bound over! Herein is a problem: If ten teaspoons, one -metal chain, and one gold locket are equal to fourteen years' penal -servitude, what are some hundreds of pounds, obtained by two years' -fraud, and entailing the ruin of two decent old women, equal to? - -The answer, according to the magistrate, is, Nothing! A great deal has -been said, and not without some show of justice, about there being one -law for the rich and another for the poor. In this case it is positively -true, though in an opposite sense to the generally accepted meaning of -the words. - -I have no hesitation in saying that if the prosecutors had been in more -influential circumstances, and had employed a solicitor to put their -case, the law would not have been satisfied by accepting the prisoner's -recognizances. Are we to accept the principle that punishment must be in -inverse ratio to the seriousness of the offence? It appears so! - -The innocent young man she decoyed into marriage has not received his -£300--he never will--but he received what he might have expected, and at -least he got his deserts. - -I ask my readers to ponder this decision: Bound over! I ask them to -ponder this sentence: Fourteen years' penal servitude! There is an -eternity between the two sentences; the one is permitted to go on her -guileless way. The other is sent to confinement, monotony, and -degradation for fourteen years. The latter was at the worst a foolish, -clumsy rogue; the other was a consummate and accomplished artist in -deception. - -Whether the old women would have received any benefit from the -imprisonment of the younger woman is beside the question. I am sure they -will receive no benefit from her liberty, though she says she will work -hard and repay them! - -On what principle can she be called a first offender? If rogues are to -be imprisoned at all, by what process of reasoning can it be argued that -she ought to go free? - -Surely the time is come when other people as well as prisoners must be -considered. What will be the effect of a judgment like this? It can have -but one effect: it will encourage similar young women in their lives of -deception and fraud. - -I may here stop to ask whether a young _man_ charged with similar -offence would have been dealt with at Tower Bridge Police-Court, or at -any other court, in a similar way. My own conviction is that he would -not have been so dealt with. - -This raises the question whether there is or ought to be equality, or -something approximating to equality, of punishment for the sexes. - -This being the day of women's rights, I would say that certainly there -ought to be something like equality even in the imposition of sentences; -but the law and its administrators do not hold this view. I do not -remember any case of a man and woman being jointly charged, both being -jointly and equally guilty, in which the man did not receive much the -heavier sentence. - -I can understand it in the case of husband and wife, for the law -considers husband and wife as one; but, unfortunately for the husband, -it considers the male person as that particular one. But, with regard to -unmarried couples, I can see no general reason for severity to the man -and leniency to the woman. - -At the risk of appearing ferocious, I must say that I was taken aback -at the Tower Bridge Police-Court decision, for I confess that I would -have preferred the magistrate giving the prisoner six months' hard -labour, or sending her for trial before judge and jury. Not that I want -either men or women to be detained in prison--I hate the thought of -it--but I happen to hate something else much more, and that is the idea -that plausible and crafty young women can rob and ruin decent old women -with impunity. - -I hold--though in this I may be wrong--that if the law cannot compel -fraudulent persons to restore their ill-gotten gains--and in the case of -the prisoner at Tower Bridge this was, of course, impossible--then at -least it ought to administer in such cases a decent amount of -punishment. But the course adopted did not uphold the dignity of the -law; it did not in the least help those that have suffered; it did not -punish the prisoner; neither did it serve to act as a warning to others. -But while, as I have previously said, justice is, on the whole, fairly -administered, there is still a wide difference in the sentences given -for like offences. The demeanour of a prisoner before the magistrate may -easily add to or lessen the length of his sentence; crocodile tears and -a whining appeal for mercy generally have an opposite effect to that the -prisoner wishes. - -A scornful, defiant, or violent attitude is almost certain to increase -the length of sentence. The plausible, cunning, and somewhat clever man, -who cross-examines with the skill of an expert, is sure to be hardly -judged and appraised when sentence is given; but the devil-may-care -fellow, who bears himself a bit jauntily, and who, moreover, has -considerable humour and a dash of wit, is almost sure by a few witty or -humorous quips to partially disarm justice and secure for himself more -lenient punishment. I suppose we all have a sneaking kindness for the -complete vagabond; we instinctively like the fellow who can make us -laugh; we do not want to believe that the man who is possessed of humour -is altogether bad, and when we have to punish him we let him off as -lightly as possible. But the stubborn thick-head does not excite either -our risible faculties or our heart's sympathy; nevertheless, that -thick-head may be far less guilty than the complete vagabond--in truth, -he is often a far better fellow--but his thick-headedness is against -him, and we punish him accordingly. And here I draw upon my own -experiences, for I have known complete vagabonds that were also absolute -scoundrels, who, by their apparent candour, jollity, and flashes of -humour, continually saved themselves from anything approaching long -sentences. - -One fellow in particular took at least twelve years in qualifying for -penal servitude, though he was a thorough rogue and a vagabond -absolutely. He was a printer and a clever workman; but he never -worked--not he! He would steal anything. Several times he had called on -clergymen, and while conversing with them in their halls had -appropriated their best silk umbrellas. On one occasion he had gone away -without booty, but he returned five minutes afterwards, and rang the -bell, which, being answered by the servant, he said: "I am very sorry -to trouble, but I forgot my umbrella. Ah! here it is." And he went away -with the parson's best. - -"Give me another chance," I have heard him say. "You know you like me: I -am not a bad fellow at heart." He saved himself from penal servitude -many times, but he got it at last, after several narrow escapes. - -One winter night I was told he was at my front-door, where he had been -many times, for I never asked him in: I am sure he would have robbed me -if I had. "Well, old man, how are you?" he said, for he always -patronized me in a delightful manner. "Oh, it is you, Downy, is it?" -"Ah, it is me. I say, Holmes, I am starving!" "There is some comfort in -that," I said. "Bah! you don't mean it; you are too good-hearted. Give -us a cup of tea." I declined his invitation, and told him that I had no -umbrellas to spare. "Well, that's a bit thick," he said; "I did not -expect that from you. Well, I'm off." Then, as an afterthought, he said: -"What's the time?" "Five minutes past six," I said. "Why, I have been on -this doorstep quite five minutes." "Quite ten minutes," I said. - -Away he went to the parish clergyman, who did not know him, and -delivered some imaginary messages from myself. He got two shillings and -a meal from the clergyman. - -To my surprise, I saw him in the dock next day, charged with stealing a -valuable fur-lined overcoat. He had called at a gentleman's house to ask -for employment. The servant had admitted him, and left him standing in -the hall while she summoned the master. It was dark, but he discovered -the valuable coat and put it on. There was no work for him, and the -gentleman, who knew Downy well, showed him out promptly. He afterwards -missed his coat, and quickly gave information to the police. Downy was -as light-hearted as usual, denied his guilt, and closely examined the -prosecutor as to the exact time he (Downy) called on him. The -magistrate, having had depositions taken, was about to commit him for -trial, when the prisoner said: "I have a witness to call." "You can call -him at your trial," the magistrate said. "Who is your witness?" "Mr. -Holmes." "What can he prove?" "That I was at his house at exactly the -same time that it is said I was at the prosecutor's." I declined to give -evidence, for I believed the fellow had the overcoat, though he was -without a coat when I saw him. He was duly committed for trial, but -before leaving the dock he turned to the magistrate and said: "You have -made up your mind that I am to get five years, but you are mistaken this -time: no jury will convict on the evidence." The grand jury threw out -the bill, so I was saved the pleasure of giving evidence for him. In a -few days he appeared at the court desiring to speak to the magistrate. -When given the chance, he said: "Well, I'm here again. I thought you -might be pleased to know that no true bill was found against me; my case -did not go to the jury. You haven't done with me yet." "I am sorry," -said the magistrate. "But you will not be disappointed many more times. -You will get your five years." "Probably, but not at your suggestion. -Good-morning!" - -He was on my doorstep again that evening. "Come to see you again, -Holmes, my boy. Lend us half a crown!" I declined. "Ha!" he said, "you -would lend it me soon enough if you knew what a lark I have had. I can't -help laughing. Why, I have been to old ---- and offered to give him back -his fur coat for a quid." And the rascal roared at the thought of it. -"What did he say to you?" "Well, he rather hurt my feelings, for his -language was not polite." "I suppose you have not restored it?" "What do -you think?" - -But Downy got his five years within a few weeks. He removed a big marble -clock from the bar of a public-house, and got away with it, too, in -broad daylight; but Fate tripped him at last, and he got his well-earned -five years. As he is still under forty years of age, I have no doubt but -that in prison his talent will be developed. Not that he has much to -learn, but even Downy may gather a few wrinkles when given proper -opportunities. - -Now, Downy represents a very numerous class of men and women, though few -of them have his cool assurance and originality, but, like him, live to -a large extent by thieving and general dishonesty. These people can -seldom furnish _bona-fide_ addresses, or give any proof that they have -been doing honest work. Yet they go on from year to year, in and out of -prison, undergoing small sentences--first a few days, then a few weeks, -followed by a few months, then committal to trial, when sentences of one -or two years are passed upon them. Some of them, though their lives are -devoted to criminality, never arrive at the dignity of penal servitude. - -With due respect, there is, I submit, even now room for improvement -with regard to the infliction of sentences. A large amount of latitude -must be allowed, for judges and magistrates ought not, must not, be -automatic; a certain amount of liberty must be granted to them. But when -that latitude includes the right and the power to give fourteen years' -penal servitude to a young man of twenty-two for a trumpery offence, and -that his first offence; when it includes the right and the power to -practically discharge a clever and dangerous woman who has lived by -fraud, and whose frauds brought untold suffering upon innocent and aged -victims--when this latitude allows cool and calculating rogues to -continue interminably their lives of roguery, alternated with very small -and insufficient sentences, it is evident that the liberty and latitude -allowed require in some way to be circumscribed. - -Judges and magistrates are human, and I for one would keep them human, -with the power to sympathize and the power to laugh, for these things -are altogether good, and to a reasonable extent it is right that these -wholesome qualities should exercise some influence; but even these -faculties require some restraint, or injustice instead of justice will -be done. I am afraid there is some truth in what many discharged -prisoners have told me--that the length of sentence depends on the whim -of the judge, and that on some days it appears evident that a crumb of -undigested cheese impairs the temper and judgment, and adds appreciably -to the length of the sentences given. - -If this is in the least degree true, it is a matter for profound -regret. In spite of temper, pain, or indigestion, the balance of justice -ought to be fairly held. I am glad to think that I have sometimes known -pain and suffering to have the opposite effect when judgment has been -given. A magistrate of my acquaintance, noted for good temper and -courteous urbanity, was one morning in a very unpleasant frame of mind. -Everything went wrong with him, and, as a consequence, with everyone who -had to deal with him. He was cross, peevish, and rude. The police knew -it, for he was not civil to them; witnesses knew it, for he was rough -with them. On one occasion when he had been at his worst he caught my -eye. After the court was over he said to me: "You thought me very -ill-tempered this morning?" "Indeed I did, your Worship, for you were -rough to everyone." "Ah!" he said, "I have neuralgia frightfully; I have -had no sleep all night." I said: "I am very sorry, your Worship; but I -noticed another thing." "What was that?" "Why, you let all the prisoners -down lightly." "Oh," he said, "you noticed it, did you? I had to let -myself go sometimes, for I could hardly bear it, so I let go when it did -not matter very much; but I kept a tight hand over myself when it came -to sentences. I was determined that the prisoners should not suffer for -my neuralgia." - -He was wise, and he did nobly. It would be well if all our judges and -magistrates kept a tight hand on themselves when it comes to sentences; -for everyone must admit a cruel wrong is done when prisoners are awarded -heavier sentences because the judge is either in ill-health or out of -temper. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -DISCHARGED PRISONERS - - -It was, of course, inevitable, considering the large space prison reform -and discharged prisoners have occupied in the public mind, that some -influence, not altogether healthy, would be exercised on both prisoners -and public. The leniency of sentences, or of treatment whilst undergoing -sentences, has upon most prisoners a humanizing and softening effect. On -others it produces a very different feeling, for in a measure it -confirms them in wrong-doing. Personally, I have great faith in wise and -discriminate leniency, preferring the risk of confirming the few to the -certainty of hardening the many. Still, it is worth while, in our -efforts for prison reform and for ex-prisoners' social salvation, to -pause sometimes and inquire not only what success is being achieved, but -also what is the general effect of our efforts. The constant stream of -appeals on behalf of discharged prisoners that flows throughout the -length and breadth of our land, while productive of good, is of a -certainty productive of much evil. The efforts made in prison to get -prisoners to attach themselves to some recognized Prisoners' Aid Society -before discharge, good as they are, are not without some ill -consequences. The sympathy of the community for men and women who have -broken their country's laws, and who are undergoing, or have undergone, -terms of imprisonment, has been so often and so earnestly proclaimed -that even this expression of sympathy has had consequences that were not -anticipated, but which might have been expected if a little more thought -had been given to the matter. It is, I know, impossible that any -movement or trend of thought can be absolutely free from evil, and every -influence for good has something connected with it that acts in an -opposite direction. One result of all this public sympathy and effort -has been to lead a large number of people to think and believe that -because they have been criminals, and have suffered just punishment for -their evil-doing, it is someone's bounden duty to help them, and provide -them not only with the means of living when discharged from prison, but -also with suitable employment. - -So far has this kind of belief permeated, that several of my -acquaintances, educated men who have suffered well-merited terms of -imprisonment, contend that the community ought to receive them back with -open arms, and not only restore them to a position, but give them again -the confidence and respect they had forfeited. Their offences having -been purged, they argue, by the term of imprisonment suffered, the law -has been satisfied; and the law now holding them guiltless, nothing else -ought to be considered. These men, as I have said, were educated men, -and well able to win back the public confidence if they set themselves -to the task. But I am more concerned for the effect of this belief upon -the ordinary prisoners, who have but little education, and for them it -has disastrous effects. If there is one virtue that is absolutely -necessary to a discharged prisoner, it is the virtue of self-reliance. -Without it he is nothing. No matter what sympathy and what aid be -extended to him from societies or individuals, without self-reliance he -is a certain failure. Anything that tends to lessen self-reliance in -discharged prisoners has, then, a tendency to reduce their chances of -reformation. After all has been done that can possibly be done for -discharged prisoners, one is compelled--reluctantly compelled--to the -conclusion that the only men who can be rescued are those who possess -grit and self-reliance. Many--I think that I can with safety say -most--discharged prisoners appear to believe that assistance once given -gives them a claim to other assistance. I have met with very few to whom -I have given material help who thought that the help given them was -exceptional and given with the view of helping them to a little start, -that they might afterwards rely upon themselves. On the other hand, I -have met with hundreds who actually believed that help previously given -constituted an absolute claim to continued assistance. Sometimes it has -taken much persuasion, and occasionally a display of physical force, -before I have been able to get some discharged prisoners to accept my -view of the matter. - -The complete assurance with which many of them present themselves at my -door and inform me that they are "Just come out of prison, sir," is of -itself astounding, but a little conversation with them reveals more -surprising things still. About eleven o'clock one winter night there was -a loud rap at my front-door, to which I responded. When I opened the -door, a big man stood before me, and he promptly put his foot across the -doorstep, and the following conversation took place: "What do you want?" -"Oh, you are Mr. Holmes. I want you to help me." "Why should I help you? -I know nothing of you." "I have just come out of prison." "Well, you are -none the better for that." "Well, you help men that have been in -prison." "Sometimes, when I see they are ashamed of having been in." -"Well, I don't want to get in prison again." "How do I know you have -been in prison?" "Why, didn't you speak to us like a man last Sunday?" -"Yes, I was at Pentonville last Sunday, and I hope I spoke like a man." -"Ah, that you did! And when I heard you, I said: 'I'll see him when I -come out. He will be sure to give me half a dollar.'" "How did you get -my address?" "From another chap." "When did you come out?" "This -morning." "How long have you been in?" "Six months." "Got all your -conduct marks?" "Every one." "Then you had eight shillings when you left -the prison. How much have you got left?" "Never a sou!" "What have you -done with it?" "I bought a collar, a pocket-handkerchief, a necktie, and -a bit of tobacco, and a good dinner." "You saved nothing for your -lodging?" "No; I thought you would see me right." "I see! How old are -you?" "Thirty-four." "How tall?" "Six feet one." "What is your weight?" -"Fourteen stone." "My friend, you are big enough, strong enough, and -young enough to help yourself. You seem to be making a bad job of it; -but you will get no help from me." "Not half a dollar?" "Not half a -penny." "What are you for?" "Well," I said, "I appear to exist for a -good many purposes, but at the present time I am for the purpose of -telling you to move off. Take your foot from my doorstep and clear!" -"Not without half a dollar." "Take your foot away!" "No fear! I am going -to have some money for my lodgings." "You will get no money here. Clear -off!" "You don't mean to say that, after speaking to us like a man, you -won't give me any money?" "That is exactly what I do mean to say." "What -are you for?" "I will show you what I am for"; and I called three -stalwart sons. "I ask you once more to withdraw your foot, or we shall -be compelled to put you as gently as possible in the gutter." He then -left us, muttering as he went: "I wonder what he's for?" - -The sight of an ashamed and broken ex-prisoner touches me, and my heart -goes out to him. Neither sympathy nor help will I deny him. But when -unabashed fellows confront me, and show not the slightest evidence of -sorrow or shame, but trade, as far as they can trade, upon the shameful -fact that they have been rogues and vagabonds, very different feelings -are evoked. My experience leads me to the belief that the greater -majority of ex-prisoners are by no means ashamed of having been in -prison, or of the criminal actions that preceded prison; neither are -they anywise reticent about their actions or thoughts. - -So well is the public desire to help prisoners understood that I have -sometimes been the victim of specious scoundrels who probably had never -been in prison, but who richly deserved the unenviable distinction. - -One morning, when I was leaving home for the day, I saw on the opposite -side of the street a young man, who looked intently at me when I bade my -wife good-bye. As he was an entire stranger to me, I did not speak to -him, but went about my business. During the evening my wife said to me: -"Oh, you owe me ten shillings!" "What for?" I inquired. "I gave young -Brown his fare to Birmingham." "What young Brown?" I inquired. "That -nice young fellow that got into trouble two years ago, and you helped -him when he came out of prison. He kept the place you got for him, and -now he has got a much better one at Birmingham." I tried to recall young -Brown, but my memory was vacant on the matter. At length I asked for his -description, when the young man I had seen in the morning was revealed. -He noted my departure, and when quite sure that I was not in the way, he -came to the door and asked to see me. He told my wife a long tale about -his imprisonment and of my kindness to him, of his struggle for two -years on a small salary, and of the good position open for him in -Birmingham; and also of his certainty that I would, had I been at home, -have advanced his fare, and wound up by expressing the great sorrow that -he had missed me. He did wish so much to tell me of his success, for it -was all due to my kindness. He got his fare, and I sincerely hope that -by this time he has got his deserts too. - -But, independently of specious rogues, it is high time the fact was -recognized that a feeling does largely exist among prisoners and -ex-prisoners that the fact of having been in prison is a sure passport -to public sympathy, and constitutes a claim upon public assistance. A -large proportion of prisoners are, of course, people of low -intelligence, who cannot estimate things at a proper value or see things -as ordinary-minded people see them, and to these the belief becomes a -certainty and the hope almost a realization. Let me repeat, then, that -the duty of the community to help and "rescue" discharged prisoners has -been so insistently and persistently proclaimed that prisoners now quite -believe it, and are eagerly ready to leave to societies, organizations, -or individuals other than themselves those efforts that are undoubtedly -necessary for their own reformation and re-establishment. - -I hold, and very strongly hold, that there is no hope of any prisoner's -reformation who has no sorrow for the wrong he has done, and no sense of -shame for the disgrace he has brought upon himself and others. I am not -sure which is the more hopeless and repulsive kind of an individual--the -man who blatantly demands assistance because he has been a rogue, or the -fawning hypocrite who professes repentance, tells of his conversion, -and thanks God that he has been in prison; but I do know that both have -the same object in view, and that both are but specimens of a numerous -class. - -While giving a course of lectures in our large prisons I had -opportunities of becoming acquainted with many of the prisoners. At the -conclusion of each lecture those prisoners who had expressed during the -week a wish to consult me were allowed to do so in strict privacy. I had -some very interesting talks with them. For many of them I felt -profoundly sorry, and made some arrangement to meet with them when they -were once more at liberty. For others I felt no pity, for I realized -that they were barely receiving a just reward for their deeds. - -One young man, with a heavy face and a leering kind of a look, came to -me, and informed me that he had asked permission to see me, because he -wanted my help in a fortnight's time, when he would be at liberty. Clad -in khaki and marked with broad arrows, there was nothing to -differentiate him from the ordinary prisoner, excepting, perhaps, that -his face was duller and less intelligent than the majority. I asked him -how long he had been in prison. "Six months." "What are you in for?" -"Forgery." "How much money did you get by it?" "Five hundred pounds." -"You were a bank clerk, then?" "Yes." "Is your father alive?" "No." -"Have you a mother?" "Yes, and two sisters." "In what way do you want me -to help you?" "I want to go to Canada." I looked at him closely and -said, "Tell me what you did with the five hundred pounds." For the -first time I saw brightness in his eyes and face, and he promptly -replied, "Oh, I had a high old time." I saw sensual enjoyment written -very largely about his lips and eyes; but I repeated his words, "A high -old time?" "Yes; a good time, you know." So I enumerated drink, -gambling, women, and to each of them he replied, "Yes." He evidently -looked back to that wicked period with great pleasure. I felt that he -was far beyond my prentice hand, for I thought of his mother and -sisters, of the employer he had so ruthlessly robbed, and of his own -certain future. So I said to him, "My son, I cannot help you; no one can -help you. It is no use wasting money in sending you to Canada. Canada is -no place for you, for you cannot get away from yourself." He said, "I -shall be away from temptation in Canada." "No," I said; "that is -impossible: the devil is always to hand, even in Canada." "Won't you -help me to get away from London?" "No," I said. "Stop in London, where -you have been a wicked rogue; face life where you are known; show -yourself a man by living decently and working honestly at anything you -can get. Try and win back your mother's and sisters' respect. Write to -your employer and ask his forgiveness; tell him that at some time in -life you will endeavour to repay him. Feel ashamed that you have been a -disgusting rogue; don't rejoice in having a 'high old time.'" He did not -blush, or appear in any way concerned, but said: "If you won't help me, -others will." It needs no great knowledge of life to forecast that young -man's future. I often feel dismayed when I consider some of the -present-day tendencies. There is such a feverish and manifest desire -among thousands of people to stand between a prisoner and the law, and -to relieve him at any cost from the legal consequence of his -wrong-doing. - -Indeed, some folk would move heaven and earth, if it were possible, to -keep a heartless young rogue out of prison. I would not lift my finger; -to me it seems a most serious matter, for the consequences of criminal -actions ought to be certain as daylight. I would, however, do much to -make those consequences, not only certain, but swift, reasonable, and -dignified, but not vindictive or revengeful. Punishment should be severe -enough to convey an important and a lasting lesson. There ought to be no -element of chance about it, but at present there is a great deal of -uncertainty whether a prisoner, even if found guilty, will receive any -punishment or be merely admonished. - -I am aware that the views I have just expressed are not held by many -people, but I am speaking from a long experience, during which I have -dealt personally with individuals, and have taken infinite pains to -learn something of those individuals. From this knowledge and experience -I am forced to the conclusion that, as a rule, it is not a wise or a -good thing to prevent the consequence of crime falling upon the -criminal; but, as I have previously said, those consequences ought to be -reasonable and sensible. We need a healthier public feeling on this -question, and I earnestly long for the time when we shall all feel and -acknowledge that the real disgrace lies in the action, and not in the -degree of punishment awarded the perpetrator. - -A thief discharged on "probation" is still a thief equally with the one -who had received a term of imprisonment, but the community thinks -otherwise. I am quite sure that I shall be hardly judged and condemned -for giving expression to this opinion; it will doubtless be said that I -have grown hard-hearted late in life, and have lost my sympathy for -unfortunate people. I ask my readers to accept my assurance that this is -not the case; my sympathy is larger than ever, for poor broken humanity -is with me an ever-present sorrow. I never refuse assistance to a -hard-up scoundrel without a heart-wrench and subsequent feelings of -uneasiness. I love men, but I hate the very thought of "coddling" -humanity. I know what it leads to, and I think how poor broken humanity -catches on to the process, and becomes more and more willing to be -"coddled." But poor humanity is the poorer for the process. - -A man that has committed some crime, and has then taken his gruel in -both senses, who faces the world, and by pluck, perseverance, and -rectitude regains his footing in life, is to me a hero; for I can -appreciate his difficulties, and appreciate, too, his moral worth. It is -my privilege to know such men, and it is my joy sometimes to meet them. -When I pass one of them in the street, I always feel inclined to cry, -"There goes a man." Thank God, men of this sort are more numerous than -might be expected, and it is only fair to our prison authorities to say -that among a number that I know none complain of their treatment. Whilst -undergoing sentence they did not like prison, of course, but they had to -put up with it, and made the best of it. But while I am writing -this--on July 16, between 9 and 10 p.m.--I have been called three times -to speak to young men who claimed--and I have no doubt in their cases -truly claimed--to be discharged prisoners. Each time it was a young man -under thirty that required help; two were absolute strangers to me; one -I had known previously, for, unfortunately, six years ago I met him -before he was consigned to prison, and also after he came out. At that -time I did my best for him, and gave him a suit of clothes, and procured -him, after great difficulties, some employment. During the last year he -had called on me several times, when I had resolutely declined to assist -him. He seemed astonished, and said, "But you helped me before." -To-night I was a bit angry, and said, "Oh, is it you again? You are -troubling me too often; I can do nothing for you." He resented the idea -that he was a too frequent visitor. "Why, it is six weeks since I was -here." My next visitor was a strong, healthy young man, who promptly -touched his forehead with his fingers by way of salute. "Just come out -of prison, sir." "Well, what of that?" "I am a married man, with two -children." "I am sorry for your wife and children." He misunderstood me. -"I thought you would be. We must pay our rent to-night, or we shall be -put out in the street." "Where are you living?" "In Campbell Road, -Finsbury Park. We have furnished apartments; we have been there one -week, and they want the rent." I said, "You came out of prison a week -ago, and paid a deposit on your room?" "Yes, sir." "You pay, or should -pay, seven shillings a week for that wretched room. You have not paid, -so you ask me to help you; but I cannot do it: I know nothing whatever -of you. Please go away: I am busy." He looked at me and said: "But I -stole boots, you know, and I got three months. What are my wife and -children to do?" "Well," I said, "if you did steal boots, you were a -thief, and I cannot think the better of you on that account. You may or -may not have a wife and two children; I do not know. Furnished -apartments in Campbell Road are too dear and too nasty. I cannot give -away money to keep the landlord of Campbell Road." With great difficulty -I got rid of him, and I am afraid that my temper was not sweetened in -the endeavour. - -I had just settled down at my work when once more I was informed that a -man wished to see me. The inevitable front-door again. I sometimes -wonder how many silent vows I have registered on my own doorstep. The -broken ones, I know, have been numerous enough to condemn me. - -Another old acquaintance this time. As I stand on the doorstep, the rain -sweeps in at the open door. The poor fellow is soaked through; it is -nearly ten o'clock; he is homeless and penniless. I can spare half a -crown; he has it, and I direct him to the nearest lodging-house--not -that he needed directions--feeling quite sure that he will there meet -with my two previous visitors; possibly, too, will tell them of his -success, and chaff them about their failure. But it was the rain that -did it, and I hope that fact may be taken into consideration when -judgment is delivered. True, by their continual coming they had wearied -me, and by their persistence they had annoyed me; but the sight of a -homeless vagabond in the pelting rain acted as a counter-irritant, and -pity had to triumph over censorious judgment. So I went back to my desk -knowing that I had done wrong; but somehow I had received satisfaction, -for my temper was soothed. Perhaps it was good for me that I was not -visited again that night by any discharged prisoners. For, poor fellows! -they demand our pity; but how to transmute that pity into practical help -is a difficult problem. - -When a discharged prisoner possesses health, skill, and self-reliance, -he has a hard battle to fight, one that will call forth either the best -or the worst that is in him. But the great bulk of discharged prisoners -have but indifferent health, and possess no technical skill or -self-reliance; any service they can render to the community is but poor -service, and of a kind that many thousands of honest men are only too -anxious to secure for themselves. If the great bulk of them could, when -discharged, be put into regular employment, and be enabled to earn a -living, they would, if under a mild compulsion, conduct themselves -decently; but if work and reasonable payment were provided, compulsion -would still be necessary, for the greater part of them have no -continuity of purpose, and are as thoughtless of to-morrow as -butterflies, and they would very soon, were it possible, revert to an -aimless, wandering life. It is the lack of grit, of continuity of -purpose, of moral principles, combined with inferior physical health and -a low standard of intelligence, that renders the position of many -discharged prisoners so hopeless. We may blame them--perhaps it is right -to blame them--for not exercising qualities they do not possess, but it -is certain they do not possess the qualities I have named. They do, -however, possess qualities that are not quite so estimable, for -irresponsibility and low cunning are their chief characteristics. These -men are nomads: settled life, regular work, the patient bearing of -life's burden, and the facing of life's difficulties, are foreign to -their instincts and nature. This kind of character is developed at an -early age, for it is very prevalent in our growing youths; it is one of -the signs of our times, and it bodes no good to our future national -welfare. - -After giving the last of a course of weekly lectures to youths under -twenty-one in one of our provincial prisons, I spoke a few friendly -words to them, and asked those to put up their hands who had been -previously in prison. A number of hands were put up. On questioning -them, I found that they by no means resented short terms of imprisonment -alternated with irresponsible liberty. - -During the present summer, when commencing a similar course of lectures -in one of our large London prisons, I asked the youthful prisoners who -had previously met me to put up their hands. Here again a number of -hands went up. I found, to my astonishment, at least six youths who had -listened to my lectures in other prisons were detained in this -particular prison. I could not help telling them that I thought my -lectures had not done them much good. "We liked them, sir," was the -response. "Well," I said, "I wish those addresses had been a great deal -better or a great deal worse; they were not good enough to keep you out -of prison, neither were they bad enough to frighten you away." - -What place is there in strenuous life for such young fellows? The -difficulties outside a prison's wall are so great that they cannot face -them. But the saddest part of it is that they do not want to face them, -and it must be confessed that they have not the slightest idea how to do -so. - -Weakness, then, not wickedness, is the great characteristic of what are -termed "the criminal classes." Who can rescue them? Who can reform them? -No one, unless they can infuse into their very bones, blood, and marrow -the essence of vigour and the germ of self-reliance. Prisoners' Aid -Societies are powerless with them. Church Army and Salvation Army and -all the Labour Homes combined can do nothing with them or for them; for -prison life is easier than wood-chopping, and the comforts of prison are -superior to those of a Labour Home. The Borstal system is good, so far -as it goes, but it does not go half far enough; it is not vigorous -enough. Possibly, if these young men were detained three times as long -as they are at present, and given three times the amount of work they -have to do at the present time, with the rough up-to-date technical -training, many of them would profit; but I am certain that no -half-measures can be effectual with the large army of young prisoners -who have either acquired or inherited the love of an idle and -irresponsible life. - -I was speaking a short time ago to a young man whom I knew had been -several times in prison, and asked him: "What are you in for this time?" -"For making a false attestation," was his reply. He had tried to enlist -under false pretences. But he is now in the army, for I have received -letters from him. Three other young fellows whom I had met in prison -when at liberty consulted me about joining the army. I warned them of -the risk, and told them they would have to tell lies. Nevertheless, they -are now in the army. Why there should be any difficulty about such -fellows joining the army I don't understand. They are animals, and they -can fight! If their teeth are not good, what does it matter? They are -not now required to bite cartridges. They can be taught to discharge -rifles, and a bullet from one of their rifles may prove as deadly as a -bullet from the rifle of a better man. "The character of the army must -be maintained." By all means keep up the character of the army. Some -people are advocating conscription. Well, here is a chance. Form a -regiment, or two regiments, of young men who have been three times in -prison. Give them ten years of thorough discipline and sound manual and -technical training. Under discipline they will be obedient, and at the -worst they will be as good men as those that manned Nelson's ships, and -would prove quite as good as those that fought at Waterloo, or captured -India for the East India Company. - -I am no advocate of war, but I am afraid that the prospect of universal -peace is remote. Devoutly I wish that it was close at hand. We must -look at things as they are. Let me state the case: Here are thousands of -young men who have no settled places of abode, no technical skill, no -great physical strength, no capabilities, and no desire for continuous -honest labour. No one can provide them with employment. There is no -place for them in industrial life. They are content to spend their lives -in cheap lodging-houses or in prison. They beg or they steal when at -liberty. Occasionally they do a little work, when that work does not -require much strength or brains. They graduate in idleness and crime; -they become habituated to prison, and finally they become hopeless -criminals. Large sums of money are expended in a vain endeavour to -reform them; larger sums still are expended in maintaining public -institutions that we call prisons, in which they are kept for a short -period, and in which they are submitted to lives of semi-idleness. Large -numbers of warders are maintained to look after them when in prison; -large numbers of police are required to look after them when they are at -liberty. Innocent people suffer through their depredations; innocent -people, honest and hardworking people, have to keep them when they are -submitted to the comparatively comfortable life of prison. They become -fathers of children, and future generations will be compelled to bear -heavy burdens because of them. - -Many of them, when young, join local regiments of militia. Once a year -they are called up for training, but their few weeks of training soon -pass, after which they hark back to lodging-houses or prisons. - -They get some liking for a soldier's life; but if they have been in -prison, there is no honest place for them in the army. They are not good -enough to be shot at! They are not good enough to shoot at others! It -would appear that a large amount of moral excellence is required before -a man can be allowed to be the recipient of a bullet, or before he can -receive a State licence to kill. - -I am persuaded that nothing but a long period of strict discipline will -avail the mass of young men who constantly find their way into prison. -At present prison discipline is too short to be effectual, too deadening -to be useful, too monotonous to be elevating. Compulsory discipline, -with a fair degree of liberty, a reasonable remuneration for their -services, and a lengthened training, are the only things that are at all -likely to be effectual with young men who will not, cannot, submit -themselves to the higher discipline that is self-imposed. - -Failing the army, there is but one alternative--national workshops, with -manual and technical training. But that means socialism pure and simple; -for if workshops were provided for young criminals, there could be no -possible objection against a similar provision for the children of the -industrious poor. - -The State needs to be careful not to hold out any inducements to -youthful criminality, for of a surety it will be a bad day for England -when idle and dishonest youth stands a better chance in life than youth -that is industrious and honest. Even now certain signs point to danger -in that direction. - -Prisoners' Aid Societies have an impossible task when they attempt to -reform these young men. They are heavily handicapped from the start, -inasmuch as they cannot enforce discipline even in a Labour Home; -neither can they compel continuity of work; neither can they secure -regular employment for any that might be inclined to perseverance and -industry. No Prisoners' Aid Society can do this, and it would be well -for everybody concerned if this fact were honestly admitted and the -truth fairly faced. In justice to many of the societies, it is only fair -to say that they freely admit that they have nothing to offer to those -that have been several times convicted. - -During 1906, 10,700 men and women, each of whom had already been in -prison more than twenty times, were again received into the local -prisons of England and Wales. - -Think of it. In one year only, and that the very last year for which -criminal statistics are available, 10,700 men and women who had been -committed to prison more than twenty times each were again sent to -prison in England and Wales alone! - -These official figures not only bring a grave indictment against our -prison system, but they also serve to show the inability of Discharged -Prisoners' Aid Societies to deal with the bulk of discharged prisoners -in ways that can be called satisfactory. The fault does not lie with the -societies, for they are all animated with an earnest desire to help -discharged prisoners. Every society that exists, and every individual -member of every society, would be more than delighted--they would be -thankful to God--if they could in some effectual way help every -discharged prisoner. But they cannot. The difficulties are too great, -too stupendous. Of a truth, they have no work to offer discharged -prisoners; for they cannot create work at will, neither can they produce -from some mysterious and inexhaustible store situations to suit the -varying capabilities of ex-prisoners. - -Social conditions are dead against the work of these societies, though -the sympathy--that is, the abstract sympathy--of the public is with -them. For every situation that is vacant, or likely to be vacant, where -skill and experience are not required, a hundred honest men are -waiting--waiting to fight each other for a remote chance of getting it. -Employers will not hold situations in abeyance till some Prisoners' Aid -Society can supply them with a doubtful servant. They would act -foolishly--I might say wickedly--if they did. Again I say--for I would -have this fact emphasized--no organization, be it large or small, can -offer situations to discharged prisoners. Certain things they can do. -But what avails intermittent wood-chopping? Of what use is casual -bill-distributing? Can an irregular supply of envelope-addressing, -continued for a few weeks, be considered work? Paper and rag sorting, -and the carrying of advertising boards at intervals, must not be -dignified by the word "work." All these things are useful to a limited -extent and to a certain class. They suit those men, and those men only, -who have no desire for the discipline of real work, by which I mean -regular and continuous labour. Any discharged prisoner who possesses a -fair amount of health and strength and an atom of grit stands a much -better chance when he relies upon himself than when he seeks the aid of -an organization; for life in a Labour Home does not procure him, or help -him to procure, honest and continuous work. Even a lengthened stay in a -Labour Home leaves him in the same position as when he left prison. -Relying on himself, an ex-prisoner can take his chance among the hundred -who are scrambling or fighting for the coveted job; and if his health -and appearance are satisfactory, he is as likely to get it as any other -man. But even though a large number of discharged prisoners enter Labour -Homes, the managers have no power to compel them either to work or -remain in the home. As a consequence, the majority depart in a very -short time, preferring liberty and semi-starvation to the non-compulsory -restraint of the home. So they pass into freedom, glorious freedom! -Free, but with no desire, and with very little chance, of doing right; -free, with little desire and no ability to live by honest labour. -Freedom to them means liberty or licence to do wrong, and only serves to -give them opportunities of getting once more into prison. - -It follows, then, as a matter of course, that Aid Societies concern -themselves, and rightly concern themselves, with first-time prisoners. -They are younger; they are not so hopeless; they stand a much better -chance in the labour world; they have not been so often through the -deadening mill of prison. All these things are true, but with all these -things in their favour, only a very limited amount of success is -obtained in the reformation of first-time prisoners. The reasons are -obvious. First, no society has the power to enforce any discipline or -impose any restraint upon them; secondly, no society can procure, even -for young ex-prisoners, continuous and progressive employment. I know -the difficulties, and something of the anxieties that societies -experience in this direction, for I have shared them. Honesty is -essential even for porters, vanmen and milkmen. The choice of occupation -for ex-prisoners under twenty-one is very limited. The pick and shovel -are of no use to them. Trades they have none. Clerkships are out of the -question. Positions--even humble positions--of trust are not for them. -Too old for boys' work, yet not fitted for men's, although first-time -prisoners, they are in a difficult position. So are those who try to -help them. "Send them to sea!" Well, we are a nation of sailors, but -those who go down to the sea in ships do so of their own choice. For -them the sea has an attraction; they love it--or they think they love it -when they enter on the life. But all English youths do not love the sea; -neither are all fitted for a sailor's life. - -But supposing the sea be decided upon, in what capacity are they to go? -They cannot go as sailors, nor yet as apprentices; neither can they go -as stewards or cooks. The difficulty of sending them to sea is scarcely -less than that of finding them occupation ashore. Numbers of them are -put on coasting vessels, it is true; but this course is certain to -fail--and it does fail. Their first voyage, in sight of land all the -time, may last a week--maybe a fortnight. At the end of the voyage they -are paid off at the port where the ship discharges its cargo. During the -time aboard they have had a rough time. The voyage has lasted long -enough to make them heartily and bodily sick of the sea; but it has not -lasted long enough to inure them to the life and give them a liking for -it, while the comfort aboard a "collier" makes them sigh for the -comforts of prison. If not paid off at the first port, a good many -youths, to use their own expression, "can't stick it," so they "bunk" at -the first opportunity. Still, they have been "sent to sea," and figure -accordingly in the published report and statistics. This course is, I -contend, unfair even to discharged prisoners. It is not only a -foredoomed failure, but it lands youths in positions where they are -certain to get into mischief. Some of them tramp back to London, after -having sold their "kit," which had been bought for them out of their -prison earnings. No; it is idle to suppose that youths who have been -subject to no discipline other than that of prison will be reformed and -induced to work steadily and persistently by a few days' unpleasant -experience on a coasting vessel. - -Quite recently a strong youth came to see me. I had met him in prison, -where the Governor quite wisely had him trained for a ship's cook. He -had behaved well in prison and obtained all his marks, and his sentence -was long enough to allow him to earn a substantial gratuity. This was -spent by an agent of a society in buying a very meagre outfit and a -railway-ticket to Hull. The youth supposed that he was going to have a -berth on an ocean-going steamer, but no such berth was forthcoming. -Ultimately he was shipped aboard a small coaster with a cargo of coals -for Southend. At the end of seventeen days he was paid off at Southend. -By arrangement, he was to receive 30s. per month for his services, and -should therefore have received at least 17s. He was considerably -surprised to find that only 9s. was forthcoming, the skipper telling -him, and producing a document to that effect, that there was a lien upon -his first wages of 8s. for a "shipping fee" which he, the skipper, had -paid to the man who introduced him. He stayed in Southend for a short -time looking for another berth, for his discharge-note was in order, and -his conduct appears to have been satisfactory. But berths are not to be -had at Southend, so with his last money he paid his fare to London, -where he landed penniless. This custom of paying "hangers-on" at the -docks of large seaports a sum of money for "shipping" youths prevails -largely, and a most unsatisfactory practice it is. I have personally -known several men engaged in what is termed rescue work resort largely -to this method of getting rid of responsibilities they themselves have -undertaken, and which they ought to bear, or honestly say at the outset -that they cannot undertake them. The fact is that prison youths are not -wanted even at sea, or, if they are, it is under such circumstances that -the hope of their doing any good for themselves must be abandoned. "Send -them to sea" has too long been a catchword. Whether it ever did cure -youths of idleness and dishonesty I am doubtful, but I am certain, at -any rate, that it does not at the present time act as the grand -specific. - -The navy will not accept prison youths; the mercantile marine will have -none of them, and short coasting voyages are worse than useless; for -honesty and industry are estimable qualities even at sea. It would be -well indeed if all Prisoners' Aid Societies and all those engaged in -similar work would plainly and unmistakably state the difficulties they -experience when called on to find situations or employment for -discharged prisoners, be they young, middle-aged, or old; well for the -discharged prisoners themselves to know the truth at once, rather than -that they should go on calling day after day at any office, and waiting -hour after hour among many others to see if anything has "come in," for -nothing with the least resemblance to regular work can "come in" well, -too, for the public if they could understand the difficulties under -which societies labour, and the difficulties which ex-prisoners have to -face. Better still would it be for our authorities to clearly understand -these matters, for then surely more effectual methods would be found for -dealing with those who, either from incapacity, desire, or social -circumstances, appear quite willing to spend their days in prison. With -the older prisoners I am not now concerned, for the Home Secretary and -his advisers fully recognize that for them new methods must be tried, -and their Bill now before Parliament makes it sufficiently evident; but -why not begin with them earlier in life? Surely, if the fact of an -elderly man having been committed four times on indictment is sufficient -to stamp him as "habitual," for whom a more drastic treatment must be -provided, then the fact of a youth or young man under twenty-five having -been in prison an equal number of times, coupled with the fact that he -is homeless and workless, ought to be quite sufficient to ensure him a -long period of useful discipline in some place other than prison. By -some such means the supply of young criminals, that at present seems -inexhaustible, would be stopped, and the difficulty with regard to older -criminals would almost vanish. And pity demands it, for the bulk of -these young men have had but little chance in life. Birth and -environment have been against them; of home life in its full sense they -have known nothing; to discipline they have been strangers, and they are -a product of our present civilization. Can we expect them to exhibit the -rarer qualities of human nature? Temptation is, I know, no respecter of -persons, for not seldom do young men of good parentage and splendid -environment fail; but to the young of whom I write temptation is as -nothing, for they do not understand the beauty of moral worth, the -dignity of man, and the virtue of honest labour. For the future they -care nothing; they live in the present, content to be idle. To eat, to -sleep, to enjoy themselves in an animal way, is their idea of life. -Their wits are only sharpened to deceive. To get the better--or, as they -put it, "to best"--others is their one aim, and a shilling obtained by -the "besting" process is worth ten obtained by honest work. - -Honesty! They have heard of it, but to them it has no meaning. They -have no moral sense, or at the best but very little. Preach to them! You -might as well preach to the east wind. But they have one soft spot, for, -as young cubs have an affection for their dams, so have these youths -some affection for their "muvvers"; but that affection does not prevent -them striking or kicking their mothers. Oh no, for every passion and -whim must be indulged. Oh, the pity of it all! Shall we deny these -youths the greatest blessing given to humanity--discipline? Punish them, -you say. My friend, you cannot confer moral worth with stripes. Longer -terms of imprisonment! They will eat your food, lie in your beds, and -make themselves as comfortable as possible. Like animals, they will -"nestle down." But they behave themselves in prison. Ay, they do that, -for they want all the advantages they can obtain. But they behave -themselves principally because they are under authority, and obedience -means to them some creature comfort. Discipline! They understand it only -when it is compulsory. Let us give these lads a chance; let us make up -to them the loss society has inflicted on them by refusing them -opportunities of wholesome discipline; let us stop for ever the -senseless round of short terms of imprisonment; let us find some method -for giving them lengthened--wholesome manual and technical training--for -their own sakes, if you will; if not, then for our own. - -I have mentioned the army for them, not because I am enamoured of the -army, but because it appears to offer at once restraint and discipline, -with a measure of freedom, and opportunities for technical training. But -wiser heads than mine may formulate a better plan; if so, I am for it. -My heart goes out to the lads, though they sometimes weary me, for I -know--and no one knows better--that they have had as yet no fair chance -in life. - -The following account, given to me by a young man who had served a -sentence of six months' hard labour in one of our large prisons, may -prove interesting, for it will serve to show the exact life of a -prisoner treated under the Borstal system. I give it as written by the -ex-prisoner himself. He was twenty-one years of age, was 5 feet 11 -inches in height. As a boy he had been a telegraph messenger, and -afterwards a postman; but having stolen postal orders, he received the -above sentence. It will be observed that he was placed in the -bookbinding department, and that the greatest amount of hard labour he -performed was three and three-quarter hours per day, and this at a trade -of which he had not the slightest previous knowledge--a trade, too, that -requires not only skill, but celerity of movement, and, moreover, a -trade at which there was not the slightest chance of his obtaining -employment when at liberty. He did not average three hours' real work -per day, and this works out at forty-three days' work of ten hours per -day for the whole six months. It is obvious that no one can get a useful -knowledge of bookbinding in forty-three days of real hard work. In his -case, the "trade" taught proved of no use whatever on his discharge. He -was very quickly in another prison, again for dishonesty; but his -previous sentence not being discovered, his sentence was a very light -one. If I am to believe a letter that I received from him, he is now in -the army, and, of course, had to make a false attestation when he -enlisted. - -It will be noticed that he speaks well of the treatment received in -prison, and testifies to the kindness of all the officials. On this -point I can corroborate him, for I know something of those who had -charge of him, and feel sure that it would have been a great -disappointment to them had he on a second occasion been committed to -their charge. His failure cannot be charged to the prison officials. -They honestly did their best, for they were genuinely interested in him. -Neither do I say that any prison system would have saved him, but I do -say--and in this I think most reasonable people will agree with me--that -very light work done at a very deliberate pace is not sufficient, even -in prison, for a young man of his health, build, and capacity. I think, -too, most people will agree that if young men are to be taught trades in -prison, they should be taught under conditions that approximate to -outside conditions so far as style, pace, and hours of work are -concerned. - -Prison industries present a very difficult problem. I believe the -officials would be glad to give prisoners twice the amount of work they -are at present given; but they have not the work to give them, so a life -of semi-idleness results. - -Finally, it is to be hoped that the new probation system will be so -thoroughly worked that large numbers of young men will be kept out of -prison, for at present prisons do not punish, neither do they reform in -the majority of cases. - -I now give the ex-prisoner's statement: - - -HOW I SPENT MY LIFE IN PRISON. - -_By a Juvenile Adult._ - -"Four o'clock was just striking, and there I stood in the prisoners' -dock at the Old Bailey. The judge, having considered the case, -pronounced the sentence: 'Six months' hard labour.' I was then taken -back and put into a cell, and was given a hunch of bread and a piece of -cheese. About six o'clock I was taken in a prison-van to prison, where I -arrived about 7.15. I was then taken to the reception-hall, and after -being searched and all particulars taken, I was told to strip, and all -my property was entered in a large book, and I had to sign to -acknowledge that all my belongings were duly entered. I then had a bath, -and was given my prison attire. I was then given a tin containing a pint -of porridge and 8 ounces of bread. After having eaten part of this--for -I tackled it--I was given two sheets, a pillow-sheet, and towel, and -then taken into a large hall containing 352 cells, and put into one of -them. Thus my arrival at that large establishment. - -"My daily duty for the first fourteen days was: Arise at 6 a.m. and -clean my cell; breakfast at 7.15 a.m., and then I had to scrub and sweep -my cell on alternate days. At 8.30 I had to put out my dust or bucket, -and at 8.45 I went to chapel. At 9.40 to 10.40 drill, then back in my -cell for the rest of the day, having to work in my cell. Dinner was -given me at twelve o'clock, and supper at five o'clock. At seven o'clock -I had to put out my work. - -"After the first fourteen days I was put into the J.A. bookbinders' -shop, and my days were then changed. I arose at 6 a.m., shop at 6.30 to -7.15, breakfast 7.15 to 8.30, chapel at 8.45 to 9.20, drill 9.40 to -10.40, school 10.45 to 11.45, dinner 12 o'clock to 1.30, shop 1.45 to -4.45, supper at 5 o'clock. Thus my change till the first of March. After -this I went to drill before breakfast, and my duties were as follows: -Arise 6 a.m., drill 6.30 to 7.15, breakfast 7.15 to 8.30, chapel 8.45 to -9.20, shop 9.30 to 10.30, school 10.45 to 11.45, dinner 12 o'clock to -1.30, shop 1.45 to 4.45, and back to my cell for that day. - -"On Wednesday I went to the schoolroom, where a lecture was given by -gentlemen to all the J.A. prisoners who had done more than one month. -This was from 5.30 to 6.30, and on Friday there was a choir-practice at -the same time for the same prisoners. - -"The food I could not get on with at all at first, but gradually I had -to eat, till after three months, when I did not find it enough; but when -I had done five months, I seemed perfectly satisfied with it. I found -that the Sundays were the worst of all prison life. I was awakened at 7 -a.m., breakfast 7.15 to 8.30, chapel 8.50 to 10.30, exercise 10.50 to -11.20 (if weather permitted), dinner 12 o'clock to 1.30, chapel 1.45 to -2.45, and supper at about 4.15 to 4.30; and, as I could not bear to sit -about, I went to bed every Sunday by five o'clock the latest. I was -searched three times a day, but not on Sundays, and a general search -once a fortnight, when I was kept in my cell all the afternoon. The last -of every month I was weighed. - -"I had obtained all good marks that could be given me, and had earned -twenty shillings whilst doing my six months. The Governor, the chaplain, -and all the officials were good to me. I was confirmed in prison. The -long nights and insufficiency of work were the hardest things to bear." - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE LAST DREAD PENALTY - - -For more than half a century I have taken a great interest in those who, -of malice aforethought, and after considerable pains, succeed in taking -the lives of others. I remember as if it were to-day the excitement that -arose when William Palmer was charged with the murder of John Parsons -Cook. For fifty years a vivid impression of all the events and episodes -connected with the remarkable trial of that remarkable man has remained -with me. I was then a boy of eleven, but Palmer was well known to the -boys of Rugeley, and to myself amongst them. Palmer attended church on -Sundays, when racing engagements allowed, and sat in his family pew, -fairly close to the schoolboys, of whom I happened to be one. He was -most particular about behaviour in church--not only his own, but that of -the schoolboys also. Even now I can see him coming into church with some -member of his family, with firm walk and clanging heel. I can remember -how he stood up to pray into his top-hat a lengthened prayer on entering -his pew. I remember, too, that his clothing was always black, and that -a crape mourning band was always in evidence on his hat, for funerals -were numerous in the Palmer family. But we lads thought nothing of the -funerals; but we knew that Palmer's eye was upon us, if we did not -behave discreetly in church; we knew he had more than once pulled the -ears of boys that misbehaved. We knew, too, that Palmer's mother had an -easily accessible garden, in which were plenty of juicy apples and -toothsome cherries. - -Apart from his staid and correct manner at church, Palmer was a bluff, -hearty fellow, well known and well liked in our little town, where he -frequently doctored the poor for nothing; and it was always understood -that Palmer's brother George, a solicitor, was also equally ready to -give his services free of charge to the poor. It was only natural, then, -that the Palmers were liked in our town--for it was a very small town. -Grave faces, I remember, had been plentiful in Rugeley for some weeks -and things had been going on that we boys did not understand. We knew -the names of Palmer's horses, and felt any amount of interest in -Blinkbonny and Goldfinder; but we did not understand the gloom that had -settled on the town, for older people spoke with bated breath, and when -boys drew near the conversation ceased or the lads were driven away. We -knew the name of Palmer was whispered continuously. What did it all -mean? At length mystery, reticence, and whispered suspicions were -useless. Palmer had been arrested for the murder of John Parsons Cook, -whose body lay in our churchyard, and whose funeral we had witnessed. -Now the excitement began. Rugeley became almost the hub of the universe. -Strange people arrived from everywhere, and the quiet town became a -Babel. - -I remember with what awe we gazed at Cook's grave after the body had -been exhumed and returned to its resting-place. We knew that some part -of the body had been taken away and sent to London for great men to -examine. We boys even discussed the ultimate destination of the parts -taken away, and wondered if they would ever get back to poor Cook. How -well I remember the exciting events of that long and dramatic trial in -London! Rugeley people were poor in those days, and newspapers were -dear, so we borrowed where we could, and lent to others when we -possessed. I read aloud the records of that trial to all sorts of poor -people, so I have cause to remember it. I prosecuted Palmer, and I -defended him; I was witness, and I was judge; I claimed a triumphant -acquittal, and I demanded his condemnation; I cross-examined the great -analyst, and even at that age began to learn something of the nature and -effects of strychnine. I thrilled with it all, but I believed Palmer to -be innocent, and in a measure I was proud of a townsman who could stand -up bravely against all the big men in London and show no fear. Oh, but -he was a brave man! He must be innocent! And when the trial was all -over, and Palmer was brought to Stafford to pay the penalty of his -crime, do I not remember how all the world rushed to Stafford to see him -hanged? Ay, I remember how people tramped all day through Rugeley to -Stafford, and how they stood all through the night in Stafford streets -waiting, waiting for eight o'clock the next morning. Yes, I remember it -all; and I remember, too, that the cherries in a certain garden -nevermore had any attractions! But I remember, too, that Palmer died -game, showing no fear, betraying no anxiety, with a good appetite to the -last and a firm step to the scaffold. - -Surely Palmer was innocent, and was supported by the knowledge of his -innocence. Murderers had fearsome consciences; they were haunted by a -sense of their guilt, and by the eyes or the spirits of their victims. - -So I felt and so I reasoned about murderers when I was a boy. I have -since those days had many opportunities of correcting my judgment, and -now I no longer believe that a bold, cool, collected behaviour, together -with the possession of a good appetite, is synonymous with innocence. -For I have seen enough to justify me in saying that a calm and brave -bearing is more likely to be indicative of guilt than of innocence. But -the public and certain portions of the press still translate callous -behaviour into a proof of innocence, and sometimes convert prisoners -into heroes. - -No greater mistake could be made, for a prisoner's behaviour has nothing -do with to his guilt or innocence. On the whole, fear or distress are -far more likely to indicate innocence than they are to denote guilt. -This I believe to hold good of all prisoners, not only of those charged -with the capital offence. I have failed to observe in prisoners who -were undoubtedly guilty the furtive look that is supposed to be peculiar -to guilt. I have watched closely and have spoken confidentially to many -hundreds, but their eyes met mine as naturally as those of a child. I -have been compelled to the conclusion that not only is a bold bearing -consistent with the deepest guilt, but also that a natural bearing and a -childlike trustfulness are by no means to be taken as signs of -innocence. Of the behaviour of innocent people when charged with crime, -fortunately, we do not get many opportunities of observation; still, I -have seen some, and can bear testimony that they were a great deal more -confused, excited, and unreliable than prisoners who were undeniably -guilty. Such prisoners often contradict themselves, and sometimes depart -from the truth when attempting to defend themselves. It is palpable to -everyone that they feel their position, and fear the consequences. I -have seen such astounding coolness and presence of mind, coupled with -apparent candour and sincerity, among guilty prisoners that when I know -of a prisoner exhibiting these qualities I almost instinctively suspect -him. An innocent man, in his anxiety, may prevaricate through fear and -confusion; but the veritably guilty man is careful in these matters, -though he may be sometimes a little too clever. - -The psychology of prisoners has, then, for years been a favourite study -with me, and a very interesting study I have found it. In my endeavours -to discover the state of mind that existed and caused certain prisoners -to commit serious crimes, I have sometimes discovered, almost hidden in -the dark recesses of the mind, some little shadow of some small thing -that to me seemed quite absurd, but which to the prisoner loomed so -large, so real, and so important, that he regarded it as a sufficient -justification for his deed. To myself the crime and the something in the -prisoner's mind appeared to have no possible connection, yet -unmistakably, if the prisoners were to be believed, they were cause and -effect. Now, from this kind of mania--for such it undoubtedly is--small -and ridiculous as it seems--and I have met it too often not to be -certain as to its existence--a double question is presented: What is the -cause of that little something in the prisoner's mind? and why has it -caused the prisoner to commit a certain action? I have never been able -to get any light upon these questions, but have had to content myself -with the knowledge that the mental equipment of that class of criminals -is altogether different to that of ordinary individuals. I am not here -speaking of a defined mania that dominates the life, stirs the passions, -and leads directly to the perpetration of a crime--cause and effect in -such a case are obvious, though, of course, the cause of the cause is -still obscure--but I am speaking of silly little somethings that float -about in certain minds, that refuse to be ejected, that entail much -misery and suffering, and finally crime. Possibly this state of mind may -be the outcome of indigestion, even as an extra severe sentence upon a -prisoner may be the outcome of indigestion in a judge: for it is quite -possible to suppose a case in which judge and prisoner suffered from a -like cause; but the one has committed a crime because of it, and the -other inflicts unmerited punishment because of it. Two things are very -clear to me: first, that our judges and magistrates ought to be in the -very best of health when performing their duties; secondly, that -pathological causes enter very largely into the perpetration of crime. -Ill-health may make a judge irritable and severe, and so distort his -judgment, and excuses are made for him; for it is whispered he is a -martyr to gout, indigestion, or some equally trying malady. If so, he -certainly ought not to be a judge, for health and temper are absolutely -necessary for one who has to administer justice and act as the arbiter -of other people's fate. But this excuse is not made for prisoners. Yet -in hundreds of cases it might honestly be made; for while they may not -have been influenced by gout or indigestion, they have been influenced -by pathological causes, and the two things are equal. - -I am persuaded, after many years' close observation and many years' -friendship with criminals, that disease, mental or physical, is a -tremendous factor in the causation of crime. The "criminal class" is -often spoken of, and it might be supposed that there is a distinct class -of people to whom the appellation applies. My experience teaches me that -there is no "criminal class," but there are plenty of criminals. The low -forehead and the square jaw, the scowling eye and the stubbly beard, do -not denote criminality; the receding forehead, the weak eye, and the -almost absence of chin, do not indicate criminal instincts. Nothing of -the sort. All these things are consistent with decent living, a fair -amount of intelligence, and some moral purpose. On the other hand, a -well-built body, a well-shaped head, a handsome face, a clean skin, and -a bright eye are consistent with the basest criminality. Some of the -worst criminals I have met--real and dangerous criminals--were handsome -as Apollo. But there does exist a class--and, unfortunately, a very -large class--who have very limited intelligence, who appear to be -retrogressing physically, mentally, and morally, of whom a large -proportion commit various kinds of offences--not from criminal -instincts, but from stunted or undeveloped intelligence and lack of -reasoning power. - -But I am digressing, for it is not my purpose in this chapter to speak -of criminals in general, but rather of those whom I have personally met -charged with murder, and who were convicted, some paying the full -penalty. These I want to consider more fully. From this list I must -eliminate man-slayers who had killed in the heat of passion or in a -drunken quarrel, for they were not murderers at heart. Their mental -condition was understandable, and their bearing while undergoing trial -is beside the question. Neither do I wish to include married or single -women who had killed their offspring at childbirth or soon after, for -they are outside my consideration. But I want to speak plainly about -those who had committed prearranged murders, and carried them out with -considerable skill. - -In refreshing my memory about these, I find that they held several -characteristics in common: - -1. Not one of them exhibited any sense of shame, no matter how -disgraceful the attendant circumstances. - -2. Not one of them exhibited any nervousness or fear of the -consequences. - -3. Those who admitted their guilt justified their actions, and appeared -to believe that they had done the right thing. - -4. Those who denied their guilt, denied it with cool and positive -assurance, and denied it to the last with almost contempt, as if the -charge was more an insult than anything serious. - -5. None of them betrayed the slightest sorrow. - -6. Every one of them appeared of sound mind so far as reasoning powers -were concerned, for they were quite lucid, and remarkably quick to see a -point in their favour. - -7. None of them were fully able to realize the position in which they -stood, as ordinary people must have realized it. - -Of course, everyone will admit that the man or woman who can plan and -carry out a murder, whether that murder is likely to be detected or not, -is not, and cannot be, a normal person; but what we require to know is -where they depart from the normal, and how and why they depart from the -normal. - -I would like to say that the particulars just given are the results not -only of my observation of prisoners when in the dock, but also of many -personal and private conversations with them. In a word, I do not -consider that any of these prisoners were thoroughly sane. It may be -said--it is often said--that in human nature "we find what we look -for," and there is truth in the saying; but when trying to understand -these people, I had not the slightest idea of what I was seeking. I knew -there must be some cause that led to the crime, something out of the -ordinary in their minds, but what it was and how to find it was more -than I could tell. So I have watched, have talked and listened. For -these prisoners were always ready to talk: there was no secrecy with -them, excepting with regard to the crime; otherwise they were talkative -enough. It takes some time and patience to discover whether or not in -people there is a suspicion of brain trouble. They appear so natural -that several lengthened conversations may be required before anything at -all is revealed. I trust that it will not be thought that I am betraying -confidences that poor wretches have given to me, for no prisoner, guilty -or innocent, ever confided in me without such confidences being -considered sacred; but as their cases are not of recent date, no harm -can be done, and possibly good may ensue, if I give some particulars -that I gained regarding their mental peculiarities. Being anxious to -ascertain how far my experience was confirmed by the experience of -others, quite recently I put a question to the chaplain of one of our -largest prisons, and whose experience was much greater than my own in -this particular direction. I asked him whether he had ever known anyone -who was about to suffer the death penalty for a premeditated and -cleverly contrived murder exhibit any sense of remorse, sorrow, or fear. -His answer was exactly what I expected--"that he had performed his last -sad offices for a considerable number of such prisoners, and that he -had discovered neither fear nor remorse in any of them; with one -exception, they all denied their guilt." I want it to be perfectly clear -that I am speaking now about murderers who committed premeditated crimes -that had been cleverly carried out, impromptu murders not being -considered. - -I now propose to give a sufficient number of examples to prove my point. -In a poor street within two hundred yards of my own door I had -frequently seen a beautiful boy of about four years old. His appearance, -his clothing, his cleanliness, and even his speech, told unmistakably -that he was not belonging to the poor. I knew the old people that he -lived with, and felt quite sure that it was not owing to their exertions -that he was so beautifully dressed and kept so spotlessly clean, for -they were old, feeble, and very poor. But the old people had a daughter -living with them, and it was the daughter who had charge of the child, -for the little fellow was a "nurse-child." Good payment must have been -given for the care of the child, for it was the only source of income -for the household. The foster-mother was devoted to the boy, and he -reflected every credit upon her love and care. Many times when I have -met them I have spoken a cheery word to the little fellow, never -dreaming of the coming tragedy, or that I should meet his real mother -and discuss his death with her. The dead body of a boy between four and -five years of age had been discovered in the women's lavatory of a North -London railway-station. Without doubt the child had been ruthlessly -murdered. His head had been smashed; his face was crushed beyond -recognition. A calcined brick lay close by the body, and had evidently -been used for perpetrating the deed. No other trace of the murder was -forthcoming, and the body was taken to the nearest mortuary. Meanwhile -the foster-mother and her aged parents were mourning the loss of the -bonny boy, for the boy's mother had taken him from them that he might -begin his education in a boarding-school for young children at Brighton. -They had learned to love the child, and now he was gone. The old people -missed him sadly, and the nurse-mother wept for him. The house seemed so -dull without him. The murder occurred on a Saturday. On one of the early -days of the ensuing week a neighbour chanced to tell the nurse-mother -that she had read in a Sunday paper about the discovery of a child's -mangled body at a North London railway-station, and also that the body -remained unidentified at the mortuary. Although the nurse had not the -slightest suspicion--for on the Saturday morning she had accompanied the -boy and his mother to London Bridge, where tickets had been taken for -Brighton, and the nurse had seen them safely on the correct platform and -the train waiting--yet the loss of her nurse-child had so affected her -that she wept as her neighbour told her of the newspaper account, and -they went together to the mortuary, which was some miles away, to see -the "other little dear." It was some years before the nurse recovered -from the shock she sustained on her visit to the mortuary, for the -mangled and disfigured body was that of her late charge--her "dear -Manfred." I question whether even now she has recovered, for several -times I know that she has been ill, and sometimes when I have been sent -for, she seemed likely to lose her reason, the one and only thing that -occupied her mind being the tragic discovery of her dear boy's maimed -body. But the child's mother undoubtedly went to Brighton on that -particular Saturday afternoon. She intended to go to Brighton, not for -the purpose of placing her child in a school, but for another purpose by -no means so praiseworthy, yet for a purpose that was esteemed by her a -sufficient justification for the murder of the child. She had lured a -young man into a promise to spend the week-end with her at Brighton, and -some reason had to be found and given for her visit. Placing the child -in a suitable school seemed a sufficient reason, so the nurse was -instructed to get the boy's clothing ready and accompany her to London -Bridge. This was accordingly done, and the nurse returned home, fully -believing that the boy and his mother were on the way to Brighton. But -the mother did not go to Brighton by that train. She allowed it to go -without her, and when the nurse was safely away she left the platform, -saying that she had missed it, but would return and go by a later train. -She then took a bus for Broad Street Station, there taking a return -ticket for Dalston, where she alighted. The lavatory in question was on -the platform, consequently she did not pass the ticket-barrier. After -accomplishing her object with the brick I have referred to, and which -she had carried in her reticule all day for the purpose--for she had -taken it from the garden of the house where she lived--she returned to -Broad Street, giving her correct ticket up, and then on to London Bridge -and Brighton early enough to meet the young man, who was about half her -own age, and who spent the week-end with her. - -I have given briefly the particulars of this gruesome affair because -they lead up to the mental conditions of the murderess. It will be -noticed that the murder was skilfully contrived beforehand; that the -object to be gained was indulgence with a young man but little more than -half her age; that within a few hours of killing her own boy she -smilingly met the young man as if nothing had happened. All these things -are extraordinary, but when to these some particulars regarding the -murderess are added, the character of the whole affair becomes more -extraordinary still. She was a governess, clever and exceedingly well -educated, with scientific accomplishments. She was about thirty-six -years of age, by no means soft or voluptuous in appearance, but with a -hard, strong cast of face. She was doing well in a pecuniary sense, and -her friends were also in good circumstances. - -In considering the case, the first thing that strikes me is that when a -woman of her character, standing and appearance gives birth to an -illegitimate child, at an age when girlhood has long passed, there is an -absolute departure from the normal, there is something wrong. I need not -give any details of her trial, only to say the facts I have given were -fully proved, and to add that she was found guilty, sentenced, and -hanged. - -It is of her bearing and demeanour that I wish to speak. Of course, she -protested her innocence; any other person might be guilty, but it was -absurd to hint that she was guilty. Yet she betrayed no indignation. To -her it was Euclid over again, with _quod erat faciendum_, as the result -of the problem. She was cool, alert, and fearless; she showed no -emotion, no anxiety, no feeling. The killing of a sheep could not have -been a matter of less importance to her than was the murder of her own -child. Such was her demeanour at the inquest and at the police-court -proceedings, and this attitude she maintained to the end. - -In her private conversation with me she was clear, animated, and -apparently calm and frank. I never saw the least symptoms of -nervousness, and her eyes met mine as naturally and unconcernedly as if -the charge she had to meet had not the remotest connection with herself. -Her last words to me were: "When I am discharged, I shall invite myself -to tea with Mrs. Holmes and yourself, for I am supported by the thought -that you firmly believe in my innocence." I had never told her this, for -I had not discussed her guilt or innocence. She had talked to me, and I -had listened, putting a question occasionally to her. I could believe no -other than that she was verily guilty, but I did not tell her so--I had -no right to tell her so--but I listened and waited for an admission that -would throw some little light upon the state of her mind, and give me a -faint idea of the cause that led her to plan and execute the terrible -deed. This she did, and I am persuaded that she took away the boy to -furnish her with some excuse for spending the week-end at Brighton. I -leave it to others to decide upon her sanity, though personally I am -charitable enough to think she was insane. It is certain that she was -animated with fierce passion; it is also certain that in other respects -she was cold as an iceberg. For the death of her beautiful boy, whether -she was guilty or innocent of it, never troubled her for a moment. Does -a lust for blood accompany an excess of the other passion in a woman of -her temperament and characteristics? This I do not know, but I have no -doubt that wiser people do know. At any rate, with hands that had -cruelly battered the life out of her own child, and while the blood of -that child was still hot upon them, she welcomed her male friend. I -profess that I find some comfort in the belief that she was insane. Had -her insanity been just a little more obvious, she might have escaped the -death penalty and ended her days in a criminal lunatic asylum. - -But I do not think the question of her sanity was ever raised. He would -have been a bold man that raised it, in the face of her accomplishments -and self-control. Some day we shall, perhaps, apply different methods to -test sanity than those now employed, and we shall look for other -symptoms in diagnosis than those we look for now. The most dangerous -madness is not that which is patent to everybody--the wild or vacant -eyes, the inconsequent or violent speech, the manifest delusions, and -the inability to conduct one's own affairs. These are simple enough; but -the possessors of these characteristics are often harmless to the -community. But when the madness is half madness, and is covered with a -show of reason, it is then that danger is to be feared. - -In the case I am now about to give insanity was just a little more -apparent, though I do not think it was more real. But its manifestation -was of sufficient magnitude to prevent capital punishment. - -A young woman whose character was beyond reproach, and whose ability and -business aptitude gave the greatest pleasure to her employer and his -wife, was engaged as the manageress of a department in a drapery and -millinery shop in North London. She had been in the situation for some -months, and perfect confidence existed between the different parties. -One hot Sunday afternoon she suddenly awoke from an afternoon nap with -the conviction that she had been criminally assaulted by her employer. -The fact that she was in her own room with the door fastened did not -weigh with her at all. She declared that her employer was the guilty -person. The fact that he and his wife spent the afternoon out of doors -was nothing to her. Possessed with this extraordinary idea, she left -London at once for a town on the South Coast, where her brother lived. -Her brother appears to have accepted her statement without question or -demur, and to him the delusion became as real as to his sister. He armed -her with an exquisitely made and very formidable dagger, and provided -himself with an equally dangerous pistol and cartridges. Thus armed, -they came to London--he to take vengeance upon the man who had -dishonoured his sister, she to point out the man, and to be ready with -the dagger if the pistol failed to take effect. The brother did not -fail, for he shot the man dead. Now that vengeance was satisfied, the -couple were again harmless, for neither brother nor sister attempted to -do any more injury. They were arrested, and gave up their arms willingly -enough. They declared that they had done the deed, and that they -intended to kill the man; that they procured the weapons and came to -London for the express purpose. They claimed to be perfectly justified -in their joint action. This attitude they maintained before the court, -for when asked if they wished to put any questions to the witnesses, "Oh -no!" was the reply. "Of what use would they be? We did it; we are glad -that we did it. The consequences do not matter." There was quite a -little dispute between the sister and brother. He declared that as he -killed the man he alone was entitled to the glory and the punishment; -but the sister declared that it was done at her request, and also that -she was prepared to kill if her brother had failed. Both were found -guilty, and both were committed to a criminal lunatic asylum. Yet they -had every appearance of being thoroughly sane; their manner, their -speech, their reasoning powers, and everything appertaining to them, -savoured of clear reason, their delusion alone excepted. If that -delusion had not been so manifest, undoubtedly they would have been -hanged. There seems to me to be no point from which a line can be drawn -to divide insanity from sanity. At present we have but clumsy, -uncertain, and very speculative methods of deciding upon a prisoner's -sanity--methods that must often result in the punishment, if not the -death, of the prisoners who suffer from some kind of mental disease. I -am inclined to believe that the more all traces of madness are hidden by -clever murderers, the stronger is the probability of that madness -existing, for the very essence of cunning is employed in hiding it. They -will cheerfully contemplate the executioner's rope rather than be -considered mad. The brother and sister to whom I have referred would -have cheerfully accepted the death penalty in preference to committal to -a lunatic asylum. In one of my conversations with the brother, I -suddenly asked him: "Have any of your relations been detained in lunatic -asylums?" He was quite ready for me, and he replied: "I am as sane as -you are; and if you are ever placed in a similar situation to mine, I -hope you will prove as sane as I have." - -The more I think over the two cases--one woman found sane and hanged, -the other declared insane and sent to a lunatic asylum--the more I am -convinced that equal justice has not been done. Probably the madness in -both women proceeded from the same cause, and it is clear that neither -of them had the slightest compunction about shedding blood. - -I will deal briefly with my next case, and of a truth there is not much -to be said. He was a clerk about twenty-six years of age. He had married -a decent young woman, for whom he had made no provision other than a -loaded pistol. He had no home and no money, excepting a few pounds that -he had embezzled, and with this he had paid the marriage expenses. With -his last few shillings he hired a cab; drove, accompanied by his wife, -from place to place, in pretence of finding a home for her; and, -finally, while still in the cab, he did the deed for which he had -prepared--he shot her. He made no attempt to escape; he offered no -reason for his deed; he was quite satisfied with his action; and when -before the court he was absolutely unconcerned. I had several -conversations with him, and as he had publicly owned to the deed, there -was no harm in my assumption of his guilt. I said to him: "Tell me why -you did this cruel deed?" He said: "I don't consider it a cruel deed. -What else could I do? You would have done the same." Argument, of -course, was out of the question, but I did venture to express the hope -that I might not have done what he had done, when he again replied: "You -think so now; but if you had to do it, you would do it!" And this frame -of mind he maintained to the end--for he was hanged. - -I do not say that he ought not to have been hanged, for it is difficult -to point out in what other way he could have been dealt with; but so -long as insanity is considered a sufficient reason for preventing the -death penalty, I do say that every possible means should be taken to -test a prisoner's sanity before a final decision is arrived at; and, -further, that the appearance of positive sanity is under such -circumstances an indication of insanity. Every criminal, in addition to -murderers, ought to be subjected to a careful and prolonged scrutiny -and mental examination by experts. The cost would not be great, and I am -fully sure the results would compensate if the expense was great. -Prisons ought to become psychological observatories, and be made to -furnish us with a vast amount of useful information. There are so many -things we ought to know, and might know if we would only take pains to -know. It might be that the information obtained would make us sad and -excite our fear; it might be that our pity would be deeply stirred, and -that we should have a whole army of human beings upon our hands, for -whom we might feel hopeless and helpless. But we have these even now, -and for them imprisonment or hanging is a ready and simple plan that -suffices us! But ought they to suffice in these enlightened days? I -think not. At any rate, we ought to gather knowledge. With knowledge -will come power, and with power better methods of dealing with erring or -afflicted humanity. For the days will surely come when the hangman's -rope will be seldom in requisition; when all the unhealthy and -demoralizing publicity attaching to a murder trial will be a thing of -the past; when criminals will not be made into public heroes, because of -the speculative and perhaps equal chances of life or death; when morbid -and widespread sentiment will not be created by public appeals to the -Home Secretary; and, perhaps best of all, when diseased minds will be no -longer influenced by the unhealthy publicity of the details pertaining -to a death sentence to commit the other crimes for which no motives have -been apparent. - -Since writing the above chapter, the following appeared in the daily -papers of August 5, 1908: - - - "Thomas Siddle, a bricklayer, was yesterday executed at Hull for - the murder of his wife in June last. The crime was a particularly - callous one. Siddle was to have gone to prison for not paying his - wife's maintenance under a separation order. On the day, however, - he visited her, and after some conversation savagely attacked her - with a razor. _Before his execution_ the prisoner _ate a hearty - breakfast, and smiled at the warders as he walked firmly to the - scaffold._" - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -HOUSING THE POOR - - -And now, so far as this book is concerned, I have done with prisoners -and criminals, so I turn right gladly to the other side of my life. For -my life is dual, one half being given to sinners and the other to -saints. I have spoken freely about the difficulties of prisoners and -with prisoners; let me now tell of the struggles, difficulties, and -virtues of the industrious poor. I will draw a veil over the ignorance, -the drunkenness, the wastefulness, and the cupidity of the very poor. -Other people may find these matters congenial, and may dilate upon them, -but such a task is not for me. I know these things exist--I do not -wonder at their existence--but other things exist also--things that warm -my heart and stir my blood--and of them I want to tell. And I have some -right to speak, for I know the very poor as few can know them. From -personal touch and friendly communion my experience has been acquired, -and I am proud to think that at least twelve hundred of London's poorest -but most industrious women look upon me as their friend and adviser. - -When I gave up police-court work, I thought to devote the remainder of -my days absolutely to the London home-workers; but Providence willed it -otherwise, so only one-half of a very busy life is at their service. Of -what that half reveals I cannot be silent, though I would that some far -abler pen than mine would essay the task of describing the difficulties -and perils that environ the lives of the industrious poor. I want and -mean to be a faithful witness, so I will tell of nothing that I have not -seen, I will describe no person that does not exist, and no narrative -shall sully my pages that is not true in fact and detail. Imagination is -of no service to me. I am as zealous for mere facts as was Mr. Gradgrind -himself, and my facts shall be real, self-sufficing facts, out-vying -imagination, and conveying their own lesson. If I carry my readers with -me, we shall go into strange places and see strange sights and hear -piteous stories; but I shall ask my readers to be heedless of all that -is unpleasant, not to be alarmed at forbidding neighbourhoods or -disgusted with frowzy women, but to contemplate with me the difficulties -and the virtues of the industrious poor, and then, if they will, to -worship with me at the shrine of poor humanity. - -Quite recently I was invited to take sixty of my poor industrious women -to spend a day at Sevenoaks. Among the party was a widow aged sixty and -her daughter of thirty-five. They were makers of women's costumes, and -had worked till half-past four that very morning in order to have the -day's outing. I had known them for years, and many times had I been in -their poor home watching them as, side by side, they sat at their -machines. Happy were they in recent years when their united earnings -amounted to twenty-one shillings for a week's work of eighty hours. -"Tell me," I said to the widow, "how long have you lived in your present -house?" "Forty years," said the widow. "Emmy was born in it, and my -husband was buried from it. I have been reckoning up, and find that I -have paid more than twelve hundred pounds in rent, besides the rates." -"Impossible," I said, "out of your earnings!" She said: "We let off part -of the house, and that pays the rates and a little over, but we always -have to find ten shillings a week for rent." Ten shillings out of -twenty-one shillings, when twenty-one was forthcoming, which was by no -means the case every week. "We cannot do with less than three rooms--one -to work in, one to sleep in, and the little kitchen. I cannot get -anything cheaper in the neighbourhood." - -Here we come at once upon one of the greatest difficulties of the -industrious poor. If they wish to live in any way decently, one-half -their earnings disappears in rent. - -"We have nowhere to go." The difficulties the poor have in finding -suitable--or, indeed, any--rooms that may serve as a shelter for -themselves and their children, and be dignified by the name of "home," -are almost past belief. All sorts of subterfuges are resorted to, and it -is no uncommon thing for a woman, when applying for one or more rooms, -to state the number of her children to be less than half what it is in -reality. Sometimes, it must be confessed, the people who obtain rooms -by such means are not desirable tenants; but it is also true that even -decent people have to resort to some kind of deception if they are to -find shelter at all. - -Day after day in London police-courts the difficulty is made manifest. -Houses altogether unfit for human habitation have to be closed by order -of the authorities; but, wretched and insanitary as those dwellings are, -dangerous to the health and well-being of the community as they may be, -they are full to overflowing of poor humanity seeking some cover. But -they must "clear out." Their landlords say so, the sanitary authorities -say so, and the magistrate confirms the landlord and the sanitary -authorities. The one cry, the one plea of all the poor who are to be -ejected is: "Where are we to go? We can't get another place." The kindly -magistrate generally allows a few weeks' grace, and tells them to do -their best meanwhile to procure other rooms. For some this is a -possibility, but for others the period of grace will pass, and on an -appointed day an officer of the court will be in Paradise Row or Angel -Court, as the case may be, to see that the tenants are ejected without -undue violence, and that their miserable belongings are deposited safely -in the street. - -On dark November days, with the rain coming steadily down, I have -frequently seen the débris of such homes, the children keeping watch, -and shivering as they watched. I have spoken to the children, asked them -about their mother, and their reply has been: "Mother has gone with the -baby to look for another place." - -Heaven help that mother in her forlorn hope and desperate search! I can -imagine her clutching the babe tightly to her, holding in her closed -hand the shilling that is to act as a deposit for binding a tenancy, her -last rent-book in her bosom to show her _bona fides_, going from street -to street, from house to house, climbing staircase after staircase, -exploring and appealing time after time. She will stoutly declare that -she has but two children, when she has six; she will declare that her -husband is a good, sober man, and in regular work, neither of which will -be true. Ultimately, she will promise to pay an impossible rent, and -tremulously hand over the shilling to bind the contract; then she will -return to the "things," and tell the children of their new home. This is -no imaginary picture. It is so very true, so very common, that it does -not strike our imagination. The cry of the very poor is ever sounding in -our ears: "We have nowhere to live! We don't know where to go!" - -This fear of being homeless, of not being allowed to live in such -wretched places as they now inhabit, haunts the very poor through life, -and pursues them to the grave. And this worry, anxiety, and trouble -falls upon the woman, adding untold suffering to her onerous life; for -it is the woman that has to meet the rent-collector, whose visits come -round all too quickly; she has to mollify him when a few shillings -remain unpaid. The wife has to procure other rooms when her husband has -fallen out of work, and she receives the inevitable notice to quit when -there appears to be a possibility of the family becoming still more -numerous. If sickness, contagious or otherwise, comes upon any of the -children, and the shadow of death enters the home, upon the wife comes -the heart-breaking task of seeking a new home and conveying her children -and "things" to another place. This is no light task. The expense is a -consideration, and the old home, bad as it was, had become in many ways -dear to her. What more pitiful sight can be imagined than the removal? -No pantechnicon is required--a hired barrow is sufficient; and when -night has well advanced the goods are conveyed in semi-darkness from the -old home to the new. - -Think for a moment what a life she lives, to what shifts she is reduced, -what privations she endures! Is it any wonder that the children born of -her have poor bodies and strange minds? - - - "The children born of thee are fire and sword, - Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws," - - -Tennyson makes King Arthur to say. In many respects these words are true -of poor mothers in London. The houses in which they live, the conditions -under which they exist, the ceaseless worries and nameless fears they -endure, make it absolutely certain that many of the children born will -be strange creatures. - -And right up to the verge of eternity the fear of being homeless haunts -the poor. Let one instance suffice. I was visiting a young married woman -whose husband had been sent to prison for some months. She lived in one -room, for which she paid, or should have paid, four shillings and -sixpence weekly. The street was a very poor street, and the house a very -small house. It stood, without any forecourt, close up to the street -pavement. While I was speaking to the young woman a message came that -the landlady, who lived downstairs, wanted to speak to me; so down the -narrow stairs I went. There being only one room below, I rapped at the -door, and a very queer voice told me to "Come in." I went in, and found -a very small room, occupied chiefly by a bed, a small table, and several -broken chairs. On the bed lay an old woman. Her face was puckered with -age, her forehead was deeply furrowed, her eyes were dim, and the hands -lying on the quilt were more like claws than human hands. As I stood -over her, she looked up and said: "Are you Mr. Holmes? I want my rent." -Her voice was so strange and thin that I had some difficulty in -understanding her, but I found that the tenant upstairs owed her five -weeks' rent, and that, now her husband was in prison, the poor old woman -was afraid of losing it. As the matter seemed to trouble her greatly, I -told her that I would pay the arrears of her rent. "But I want it now," -she went on. "The collector is coming to-morrow, and I shall be put -out--I shall be put out." I stroked her thin hair, and told her that I -would call early the next morning and give her the money. But the poor -woman looked worried and doubtful. I called early the next morning, and -found the old woman expecting me. "Have you brought my rent?" were the -first words I heard on entering the room. I took up one of her thin -hands and opened it, and put a sovereign in it. "That is a sovereign," I -said. She held it up, and tried to look at it; but she was not -satisfied, for she said to her daughter, who was standing by: "Jane, is -this a sovereign?" When Jane assured her that it was, the old hand -closed convulsively upon it. "Hold out your other hand," I said. She -held it open, and I counted five shillings into it. Then that hand -closed, and the old head lay a bit closer to the pillow, and an -expression of restful satisfaction passed over her withered face. A week -later I called at the same house, but the old woman was not there, -neither had she been "put out." She had paid the rent-collector when he -called, and her rent-book was duly signed; but the Great Collector had -not forgotten her, for He also had called and given her a receipt in -full. Her worries were ended. - -If we would but think--think of the effect that such anxieties must have -upon the present and future generations--I believe that we should -realize that first and foremost of all questions affecting the health -and happiness of the nation stands the one great question of "housing -the very poor"; for the chivalry of our men, the womanliness of our -women, the sweetness of our daughters, and the brave hearts of our lads -depend upon it. - -But if the fear of being "put out" has its terrors, none the less has -the continuous occupation of one room its attendant evils. It is so easy -for humanity to get used to wretched homes and vile environments, so -easy to get accustomed to dirt, thick air, and insanitary conditions, -that one does not wonder that poor people who have lived for years under -such conditions prefer those conditions to any other. And this holds -true even with those who have known the bracing effect of cold water on -their bodies, and have felt the breath of God in their lungs. The return -path to dirt is always alluring to the human body. Time and again I have -gone into places where I hardly dared to breathe, and in which I could -only with the greatest difficulty stay for a few minutes; and when I -have sometimes ventured to open a window a look of astonishment crossed -the faces of those I had called on, for even the thick atmosphere had -become natural. - -And other results follow--mental as well as physical. To become, through -bad but frightfully dear housing, gradually used to dirt and bad air, -till these are looked upon as natural, carries along with it, as part -and parcel of itself, another deadening influence. Filth raises no -feeling of disgust; high rents produce no sense of injustice, no -feelings of resentment: for the poor become absolutely passive. Yes, and -passive in more ways than one; for they, without question or demur, -accept any payment that may be given them for such services as they can -render. Inevitably, they become the prey of the sweater, and work for -endless hours at three halfpence per hour; and if the payment for the -work they do should, without their permission, be reduced, it only means -that a couple of hours more must be added to the long day already -worked. - -It is this passivity of the poor that appals me. Their negative virtues -astonish me, for I find in them no bitterness, no sense of wrong, no -idea of rebellion, no burning resentment--not even the feeling that -something is wrong, though they know not what. Their only ambition is -to live their little lives in their very little homes; to be ready -weekly with their four shillings for their wretched room in a wretched -house; to have plenty of poorly-paid work, though they sit up all night -to do it; and to sit in poverty and hunger when sufficient work is not -to hand, to suffer silently, to bear with passive heroism, and to die -unburied by the parish. - -Such is the life of many London home-workers, of whom some are my -personal friends. But what becomes of this life? The death of -aspiration. A machine-like perseverance and endurance is gradually -developed; but the hope of better things dies: hope cannot exist where -oxygen is absent. Then comes the desire to be let alone, and alone to -die. - -I have met women who had become so used to the terrible conditions under -which they lived that no amount of persuasion could induce them to move -out of those conditions. Again I draw upon my experience. - -One cold day in February a young married man was charged with stealing a -piece of pork. I had some conversation with him, and he told me that he -was out of work, that his wife and children were starving, and that his -widowed mother, who lived in the same house, was in much the same -condition. He gave me their address--a poor street in Haggerston--so I -visited the family. It was a terrible street even for Haggerston, but it -was crowded with humanity. I found the house, and went up the rotten -staircase to the first-floor back. There I found the prisoner's wife, -sitting at a machine making babies' boots. In the room was an old -broken perambulator, in which were two children, one asleep and the -other with that everlasting deceit, a "baby's comforter," in its mouth. -As the child fed on the thick air it looked at me with wondering eyes, -and the mother kept on working. Presently she stopped and answered my -questions. Yes, it was true her husband was out of work. He was good to -her, and a sober, industrious man. They paid three and sixpence weekly -for their room, when they could. Would I excuse her? She must get on -with her work; she wanted to take it in. I excused her, and, leaving her -a few shillings, went in search of the older woman. - -I found her in another small room; but, small as the room was, there -were two beds in it, which were covered with match-boxes. A small table -and two old chairs completed the furniture. She was seated making -match-boxes as I entered, and I saw her hands moving with that -dreadfully automatic movement that has so often made me shudder. - -She looked up at me, but on she went. I spoke to her of her son, told -her my business, and ultimately sat down and watched her. Poor old -woman! She was fifty-six, she told me. She might have been any age over -seventy. She was a widow. She had lived in that room thirteen years, -having come to it soon after her husband's death. Whilst I was speaking -to her she got up from her boxes, took a small saucepan off the -miserable fire, and out of it took some boiled rice, put it in an old -saucer, sat down, and ate it. It was her dinner. - -Afterwards she put the remaining rice in a saucer, covered it with -another, and placed it in front of the fire. I soon saw why. A lanky boy -of nearly fourteen came in from school, and she pointed to the saucer. -He took it, and swallowed the rice, and looked at me. I looked at the -boy, and read the history of his life in his face and body. He had been -born in that room; that was his bed in the corner covered with -match-boxes. The old woman was his mother. Three and sixpence every week -had she paid for that room. Nearly three days of the week she had worked -for interminable hours to earn the money that paid for the shelter for -herself and the boy. - -I will not describe the boy. Was he a boy at all? All his life he had -lived, moved, and had his being in that room; had fed as I saw him feed, -and had breathed the air I was breathing. - -He went back to school, and I talked to his mother. She owed no rent; -she had received no parish help. She never went to church or chapel. She -wanted nothing from anybody. That little room had become her world, and -her only recreation was taking her boxes to the factory. Grimy and -yellow were the old hands that kept on with the boxes. I offered her a -holiday and rest. There was the rent to be paid. I would pay the rent. -She had no clothes suitable. Mrs. Holmes would send her the clothes. -There was the boy to be seen to. I would arrange for him. No; she would -not go. Her last word was that she did not wish or care to leave her -home. Neither did she. And though years have passed since my first -visit to that one-roomed house, out of it the old woman has not passed, -excepting on her usual errand. And fresh air, clean sheets, and -relaxation meant nothing to her. - -I sat in the dark, damp kitchen of a house in one of the narrow streets -of Hoxton. Over my head some very poor clothing was hanging to dry. It -was winter-time, and the gloom outside only added to the gloom within, -and through a small window the horrors of a London back-yard were -suggested rather than revealed. - -As I sat watching the widow at her work, and wondered much at the -mechanical accuracy of her movements, I felt something touch my leg, -and, looking down, found a silent child, about three years of age, on -the floor at my feet. I had been in the room some few minutes, and had -not previously seen or heard the child, it was so horribly quiet. I -picked it up, and placed it on my knee, but it was passive and open-eyed -as a big doll. The child had been born in that kitchen on a little -substitute for a bed that half-filled the room. Its father was dead, and -the widowed mother got a "living" for herself and her children by -attaching bits of string to luggage labels, for which interesting work -she got fourpence per thousand. In her spare time she took in washing, -and the clothes over my head belonged to neighbours. - -Fifteen years she had lived in that house. It was her first home after -marriage. Till his death, which occurred three years before, her husband -had been tenant of the whole house, but always "let off" the upper part, -which consisted of two rooms, it being a two-storied house. - -He died of consumption in the other room on the ground-floor, which -abutted the street pavement. Her child was born in the kitchen as her -husband lay dying a few feet away in the front-room. So that wretched -house was dear to her, for love, death, and life had been among its -visitants, and it became to her a sacred and a solemn place. She became -tenant of the house, and continued to let off the two upper rooms; and -with her children round her she continued her life in the lower rooms. -The rent was 13s. weekly. She received 7s. 6d. weekly for the two upper -rooms, leaving 5s. 6d. weekly to be the burden and anxiety of her life; -so she tied knots and took in washing. The very sight of the knot-tying -soon tired me, and the dark, damp atmosphere soon satisfied me. As I -rose to leave, the widow invited me to "look at her boy in the other -room." We went into the room in front. It was now quite dark, and the -only light in the room came through the window from a street-lamp. The -widow spoke to someone, but no answer came. I struck a wax match and -held it aloft. A glance was enough. I asked the widow to get a lamp, and -one of those cheap, dangerous abominations provided for the poor was -brought to me. - -On the bed lay a strange-looking boy of nine, twisted and deformed in -body, wizened in features, suffering writ all over him, yet -apathetically and unconcernedly waiting for the end. With the lamp in my -hand, I bent over him and spoke kindly to him. He looked at me, then -turned away from me; he would not speak to me. Poor little fellow! He -had suffered so long and so much that he expected nothing else. He knew -that he was dying. What did it matter? The mothers in London streets are -not squeamish, and their young children are very soon made acquainted -with the mysteries of life and death. - -"He has been in two hospitals, and I have fetched him home to die," said -the widow to me. "How long has he lain like this?" I asked. "Three -months." "Who sleeps in that bed with him?" "I do, and the little boy -you saw in the kitchen." "Who sleeps in the kitchen?" "Only George: he -is fourteen." - -On inquiry, I was told that the dying boy had always been weak and -ailing, and also that, when five years of age, he had been knocked down -in the street by a cyclist, and that he had been crippled and twisted -ever since. - -Nearly five years of suffering, and now he had "come home to die." Poor -little fellow! What a life for him! What a death for him! Born in a dark -kitchen while his father lay dying; four years of joyless poverty in a -London street; five years of suffering, in and out of hospitals; and now -"home to die." And he knew it, and waited for the end with contemptuous -indifference. But he had not much longer to wait, for in three weeks' -time the blessed end came. - -But the widow still takes in washing, damp clothes still hang in her -dark kitchen, and by the faint light of her evil-smelling lamp she -continues to "tie her knots"; and the silent child is now acquiring some -power of expression in the gutter. - -Slum property sometimes gets into queer hands. Sometimes it is almost -impossible to find the real owners, and the fixing of responsibility -becomes a great difficulty. - - -A SLUM PROPERTY HOLDER. - -An old woman, dressed in greasy black silk, with a bonnet of ancient -date, often appeared in one of our courts for process against some of -her many tenants. Her hair, plastered with grease, hung round her head -in long ringlets; her face never showed any signs of having been washed; -a long black veil hung from her old bonnet, and black cotton gloves -covered her hands. She was the widow of a well-to-do jeweller, and owned -some rows of cottage property in one of our poorest neighbourhoods. -After her husband's death, she decided to live in one of her cottages -and collect her own rents. She brought with her much jewellery, etc., -that had not been sold, and there in the slums, with her wealth around -her, and all alone, lived the quaint old creature. Week by week she -appeared at the court for "orders" against tenants who had not paid -their rent. Though seventy-three, she would have no agent; she could -manage her own business. Suddenly she appeared as an applicant for -advice. She had married: her husband was a carpenter, aged twenty-one. -They had been married but a few days, and her husband refused to go to -work--so she told the magistrate. "Well, you know, madam, that you have -plenty for both," said the magistrate. "That's what he says, but I tell -him that I did not marry him that I might keep him." She got neither -help nor comfort from the magistrate, so she tottered out of the court, -grumbling as she went. In a few days she appeared again. "My husband has -stolen some of my jewellery." Again she got no comfort. Still again she -complained. "My husband has been collecting my rents." "Send a notice to -your tenants warning them not to pay your husband." She did so; the -husband did the same, warning the tenants not to pay his wife. This -suited the tenants admirably: they paid neither. Never were such times -till the old woman applied for ejectment orders wholesale. While these -things were going on the youthful husband wasted her substance in -riotous living, and showed a decided preference for younger women. This -aroused the old woman's jealousy; she couldn't put up with it. Packing -her jewels and valuables in a portmanteau, she left her house. When her -husband returned at night the wife of his bosom was gone; neither did -she return. He was disconsolate, and sought her sorrowing. Some miles -away she had a poor widowed sister, and there the old woman found -shelter. - -But there paralysis seized her, and a doctor had to be called in. He -acted in the double capacity of doctor and lawyer, for he drew up a -will, put a pen into her hands, and guided her gently while she signed -it. "All her worldly goods were left to her sister." Ultimately the -husband found out where she was located, and frequently called at the -house, but the door was barred against him. It was winter-time, and the -snow lay on the ground. At midnight a cab drew softly up to the house -where the old woman lay. Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door, -and the sister came down to answer. Thoughtlessly she opened the door, -when she was seized by two men, who locked her in the front parlour -while they ran upstairs, rolled the old woman in warm blankets, carried -her to the cab, and away they went. A nice room and another doctor were -awaiting her. Another will was drawn up, which the old woman signed. -"All her worldly goods were left to her dear husband." Next morning the -sister applied for a summons against the young husband, but the -magistrate decided that the man had a right to run away with his own -wife. All might have gone merrily for the husband, but the old lady -died. The sister went to the police, who arrested him for causing his -wife's death. For many days the case was before the court, half a dozen -doctors on each side expressing very decided opinions. Ultimately he was -committed for trial. Doctors and counsel galore were concerned, but the -jury acquitted him at last. And then came another trial. Counsel and -doctors were again concerned. Which will was to stand? I don't know how -they settled it, but one thing I am sure about--when the doctors and -lawyers had got their share, and the counsel had had a good picking, -there was not much left for the loving husband and the dear sister. - -Since writing the above, the following paragraphs have appeared in the -daily press: - - -"WIDOWER'S PATHETIC PLIGHT. - -"'My wife is lying dead in the house, and the landlord threatens to -eject me at twelve o'clock if I am not out. What can I do?' Thus asked a -respectable-looking working man of Mr. d'Eyncourt at Clerkenwell -Police-Court. 'Has he given you notice?' 'Yes; but how can I go just -now? The funeral is to-morrow, and I have offered to go on Wednesday, -but he says he will put me in the street to-day.' 'Well, he's legally -entitled to do so, I am afraid. I can do nothing.' 'I thought that -perhaps you might ask him to let me stay for a day or two.' 'No, that is -a matter for you. I cannot interfere,' the magistrate observed in -conclusion." - - -"LONDON LAND WITHOUT AN OWNER. - -"Mr. H. Sherwin White requested Mr. Marsham at Bow Street Police-Court -to appoint someone under the Lands Clauses Consolidation Act to -determine the value of the forecourts of five houses in Coldharbour -Lane, Brixton, which had been required for tramway purposes. He added -that the owner of the houses could not be found. Mr. Marsham appointed -Mr. A. L. Guy to be valuer." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE HOOLIGANISM OF THE POOR - - -Present-day excitements have killed the "hooligan" scare. Good nervous -people now sleep comfortably in their beds, for the cry of "The -hooligans! the hooligans!" is no longer heard in our land. Yet, truth to -tell, the evil is greater now than when sensational writers boomed it. -It grows, and will continue to grow, until the conditions that produce -it are seriously tackled by the State. I must confine myself to the -hooliganism of the poor. Of the hooliganism of undergraduates, medical -students, stockbrockers, and politicians I say nothing. Of Tommy Atkins -on furlough or of Jack ashore I wish to be equally silent. But of the -class, born and bred in London slums, who do no regular work, but who -seem to live on idleness and disorder, I desire to speak -plainly--plainly, too, as to the conditions that are largely responsible -for the disorderly conduct of the rising youth. - -A large number of undoubtedly good people think it is easy to cure by -punitive methods. I do not. "A policeman behind every lamp-post and the -lash--the lash!" cried a notable divine during a never-to-be-forgotten -week when he edited an evening paper. Such was his recipe! For months -the cat with nine tails was a favourite theme, and all sorts of people -caught the infection, and there was a great cry and commotion raised and -sustained by a sensational but altogether inaccurate press. Every -assault committed by a labouring man, every bit of disorder in the -streets, if caused by the poor and ignorant, was a signal for the cry -"The hooligan again!" Rubbish! But the people believed it, and so to -some extent our level-headed and kind-hearted magistrates caught the -spirit of the thing, and proceeded to impose heavier sentences on boys -charged with disorderly conduct in the streets. But this was not enough, -for the Home Secretary (Mr. Ritchie) in the House of Commons, in reply -to a question about youthful hooligans, said it was thought that the -magistrates had been too lenient with them, and stated that the police -had orders to charge those young gentlemen on indictment, so that they -might not be dealt with summarily, but committed for trial. In other -words, they were to take from the magistrates the power of so-called -lenient punishment, and have them tried by judge and jury. Very good, -but what good longer terms of imprisonment would do, the Home Secretary -did not say; and as to the magistrates, they can be severe enough, -though they do know when to be lenient, and in aggravated cases they -already commit for trial. - -Profoundly I wish that all Home Secretaries would exercise their minds -on the causes that lead to youthful hooliganism, and do something to -remove them. It were better far than taking steps to secure more severe -punishment. Such talk to me seems callous and cruel, for punitive -methods will never eradicate the instincts that lead to disorderly -conduct in the streets among the "young gentry" of the poor. I must -confess to a feeling of discomfort when I see a boy of sixteen sent to a -month's imprisonment for disorderly conduct in the streets. It is true -that he has been a nuisance to his elders, and has bumped against them -in running after his pals. Equally true that he uses language repulsive -to ears polite; but to him it is ordinary language, to which he has been -accustomed his life through. But I am afraid it is equally true that -similar offences committed by others in a better position would be more -leniently dealt with. Would anyone suggest that a public-school boy, or -a soldier on furlough, or a young doctor, or an enthusiastic patriot, -should be committed for trial on a like charge? I trow not. Allowances -are made, and it is right they should be made. I claim these allowances -for the poor and the children of the poor. - -Moreover, if these "young gentry" are to be consigned in wholesale -fashion to prison, will it lessen the evil? I think not. On the -contrary, it will largely increase it. Some of them will have lost the -moderate respectability that stood for them in place of character; many -of them will lose their work, and will join the increasing army of -loafers; but all of them will lose their fear of prison, that fear of -the unknown that is the greatest deterrent from crime and disorder. -Familiarize these "young gentry" with prison, and it is all over with -them. The sense of fear will depart, and to a dead certainty more -serious disorder and grosser crime will follow. Undoubtedly many of them -will find prison quarters preferable to their own homes, and though they -may resent the loss of liberty, they will find some comfort in the fact -that they do not have to share with four others an apology for a bed, -fixed in an apology for a room, of which the door cannot be opened fully -because the bedstead prevents it. - -If our law-makers, our notable divines, and our good but nervous people -had to live under such conditions, I venture to say they would rush into -the streets for change of air; and if any steam were left in them, who -can doubt but that they would let it off somehow? Under present -conditions, the "young gentry" have the choice of two evils--either to -stay in their insufferable homes or to kick up their heels in the -streets. But this includes two other contingencies--either to become -dull-eyed, weak-chested, slow-witted degenerates, or hooligans. Of the -two, I prefer the latter. The streets are the playgrounds of the poor, -and the State has need to be thankful, in spite of the drawback in -disorder and crime, for the strength and manhood developed in them. It -will be a sorry day for England when the children of the poor, after -being dragooned to school, are dragooned from the streets into the -overcrowded tenements called home. Multiply large towns, run the -"blocks" for the poor up to the skies, increase the pains and penalties -for youthful disorder, and omit to make provision for healthy, vigorous, -competitive play: then we may write "Ichabod" over England, for its -glory and strength will be doomed. Wealth may accumulate, but men will -decay. Robust play, even though it be rough, is an absolute condition of -physical and moral health. - -Consider briefly how the poor live. Thousands of families with three -small rooms for each family, tens of thousands with two small rooms, a -hundred thousand with one room. And such rooms! Better call them boxes. -Dining-room and bedroom, kitchen and scullery, coal-house and -drawing-room, workshop and wash-house, all in one. Here, one after -another, the children are born; here, one after another, many of them -die. I went into one of these "combines," and saw an infant but a few -days old with its mother on a little bed; in another corner, in a box, -lay the body of another child of less than two years, cold and still. I -felt ill, but I also felt hot. I protest it is no wonder that our boys -and girls seek the excitement of the streets, or that they find comfort -in "dustbins." What can big lads of this description do in such -surroundings? Curl up and die, or go out and kick somebody. The pity of -it is that they always kick the wrong person, but that's no wonder. -Tread our narrow streets, where two-storied houses stand flush with the -pavements; explore our courts, alleys, and places; climb skyward in our -much-belauded dwellings; or come even into our streets that look snugly -respectable. You will find them teeming with juvenile life that has -learned its first steps in the streets, got its first idea of play in -the gutter, and picked up its knowledge of the vulgar tongue from those -who have graduated in a gutter school. Is it any wonder that young -people developed under these conditions look upon the streets as their -natural right, and become oblivious to the rights of others? They are -but paying back what they have received. Neither is it to be wondered at -that as they grow older they grow more disorderly and violent, but -altogether less scrupulous. It is absurd to suppose that boys who have -grown into young men under these conditions will, on reaching manhood, -develop staid and orderly ways, and equally absurd to suppose that by -sending them for "trial" they will be made orderly. - -Let us have less talk of punishment and more of remedy; and the remedy -lies, not with private individuals, but with the community. The -community must bear the cost or pay the penalty. Oxford and Cambridge -contend in healthy rivalry on the river, and the world is excited. Eton -plays Harrow at cricket, and society is greatly moved. A few horses race -at Epsom, and the people generally go wild. But when the Hackney boys -contend with the boys of Bethnal Green, why, that's another tale. But -they cannot go to Lord's or to Putney, so perforce they meet in the -places natural to them--the streets. "But they use belts!" Well, they -have no boxing-gloves, and it may comfort some folks to know that -generally they use the belts upon each other. The major part of -so-called youthful hooliganism is but the natural instinct of English -boys finding for itself an outlet--a bad outlet it may be, but, mind -you, the only outlet possible, though it is bound to grow into -lawlessness if suitable provision is not made for its legitimate -exercise. - -At the close of one of my prison lectures, among the prisoners that -asked for a private interview was an undersized youth of nineteen, a -typical Cockney, sharp and cheeky as a London sparrow. He put out his -hand and said, "How do you do, Mr. Holmes?" looking up at me. I shook -hands with him, and said: "What are you doing here?" "Burglary, Mr. -Holmes," he said. "Burglary?" I said--"burglary? I am sure God never -intended you for a burglar." Looking up sharply, he said: "No, He would -have made me bigger, wouldn't He? But I have had enough of prison," he -said--"I've had enough. I'm going straight when I get out, and I shall -be out in three weeks. It is very good of you to come and talk to us, -and I am glad to know about all those men you have told us of; but I've -come to see you because I want you to tell me how I am to spend my spare -time when I am out. I am going back home to live. I've got a job to go -to--not much wages, though. I shall live in Hoxton, and I want to go -straight. If I get some books and read about those fellows you talked -of, I can't read at home--there's no room. If I go to the library I feel -a bit sleepy when I've been in a bit, and the caretaker comes along and -he gives me a nudge, and he says: 'Waken up! This ain't a -lodging-house.' We have no cricket or football. There's the streets for -me in my spare time, and then I'm in mischief. Now, you tell me what to -do, and I'll do it." - -Municipal playgrounds are absolutely necessary if our young people are -to be healthy and law-abiding. Of parks we have enough at present. Our -so-called recreation-grounds are a delusion and a snare, though to some -they are doubtless a boon, with their asphalted walks, a few seats, and -a drinking-fountain. They are very good for the very old and the very -young; but if Tom, Dick, and Harry essayed a game of rounders, tip-cat, -leap-frog, or skittles, why, then they would soon find themselves before -the magistrate, and be the cause of many paragraphs on youthful -hooliganism in the next day's papers. Now, private philanthropy and -individual effort is not equal to the task--and, in spite of increasing -effort and enlarged funds, never will be equal to the task--of finding -suitable recreation for our growing youth. I know well the great good -done by our public-school and other missions, with their boys' clubs, -etc.; but they scarcely touch the evil, and they certainly have not the -means of providing winter and summer outdoor competitive games. Every -parish must have its public playground, under proper supervision, lit up -with electric light in the evening, and open till 10 p.m. Here such -inexpensive games as rounders, skittles, tip-cat, tug-of-war, might be -organized, and Hackney might have a series of competitions with Bethnal -Green, for the competitive element must be provided for. A series of -contests of this sort would soon empty our streets of the lads who are -now so troublesome. I venture to say that a tournament, even at "coddem" -or "shove-ha'penny" alone, would attract hundreds of them, and certainly -an organized competition of "pitch-and-toss" would attract thousands. -Counters might be used instead of coins, and they would last for ever. -The fact is, that these youths are easily pleased, if we go the right -way to work; but we must take them as they are, and must not expect them -all to play chess, billiards, and cricket. Football, I think, I would -certainly add, for it is a game which any healthy boy can play, and it -gives him robust exercise. Give the lads of our slums and congested -dwellings a chance of healthy rivalry and vigorous competition, and, my -word for it, they won't want to crack the heads either of their -companions or the public. The public are not aware of the intense -longing of the slum youth for active, robust play. During last year more -than fifty boys were summoned at one court for playing football in the -streets and fined, though in some cases their footballs were old -newspapers tied round with string. Hundreds of youths are charged every -year at each of our London police-courts with gambling by playing a game -with bronze coins called "pitch-and-toss." Now, these youths do not want -and long for each other's coins, but they do want a game, and if they -could play all day and win nothing they would consider it an ideal game. -Organized games in public playgrounds, creating local and friendly -rivalry, are absolutely essential. The same feeling, developed but a -trifle further, becomes national, and we call it patriotism. Play they -must, or become loafers; and the round-shouldered, dull-eyed loafer is -altogether more hopeless than the hooligan. - -It will be an inestimable blessing to the country, and will inaugurate -quite a new era for us, when the minimum age for leaving school is -raised to sixteen. The increase of intelligence, physique and morality, -and order arising from such a course would astonish the nation. -Supposing this were done, and for boys and girls of over twelve two -hours in the afternoon were set apart for games--in separate -playgrounds, of course--and that the evenings were devoted to -school-work. The younger children going to school in the afternoon might -easily have their turn in the public playgrounds from five to seven. -This would allow the youths over sixteen to have the playgrounds for the -rest of the evening. But, having provided for play, I would go one step -further, and not allow any boy to leave school till he produced -satisfactory evidence that he was really commencing work. Hundreds of -boys leave school having no immediate prospect of regular work. A few -weeks' idleness and the enjoyment of the streets follow, and they are -then in that state of mind and body that renders them completely -indifferent to work of any kind. For good or for evil, the old system of -apprenticing boys has gone. It had many faults, but it had some virtues, -for, at any rate, it ensured a boy's continuity of work in those years -when undisciplined idleness is certain to be demoralizing. Once let boys -from the homes I have described--or, indeed, from working men's homes -generally--be released from the discipline of school, and the discipline -of reasonable and continuous work not be substituted, and it is all over -with them and honest aspirations. Now, this difficulty of finding decent -and prospective employment for boys is another great factor in the -production of youthful hooligans, but a factor that would be largely -eliminated if the age for leaving school were raised to sixteen. The -work of errand-boys, van-boys, or "cock-horse" boys is not progressive; -neither is it good training for growing boys. To the boys of fourteen -such work has its allurements, and the wages offered seem fairly good; -but when the boy of fourteen has become the youth of sixteen or -seventeen, the work seems childish, and the pay becomes mean. When he -requires better wages, his services are dispensed with, and another lad -of fourteen is taken on. This procedure alone accounts for thousands of -youths being idle upon the streets of London. What can such youths do? -Too big for their previous occupation, no skilled training or aptitude -for better work, not big or strong enough for ordinary labouring, they -become the despair of their parents and pests to society. Very soon the -door of the parental home is closed upon them; the cheap lodging-houses -become their shelter, and the rest can easily be imagined--but it lasts -for life. By raising the school age, the great bulk of this -demoralization would be prevented. Technical training in their school -years would give these youths a certain amount of aptitude and taste -that would enable them to commence life under more favourable -conditions, and though many of them would necessarily become errand-boys -or van-boys, still, the age at which they would leave those occupations -would find them nearer manhood, and in possession of greater strength -and more judgment than they can claim at the present age of leaving such -work. The step I am advocating would also remove another great cause of -lifelong misery and its accompanying hooliganism. Look again, if you -please, at the homes of the poor. Is it any wonder that when a youth -finds himself earning twelve shillings a week, and has arrived at the -mature age of eighteen, he enters into a certain relationship with a -girl of seventeen, who has a weekly income of six shillings? This -relationship may or may not be sanctioned by the law and blessed by the -Church; in either case it is equally immoral, and the effects are -equally blighting. How can healthy, virtuous, and orderly children come -from such unions? - -Give the youth of our large towns a lengthened school-training, but at -the same time remember that athletic and technical training must form -part of that life; let healthy rivalry have a chance of animating them -and a feeling of manly joy sometimes pervade them, and these horrible, -wicked juvenile unions will be heard of no more; for at present their -only chances of enjoyment are the streets, sexuality, or the -public-house. - -This last word leads me to another cause of hooliganism. The -public-house is bound up with the lives of the poor. To many it stands, -doubtless, for enjoyment and relaxation, for forgetfulness of misery and -discomfort, and for sociability. To many others it stands for poverty, -suffering, unspeakable sorrow, and gross neglect. Where our streets are -the narrowest, where the sanitary arrangements are of the most execrable -description, there the public-house thrives, and thrives with disastrous -effects. The home-life of the poor and the public-house act and react -on each other. The more miserable the home and the greater the dirt, the -more the public-house attracts; the more it attracts, the viler the -home-life and the greater misery and dirt. It is no marvel that people -who live thus demand fiery drinks; nor is it any great marvel that all -the tricks of science and all the resources of civilization are brought -to bear in manufacturing drinks for them. No wonder, when "the vitriol -madness flushes in the ruffian's head," that "the filthy by-lane rings -with the yell of the trampled wife." But the State shares the profits -and the State shares the guilt. Long ago Cowper wrote: - - - "Drink and be mad, then--'tis your country bids: - Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more." - - -The State does not care very much what compounds are served to the poor -so long as the sacred revenue is not defrauded. But the State cannot -escape the penalties. What of the offspring that issue from these homes -and these neighbourhoods? They have daily seen women with battered -faces; they have frequently seen the brutal kick, and heard the -frightful curse; they have been used to the public-house from their -infancy; whilst boys and girls have been allowed to join openly, and as -a matter of course, in the carousals, and stand shoulder to shoulder in -the bar and drink with seasoned topers. In the evening, when half drunk, -they patrol the streets or stand together at some congested corner. They -are not amenable to the influence of the police; they are locked up, and -the cry "The hooligans! the hooligans!" is heard in the land; and there -is a demand for more punishment, instead of a feeling of shame at the -conditions that produce such young people and at the temptations that -prevail amongst them. Can it be right--is it decent or wise?--that boys -and girls of sixteen should be allowed free access to public-houses, -with free liberty to drink at will? What can be expected but ribaldry, -indecency, disorder, and violence? A wise Government would protect these -young people against temptation and against themselves. No improvement -in the morals and conduct of the young is possible until this question -is tackled, and there ought to be no difficulty about tackling it. Let -the Home Secretary bring in a Bill, and pass it, making it illegal for -boys and girls under twenty to drink on licensed premises, and he will -do more good for public order than if he committed the whole of the -young gentry for trial. - -But I would put in also a plea for their parents. It is evident that we -must have public-houses; it is also certain that the public have a taste -for, and demand, malt liquors and other alcoholic drinks. Now, the State -reaps many millions of its revenue from this demand. It is therefore the -duty of the State to see that these drinks are as harmless as possible. -Let the State, then, insist upon the absolute purity of malt liquors, -and also upon a reduction in their alcoholic strength; for, after all, -this is the cause of the mischief. In this direction lies the true path -of temperance reform. Supposing the alcoholic strength of malt -liquors--really malt liquors--was fixed by imperial statute at 2½ per -cent. by volume, who would be a penny the worse? The brewer and the -publican would get their profits, the Exchequer would get its pound of -flesh, the Englishman would get his beer--his "glorious beer!" No vested -interests would be attacked, and no disorganization of trade would be -caused; everybody concerned would be the better, for everybody would be -the happier. It may be thought that I am getting wide of my subject, but -even a superficial inquiry will soon lead anyone to the knowledge that -the public-house is intimately connected with, and a direct cause of, -what is termed "hooliganism." - -Alcohol, not the house, is really the cause. To leave the house still -popular, while largely taking away its dangerous element, would be a -wise course; but this should be followed by a much higher duty on -spirits and a law fixing the maximum of their alcoholic strength when -offered for public sale. Fifty per cent. under proof for spirits and an -alcoholic strength of 2½ per cent. for malt liquors would usher in the -millennium. - -To sum up what I conceive to be the reforms necessary to the abatement -and cure of hooliganism: - -1. Fair rents for the poor, and a fair chance of cleanliness and -decency. - -2. Municipal playgrounds and organized competitive games. - -3. Extension of school-life till sixteen. - -4. Prohibition to young people of alcoholic drinks for consumption on -the premises. - -5. Limitation by law of the alcoholic strength of malt liquor to 2½ per -cent. and of spirits to 50 per cent. under proof, with higher duty. - -Give us reforms on these lines, and there will be no "complaining in our -streets." The poorest of the poor, though lacking riches, will know -something of the wealth of the mind, for chivalry and manhood, -gentleness and true womanhood, will be their characteristics. The -rounded limbs and happy hearts of "glorious childhood" will be no longer -a dream or a fiction. No longer will the bitter cry be raised of "too -old" when the fortieth birthday has passed, for men will be in their -full manhood at sixty. Give us these reforms, and enable the poor to -live in clean and sweet content, then their sons shall be strong in body -and mind to fight our battles, to people our colonies, and to hand down -to future ages a goodly heritage. But there is a content born of -indifference, of apathy, of despair. There is the possibility that the -wretched may become so perfect in their misery that a wish for better -things and aspirations after a higher life may die a death from which -there is no resurrection. From apathetic content may God deliver the -poor! from such possibilities may wise laws protect them! -"Righteousness"--right doing--"exalteth a nation;" and a nation whose -poor are content because they can live in cleanliness, decency, and -virtue, where brave boyhood and sweet girlhood can bud, blossom, and -mature, is a nation that will dwell long in the land, and among whom the -doings of the hooligans will be no longer remembered. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE HEROISM OF THE SLUMS - - -In our narrow streets, in our courts and alleys, where the air makes one -sick and faint, where the houses are rotten and tottering, where -humanity is crowded and congested, where the children graduate in the -gutter--there the heights and depths of humanity can be sounded, for -there the very extremes of human character stand in striking contrast. -Could the odorous canals that intersect our narrow streets speak, they -would tell of many a dark deed, but, thank God! of many a brave deed -also. Numbers of "unfortunates," weary of life, in the darkness of -night, and in the horror of a London fog, have sought oblivion in those -thick and poisonous waters. Men, too, weary from the heart-breaking and -ceaseless search after employment, and widows broken with hard work, -endless toil, and semi-starvation, have sought their doom where the -water lies still and deep. - - -THE HERO WITH THE LAVENDER SUIT. - -Often in the fog the splash has been heard, but no sooner heard than -cries of "Let me die!" "Help! help!" have also risen on the midnight -air. One rough fellow of my acquaintance has saved six would-be suicides -from the basin of one canal, and on each occasion he has appeared to -give evidence in a police-court. Five times he had given his evidence -and quietly and quickly disappeared, but on the sixth occasion he waited -about the court for an opportunity of speaking to the magistrate. This -was at length given him, when he stated that he thought it about time -someone paid him for the loss he sustained in saving these people from -the canal. This was the sixth time he had attended a police-court to -give evidence, and each time he had lost a day's pay. He did not mind -that so very much, as it was but the loss of four shillings at -intervals; but this time he had on a new suit, which cost him thirty -shillings. He had thrown off his coat and vest before jumping into the -water, and someone had stolen them; the dirty water had spoiled his -trousers, which he had dried and put on for his Worship to see. The -magistrate inspected the garments. They had been originally of that -cheap material that costers affect, and of a bright lavender colour. He -had jumped into an unusually nasty piece of water. Some tar and other -chemicals had been moving on its surface, and his lavender clothes had -received full benefit therefrom. The garments had been tight-fitting at -the first, but now, after immersion and drying, they were ridiculously -small. Even the magistrate had to smile, but he ordered the brave fellow -to receive five shillings for expenses and loss of day's work, and ten -shillings compensation for damage to his clothing. He looked ruefully at -his ruined clothes and at the fifteen shillings in his hand, and went -out of the court. I went to speak to him. "Look here, Mr. Holmes," he -said, "fifteen shillings won't buy me a new lavender suit. The next -blooming woman that jumps in the canal 'll have to stop there; I've had -enough of this." I made up the cost of a suit by adding to his fifteen -shillings, and he went away to get one. But I know perfectly well that, -whether he had on a new lavender suit or an old corduroy, it would be -all the same to him--into the canal, river, or any other water, he would -go instinctively when he heard the heavy splash in the darkness or fog. - - -AN AMUSING RESCUE. - -An amusing episode occurred with regard to a would-be suicide in the -early part of one winter. A strong, athletic fellow, who had been a -teacher of swimming at one of the London public baths, but who had lost -position, had become homeless, and was quite on the down-grade. Half -drunk, he found himself on the banks of the Lea, where the water was -deep and the tide strong. Suddenly he called out, "I'll drown myself!" -and into the water he went. The vagabond could not have drowned had he -wished, for he was as much at home in the water as a rat. It was a -moonlight night, and a party of men from Hoxton had come for a walk and -a drink. One was a little fellow, well known in the boxing-ring. He also -could swim a little, but not much. He heard the cry and the splash, and -saw the body of the man lying still on the water. In he went, swam to -the body, and took hold of it. Suddenly there was a great commotion, -for the little man had received a violent blow in the face from the -supposed suicide. A fight ensued, but the swimmer held a great advantage -over the boxer. - -A boat arrived on the scene, and both were brought ashore exhausted. The -swimmer recovered first, and was for making off, but was detained by the -friends of the boxer, who, being recovered, walked promptly up to the -big man and proposed a fight to the finish. This was accepted, but the -little man was now in his element, and the big man soon had reason to -know it. After a severe handling, he was given into custody for -attempted suicide and assault, and appeared next day in the -police-court, with cuts and bruises all over his face. The charge of -attempted suicide was dismissed, but the magistrate fined him twenty -shillings for assault. "Look at my face." "Yes," said the magistrate; -"you deserve all that, and a month beside." - -I give these examples of manly pluck to show that, in spite of all the -demoralizing influence of slum life, and in spite of all the decay of -manhood that must ensue from the terrible conditions that prevail, -physical courage still exists among those born and bred in the slums, -under the worst conditions of London life. - - -MORE SLUM HEROES. - -But higher kinds of courage are also manifested. Who can excel the -people of our slums in true heroism? None! If I want to find someone -that satisfies my ideal of what a hero should be, down into the Inferno -of the slums I go to seek him or her. It is no difficult search; they -are to hand, and I know where to light on them. The faces of my heroes -may be old and wrinkled, their arms may be skinny, and their bodies -enfeebled; they may be racked with perpetual pain, and live in dire but -reticent poverty; they may be working endless hours for three halfpence -per hour, or lie waiting and hoping for death; they may be male or they -may be female, for heroes are of no sex; but for examples of high moral -courage--a courage that bids them suffer and be strong--come with me to -the slums of London and see. - -And how splendidly some of our poor widows' boys rise to their duties! -What pluck, endurance, and enterprise they exhibit! Hundreds of such -boys, winter and summer alike, rise about half-past four, are at the -local dairy at five; they help to push milk-barrows till eight; and with -a piece of bread and margarine off they go to school. After school-hours -they are at the dairy again, washing the churns and milk-cans. -Sharp-witted lads, too. They know how to watch their milk on a dark -morning, and how to give evidence, too, when a thief is brought up. For -supreme confidence in himself and an utter lack of self-consciousness or -nervousness, commend me to these boys. They fear neither police nor -magistrate. They are as fearless as they are natural; for adversity and -hard work give them some compensation. But their dangers and temptations -are many. So I love to think of the lads who have stood the test and -have not yielded. I love to think of the gladness of the widow's heart -and her pride in the growing manliness of her boy--"So like his father." - -I was visiting in the heart of Alsatia, and sat beside the bed of a -dying youth whose twenty-first birthday had not arrived--which never did -arrive. It was but a poor room, not over-clean. From the next room came -the sound of a sewing-machine driven furiously, for a widow by its aid -was seeking the salvation of herself and children. She was the landlady, -and "let off" the upper part of the house. The dying youth was not her -son; he belonged to the people upstairs. But the people upstairs were -not of much account, for they spent their time largely away from home, -and had scant care for their dying son; so the widow had brought his -pallet-bed into the little room on the ground-floor wherein I sat, "that -I might have an eye on him." There must have been some sterling -qualities in the woman, though she was not much to look upon, was poorly -clad, and wore a coarse apron over the front of her dress. Her hands -were marked with toil and discoloured by leather, for she machined the -uppers of women's and children's boots, and the smell of the leather was -upon her; but she had a big heart, and though every time "she had an eye -on him" meant ceasing her work and prolonging her labour, she could not -keep away from him for long periods. But, my! how she did make that -machine fly when she got back to it! Blessings on her motherly heart! -There was no furniture in the room saving the little box and the chair I -occupied. The ceiling was frightfully discoloured, and the walls had -not been cleaned for many a day. But a number of oil-paintings without -frames were tacked on the walls, and these attracted my attention. Some -were very crude, and others seemed to me to be good, so I examined them. -They bore no name, but evidently they had been done by the same hand. -Each picture bore a date, and by comparing them I could mark the -progress of the artist. As I stood looking at them, forgetful of the -dying youth below me, I said, half to myself: "I wonder who painted -these." An unexpected and weak reply came from the bed: "The landlady's -son." My interest was increased. "How old is he?" "About twenty." "What -does he do?" "He works at a boot factory"; adding painfully: "He went -back to work after having his dinner just before you came in." "Why," I -said, after again examining the dates on the pictures, "he has been -painting pictures for six years." "Yes. He goes to a school of art now -after he has done his work." The youth began to cough, so I raised him -up a little; but the landlady had heard him, and almost forestalled me. -This gave me the opportunity I wanted, for when the youth was easier, I -said to her: "You have an artist son, I see," pointing to the pictures. -"Yes," she said; "his father did a bit." "How long has he been dead?" -"Over seven years. I was left with four of them. My eldest is the -painter." "What was your husband?" "A shoemaker." "How long have you -lived here?" "Ever since I was married; I have kept the house on since -his death." "Any other of your children paint?" "The youngest boy does -a bit, but he is only thirteen." "Have you any framed pictures?" "No; we -cannot afford frames, but we shall, after a time, when he gets more -money and the other boy goes out to work." "You are very good to this -poor youth." "Well, I'm a mother. I must be good to him. I wish that I -could do more for him." I never saw the consumptive lad again, for he -died from hæmorrhage the next day. - -Some years afterwards I thought of the widow and her artist son, and -being in the neighbourhood, I called at the house. She was still there, -still making the machine fly. I inquired after her painter son. "Oh, he -is married, and has two children; he lives just opposite." "What is he -doing now?" "He has some machines, and works at home; his wife is a -machinist too. They have three girls working for them." "I will step -across and see him." "But you won't find him in: he goes out painting -every day when it is fine." "Where has he gone to-day?" "Somewhere up -the river." "How can he do machining if he goes out painting every day?" -"He begins to work at five o'clock and goes on till nine o'clock, then -cleans himself and goes off; he works again at night for four or five -hours. His wife and the girls work in the daytime. His wife is a rare -help to him; they are doing all right." "I suppose he has some framed -pictures now?" "Yes, lots of them; but you come in and look at the room -the poor lad died in." I went in, and truly there had been a -transformation. The ceiling was spotless, the walls were nicely -coloured, the room was simply but nicely furnished, and there were some -unframed pictures on the wall, but not those I had previously seen. "My -youngest son has this room now; those pictures are his." - -"What does he work at?" "Boots." "Does he go to a school of art?" "Every -night it is open." I bade the worthy woman good-day, telling her how I -admired the pluck, perseverance, and talent of her boys, also adding -that I felt sure that she had a great deal to do with it and their -success. "Well," she said, "I have done my best for them, but they have -been good lads." Done her best for them, and a splendid best it was! Who -else could have done so much for them? Not all the rich patrons the -world could furnish combined could have done one-half for them that the -brave, kindly, simple boot-machining mother had done for them. She was -better than a hero; she was a true mother. She did her best! - -But her sons were heroes indeed; they were made of the right material. -Birth had done something for them, although their parents were poor, and -one departed early, leaving them to the mother, themselves, the slums, -and the world. When I can see growing youths, surrounded by sordid -misery and rampant vice, working on in poverty, withstanding every -temptation to self-indulgence, framing no pictures till they can pay for -them, whose artistic souls do not lead them to despise honest labour, -whose poetic temperaments do not lead them to idleness and debt, when -they are not ashamed of their boot-machining mother, I recognize them as -heroes, and I don't care a rap whether they become great artists or not. -They are men, and brave men, too. I can imagine someone saying: "He -ought not to have married; he should have studied in Paris. Probably the -world has lost a great artist." Perhaps it has, but it kept the man, and -we have not too many of that stamp. Perhaps, after all, he did the right -thing, for he got a good helpmate, and one who helped him to paint. - -Genius is not so rare in the slums as superior people suppose, for one -of our great artists, but lately dead, whose work all civilized -countries delight to honour, played in a gutter of the near -neighbourhood where the widow machinist lived, and climbed a lamp-post -that he might get a furtive look into a school of art; and he, too, -married a poor woman. - - -A "FOSTER-MOTHER." - -And what wonderful women many of our London girls are! I often think of -them as I have seen them in our slums, sometimes a little bit untidy and -not over-clean; but what splendid qualities they have! - -They know their way about, nor are they afraid of work. Time and again I -have seen them struggling under the weight of babies almost as big as -themselves. I have watched them hand those babies to other girls whilst -they had their game of hop-scotch; and when those babies have showed any -sign of discontent, I have seen the deputy-mother take the child again -into her arms, and press it to her breast, and soothe it with all the -naturalness of a real mother. - -And when the mothers of those girls die, and a family of young children -is left behind, what then? Why, then they become real deputy-mothers, -and splendidly rise to their position. - -Brave little women! How my heart has gone out to them as I have seen -them trying to discharge their onerous duties! I have seen a few years -roll slowly by, and watched the deputy-mother arrive at budding -womanhood, and then I have seen disaster again overtake her in the death -of her father, leaving her in sole charge. - -Such was the case with a poor girl that I knew well, though there was -nothing of the slum-girl about Hettie Vizer. Born in the slums, she was -a natural lady, refined and delicate, with bright dark eyes. She was a -lily, but, alas! a lily reared under the shade of the deadly upas-tree. -When Hettie was fifteen her mother, after a lingering illness, died of -consumption, and Hettie was left to "mother" five younger than herself. -Bravely she did it, for she became a real mother to the children, and a -companion to her father. - -In Hoxton the houses are but small and the rooms but tiny; the air -cannot be considered invigorating; so Hettie stood no chance from the -first, and at a very early age she knew that the fell destroyer, -Consumption, had marked her for his prey. - -Weak, and suffering undauntedly, she went on with her task until her -father's dead body lay in their little home, and then she became both -father and mother to the family. Who can tell the story of her brave -life? The six children kept together; several of them went out to work, -and brought week by week their slender earnings to swell the meagre -exchequer. Who can tell the anxiety that came upon Hettie in the -expenditure of that money, while consumption increased its hold upon -her? - -Thank God the Home Workers' Aid Association was able, in some degree, to -cheer and sustain her. Several times she went to the home by the sea, -where the breath of God gave her some little renewal of life. - -But the sorrowful day was only deferred; it could not be prevented. At -length she took to her bed, and household duties claimed her no more. A -few days before her death I sat by her bedside, and I found that the -King of Terrors had no terror for her. She was calm and fearless. To her -brothers and sisters she talked about her approaching end, and made some -suggestions for her funeral, and then, almost within sound of the -Christmas bells, only twenty-one years of age, she passed "that bourne -whence no traveller returns," and her heroic soul entered into its -well-earned rest. And the five are left alone. Nay, not alone, for -surely she will be with them still, and that to bless them. If not, her -memory will be sanctified to them, and the sorrows and struggles they -have endured together will not be without their compensations. "From -every tear that sorrowing mortals shed o'er such young graves, some good -is born, some gentler nature comes, and the destroyer's path becomes a -way of life to heaven." - -It was my privilege to know her, and in my gallery of heroes she has a -foremost place. Strong men may do and dare and die. Firemen, colliers, -lifeboatmen, may risk their lives to save others; martyrs may face the -flames, and prophets may undergo persecutions. Their deeds live, and -their stories thrill us. But Hettie Vizer stands on a higher plane -still: a slum-girl, but a lady; a foster-mother, with a mother's love; a -child enduring poverty, hard work, bereavements, and burning -consumption. But, rising triumphantly over them all, she listened to the -bells of God as they rang her into that place where sorrows and sighing -are no more. - -And now her younger sister has succeeded her, for the home is still kept -together, and every week their little budget is considered, as it was -"when Hettie was alive." - - -I have elsewhere spoken of the patient courage shown by weak and elderly -women, but I must again refer to it, for in my judgment there is no -sphere of life wherein greater courage is exhibited. For it must be -borne in mind that they are not sustained by hope. It may be said that -there is a good deal of fatalism connected with their courage and -endurance, and doubtless this is true; but no one can deny their -courage, endurance, and magnificent self-reliance. I have in my mind as -I write some hundreds of women engaged in London home industries whose -lives and struggles are known to me and who compel my veneration, so -when courage is spoken of I like to think of them; for though the -circumstances under which they live and the wrong they suffer bring a -terrible indictment against us, no one can, no one shall, deny their -possession of great courage, poor, weak, and elderly though they be. - -Ay, it takes some courage to face day after day their life. I do not -think that I am short of pluck, but I am quite certain that I should -want to lie down and die were I submitted to lives such as theirs. Men -with animal courage could not endure it, and I freely grant that even -patient women ought not to endure it: perhaps, for the sake of future -generations, it might be best for them to die rather than endure it. - -But when I see them and know their circumstances, see their persistent -endurance and their indomitable perseverance, I marvel! And in spite of -the oppression they suffer I know that these women are exhibiting -qualities that the world sadly needs, and are showing a type of heroism -for which the world is bound to be ultimately the better. Poor brave old -women! how I respect you! I venerate you! for the only hope that touches -your heart is the hope that you may keep out of the workhouse, and be -buried without parochial aid. Poor brave old women! I never enter one of -your rooms without at once realizing your brave struggle for existence. -I never see you sitting at your everlasting machines without realizing -your endless toil, and I never see your Industrial Life Assurance -premium-book lying ready for the collector without realizing that the -two pennies that are ready also are sorely needed for your food. Poor -brave old souls! how many times when your tea-canister has been quite -empty, and 4.30 in the afternoon has come, and the collector has not -yet called, have you been tempted to spend those pennies and provide -yourself with a cup of tea? How many times have you picked up the -pennies? how many times have you put them down again? for your horror of -a parish funeral was too strong even for your love for a cup of tea! -Brave old women! is there a stronger, more tragical, temptation than -yours? I know of none. Esau sold his birthright for a tasty morsel, well -fed as he was; but you will not surrender your "death right"--nay, not -for a cup of tea, for you are made of better stuff than Esau. So you go -without your tea; but your burial money is not imperilled. Yes, it takes -some moral courage to resist such a temptation; but there is no glamour -about it: the world knows not of it; nevertheless, it is an act of stern -self-repression, an act of true heroism. Shame upon us that it should be -required! glory to us that it is forthcoming! What a life of heroism a -poor woman has lived for that ten, twenty, or forty years, who, in spite -of semi-starvation, has resisted the temptation to spend her burial -money! Those few pounds so hardly saved are as fragrant as the box of -costly ointment poured upon the Master's feet, and convey the same -sentiment, too, for their brave old souls respect their poor old bodies, -and against their day of burial they do it! It may be a mean ambition, -but of that I am by no means sure; still, it is better than none, for -poor, desolate, and Godforsaken must the old woman be who does not -cherish it. Poorer still will the old women be, and more desolate their -hearts, when this one ambition disappears, and they are heedless, -apathetic, and unconcerned as to how and where their poor old bodies -are buried. - -So the heroism of the slums is of the passive more than the active kind, -of the "to be and to suffer" sort rather than of the "to do and dare." -And it must needs be so, for opportunities of developing and exhibiting -the courage that needs promptitude, dash, and daring have very largely -been denied the people who live in our narrow streets. But their whole -lives, circumstances, and environments have been such that patience -under suffering, fortitude in poverty, and perseverance to the end could -not fail to be developed. In these qualities, despite all their vices -and coarseness, poor people, and especially poor women, set a splendid -example to the more favoured portions of the community. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -A PENNYWORTH OF COAL - - -It was winter-time, and the cold damp fog had fallen like a heavy cloud -on East London. The pavements were grimy and greasy; travelling, either -on foot or by conveyance, was slow and dangerous. The voices of children -were not heard in the streets, but ever and again the hoarse voice of -some bewildered driver was heard asking his way, or expostulating with -his horse. Occasionally a tell-tale cough came from some foot-passenger -of whose proximity I had been unaware, but who, like myself, was slowly -groping his way to a desired haven. - -I found my objective at last, and I entered a queer room possessing two -doors--one the ordinary street door; the other, of which the upper part -was glass, opened into an outhouse at a right angle with the house door. -This annexe had once been a greengrocer's shop, and fronted a -side-street; now it was used as a coal and coke depot, and to it -resorted the poor for their winter's supply of coal and coke. - -The proprietor was ill, had been ailing for years, and now the shadows -of eternity hovered around him. It was afternoon, and he was resting. I -sat talking with his wife, an elderly woman, who sat at a machine making -a new pair of knickers out of an old garment for a neighbour who had -many children, the while a girl waited to have a new frock made out of -an old dress that had been purchased probably at a street causeway -auction, when, "A penn'orth of coal, please, Mrs. Jenkins!" The voice -came from the coal depot. Mrs. Jenkins got up from her machine. "John, -can you come down and attend to the shop?" I heard a step on the bedroom -floor above me, and presently John, weak and gasping, descended the -stairs, passed through the little room and through the glass door, and -served the pennyworth of coal; came back, and, delivering the penny to -his wife, gasped his way upstairs again. "How much coal do you give for -a penny?" I asked Mrs. Jenkins. "Six pounds." "Why, that is above one -shilling and sixpence halfpenny per hundredweight--nearly thirty-two -shillings per ton," I said. "Yes, sir, it is dear buying it by -penn'orths, but I can't sell it any cheaper." "How much do you give for -a ton?" I asked, for I had not then been in the coal depot, or I need -not have asked. "Oh, sir, we never get a ton; I buy it by the -hundredweight from the trolly-man, and give one and fourpence the -hundredweight." "Do you get full weight from the trolly-man?" "Well, we -don't get anything over; but the London County Council has looked after -them so sharply that they dare not give us short weight now." "But there -is some dirt and slack in every sack you buy." "Yes, but I burn that -myself with a bit of coke." She then continued: "I wish the poor people -would always buy fourteen pounds." "Why?" "Well, it would be better for -them, you see; we only charge them twopence farthing for fourteen -pounds, so it comes cheaper to them." "Yes," I said, "they would save -one halfpenny when they had bought eight lots of coal." "Yes, sir. I -make just twopence on a hundredweight when they buy it like that." "No," -I said, "you don't, for you cannot make eight complete lots out of one -sack." - - -"Fourteen pounds of coal, please, Mrs. Jenkins!" Again a voice came from -the depot. "John! John!" Again John came wearily downstairs to weigh the -coal. He returned with twopence halfpenny, which he handed to his wife, -and said: "A farthing change." - -Mrs. Jenkins searched her small pile of coppers, but failed to find a -farthing. "Is it Mrs. Brown?" she asked her husband. "Yes," was the -reply. "Oh, then give her the halfpenny back, and tell her to owe me the -farthing." John went into the shop, taking the halfpenny with him, and I -heard a discussion going on, after which John returned with the coin, -and said: "She won't take it." But Mrs. Brown followed him into the room -with her fourteen pounds of coal in a small basket. "No, Mrs. Jenkins, I -can't take it; I owe you two farthings now. If you keep the ha'penny I -shall only owe you one, and I'll try and pay that off next time." "Never -mind what you owe me, Mrs. Brown; you take the ha'penny. You have little -children, and have no husband to work for you like I have," was Mrs. -Jenkins's reply. But Mrs. Brown was not to be put down, so after a -protracted discussion the halfpenny remained in the possession of Mrs. -Jenkins, and poor feeble John retired to rest. - -I sat wondering at it all, quite lost in thought. Presently Mrs. Jenkins -said: "I wish Mrs. Brown had taken that ha'penny." "Why?" I said. "Well, -you see, she has little children who have no father, and they are so -badly off." "But you are badly off, too. Your husband is ill, and ought -to be in the hospital; he is not fit to be about." "I rest him all I -can, but this afternoon I have these knickers and frock to make; that -work pays better than coal when I can get it." "How much rent do you -pay?" "Fifteen shillings and sixpence a week, but I let off seven and -sixpence, so my rent comes to eight shillings." "But you lose your -tenant sometimes, and the rooms are empty?" "Yes." "And sometimes you -get a tenant that does not pay up?" "Yes." "And sometimes you allow poor -women to have coal on credit, and you lose in that way?" "Yes," she -said, and added slowly: "I wish I could have all that is owing to me." -"Show me some of your debts." We went into the coal depot. "I have had -to stop that woman," she said, pointing to a name and a lot of figures -chalked up on a board. She owes me one and elevenpence farthing." I -reckoned up the account. "Quite correct," I said. - -"She had sixteen lots of coal for one and elevenpence farthing; she -can't pay me at all now, she is so far behind. I ought to have stopped -her before, but I did not like to be hard on her." Several other -"chalked up" accounts confronted me--one for sixpence, another for -ninepence--but that one and elevenpence farthing was the heaviest -account. It was too pitiful; I could inquire no further. - -The difficulty of obtaining even minute quantities of coal constitutes -one of the great anxieties of the very poor, and exposes them to -unimaginable suffering and hardship. - -To poor old women with chilly bones and thin blood, who especially need -the glow and warmth of a substantial fire, the lack of coal constitutes -almost, and in many cases quite, tragedy. - -The poorest class of home-workers, who require warmth if their fingers -are to be nimble and their boxes or bags are to be dried, must have some -sort of a fire, even if it be obtained at the expense of food. Small -wonder, then, that their windows are seldom opened, for the heat of the -room must not be dissipated; they must be thrifty in that respect. -During the winter, generally in January, I set out on a tour of -discovery, my object being to find out old widows who manage to keep -themselves without parish relief, and get their little living by making -common articles for everyday use. Formerly I experienced great -difficulty in finding the brave old things; I have no difficulty now, -for at a day's notice I can assemble five hundred self-supporting widows -to whom a single hundredweight of coal would loom so large that it would -appear a veritable coal-mine. - -So I ask my readers to accompany me on one of these expeditions--in -imagination, of course. Come, then, through this side-door, for it -stands open, though not invitingly so, for the stairs are uncarpeted and -dirty and the walls are crumbling and foul. - -We pass the room on the ground-floor, and observe that it is half -workshop and half retail-shop, for old furniture is renovated and placed -in the shop-window for sale. Up one flight of unwashed stairs and past -another workshop--this time a printer's. Up again! The stairs are still -narrow, and the walls are still crumbling, the stairs still unwashed. We -pass another workshop, mount more stairs, and then we come to a small -landing and some narrow, very narrow, stairs that are scrupulously -clean, though innocent of carpet or linoleum. - -We are now at the very top of the house and in semi-darkness, but we -discover the door of the room we are looking for. On rapping, we are -told to "Come in." It is a small attic, just large enough to contain a -bed, a table, and a small chest of drawers. - -She sat at the table underneath the dormer window, and was busy at work -making paper bags: a widow alone in the world, seventy-eight years of -age, who had never received one penny from the parish in her life. Take -notice of the little bedroom grate. It is a very small one, but you -notice it is made much smaller by two pieces of brick being placed in -it, one on each side, and between them a very small fire is burning, or -trying to burn. She tells us that she gets fivepence per thousand for -her paper bags, and that she buys her own paste; that she works for her -landlord, who stops her rent every week out of her earnings. She buys -her coal by the quarter of a hundredweight, which costs her fivepence; -she does not buy pennyworths. Sometimes the men below give her bits of -wood, and the printer lets her have scraps of cardboard. She can't do -with less than two quarters in the week, it is so cold, but she manages -with a bit less in the summer-time. So the brave old woman gabbles on, -telling us all we want to know. I produce some warm clothing, and her -old eyes glisten; I give her a whole pound of tea in a nice canister, -and I think I see tears; but I take her old skinny hand, all covered -with paste, and say: "You must buy a whole hundredweight of good coal -with that, or give it back to me; you must not use it for anything -else." Ah, this was indeed too much for her, and she burst out -hysterically: "Oh, don't mock me--a hundredweight of coal! I'll soon -have those bricks out." - -Come with me into another street. We have no stairs to climb this time, -for the house consists of but two stories, and contains but four small -rooms. We enter the front room on the ground-floor, and find three old -women at work. There being no room or accommodation for us to sit, we -stand just inside and watch them as they work. Two are widows bordering -on seventy years of age; the other is a spinster of like years. One sits -at a machine sewing trousers, of which there is a pile waiting near her. -As soon as she has completed her portion of work she passes the trousers -on to the other widow, who finishes them--that is, she puts on the -buttons, sewing the hem round the bottom of the trousers, and does all -the little jobs that must needs be done by hand. When her part of the -work is completed, she passes the trousers on to the spinster, who has -the heaviest part of the task, for she is the "presser," and manipulates -the hot and heavy iron that plays such an important part in the work. -Each of them occupies one of the four rooms in the house, but for -working purposes they collaborate and use the widow machinist's room; -for collaboration increases their earnings and lessens their expenses, -for the one room is also used for the preparation and consumption of -food. One kettle, one teapot, and one frying-pan do for the three. Old -and weak as they are, they understand the value of co-operation and the -advantages to be obtained by dividing labour. But they understand -something else much better, for "one fire does for the three," and the -fire that heats the iron warms the room for three, and boils the kettle -for three. Talk about thrift! Was there ever seen that which could -eclipse these three old women in the art and virtue of saving? Thrift -and economy! Why, the three poor old souls fairly revelled in it. They -could give points to any of the professional teachers of thrift who know -so much about the extravagance of the poor. One gaslight served for the -three, and when a shilling was required to gently induce the automatic -gas-meter to supply them with another too brief supply of light, the -shilling came from common funds; and when the long day's work was done, -and the old widow machinist prepared to lie down in the little bed that -had been erstwhile covered with trousers, the other widow and aged -spinster went aloft to their little rooms to light their little lamps -and to count themselves happy if they possessed a bit of wood and a few -crumbs of coal wherewith to make the morning fire. If not so fortunate, -then, late and cold though the night be, they must sally forth to the -nearest general shop, and with a few hardly-earned coppers lay in a -fresh stock, and return laden with one pint of paraffin oil, one -halfpennyworth of firewood, one pennyworth of coal, and most likely with -one pennyworth of tea-dust. And in such course their lives will run till -eyesight fails or exhausted nature gives way, and then the workhouse -waits. - -It is the old widow machinist that talks to us, but she keeps on -working. Her machine whirrs and creaks and rattles, for it is an old -one, and its vital parts are none too good; and the old woman speaks to -it sometimes as if it were a sentient thing, and reproves it when a -difficulty arises. In her conversation with us frequent interjections -are interposed that sometimes appeared uncomplimentary to us: "Now, -stupid!" "Ah! there you are at it again!" But when she explained that -she was referring to her machine and not to us, we forgave her. - -"I have had this machine for twenty-one years, and it has been a good -one. I bought it out of my husband's club and insurance money." "How -much did you have altogether?" "Twenty pounds, and I paid for his -funeral and bought my mourning and this machine, and it's been a friend -to me ever since, so I can't help talking to it; but it wants a new -shuttle." "How much will that cost?" "Five shillings!" "Let me buy one -for you." "I don't want to part with the old one yet. It will perhaps -last my time, for I want a new shuttle, too. We are both nearly worn -out;" and the machinist kept on with her work, and the other widow with -her finishing, and the aged spinster with her pressing. - -Oh, brave old women! We are lost in wonder and veneration. Utilitarians -and the apostles of thrift tell us that the poor are demoralized by -"charity," and of a surety indiscriminate giving without knowledge and -personal service is often ill bestowed. But in the presence of three old -women possessed of heroic souls, living as they lived, working as they -worked, who cares for utilitarianism or political economy either? A fig -for the pair of them! - -"But," say our teachers, "you are in reality subsidizing their -employers, who exploit them and pay them insufficiently." Another -self-appointed teacher says: "Ah! but you are only helping them to pay -exorbitant rents; the landlord will profit." Who cares? Others, in very -comfortable circumstances, who themselves are by no means averse to -receiving gifts, say: "Don't destroy the independence of the poor." -Wisdom, prudence, political economy, go, hang yourselves! we cry. Our -love is appealed to, our hearts are touched, our veneration is kindled, -and we must needs do something, though the landlord may profit, though -the employer may be subsidized--nay, though we run the terrible risk of -tarnishing the glorious privilege and record of these independent old -women--a record nearly completed. Help them we must, and we bid defiance -to consequences. So we find the "trolly-man," and three separate bags of -good coal are borne into three separate rooms. A whole hundredweight for -each woman! Where could they put it all? What an orgie of fire they -would have! Would the methodical thrift of the old women give way in the -face of such a temptation? - -We don't care: we have become hardened; and we even promise ourselves -that other bags of coal shall follow. Then we examine their tea-caddies, -and throw this tea-dust on the fire--a fitting death for it, too--and -further demoralize the ancient three with the gift of a pound of good -tea, each in a nice cannister, too. A hundredweight of coal and a pound -of tea! Why, the teapot will be always in use till the pound is gone. -The poor drink too much tea. Perhaps so; but what are the poor to drink? -They have neither time, inclination, nor money for the public-house. -Coffee is dear if it is to be good. Cocoa is thick and sickly. Water! -Their water!--ugh! At present poor old women have the choice of tea or -nothing. Then leave them, we beseech you, their teapot, but let us see -to it that they have some decent tea. So, with five shillings in silver -for each of them, we leave the dauntless three to their fire, their -teapots, and wonder, and go into the streets with the feeling that -something is wrong somewhere, but what it is and how to right it we know -not. - -I could, were it necessary, multiply experiences similar to the above, -but they would only serve to prove, what I have already made apparent, -that the worries and sufferings of the very poor are greatly aggravated -by their inability to procure a reasonable supply of coal. Slate-clubs, -men's meetings, and brotherhoods have of late years done much to secure -artisans and working men who are earning decent wages a supply of good -coal all the year round. Weekly payments of one shilling and upwards -enable them to lay in a store when coal is cheap--if it is ever -cheap--or to have an arrangement with the coal merchant for the delivery -of a specified amount every week. People possessed of commodious -coal-cellars may buy largely when coal prices are at their lowest; but -the poor--the very poor--can neither buy nor store, for they have -neither storehouses nor barns. Even if they could, by the exercise of -great self-denial, manage to pay a sum of sixpence per week into a local -coal-club, they have nowhere to put the supply when sent home to them. -They must needs buy in very small quantities only. The advantages of -co-operation are not for them, but are reserved for those that are -better off. One scriptural injunction, at any rate, the community holds -with grim tenacity: "To him that hath it shall be given." - -Yet I have seen attempts at co-operation among the poorest, for one -Christmas-time, when the weather was terribly severe, and when, as -becomes a Christian country, the one great necessity of life among the -poor was put up to a fabulous price, I knew four families living in one -house to contribute threepence per family wherewith to purchase -fifty-six pounds of coal that they might have extra fire at that happy -season. Some of the very poor buy pennyworths of coke to mix with their -coal, but though coke seems cheaper, it only flatters to deceive, for it -demands greater draught, and it must be consumed in larger quantities. -If for economy's sake a good draught and a generous supply be denied, it -sullenly refuses to burn at all, and gives off fumes that might almost -challenge those of a motor-car. The lives of many young children have -been sacrificed by attempts to burn coke in small rooms where the -draught necessary for good combustion has not existed. Certainly coke is -no friend to the very poor. There are still meaner purchases of firing -material than pennyworths of coal or pennyworths of coke, for -halfpennyworths of cinders are by no means uncommon. A widow of my -acquaintance who had several young children startled me one day when I -was in her room by calling out, "Johnny, take the bucket and run for a -ha'porth of cinders and a farthing bundle of wood." The farthing bundle -of firewood I knew of old--and a fraudulent fellow I knew him to be, -made up especially for widows and the unthrifty poor--but the -halfpennyworth of cinders was a new item to me. I felt interested, and -decided to remain till Johnny returned. He was not long away, for it was -the dinner-hour, and the boy had to get back to school. He was but a -little fellow, and by no means strong, yet he carried the bucket of -cinders and firewood easily enough. When the boy had gone to school the -widow turned to me as if apologizing for wasting three farthings. "I -must have some fire for the children when they come in." "Aren't you -going to make the fire up for yourself? It will soon be out, and it is -very cold to-day." "No; I am going to work hard, and the time soon goes. -I shall light it again at half-past four," said the unthrifty widow. -Meanwhile I had inspected the cinders, which I found to be more than -half dirt, fit only for a dust-destructor, but certainly not fit to burn -in a living-room. "Do you buy cinders by weight or measure?" "I think he -measures them." "How much have you got here?" "Two quarts." "Do you see -that quite half is dirt?" "They are dirty. I expect he has nearly sold -out. When he has a fresh lot we get better cinders, for the small and -the dirt get left till the last." "I suppose he will not have a fresh -supply in till he has cleared the last?" "No; he likes to sell out -first. One day when I complained about them he said: 'Ah! they are -pretty bad. Never mind! the more you buy, the sooner they'll be gone; -then we'll have a better lot.'" "How many fires will your cinders make?" -"Two, if I put a bit of coal with them." "Do you ever buy a -hundredweight of coal?" "Not since my husband died. I try to buy a -quarter twice a week." "How much do you give for a quarter?" -"Five-pence." "How many fires can you light with your farthing bundle of -wood?" "Two, if I don't use some of it to make the kettle boil." "How -much rent do you pay?" "Five shillings for two rooms." - -Poor widow! Because ye have not, even the little that ye have is of a -truth taken from you. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -OLD BOOTS AND SHOES - - -One hundred pairs of old boots and shoes that have been cast off by the -very poor present a deplorable sight--a sight that sets one thinking. -Many times I have regretted that I did not call in a photographer before -they were hurried off to the local dust-destructor. What a tale they -told! or rather what a series of tragedies they revealed! There was a -deeply pathetic look about every pair: they looked so woefully, so -reproachfully, at me as I contemplated them. They seemed to voice not -only their own sufferings, but also the wrongs and privations of the -hundred poor widows who had discarded them; for these widows, poor as -they were, had cast them off. The boots and shoes seemed to know all -about it, and to resent the slight inflicted on them; henceforth even -the shambling feet of poor old women were to know them no more. They had -not a coy look among them; not an atom of sauciness or independence -could I discover; but, crushed and battered, meek and humiliated, they -lay side by side, knowing their days were over, and pitifully asking for -prompt dissolution. What a mixed lot they were! No two pairs alike. -Some of the couples were not pairs, for a freak of fortune had united -odd boots in the bond of sufferings and the gall of poverty. Many of -them had come down in life; they had seen better days. Well-dressed -women had at some time stepped daintily in them, but that was when the -sheen of newness was upon them and the days of their youth were not -ended. In those days the poor old boots were familiar with parks, -squares, and gardens, and well-kept streets of the West; but latterly -they have only been too familiar with the slums and the grime of the -East. How I wished they could speak and tell of the past! How came it -about that, after such a splendid beginning, they had come to such a -deplorable end? Had the West End lady died? Had her wardrobe been sold -to a dealer? What had been the intermediate life of the boots before -they were placed, patched and cobbled, in the dirty window of a fusty -little second-hand shop in Hoxton? I know the widow that bought them and -something of her life; I can appreciate the effort she made to get -possession of them. She paid two shillings and sixpence for them, but -not all at once--oh dear, no! Week by week she carried threepence to the -man who kept the fusty little shop. He cheerfully received her payments -on account, meanwhile, of course, retaining possession of the coveted -boots. It took her four months to pay for them, for her payments had not -been quite regular. What would have become of the payments made if the -widow had died before the completion of purchase, I need not say, but I -am quite sure the boots would have speedily reappeared in the shop -window. But, after all, I am not sure that the old cobbler was any worse -in his dealings with the poor than more respectable people are; for -pawnbroking, money-lending, life assurance, and furniture on the hire -system among the poor are founded on exactly the same principles. How -much property has been lost, how many policies have been forfeited, -because poor people have been unable to keep up their payments, we do -not know; if we did, I am quite sure that it would prove a revelation. -In this respect the thriftiness of the poor is other people's gain. - -It was a triumph of pluck and grit, for at the end of four long months -the widow received her cobbled boots. Her half-crown had been completed. -"I had them two years; they lasted me well--ever so much better than a -cheap new pair," the widow told me; nevertheless, she was glad to leave -them behind and go home with her feet shod resplendently in a new pair -of seven-and-elevenpenny. She might venture to lift the front of her old -dress now as she crossed the street, and I am sure that she did not -forget to do it, for she was still a woman, in spite of all, and had -some of that quality left severe people call vanity, but which I like to -think of as self-respect. - -"How is it," I was asked by a critical lady, "that your poor women let -their dresses drag on the pavement and crossings? I never see any of -them lift their dresses behind or in front. They must get very dirty and -insanitary." "My dear madam," I replied, "they dare not, for neither -their insteps nor their heels are presentable; but give them some new -boots, and they will lift their dresses often enough and high enough." - -There was another pair, too, that had come down, and they invited -speculative thought. They were not born in the slums or fitted for the -slums, but they came into a poor widow's possession nevertheless. They -had not been patched or cobbled, and just enough of their former glory -remained to allow of judgment being passed upon them. They had been -purchased at a "jumble sale" for threepence, and were dear at the price. -The feet that had originally worn them had doubtless trodden upon -carpet, and rested luxuriantly upon expensive hearthrugs. They were -shoes, if you please, with three straps across the insteps, high, -fashionable heels, buckles and bows in front. But their high heels had -disappeared, the buckles had long since departed, the instep straps were -broken and dilapidated, the pointed toes were open, and the heels were -worn down. When completely worn out and unmendable, some lady had sent -them to a local clergyman for the benefit of the poor. I gazed on them, -and then quite understood, not for the first time, that there is a kind -of charity that demoralizes the poor, but it is a charity that is not -once blessed. - -Here was an old pair of "Plimsolls," whose rubber soles had long ago -departed; there a pair of shoes that had done duty at the seaside, whose -tops had originally been brown canvas, and whose soles had been -presumably leather; here a pair of "lace-ups"; there a pair of -"buttons"--but the lace-holes were all broken, and buttons were not to -be seen. - -But whatever their style and make had been, and whoever might have been -their original wearers, they had now one common characteristic--that of -utter and complete uselessness. I ought to have been disgusted with the -old rubbish, but somehow the old things appealed to me, though they -seemed to reproach me, and lay their social death to my charge and their -present neglect to my interference. But gladness was mixed with pathos, -for I knew that a hundred widows had gone to their homes decently booted -on a dismal Christmas Eve. - -But now, leaving the old boots to the fate that awaited them, I will -tell of the women who had so recently possessed them. - -It had long been a marvel to me how the very poor obtained boots of any -sort and kind. I had learned so much of their lives and of their ways -and means that I realized boots and shoes for elderly widows or young -widows with children must be a serious matter. Accordingly, at this -particular Christmas I issued, on behalf of the Home Workers' Aid -Association, invitations to one hundred widows to my house, where each -widow was to receive a new pair of boots and Christmas fare. They came, -all of them, and as we kept open house all day, I had plenty of time to -converse with them individually. I learned something that day, so I want -to place faithfully before my readers some of the things that happened -and some of the stories that were told. - -One of the first to arrive was an elderly widow, accompanied by her -epileptic daughter, aged thirty. I looked askance at the daughter, and -said to the widow: "I did not invite your daughter." "No, sir; but I -thought you would not mind her coming." "But I do mind, for if every -widow brings a grown-up daughter to-day I shall have two hundred women -instead of one hundred." "I am very sorry, sir; but I could not come -without her." They sat down to some food, and my wife looked up a few -things for the daughter. "Now for the boots," I said. "Of course, we -cannot give your daughter a pair." "No," said the widow; "we only want -one pair." I knew what was coming, for I had taken stock of the -daughter, who was much bigger than her mother. "What size do you take?" -"Please, sir, can my daughter try them on?" "No; the boots are for you." -"Oh yes, sir, they will be my boots, but please let my daughter try them -on." It was too palpable, so I said: "Your daughter has bigger feet than -you have." "Yes, sir." "And you want a pair that will fit either of -you?" "Yes, sir." "Then when you go out you will wear them?" "Oh yes, -sir." "And when your daughter goes out, she will wear them--in fact, you -want a pair between you?" "Yes, sir," the reply came eagerly from both. -"Well, put your right feet forward." They did, and there was no doubt -about it: mother and daughter both stood sadly in need, though they -scarcely stood in boots; no doubt, either, as to the relative sizes. The -daughter required "nines" and the mother "fives." I gave them a note to -a local shopkeeper, where the daughter was duly fitted, so they went -away happy, because they jointly possessed a new pair of -"seven-and-elevenpenny's." But whether the widow ever wore them, I am -more than doubtful. It is the self-denial of the very poor that touches -me. It is so wonderful, so common, perhaps, that we do not notice it. It -is so unobtrusive and so genuine. We never find poor widows jingling -money-boxes in the streets and demanding public contributions because it -is their "self-denial week." Their self-denial lasts through life, but -the public are not informed of it. I fancy that I should have had an -impossible task if I had asked, or tried to persuade, the widow to go -into the streets and solicit help because she had denied herself a pair -of boots for the sake of her afflicted daughter. Oh, it is very -beautiful, but, alas! it is very sad. The poor couple worked at home in -their one room when they had work to do and when the daughter's fits did -not prevent. They made "ladies' belts," and starved at the occupation. - -Another widow had four young children; her feet were partly encased in a -flimsy pair of broken patent slippers. She, too, had her note to the -shoemaker's. - -A deep snow fell during the night, and on the morning of Boxing Day it -lay six inches deep. I thought of the widows and their sound boots, and -felt comforted; but my complacency soon vanished. I was out early in the -streets, warmly clad, spurning the snow--in fact, rather enjoying -it--and thinking, as I have said, with some pleasure of the widows and -their boots, when I met the widow who has four young children. She was -for hurrying past me, but I stopped her and spoke. "A bitter morning, -this." "Yes, sir; is it not a deep snow?" "I am so glad you have sound -boots. You had them just in time. Your old slippers would not have been -of much use a morning like this." "No, sir." "Did you get what suited -you?" "Yes, sir." "Fit you all right?" "Yes, sir." "Did you have buttons -or lace-up?" "Lace-up, sir." "That's right. Lift up the front of your -dress. I want to see whether the shopman has given you a good pair." She -began to cry, and, to my astonishment, the old broken patent slippers -were revealed, half buried in the snow. "Don't be cross," she burst out. -"I did not mean to deceive you. I got two pairs for the children: they -wanted them worse than I do." - -I learned afterwards from the shopman that she added a shilling to the -cost of a pair for herself, and the shopman, being kind-hearted, gave -her another shilling, so she went home with her two pairs of strong -boots for her boys. Of course, I told her that she had done wrong--I -even professed to be angry; but I think she saw through my pretence. -What can be done for, or with, such women? How can anyone help them when -they are so deceitful? However, I forgave her, and confirmed her in her -wickedness by next day sending the shop assistant to her home with -several pairs of women's boots that she might select a pair for herself. -That kind of deceit has an attraction for me. - -"How long have you been a widow?" I asked one of the women. "Twelve -years, sir." "How long is it since you had a new pair of boots?" "Not -since my husband's funeral, sir." Twelve long years since she felt the -glow of satisfaction that comes from the feeling of being well shod; -twelve years since she listened to the ringing sound of a firm heel in -brisk contact with the pavement; twelve years she had gone with that -muffled, almost noiseless sound so peculiar to poor women, telling as it -does of old slippers or of boots worn to the uppers! What a pity, when -so many shoemakers are seeking customers! There is a tremendous moral -force in a new pair of boots that possess good firm heels. Everybody -that hears them knows instinctively what the sound means, and the -neighbours say: "Mrs. Jones is getting on a bit: she is wearing a new -pair of boots. Didn't you hear them?" - -Hear them! Of course they had heard them, and had been jealous of them, -too; but that kind of music is not heard every day among London's very -poor, and for a time Mrs. Jones was on a higher plane than her -neighbours; but by-and-by she comes back to them, for the heels wear -away, and she has no others to put on whilst they are repaired, so -gradually they slip down to the chronic condition of poor women's boots; -then Mrs. Jones's ringing footsteps are heard no more. - -My shopman told me that he had been in a difficulty; he could not find a -pair of boots large enough for one young widow. He searched his store, -and found a pair--size eleven--that he had had by him for some years; -but, alas! size eleven was not big enough. He offered to procure a last -of sufficient proportion and make a pair of boots for her, kindly saying -that he would not charge anything extra for size. I told him to get a -proper last made for the young woman, who took "twelves." This he did, -so now a poor blouse-maker, who keeps an aged and invalid mother, has -her boots made to order, and built upon her own "special last." When I -had made this arrangement, I was puzzled to know in what way she had -previously obtained boots, so I asked him: "What boots was she wearing -when she came to your shop?" He laughed, and said: "A very old pair of -men's tennis-shoes--of large size, too." I had known her for many years, -and had admired her cleanliness and neatness. I had known, too, how -miserable her earnings were, and how many demands her aged mother made -upon her. She was upright in carriage, and of good appearance; -self-respecting, and eminently respectable, she carried her secret -nobly, though the dual burden of size twelves and men's tennis-shoes -must have been very trying. I told her of our arrangement about the -last, but, of course, made no reference to the dimensions of her feet; -but I often wonder how she felt when she put on her new boots. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -JONATHAN PINCHBECK, THE SLUM AUTOLYCUS - - -It was application time in a London police-court. All sorts of people, -with all sorts of difficulties, had stepped, one after another, into the -witness-box, and had put all sorts of questions to the patient -magistrate. They had gone away more or less satisfied with the various -answers the experience of the magistrate suggested, when, last of all, -there stepped in front of him a quaint-looking elderly man. Below the -average size, with a body somewhat bent, grey hair, and a bristly white -moustache, together with a complexion of almost terra-cotta hue, he was -bound to attract attention. When looked at more closely, other -characteristics could be noted: his lips were full and tremulous, his -eyes were strained, and there was a look of pathetic expectancy over his -face. - -He handed a paper to the magistrate, and said: "Read that, your -Worship." His Worship read it. It was an order from the relieving -officer to the manager of the "stone-yard" for Jonathan Pinchbeck to be -given two days' work. "Jonathan Pinchbeck! is that your name?" said the -magistrate, looking at the quaint old man. "Yes, that's me." "Well, -what do you want? Why don't you go and do the work?" "Well, your -Worship, it is like this: I have been to the stone-yard, and they have -got no work to give me." "Well," said the magistrate, "I am sure that I -have no stones for you to break." "But I don't want you to give me work! -I ask you for a summons against the Vestry for four shillings," he said. -"Surely they are bound to find me work or give me the money. I am out of -work, and my wife is ill." - -The magistrate told him that the matter could not be decided in a -police-court, and that he had better go to the County Court. Very -dejectedly the old man stepped down, and silently left the court. I -followed him, and had some conversation with him. He was a -dock-labourer, but had grown old, and could no longer "jostle," push, -and fight for a job at the dock gates, for younger men with broader -shoulders stepped up before him. He gave me his address, so in the -afternoon of the same day I went to Mandeville Street, Clapton Park. The -landlady told me that Pinchbeck was not at home, but that he occupied -with his wife one room "first-floor front," and that his wife was an -invalid. - -I was about to leave when a husky voice from the first-floor front, the -door of which was evidently open, called out: "Is it a gentleman to see -Jonathan? Tell him to come up." I went up. I shall not forget going up, -for I found myself in the queerest place I had visited. I was in -Wonderland. The owner of the voice that called me up, Mrs. Pinchbeck, -sat before me--huge, massive, and palpitating. She was twenty stone in -weight, but ill and suffering. Asthma, dropsy, and heart disease had -nearly done their work. It was a stifling day in July, and she drew -breath with difficulty. - -She sat on a very strongly-made wooden chair, and did not attempt to -rise when I entered the room. The chair in which she was sitting was -painted vermilion red, and studded with bright brass nails. Every chair -in the room--of which there were four--the strong kitchen table, the -strong wooden fender, and the powerful bedstead, were all vermilion red, -embellished with brass nails. One directing mind had constructed the -lot. When my surprise was lessened, I sat down on a red chair beside the -poor woman, and entered into conversation. Her replies to my questions -came with difficulty, but, despite her illness, I noticed that she was -proud of her quaint husband, and especially proud of the furniture he -had made for her, for the household goods were his workmanship. - -"He had only a saw, a hammer, and some sandpaper," she said, nodding at -the furniture, "and he made the lot." - -They were well-built, and calculated to bear even Mrs. Pinchbeck. -"Vermilion red was his favourite colour," she said, "and he thought the -bright yellow of the nails livened them up. They had been made a good -many years, but he sometimes gave them a fresh coat of paint." - -Pinchbeck and she had been married many years; they had no children. -They lived by themselves, and he was a very good husband. But there -were other wonders in the room beside the poor woman and the brilliant -furniture, and they soon claimed attention. - -In front of me stood a monumental cross some feet in height, and made -apparently of brown marble. The cross stood on three foundation steps of -brown marble, and at intervals round the body of the cross were bands of -yellow ribbon. - -She saw me looking at it. "That's all tobacco," she said; "it is made of -cigar-ends." There was a descriptive paper attached to the cross. -"Jonathan collected the cigar-ends, and he made them into that monument, -and he made the calculations in his head, and I wrote them down," she -said, referring to the paper. "He walked more than ninety thousand miles -to collect the cigar-ends," she said. I asked permission to read the -descriptive paper attached, and after permission--for I saw the whole -thing was sacred to the suffering woman--I detached it. I was lost in -interest as I read the paper, which was well written, and contained some -curious calculations. I found on inquiry that Jonathan could neither -read nor write, but he could, as she said, "calculate in his own head." - -The document consisted of a double sheet of foolscap, which was covered -on the four pages with writing and figures in a woman's hand. Briefly it -told of the great deeds of Jonathan, who, as I have previously said, was -a dock-labourer. He had lived in Clapton Park for more than thirty -years, and he had walked every day to and from the East London Docks, a -five-mile tramp every morning, and a return journey at night of equal -length. Hundreds of times his journey had been fruitless, so far as -getting a day's work was concerned; but, like an industrious bee, -Jonathan returned home every night laden with what to him was sweeter -than honey--cigar-ends that he had gathered from the pavements, gutters, -and streets he traversed and searched during his daily ten-mile tramp. -They lay before me, converted into a massive monumental cross, erected -upon three great slabs of similar material. On each side of it stood a -smaller cross, as if it were to show off the dimensions of the great -cross. The paper stated that the whole of the cigar-ends collected -weighed one hundredweight and three-quarters. It also told how far the -cigars would have reached had they been placed end to end; one cigar was -reckoned at three inches, four to a foot, twelve to a yard, and seven -thousand and forty to a mile. The paper also told how much they cost at -twopence each, how long they took to smoke at one half-hour each, also -how much duty the Government had received on each at four shillings per -pound. Thirty years of interminable tramping, with his eyes on the -ground like a sleuth-hound, had Jonathan done. Hour after hour he had -sat in his little home contemplating his collection, and making his -mental calculations while his wife wrote them down, and then in its -glory arose his great monument. - -Handing the paper to Mrs. Pinchbeck, I proceeded to examine the cross. I -felt it, and found it hard, solid, firm, and every edge square and -sharp. I wondered how he had converted such unlikely materials as -cigar-ends into such a solid piece of work. The poor woman told me that -from all the cigar-ends he brought home he trimmed off the burnt ends, -and carefully placed them in a dry place; then he made a great wooden -frame, screwed together, the inside of which represented the cross. In -this frame he arranged end-ways layer after layer of his cigar-ends, -pressing them and even hammering them in; now and again he had poured in -also a solution of treacle and water, placing more cigar-ends until it -was pressed and hammered full. Then it was left for months to slowly -dry. It was a proud day for the couple when the wooden frame was -removed, and the great triumph of Jonathan's life stood before them. - -But the tobacco cross did not by any means exhaust the wonders of the -room. All round strange things were hanging from the ceiling, threaded -on a string like girls thread beads and boys thread -horse-chestnuts--rough, flat-looking things, about the size of a plate -and of a dirty brown colour. "Whatever have you got there, hanging from -the ceiling?" I said. The answer came in a hoarse whisper: "Tops and -bottoms." Tops and bottoms! tops and bottoms! I looked at them, and -cudgelled my brains to find out what tops and bottoms were. I had to -give it up, and the hoarse whisper came again: "Tops and bottoms." There -the "tops" hung like a collection of Indian scalps, and there hung the -"bottoms" like a collection of burned pancakes. On examining one string -of them, I found attached the inevitable paper, on which was written -"1856." - -"Oh," I said, "these are the tops and bottoms of your bread. Why did -you cut your bread in that way?" "It was Jonathan's fancy," she said. It -might have been her husband's idea, but she had entered heartily into -it, for she had saved the crusts from all their loaves; she had written -the papers and particulars that were attached to them, and she was proud -of the old crusts, some of which dated from the time of the Crimean War. -I was prepared for other strange whims after my experience with the -vermilion furniture, the tobacco cross, and the "tops and bottoms," and -it was well that I was, for other revelations awaited me. I found a -great bundle of sugar papers--coarse, heavy papers, some blue, others -grey--neatly folded, tied together, and tabulated. These were the -wrappers that had contained all the sugar the worthy couple had bought -during their married life. A document attached gave particulars of their -weight, told also of how much they had been defrauded by the purchase of -paper and not sugar, told the price of sugar in various years, and the -variations of their losses. Next to these stood a pile of tea-wrappers, -tabulated and ticketed in exactly the same manner. Mr. and Mrs. -Pinchbeck had evidently a just cause of complaint against the grocers. - -I cannot possibly reveal the whole contents of the room. Had a local -auctioneer been called in to make a correct inventory, he would surely -have fled in despair. Every available square inch of the room was fully -occupied with strange objects. In one corner was a pile of nails--cut -nails and wrought nails, French nails and old "tenpenny" nails, barndoor -nails and dainty wire nails--collected from the streets during -Jonathan's long life. They told the industrial history of those years, -and spoke eloquently of the improvement that had taken place even in -nail-making. They told, too, of the poor home-workers of Cradley Heath, -and of the women and children who had made them. Beside the nails was a -heap of screws--poor old blunted rusty things, made years before Mr. -Chamberlain introduced his improved pointed screws, lying mingled with -the Screws of present use, bright, slender, and genteel. Here was a heap -of shoe-tips, some of which had done duty forty years ago in protecting -the heels and toes of cumbrous boots that had stumbled and resounded on -the cobble-stone streets of those days. They, too, had a tale to tell, -for Blakey's protectors lay there mingled with old, heavy, rusty tips -that had protected "wooden shoon" in the days of long ago. - -Decidedly, Jonathan was a modern Autolycus, a "snapper-up of -unconsidered trifles." He had almost established a corner in hairpins. -There they were, six hundred thousand of them, neatly arranged in starch -boxes, nicely oiled to prevent rust, box after box of them, every box -weighed and counted, the whole lot weighing, so the descriptive paper -says, two and a half hundredweight: hairpins from St. James's and -Piccadilly--for Jonathan, when work was scarce, had on special occasions -searched with magnetic eye the El Dorado of the West--hairpins from the -narrow streets of the East; hairpins from suburban thoroughfares; -hairpins from the pavements of the City; old, massive hairpins that -would almost have tethered a goat; demure, slender hairpins that would -nestle snugly in the hair, and adapt themselves comfortably to the head; -hairpins plain and hairpins corrugated--there they lay. - -I was lost in wonder and imagination, and forgot the nasty cigar-ends in -picturing to myself the world of beauty that had worn and the delicate -hands that had adjusted those hairpins. But the hairpins were not alone -in their glory. Hatpins claimed attention, too. Cruel, fiendish things -they looked, as they lay closely packed in several boxes, with their -beaded ends and sharp, elongated points. I turned quickly from these, -for I knew only too well the fresh terror they added to life--especially -to a policeman's life. So I proceeded to examine the next -department--"babies' comforters"--with mingled feelings: two large boxes -full of them, horrible things!--ivory rings, bone rings, rubber rings, -and vulcanite rings, with their suction tubes attached, made to deceive -infant life, and to enable English babies to feed on air. Some day a -similar collection may form a valuable addition to a museum, -illustrating the fraud practised on babies in the twentieth century. - -I forgot the presence of poor asthmatical Mrs. Pinchbeck on her red -chair, for the shelves that were fixed on the walls attracted me. These -were heavily laden with glass jars and bottles of various sizes -containing specimens of bread, sugar, tea, coffee, butter, and cheese of -varying dates. "Bread, 1856, 10d. per loaf, Crimean War." "Tea, 1856, -4s. 6d. per pound." "Sugar (brown), 1856, 6d. per pound." So ran some -of the descriptions that were attached to the various jars. But I had to -leave the examination of these till another time, when still more -wonders were revealed, of which I must tell you later. - -Bidding Mrs. Pinchbeck "Good-afternoon," and promising her another -visit, I left her, for other suffering and troubled folk needed me. -Alas! that was the only time I saw the poor woman, for not much longer -was she able to rise from her bed, and in a few weeks there was a -strange funeral, at which Jonathan was chief mourner, and he was left -alone and friendless. - -Hard times followed; old age crept on. Failing health and lack of -nourishment combined to make Jonathan of less value in the labour -market, so by-and-by he faced starvation. But by no means did he give up -collecting; his useless stores grew and grew until he had no longer room -to store them. Then he sold his pile of nails for a few shillings; his -screws and tips followed suit, and some of the fruits of his industry -vanished. - -Sad to relate, a worse fate befell his cigar-ends, and the great triumph -of his life--his "monumental cross"--brought a second great sorrow into -the poor fellow's life. It occurred to him that he might obtain money by -exhibiting his work, so he hired a barrow, and, packing his crosses on -it, went into the streets to attract attention and collect coppers. He -secured plenty of attention, especially from boys, who made a "mark" of -the old man; ribald youth scoffed at him; policemen moved him on--but -the other "coppers" came not to him. The barrow cost one shilling per -week. A crisis had arrived; he must sell his tobacco. At eleven o'clock -one night I found him at my front door. There stood the barrow and the -tobacco. He wanted my advice about selling it. It was the only thing to -do. He had received notice to leave his room, and must look for a -smaller home at a less rental. The next day slowly and reluctantly -Jonathan pushed his barrow to Shoreditch. He had found a wholesale -tobacconist who might buy his tobacco at a price. "Bring it in," he -said, "and I will look at it." Jonathan took it in. Jonathan was taken -in, too. "Leave it here till to-morrow, and I will decide," said the -merchant. It was left, and Jonathan pushed an empty barrow on the return -journey. His room seemed empty that night; his wife was dead, and now -his monumental cross was gone. The next day he visited the tobacco -merchant, and found an officer of the Inland Revenue waiting for him. -The merchant had informed. Pinchbeck's tobacco was impounded, and he -himself was threatened with proceedings for attempting to sell tobacco -without holding a licence. In vain the poor old man protested; in vain -he argued and proved that his tobacco had paid duty, and that the State -had received its dues. His tobacco was detained, and Jonathan saw it no -more. Poor old Jonathan! How he cried over it! But the next day he -turned up at the police-court and asked for a summons against the Inland -Revenue for detaining his tobacco, and here again disappointment awaited -him, for the magistrate had no jurisdiction. It was a heavy blow to him; -his heart appeared to be broken, and all interest in life seemed to -have gone. I sympathized with him, and did my best to cheer him. He -moved to a smaller home, again parting with some of his museum. For a -brief time he struggled on, but he became ill. - -For some months he lay in the workhouse infirmary, alone and unfriended, -and I thought the streets of London would know his peering eyes no more. -But there was more vitality in the old man than I expected. One cold -winter's day, when the snow was falling, I met a melancholy procession -of sandwich-men on Stamford Hill, among whom was Jonathan. The wind -buffeted him, and his hands and his face were blue with cold. "I could -not stand it any longer; I should have died if I had not come out," he -told me when I asked as to his welfare. He gave me his address, and the -quaint old man and I were again on visiting terms. Where he had bestowed -his strange collection during his sojourn in the workhouse I never -ascertained, but the bulk of it was in his new home. His things had been -taken care of, he said, but no more. "How are you going to live?" "They -allow me three shillings and sixpence from 'the house,' and I must pick -up the rest." So he proceeded to pick up, for his health improved and -his collection grew; but he did not pick up much money. The spring came, -and Jonathan grew young again. One fine morning I met him, looking quite -fresh and debonair. "Why, Jonathan," I said, "I really did not know you. -How well and fresh you look!" "Yes, bless the Lord! He gives me strength -to walk." "I wonder why He does that?" I foolishly said; but I expected -the answer I got. "To find things that nobody else would find, and to -prove that teetotallers are fools," he said. "But, Jonathan, I am a -teetotaller." "I can't help that, can I? Look here, you can tell me how -many gallons of water there is in a barrel of beer, but you can't tell -me how much paper you bought when you thought you were buying tea and -sugar." I humbly admitted my ignorance, and asked him what he was -finding. "All sorts of things. Come in and see them when you are down my -way." I went again to his "palace of varieties," and saw a cross of -about eighteen inches high, standing in a neat wooden base, which was -painted a bright vermilion, and a smaller cross made of cigarette-ends -standing beside it. Pointing to the latter, he said: "That's to lie on -my breast when I am in my coffin, and that" (the bigger one) "is to lie -on my coffin when I'm buried. I don't want any wreaths." Small chance of -wreaths at a parish funeral when this, our dear brother, is -unceremoniously committed to the earth, I thought; but he was fearful -about his tobacco. "You won't tell, will you? Don't give the show away," -he said. I advised him not to offer the tobacco for sale this time. "Not -me; I'll die first," he promptly replied. - -His cigar and cigarette ends amounted to over thirty pounds in weight, -which he had pressed into various shapes. A strange piece of -architecture, with many turrets and towers, all shining like burnished -silver, claimed attention. "What have you here?" "Five hundred empty -milk-tins. I have saved them all. They have all been full. I always use -the 'Milkmaid' brand." "I suppose you alter your plan of your building -sometimes?" "Oh yes," he said; "I make cathedrals sometimes." - -Twenty-four flat cardboard boxes, with covers on, attracted me. "What -have you got in these boxes?" "Ah! I have got something to show you," -and he proceeded to take off the lids. One look dazzled me, for never in -my life had I seen such a weird combination of brilliant colours; the -old vermilion seemed quite pale and insipid in comparison. Blues, -greens, yellows, and pinks of every shade predominated; but almost every -other colour and shade of colour was represented, and their combined -effect was stupendous. Some of the boxes were full of little cubes, -others of narrow strips; some full of flat pieces about one inch square; -others with the same substance graduated in different sizes. "All -orange-peel, Mr. Holmes, picked up in the streets; all of it would have -been wasted but for me." "But what good is it now?" I asked. He looked -sadly at me, and said: "Good, good! Why, it shows what can be done." -Whether it was worth the doing did not concern him; but my question had -offended him, so I had to make peace. Half a crown soothed his wounded -feelings. I then asked him how he did it all. "Picked 'em up, flattened -'em, cut 'em up, and coloured 'em," was all I could get out of him. "Do -you know what's in these boxes?" producing four boxes of similar -pattern, and opening them. They contained small cubes of material, and -their colours, at any rate, were of modest hue. I confessed again my -ignorance. "Taste!" I was much alarmed, but I tasted. "Potatoes?" -"Right," he said. "That's how I save all my potatoes. They do to put in -my broth." "But how do you get them all to this size and colour?" I -asked. "That's my secret," he said. I asked him if he was saving "tops -and bottoms" now. "Only the new uns; I have made use of the old uns. -I'll show you." He went on his knees, and from a store under his bed he -produced several three-pound glass jars full of some brown meal, of -varying degrees of coarseness. "All good--all good food! Microbes can't -live in bread fifty years old. These are 'tops and bottoms.'" He had -broken up his old bread, pounded it with a hammer, put the crumbs -through different sized sieves, and stored the resulting material in -glass jars. "Beats Quaker Oats, Grape Nuts, and 'Sunny Jim,'" he said. -"I can stand a siege. I just boil some water, take two spoonfuls of -'Milkmaid,' two tablespoonfuls of 'tops and bottoms,' and I have good -milk porridge in three minutes. I have a pot of Bovril, too, and when I -want some soup, hot water, Bovril, and desiccated potatoes or -potato-powder give it to me. The old man is not such a fool as people -think!" But again he put me into a tight place. He wanted me to buy, or -find customers for, his granulated "tops and bottoms." He felt sure if -people only knew how good and nice the "food" was, they would buy it -readily. - -I had to change the subject, and asked him what was in the box over the -head of his bed, so securely attached to the wall. I was just going to -handle it when he sang out: "Don't touch it! don't touch it, or you'll -blow up the whole house!" "What is it?" "Explosives," he said. "I may -want them; I'm not going to the workhouse again." I did not touch them, -but got away as far as possible. Jonathan then produced an ordinary -medicine-bottle, about half full of some liquid. "That's the last bottle -the doctor ever sent my wife, and half of it was enough. I'm saving the -other half; I may require it. No workhouse or parish doctor for me." I -began to feel creepy; but the old man continued: "Lift that little -bucket out of the corner, and tell me what's in it." I lifted it, and -examined it, and said: "It is three parts full of charcoal, on the top -of which is a quantity of sulphur. There is a piece of candle fixed in -the sulphur and a box of matches attached to the handle of the bucket." - -"Right," he said. "When my food is gone, I may put that bucket beside my -bed, lock my door, light that candle, and lie down to sleep. I may do -that, or I may blow the show up, or I may take that half-bottle of -medicine. I haven't decided yet." - -There was no appearance of boasting or jesting about the old man; his -lips quivered, and he evidently meant what he said. But life has too -much interest for him at present, and so long as he can find things and -employ his strange talents in strange ways, Jonathan will not hasten his -end. But when the streets know him no more, when his fading eyesight and -his dwindling strength prevent him finding things, when he feels his -dependence on others and can no longer burnish his milk-cans, then, and -not before then, Jonathan will make his choice, and he may light his -candle. - -But the end was not yet, neither did it come in catastrophic fashion. I -had not seen him for months, but, wishing to know how the old man was -getting on, I ran down to his little home to renew our acquaintance; but -he had disappeared, for the workhouse infirmary had received him. - - -THE PASSING OF JONATHAN. - -Poor old Jonathan! The byways and thoroughfares of London know him no -longer. Hairpins lie in scattered profusion on our pavements East and -West, and babies' comforters may be seen in the mud and slime of our -gutters; but hairpins and comforters lie unheeded, for Jonathan has -passed. - -The peering eyes, the quaint face, the bent body, and the bulging -pockets of my old friend are now memories, for Jonathan has passed. Poor -old Jonathan! my heart goes out to him as I think of him in his new and -last earthly home--surely the saddest of all earthly homes--a lunatic -asylum; for I know that even there his heart is with his treasures, and -his poor brains are concerned about the mass of things he had been so -long in collecting, and the rubbish that he had so passionately loved. -Fifty long years ago he commenced his self-imposed task; fifty years, -with bent back and eyes on the ground, had he traversed thousands of -miles with wearied feet, but with a brave and expectant heart. - -Load after load he had carried home as he returned day after day to his -little hive, like a bee laden with honey. Who can estimate the amount of -interest and even pleasure he had experienced during those fifty years, -as he added little by little to his great store? Surely the joy that a -collector of curios experiences was no stranger to the heart of -Jonathan. And now the asylum! It is all too sad; we could wish it far -otherwise. - -But Jonathan has some compensations, for he lives in the past, and joys -in the knowledge of what he has accomplished; but he does not know the -cruel fate of his great collection, and surely it is to be wished that a -kindly Providence may preserve him from the knowledge, for such -knowledge would bring to him the greatest sorrow of his life. So in the -asylum Jonathan's heart is with his treasures; they still exist, and -their value is "beyond the price of rubies." - -Jonathan grew feebler. With increasing age sandwich-boards grew too -heavy for him, and the grasshopper became a burden when it was -discovered that kind friends, for charity's sake, supplemented the -miserable sum (three shillings and sixpence) allowed him weekly by the -"parish," and which served to pay his rent; and this discovery was -brought to the knowledge of the said "parish"; then the "parish," with -all the humanity it was capable of, stopped the allowance, and Jonathan -was left to his own exertions. So he got behind with his rent; his -worries increased; he got less food and of a poorer quality, and illness -came upon him. By-and-by the dreaded day arrived when the gates of a -great workhouse opened for him and closed upon him. Jonathan was -separated from his treasures. This was the unkindest cut of all, and it -proved too much for his tottering reason, and the infirmary ward of the -great workhouse was supplanted by a ward in a well-known pauper lunatic -asylum, where it is to be hoped that Jonathan's days will be few. The -old man had for many years been a great sufferer, and it has always been -a marvel to me how he went through his innumerable wanderings and tasks, -subject always to a great physical disability and intense pain. - -I have previously told my readers that Jonathan could not read or write: -his wonderful memory enabled him to dispense with those requirements; -but he could not forget, neither does he forget now, so his treasures -have acquired an added value. No fabled cave ever contained the riches -that his poor home contains. Day by day they increase in value, and he -lives in the certain hope that some portion may be sold, that the -"parish" may be repaid for the cost he imposed on it, and that some -friendly hand will knock at the door of the asylum, and some friendly -voice will cry, "Open, sesame," that he may come forth a free man to -join the residue of his quaint collection. And it is well, poor old -Jonathan! that thou shouldst live in this belief, and that thou shouldst -hug those delusions, for in thy case a false hope is better far than a -knowledge of the truth. Live on, then, quaint old man, long or short as -the days may be--live on in the world of thy own creating. - -But to my friends who may read this sketch of real life, the plain, -unvarnished truth is due. Jonathan's accumulation of treasures passed -into the fiery furnace of the local dust-destructor, and from thence -leapt into thin air or emerged as "clinkers." It sorely puzzled the -"parish," which had disposed of Jonathan, how to dispose of Jonathan's -effects, but it promptly annexed the vermilion chairs. The parish -labourers, not behind time, promptly annexed the tobacco, and the -"crosses," that were to lie "one on my breast inside the coffin and one -on the lid," disappeared, to be devoted, doubtless, to a less honourable -cause. - -But the hairpins that had nestled in the hair of many fair ladies no one -would look at; no scrap merchant would buy them; so into the fiery -furnace of the dust-destructor they went. Hatpins--instruments of -torture, weapons of offence or defence, that had added many a danger to -life--followed the hairpins. Babies' comforters--the fiery furnace -roared for them, and licked its hot lips as it sucked them in. Think of -it, mothers, who mock your children with such civilized productions! -"Tops and bottoms," hoary scalps of fifty years ago, "granulated tops -and bottoms," that drove "Sunny Jim" to despair, had scant -consideration. In they went, and the flames leapt higher and higher as -box after box of Jonathan's treasure fed them, till, "like the baseless -fabric of a vision," they dissolved, and "left not a wrack behind." - -But the "parish" looked suspiciously at and walked warily round the box -of explosives wherewith Jonathan had the means of "blowing up the -blooming show." This was carefully deposited in a cistern of water -before it was carried off. But the fiery dragon at the dust-destructor -refused the "Milkmaid" milk-tins, and, alone in their glory, sole -representatives of Jonathan's power, they remained in Jonathan's room, -for even the dust-collector fought shy of them. Like pyramids they stood -as silent witnesses of the past. How they missed Jonathan! Their lustre -was tarnished; there was no friendly hand to polish them now; neither -was there any subtle brain to devise new styles of architecture for -them. Well had it been for the "Milkmaids" if they had suffered the -fiery fate of their many companions, for a far worse fate awaited them; -for when the nights were dark, and fogs deadened sound, Jonathan's old -landlady would steal craftily with an apron full of "Milkmaids," and -drop one in the gutter, throw others over the garden-walls, dispose of -some on pieces of unoccupied ground, till all were gone. The painter and -paperhanger were afterwards required in Jonathan's room. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -PEOPLE WHO HAVE "COME DOWN" - - -London's abyss contains a very mixed population. Naturally the "born -poor" predominate, of whom the larger portion are helpless and hopeless, -for environment and temperament are against them. - -Amongst these, but not of these, exists a strange medley of people who -have "come down" in life. Drunkenness, fast living, gambling, and -general rascality have hurried many educated men into the abyss; and -such fellows descend to depths of wickedness and uncleanliness that the -gross and ignorant poor cannot emulate, for nothing I have met in life -is quite so disgusting and appalling as the demoralized educated men -living in Inferno. - -Misfortune, sorrow, ill-health, loss of friends, position or money, and -ill-advised speculations, are often prime causes of "descent," producing -pitiful lives and strange characters; while others--sometimes women, -sometimes men--have been cursed by very small annuities, not sufficient -for living purposes, but quite sufficient to prevent them attempting any -honest labour. Often these are ashamed to work, but by no means ashamed -to beg. Clinging to the rags of their gentility, they exhibit open -contempt for the ignorant poor, who treat them with awesome respect, -because "they have come down in life." - -The postman brings them numerous letters--replies to their systematic -begging appeals--and not before a detective calls to make inquiries do -the poor question the _bona fides_ of, or lose their respect for, "the -poor lady upstairs." - -Backboneless men and women in a moral sense are numerous in the abyss, -with no vices, but with virtues of a negative character. Possessing no -grit, no adaptability, no idea of making a fight for life, they appear -to think that because their parents were well-to-do, and they themselves -had "received" an education, it is somebody's business to keep them. -They are as sanguine as Mr. Micawber, always expecting something to -"turn up," but never proceeding to turn up anything on their own -account. - -Waiting, hoping, starving, they go down to premature death--if, indeed, -the workhouse infirmary does not swallow them alive. - -But what courage and endurance, what industry and self-respect others -exhibit, deprived by death or misfortune of the very means of existence, -brought face to face with absolute poverty! Men and women, precipitated -into the abyss through no fault of their own, shine resplendent in the -dark regions they have been forced to inhabit. Not soured by misfortune, -not despondent because of disappointment, hand in hand and heart to -heart, I have seen elderly couples living in one-roomed homes, joining -bravely in the great struggle for existence. - -Others are made bitter by their misfortune, and nurse a sense of their -grievances; they "keep themselves to themselves," and generally put on -airs and graces in any dealings they may have with their neighbours. -They quickly resent any approach to friendship; any kindness done to -them is received with freezing politeness, and any attempt to search out -the truth with regard to their antecedents is the signal for storm. -Personally, I have suffered much at the hands of scornful ladies "who -have come down." Sometimes I am afraid that my patience and my temper -have been exhausted when dealing with them, for such ladies require -careful handling. - -Experience is, however, a great teacher, and I learned at least to hear -myself with becoming humility when such ladies condescended to receive -at my hands any help that I might be able to give. - -"Do you know, sir, that you are speaking to an officer's daughter? How -dare you ask me for references! My word is surely good enough for a -Police-Court Missionary. You are a fitting representative of your -office. Please leave my room." - -I looked at her. She was over sixty, and there was the unmistakable air -about her that told of better days. She was starving in a little room -situated in a little court--not St. James's. She owed a month's rent to -people who were poor and ill, and who had two epileptics in the family; -and now their worries were increased by the loss of rent, and the -knowledge that they had a starving "lady" upstairs. She had brought -down to the abyss to keep her company a grandchild, a pretty boy of -seven. I sat still, and she continued: "I know I am poor, but still I -have some self-respect, and I will not be insulted. References, indeed!" -"Well, madam," I at length ventured to say, "you sought my help; I did -not seek you." "Yes; and I made a great mistake. Sir, are you going?" -"No, madam, I am not going at present, for I am going to pay the rent -you owe the poor, suffering people below. Shame on you! Have you no -thought for them? How are they to pay their rent if yours remains -unpaid? Please don't put on any airs, and don't insult me, or I will -have you and the child taken to the workhouse. Find me your rent-book." - -She sat down and cried. I called the child to me, and from my bag -produced some cake, fruit, and sweets, filling the child's pinafore. He -instantly began to eat, and running to the irate lady, said: "Look, -grandma, what the gentleman has given me! Have some--do have some, -grandma." - -That was oil on the fire. - -"I knew you were no gentleman; now I know that you are a coward. You -know that I cannot take them away from the child." I said: "I should be -ashamed of you if you had, and I should have left your room and never -re-entered it. See how the child is enjoying those grapes! Do have some -with him. Let us be friends. Bring your grandma some grapes." And as the -child came to her, I saw the light of love in her old eyes--that -wonderful love of a grandmother. The child's enjoyment of the food -conquered her: the child "beguiled her, and she did eat"; but she -considered I had taken a mean advantage, and she never thoroughly -forgave me--never, though we became cool friends. - -I found the utmost difficulty in obtaining her confidence, although I -visited her many times, and removed her most pressing wants. - -She was always on heights to which I could not hope to attain, and she -treated me with becoming, but freezing, dignity. I wanted to be of -assistance to her, but she made my work difficult and my task thankless. -When I called upon her one day to pay a week's rent, etc., she said in a -lofty way: "Small assistance is of little use to me, but I can't expect -anything better from one in your position." I put up with the snub, and -humbly told her that it would be possible for me to do more if she would -condescend to give me the names and addresses of her friends. - -This bare suggestion was enough. She rose majestically, opened the room -door, and in a dramatic manner said, "Go!" I sat still, and examined -some needlework she was doing for a factory. Beautiful work it was--all -done by hand. I knew that she would not earn more than one penny per -hour, for her eyes were getting dim, and the room was not well lighted. -So I talked about her work and her pay. Many times since that day have I -been glad that I stayed on after that unceremonious "Go," for I learned -a lesson worth the knowing, for as I sat the postman's tap-tap was -heard, and the epileptic girl from below brought up a letter. "Excuse -me, sir, while I read this," she said. I, of course, bowed -acquiescence, and watched her while she read. I saw her tremulous -fingers and quivering face. Presently she sat down; the letter and a -ten-pound note dropped on the floor. For a moment she sat quite silent, -then the tears burst forth. She rose, picked up the letter and note, and -her eyes flashed as she cried: "Read that! read that! and then dare to -ask me for a reference." She threw the letter at me. It was from an old -servant of hers, who was a cook for a regimental officers' mess, getting -forty pounds a year. This is the letter: - - - "DEAR MRS. ----, - - "Yesterday I received my quarter's salary, and I am sending it to - you, hoping that you will kindly receive it as a small - acknowledgment of your many kindnesses to me. - - "When I think of the happy days I spent in your service, of your - goodness to everyone in trouble, and of the beautiful home you have - lost, I cannot rest night or day. I wish I could send you a hundred - times as much, that I might really help you and the dear little - boy." - - -The letter was better than any testimonial; it was too much for me. -"Madam," I said, "I am very sorry that I hurt your feelings by -questioning you. That letter makes me ashamed. It more than answers any -questions I put to you. Will you kindly lend me the letter, that I may -show it to my friend?" - -She looked triumphant, and said that I might have the letter for a short -time. I sent the letter to ladies and gentlemen who had not "come -down." Some old friends were found who cheerfully subscribed a -sufficient sum to furnish a commodious boarding-house in a fashionable -watering-place, so she again had a beautiful home of her own. But she -was very "touchy," and I had no pleasant task in making arrangements. -She never gave me the least credit, and it always appeared that she was -conferring favours by allowing me the privilege of consulting her. - -However, the boarding-house was ready at last. She entered possession, -and with some help prepared to receive visitors. My wife, myself, and -some friends were her first "paying guests," paying, of course, the -usual charges. We spent a miserable three weeks. We were not of the -class she wanted and had been used to; she kept us in our places. I had -to speak to her, and treat her as a distinguished, but quite unknown, -lady. We were all glad when our time for leaving came; neither have we -paid her another visit. - -She was a remarkable woman, indomitable, industrious, and clever: -cooking, or managing a house, needlework, dressmaking, or anything -pertaining to woman's life, she was equal to; but her superiority was -too much for us all. We could not live up to it--the strain was too -great. - -She, however, did us a great honour the day previous to our leaving. As -a special favour, she invited us to take tea with her in the "boudoir." -The remembrance of that occasion remains with me through the years. She -prepared not only a nice little tea, with cream, knick-knacks, etc., but -the room was tastefully decorated, and she was suitably arrayed. Her -old silks and laces had been renovated, her old jewellery polished and -attended to; and at a definite time, after a formal invitation, we were -ushered into the "boudoir." She rose and gracefully bowed as we were -announced, and directed us to our seats. We had a stiff time of it. No -doubt it was good discipline for us all, for we realized more fully than -ever the inferiority of our birth, breeding, and manners. - -Poor woman! She never forgave us for knowing that she had been in the -"abyss," neither did she ever forgive me for helping her out. Our -acquaintance ended with that five o'clock tea in her "boudoir." She has -not written to me, neither have I inquired after her. Freely will I -forgive her all the snubs and insults she flung at me if she will "keep -her distance." She was a terror. One in a lifetime is quite sufficient -for me. - -Still, she was a good woman, and I can only suppose that privations and -disappointments had on the one side embittered her, and on the other had -developed a natural feeling until it became a craze, and the idea of -being a "lady" dominated her existence. - - -Some men, too, that have come down are by no means pleasant -companions--often the reverse. Several clergymen that I saw much of were -too terrible for words, so I pass them; but of one I must tell, for when -I called on him in the early afternoon, he was lying on a miserable bed, -unwashed, wearing a cassock. Penny packets of cigarettes--five for a -penny--were strongly in evidence. There being no chairs in the room, I -sat down upon an inverted packing-case. - -He rose from his bed, lit another cigarette, and asked me what I wanted. -I had previously spoken to his wife, and had made up my mind that she -was demented. I had seen a big-headed girl of seventeen, with a vacant -face and thick, slobbering lips, nursing and laughing over a little -doll. I had also spoken to a cunning-looking boy of fourteen. I had now -to speak to a demoralized clergyman. - -I felt that a horsewhip was needed more than the monetary help that I -was commissioned to offer from friends, on certain conditions being -complied with. - -He was a choice specimen of manhood: his reading seemed confined to -penny illustrated papers of a dubious kind, embellished with -questionable pictures. He no sooner learned that friends had empowered -me to act for them than his estimate of himself went up considerably. -His market value went up also. - -Thirty shillings per week was not enough; he was not to be bought at the -price. He must also have his wardrobe replenished. The Bishop must find -him a curacy. No, he would not leave London. Preaching to intelligent -people was his vocation. He was a Welshman, but London was good enough -for him. I sat on the box and listened; the vacant-faced girl with her -doll sat on another box in front of me; the clergyman in his cassock, -cigarette in his fingers while he talked, and in his lips when he was -silent, sat on the edge of the bed; and his demented wife stood by. - -Such was my introduction to the fellow, of whom I saw much during the -next three years; but every time I met him I became the more enamoured -of the horsewhip treatment. - -For three years he received more than generous help from friends of the -Church, who were anxious for his good, and more than anxious that no -scandal should come upon the Church they loved. It was all in vain, and -the last sight I had of him was in Tottenham, where I studiously avoided -him; but, nevertheless, I had opportunities of watching him. He stood -outside a public-house. He wore an old clerical coat, green and greasy; -his clerical collar was crumpled and dirty; his boots were old and -broken, and his trousers were frayed and torn. He had a rough stick in -his hand and an old cloth cap on his head. The cunning-looking boy has -been in the hands of the police for snatching a lady's purse, and the -imbecile girl, now a woman, continues to nurse her doll somewhere in -London's abyss; for the demented mother loves her afflicted child, and -only death will part them. - - -Artists are numerous among those who have "come down." I never meet a -poor fellow in London's streets carrying a picture wrapped in canvas -without experiencing feelings of deepest pity. One look at such a man -tells me whether his picture has been done to order, or whether he is -seeking, rather than hoping to find, a customer. The former goes briskly -enough to his destination, and though he will receive but little -payment from the picture-dealer, he sorely needs that little, and -hastens to get it. - -But the other poor fellow has no objective: he walks slowly and -aimlessly about; there is a wistful, shamefaced air about him. When he -arrives at a picture-dealer's, he enters with reluctance and timidity. -Sometimes broken-down men will hawk their pictures from door to door, -and will sell decent pictures, upon which they have spent much time and -labour, for a few shillings. Occasionally an alert policeman watches -them, and ultimately arrests them for hawking goods and not being in -possession of the necessary licence. - -A boy of fourteen who was hawking his father's pictures was arrested and -charged. The police had discovered that he did not hold a pedlar's -licence. The pictures were quite works of art, done on pieces of -cardboard about twelve inches square, some being original sketches; -others were copies of famous pictures. They were done in -black-and-white, and competent judges declared that the work was -exceedingly well done. The boy said his father was ill in bed, and had -sent him out to sell the pictures; his mother was dead, and his father -and himself lived together in Hackney. - -I went with the boy to their one room, and there, in a miserable street -and in a still more miserable room, lay the artist in bed. There was -nothing of any value in the room, excepting some pictures, and as I -entered I found him sitting up in bed at work upon another. They had no -money at all, and that morning the boy had been sent out to try and -sell the pictures and bring back food and coals. The lad's mother had -died some years before, and the father and son were living together. - -The father had learned no other business, and at one time there was some -demand for his work, so he married. One can easily picture the life they -led--the gradual shadows, the disappointments that came upon the wife, -the hopeless struggle with poverty, the early death, and the misery of -the husband when the partner of his poverty was taken away. Now, partly -paralyzed in his legs, some days able to rise and dress himself and pay -an occasional call on the "trade," and to return home more hopeless, he -was glad to sell a picture for five shillings, unframed, that had cost -him much effort and time. - -I bought one of his pictures at a fair price, and saw that he had both -food and coals, for it was winter-time. I called on him frequently, and -did what I could to cheer him, and other friends bought his pictures. -But he gradually grew worse in health, until the gates of one of our -great infirmaries closed upon him, and the world saw him no more, and it -was left to me to make some suitable provision for the boy. - - -One Christmas Eve some years ago there was a cry of "Police! police!" In -a little upper room in North London an elderly man had been found in a -pool of blood; his throat had been cut, and as a razor lay beside him, -it was evident the injury was self-inflicted. It was a frightful gash, -but he was carried to a neighbouring hospital, where all the resources -of skill and science were at hand. In three months' time he was able to -stand in the dock, and evidence was given against him. He was -sixty-three years of age, had on a very old frock-coat that had been -originally blue, and an ancient fez that bore traces of silver braid. -When the evidence had been taken, and the magistrate was about to commit -him for trial, a singular-looking man stepped up, and said he was the -prisoner's brother, and that he would take care of him if his Worship -would discharge him. He said a friend had given his brother some drink, -and it was when under the influence of the drink that the prisoner had -tried to cut his own throat; that he himself was a teetotaller--and he -pointed triumphantly to a piece of blue ribbon on his very shabby -coat--and that he would take care that his brother had no more drink. - -The magistrate very kindly accepted him as surety, and asked me to visit -them, which I accordingly did, and found myself in very strange company. -Three brothers were living together: sixty-five, sixty-three, and sixty -were their ages. The one who had been charged was the middle brother, -and was an artist; the other two were quaint individuals: they had been -brought up in luxury, and now, being reduced to poverty, had not the -slightest idea of how to earn a shilling. - -The blue-ribbon brother was the youngest member of the family, and -though he drank cold water, he appeared to have a strong aversion to its -external use. He was of a religious turn of mind, and had he exercised -himself one-half as much about work as he did about religious subjects, -the catastrophe that had happened might have been avoided. - -The elder brother was in weak health, and walked with some difficulty. -The artist was certainly by far the best man of the three; still, they -all had an air of faded gentility. Briefly, they were the sons of a -well-known artist, who, many years ago, was a frequent exhibitor in the -Royal Academy, and whose frescoes adorn one of the royal palaces. - -After his death the three brothers and a sister lived together. Each was -left an income of about twenty-five pounds per annum, and the sister -managed their affairs. As long as she lived and the artist brother could -sell pictures, all went fairly well; but when she died the brothers were -left to struggle for themselves. Gradually their home went down--dirt -and discomfort ensued, fewer pictures were sold, and then one Christmas -the artist fell into my care. What a room it was, and how hopeless it -all seemed! I found the artist himself had exhibited in the Royal -Academy, and that he was undoubtedly a talented man. I found him as -simple as a child, and his two brothers as innocent as babes. - -I sold some of his pictures, and obtained orders for others; but I -discovered that, instead of the younger brother looking after the -artist, the artist had to look after the younger brother, and I also -found, to my cost, that, instead of having one unfortunate man to look -after, I had three of them on my hands. The elder brother sat reading -goody books hour after hour; the younger one went to his -prayer-meetings, but never brought a shilling home; while the artist -stuck to his work, when he had any to do, splendidly. - -One day I took counsel with the three of them, and we formed a committee -of ways and means. To the elder one I said: "What are you going to do to -bring a little grist to this mill?" In a sweetly simple manner, and -rubbing his hands, he said: "Oh, I read while Charles paints." To the -younger one I said: "What are you going to do to help the finances?" -"Oh," he said, "I'll write some texts of Scripture on cardboard, and you -can sell them for me." It was a quaint sight to see this band of -brothers go marketing, to buy their bits of meat, vegetables, etc. I -have watched them, too, at their culinary preparations, and noticed that -the artist himself washed the plates and dishes, and handled and cooked -the food. - -Their rooms are now larger, and in much better order. The paintings left -by their father are more visible, for the dust and dirt have been -removed. They are still living together, and the artist, without any -blue ribbon on his coat, is still working away, when he can secure -orders. They are quaint specimens of humanity, but I think much of them, -for they are kind-hearted and gentle to each other; there are no -heart-burnings and bickerings; poverty has not soured their -dispositions, and if times are sometimes hard, they make the best of -things, and hope that God will give them better days. - -None the less, my artist friend has to bear the brunt of it, and when -he sells a picture he is more than willing to share his means with his -helpless brothers. - -One picture I have of his conveys a striking lesson. It is founded upon -the old story of the Prodigal Son. A tall, gaunt, weary man, with his -sandals worn out, his staff by his side, and his gourd empty, sits upon -a piece of rock upon the hill-side looking down into the valley, where -he sees his father's house. He is debating within himself whether or not -he shall attempt to travel that last mile and reach his old home. The -old home looks inviting and the gardens pleasant, and he feels impelled -to go thither. Beside him is a huge cactus, and in a tree at the back of -him are two vultures waiting to pick his bones. - - -The failure of a popular financial scheme is often accompanied by -disastrous consequences to refined and elderly people. - -I have met many who, being ruined by the collapse of such investments, -were compelled to resort to that forlorn hope of distressed middle-aged -women--some branch of sewing-machine work done at home. - -The struggles they make in order to secure the pretence of an existence -are often heroic, and their endeavours to maintain an appearance of -respectability and comfort are great, almost passing belief. - -In the great world of London life and suffering no figures stand out -quite so vividly as they do, for no other class of individuals exhibit -quite the same qualities of endurance and pathetic heroism. - -On arriving home one Saturday I found two women, a mother and her -daughter, awaiting me, evidently in great distress. I had known them for -some years, and their struggles and difficulties were familiar to me. -The husband of the elder woman lay in their little home paralyzed and -ill. For years the girl and her mother had supported him and maintained -themselves by making children's costumes. - -He had been an accountant for many years with an old-established firm, -and had saved money, which he invested in the Liberator. Just when the -smash came their troubles were intensified by the death of his old -employer, and the consequent loss of his employment. A paralytic stroke -came upon him, and though he recovered somewhat, he became utterly unfit -for any kind of work. They received a little assistance from the -Liberator Relief Fund, and while this lasted mother and daughter gave -three months' service each, and were taught the children's costume -trade. A catastrophe had now overtaken them, hence their visit to me. -They had worked incessantly all the week in the hope of finishing some -work and getting it to the factory before twelve on Saturday. Friday -night found them behindhand. At two o'clock on Saturday morning mother -and daughter lay down on their beds without removing their clothes. At -five they rose again, and sat down to their machines. - -The hours passed, their task made progress, and at 11.30 they finished; -but the factory was far away--nearly an hour's ride on the tram-car. -Still, the younger one hurried with her bundle, only to find on arriving -that the factory was closed, and that no work would be taken in till -Tuesday morning. There was the rent to pay, the poor stock of provisions -to be obtained, some little comfort to be got for the father, who had -watched their brave but tragic struggle, and no money, after all. - -My wife set food before them, and they made a pitiful pretence of -eating. Their hearts were too full, though undoubtedly their stomachs -were empty. - -When I put a sovereign into the tremulous hand of the elder woman, they -both broke down, and went away weeping. - -A few weeks later the father died, and mother and daughter were left to -comfort and care for each other. - -Years have passed, and they still live and work together. Rising early -and retiring late, they manage to "live." But the mother is getting -feeble; her eyesight and powers for work are decaying. Never murmuring -or repining, the daughter bears the brunt of the battle. She works, -whilst her mother goes to and from the factory. And now--in June, -1908--another catastrophe has befallen them; for the feeble old woman -has slipped and fallen from the tram-car, and lies at home with a broken -arm and other injuries; but the daughter works for both. - - -Sometimes my experiences of women who have "come down" have been far -more unpleasant, as the following instance may serve to show: - -I received a letter from a titled lady asking me to inquire into the -case of two sisters who had repeatedly appealed to her for help, and to -whose appeal she had several times responded. This lady recognized the -futility of sending a few pounds at intervals to two elderly women, of -whom she knew nothing excepting that their father had once built a house -for her. She knew, too, that their father had been in a large way of -business, employing five hundred men at one time. Her ladyship also -forwarded to me a letter she had received from the sisters, and asked me -to find out what could be done for them, promising that if I could -suggest anything reasonable, she would send me the necessary funds. -Their letter was of the usual begging-letter style, telling of their own -wrongs and poverty, and pleading for help on account of their dear -lamented father. - -Though their "dear lamented father" had been dead for twenty-nine years, -I called at the address given, and found it to be an old-clothes shop in -a very poor district. In the midst of old clothes and dirt I found the -landlady. No, she said, the sisters did not live there. Sometimes they -did a bit of needlework for her, and she allowed them to use her address -for postal purposes. "They had a letter this morning?" I said. "Yes, -there was one." "How many more?" "One only this morning." "Do they often -have letters?" "Sometimes." "How many do they receive a week?" "What is -that to you?" "Well, I come on behalf of a friend who wishes to help -them. The letter they received this morning was from her, and there was -money in it. How much did they give you this morning?" "Two shillings." -"They work for you: why should they give you money?" "I have been good -to them and lent them money; they owe me a good deal; but they have -expectations." "Did you know they had 'come down' in life?" "Oh yes, I -knew." "Now, tell me, where do they live?" "They are on the move." "What -do you mean by that?" "On the move--looking for a place." "Where did -they sleep last night?" "Somewhere close by." "Now, tell me truly as you -would a friend, what do you think about them?" "I think they are a pair -of unfortunate ladies. They have been robbed." "Would you help them if -you could?" "Certainly I would." "Shall you see them to-day?" "Oh yes; -they are sure to come in." So I gave her my address, and told her to ask -the sisters to call on me. Woe to me! I did foolishly, and had to suffer -for it. In the evening when I arrived home, one of the sisters was -waiting for me. She had been waiting some time, to the consternation of -my wife and the maid. The front door had no sooner been opened to her -imperative tap, than she marched in without any ceremony, smelling, I -was told, of the public-house and dirt. My wife said: "She is in the -drawing-room. I could not ask her in here: we were just having tea." I -found her without any difficulty. The evidence of my nose was enough. I -opened wide the window, and then looked at her, or it, or something! I -was just getting my breath, when, "Oh, you have heard from Lady ----, -and she is wanting to help me." I said: "Yes, and you have heard from -Lady ----. She sent you some money, and I see you have been spending -it." "What do you mean, sir? I will let you know that I am a lady." I -groaned and said: "You are letting me know it; I fully realize it." -"Look here, sir; attend to me. I am going to keep a butter and cheese -shop. I want twenty pounds to set me up. You must write to her ladyship -for it." "Very good, then." "Now I want to tell you about our troubles;" -and she did. It took me two good hours to get her safely outside the -front door, after which I gave positive orders to the whole household -that in future all business with this "lady" must be transacted on the -doorstep, with a half-closed door. - -She was a Welshwoman, and possessed a double amount of that nation's -eloquence. Those two hours I shall never forget. It took all the -diplomacy at my command to get her out; but she promised to come again -and bring her sister. I was terribly alarmed at the prospect, but did -not tell her not to come, for my courage failed me. However, she had -given me her address, which, unfortunately, was close by; so, finally, I -told her that, after hearing from Lady ----, I would call upon her and -give her whatever help was sent. She called every day for a week, and -every time she came my wife hid herself, and the servant was mindful of -my instructions about the door. Nevertheless, our house was attracting -some attention, for our respectable neighbours were alive to the -situation. I often wished she had made a mistake, like poor old -Cakebread did, and had gone to the wrong house; but I did not get even -that scrap of comfort. At length I sent a note to her, telling her that -I was going to call on her at ten o'clock next morning. This I -accordingly did, and found that the sisters had obtained a room in the -house of a poor but very decent woman who had four young children. The -landlady let me in, and called to the sisters that a gentleman had come -to see them. "Tell him we are not quite ready to receive visitors," I -heard a familiar voice reply. - -The landlady asked me to step into her room. I did so, and she carefully -closed the door, and then burst out: "What can I do with them? How can I -get rid of them? We shall be ill." "Have they paid you any rent?" "No; I -won't take any. They gave me a shilling deposit before they moved in." -"Give it to them back, and tell them to go." "They won't take it, and -they won't go." "Tell your husband to put them out." "He won't touch -them, and he blames me for taking them in." "Why did you take them in?" -"We are poor; I am going to have another. I thought they were ladies who -had 'come down.' They gave me a letter from a lady to read. Whatever -shall we do?" "When did they come in?" "Just a week ago. They were drunk -the first night. One had a black eye!" - -In due time they were ready to receive visitors, and I went to their -room. I knew what to expect, but it was too much for me. Phew! They were -there, black eye and all. Half undressed, quite unwashed, a nice pair of -harridans; no furniture saving an old rusty bedstead, on which were some -rags. The thought of the poor woman below and her young children gave me -courage. "I see how it is, you old sinners. Shame on you for forcing -yourselves into this poor woman's house! You are not fit to live -anywhere but in a pigsty. If you don't get out I will have the pair of -you carted to the workhouse. I will see that you get no more from Lady -----. If you don't get out pretty quick, I will myself put you out." One -of them came forward in a threatening attitude, saying: "I will let you -know that my father was your superior." I told them that I was glad I -never knew their father if he at all resembled them. - -I called the landlady, and told her to fetch a policeman, as they were -trespassers, and had no right in her room. But the landlady said, if -that was the case, her husband would put them out in the afternoon; it -being Saturday, he would be home early. Then the torrent of abuse began. -They rose to the occasion, and gave vent to their feelings, I am sorry -to say, in vulgar English. Had it been Welsh, it would not have -mattered, but slum English expressed with Welsh fervour was too much for -me. I left. I was, however, to have a still more striking proof of the -power that Welsh "ladies" have to express themselves in very vulgar -English, for the same evening, after having refreshed themselves, they -forced an entrance when my front door responded to their knock and ring. -Fortunately my wife was away. I was called to interview the two "ladies" -and the black eye. They were inside--there could be no mistake about -that; the door was closed, too. As soon as they saw me there was a -soprano and contralto duet. "What did you write to Lady ---- for? Do -you say we are dirty? Who told you we got drunk? Why did you come so -early? Ragged, are we? Help to have us put out, would you? You are a -nice Christian!" I brushed past them and opened the front door. "Fetch a -policeman, will you? We'll have the law for you, you scoundrel! robber! -thief!" I seized the one with the decorated eye, and out she went. In a -twinkling the other sister was after her, and before they realized it, -the front door was closed and bolted. Then the storm began, and for -thirty-five minutes they kept it up. Every choice expression known to -the blackguards of London tripped lightly but emphatically from their -tongues; sometimes in unison, sometimes in horrible discord, sometimes -singly, and sometimes together they kept it up. They ran through the -whole gamut of discordant notes--_fortissimo_ generally, _piano_ only -when breath failed. When quite exhausted, one took charge of the -knocker, the other of the bell, and instrumental music followed the -vocal. A good many of my respectable neighbours came to the concert, but -blushingly retired; they could not stand it. I knew very well that they -could not keep up the pace long; but it was the longest thirty-five -minutes I ever endured. When quite worn out and too hoarse to vocalize, -they retired, and our street resumed its normal respectability. But to -the valour of Wales they added the perseverance of women. After again -refreshing themselves, they returned to the poor woman they had "taken -in," and gave her a concert, much to her terror. Her husband called the -police, but this only roused them. Ultimately they were taken into -custody for being drunk and disorderly, and, sad to relate, the -following Monday they were fined by the magistrate. - -I heard more bad language in that thirty-five minutes than I ever -listened to in a month, even in a police-court. I must have received -considerable mental and moral damage, and I really think that I ought to -receive some compensation from Lady ----. - -But, at all events, I hope that I have completed my experience of people -who have "come down." - - -THE END - - -PRINTED BY -BILLING AND SONS, LIMITED, -GUILDFORD - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Known to the Police, by Thomas Holmes - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KNOWN TO THE POLICE *** - -***** This file should be named 55847-8.txt or 55847-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/8/4/55847/ - -Produced by MWS, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Known to the Police - -Author: Thomas Holmes - -Release Date: October 29, 2017 [EBook #55847] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KNOWN TO THE POLICE *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">KNOWN TO THE POLICE</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> - -<h1>KNOWN<br />TO THE POLICE</h1> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">THOMAS HOLMES</p> - -<p class="bold">SECRETARY TO THE HOWARD ASSOCIATION<br /><br /> -AUTHOR OF<br />"PICTURES AND PROBLEMS FROM LONDON POLICE COURTS," ETC.</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">LONDON<br />EDWARD ARNOLD<br /> -1908<br /><br />[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> - -<div class="box"> -<h2>DEDICATION</h2> - -<p>TO HER WHO HAS SHARED MY LIFE, WHO HAS PARTICIPATED IN ALL MY JOYS AND -SORROWS, IN ALL MY HOPES AND FEARS, WHOSE GENTLENESS HAS SOFTENED ME, -WHOSE PATIENCE HAS CURBED MY IMPATIENCE, WHOSE FAITH HAS INSPIRED ME, -WHOSE SYMPATHY AND SELF-DENIAL HAVE MADE MY LIFE POSSIBLE—TO HER WHOSE -LOVE HAS NEVER FAILED DO I GRATEFULLY DEDICATE THIS BOOK.</p> - -<p class="right">T. H.</p></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFACE</h2> - -<p>The kind reception accorded to a previous book encourages me to believe -that another volume dealing with my experiences in the great under-world -of London may not prove unacceptable.</p> - -<p>For twenty-five years I have practically lived in this under-world, and -the knowledge that I have obtained has been gathered from sad, and often -wearying, experience. Yet I have seen so much to encourage and inspire -me, that now, in my latter days, I am more hopeful of humanity's -ultimate good than ever. Hopeful—nay, I am certain, for I have felt the -pulse of humanity, and I know that it throbs with true sympathy. I have -listened to its heart-beats, and I know that they tell in no uncertain -manner that the heart of humanity is sound and true.</p> - -<p>Most gladly do I take this opportunity of proclaiming—and I would that -I could proclaim it with a far-reaching voice—that, in spite of all -appearances to the contrary, in spite of apparent carelessness, -indifference, and selfishness, the rich<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> are not unmindful of the poor; -they do not hate the poor, for I know—and no one knows it better—that -with many of the rich the present condition of the very poor is a matter -of deep and almost heartbreaking concern.</p> - -<p>They will be glad—ay, with a great gladness—if some practical way of -ameliorating our present conditions can be shown.</p> - -<p>But I can speak with more authority for the poor, whom I know, love, and -serve. The poor have no ill-feeling toward the rich; they harbour no -suspicions; no envy, hatred, or malice dwell in their simple minds. -Their goodness astonishes me, and it rebukes me.</p> - -<p>Ah, when we get at the heart of things, rich and poor are very close -together, and this closeness makes me hopeful; for out of it social -salvation will come and the day arrive when experiences like unto mine -will be impossible, and mine will have passed away as an evil dream.</p> - -<p>Sincerely and devoutly I hope that this simple record of some parts of -my life and my work may tend to bind rich and poor still closer.</p> - -<p>One result of my former book, "Pictures and Problems from London Police -Courts," is to be found at Walton-on-the-Naze—a Home of Rest for -London's poorest toilers, which the readers of that book generously gave -me the means of establishing. During the present year five hundred poor -women have rested in it, some of them never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> having previously seen the -sea. Such profits as accrue to me from the sale of this book will be -devoted to the maintenance and development of this Home.</p> - -<p>One word more. I want it to be distinctly understood that <i>I am no -longer a Police Court Missionary</i>. I resigned that position four years -ago that I might be free to devote my life to London's poorest toilers, -the home-workers, to whom frequent references are made in my pages, and -for whom I hope great things. But I am not free altogether of my old -kind of work, for, as secretary of the Howard Association, one half of -my life is still devoted to prisons and prisoners.</p> - -<p class="right">THOMAS HOLMES.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">12, Bedford Road,<br /> -<span class="s3"> </span>Tottenham, N.</span><br /> - <i>September, 1908.</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="left"><span class="smaller">CHAPTER</span></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> MEMORIES AND CONTRASTS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> SOME BURGLARS I HAVE MET</td> - <td><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> THE BLACK LIST AND INEBRIATES</td> - <td><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> POLICE-COURT MARRIAGES</td> - <td><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td class="left"> EXTRAORDINARY SENTENCES</td> - <td><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td class="left"> DISCHARGED PRISONERS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td class="left"> THE LAST DREAD PENALTY</td> - <td><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII.</td> - <td class="left"> HOUSING THE POOR</td> - <td><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IX.</td> - <td class="left"> THE HOOLIGANISM OF THE POOR</td> - <td><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>X.</td> - <td class="left"> THE HEROISM OF THE SLUMS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XI.</td> - <td class="left"> A PENNYWORTH OF COAL</td> - <td><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XII.</td> - <td class="left"> OLD BOOTS AND SHOES</td> - <td><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIII.</td> - <td class="left"> JONATHAN PINCHBECK, THE SLUM AUTOLYCUS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIV.</td> - <td class="left"> PEOPLE WHO HAVE "COME DOWN"</td> - <td><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">KNOWN TO THE POLICE</p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">MEMORIES AND CONTRASTS</span></h2> - -<p>During the summer of 1904 there were in London few men more unsettled in -mind and miserable than myself. I had severed my connection with London -police-courts—and well I knew it. I was not sure that I had done wisely -or well, and was troubled accordingly. I missed more than words can -express the miseries that had hitherto been inseparable from the routine -of my life. For twenty-one years, day after day at a regular hour, I had -turned my steps in one direction, and had gone from home morning by -morning with my mind attuned to a certain note. It was not, then, a -strange thing to find that mechanical habits had been formed, and that -sometimes I found myself on the way to the police-court before I -discovered my mistake. Still less was it a marvel to find that my mind -refused to accept all at once the fact that I was no longer a -Police-Court Missionary. I must in truth confess I felt a bit ashamed -that I had given up the work. I felt that I was something of a traitor, -who had deserted the poor and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> the outcast, many of whom had learned to -love and trust me.</p> - -<p>I am not ashamed to say that I had been somewhat proud of my name and -title, for the words "Police-Court Missionary" meant much to me, and I -had loved my work and had suffered for it.</p> - -<p>It was doubtless in accordance with the fitness of things that I should -retire from the work when I did, for I am getting old, and dead -officialism might have crept upon me, and whatever power for good I may -have might have been atrophied. Of such a fate I always felt afraid; -mercifully from such a fate I was prevented or delivered.</p> - -<p>Still, I sorrowed till time lightened the sense of loss. By-and-by new -interests arose, new duties claimed me, and other phases of life -interested me. Four years have now lapsed, a length of time that allows -sufficient perspective, and enables me to calmly take stock of the -twenty-one years I spent in London police-courts. I do not in this -chapter, or in this book, intend to review the whole of those years, but -I do hope to make some comparisons of the things of to-day with those of -twenty-one years ago.</p> - -<p>The comparisons will, I trust, be encouraging, and show that we have -progressed in a right direction, and that we are all still progressing. -Two days of those years will remain ever with me—the day I entered on -my work and the day I gave it up.</p> - -<p>Of the latter I will not speak; but as the former opened my eyes to -wonders of humanity, and humanity being of all wonders the greatest, I -have something to say.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p><p>The conditions at London police-courts in those days were bad, past -conception. No words of mine can adequately describe them, and only for -the sake of comparison and encouragement do I attempt briefly to portray -some of the most striking features of those days. Even now I feel faint -when I recall the "prisoners' waiting-room," with its dirty floor, its -greasy walls, and its vile atmosphere.</p> - -<p>The sanitary arrangements were disgusting. There was no female attendant -to be found on the premises.</p> - -<p>Strong benches attached to the walls provided the only seats; neither -was there separation of the sexes. In this room old and young, pure and -impure, clean and verminous, sane and insane, awaited their turn to -appear before the magistrate; for the insane in those days were brought -by local authorities that the magistrate might certify them, and they -sat, too, amongst the waiting prisoners.</p> - -<p>The sufferings of a decent woman who found herself in such company in -such a room may easily be imagined; but the sufferings of a pure-minded -girl, who for some trifling offence found herself in like position, -cannot be described. The coarse women of Alsatia made jests upon her, -and coarse blackguards, though sometimes well dressed, vaunted their -obscenity before her. Deformed beggars, old hags from the workhouse—or -from worse places—thieves, gamblers, drunkards, and harlots, men and -women on the verge of delirium tremens—all these, and others that are -unmentionable, combine to make the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> prisoners' room a horrid memory. -Things are far different to-day, for light and cleanliness, fresh air -and decency, prevail at police-courts. At every court there is now a -female attendant; the sexes are rigidly separated. Children's cases are -heard separately; neither are children placed in the cells or prisoners' -room.</p> - -<p>In those days policemen waited for the men and women who had been in -their custody, and against whom they had given evidence, and, after -their fines were paid, went to the nearest public-house and drank at -their expense. Hundreds of times I have heard prisoners ask the -prosecuting policeman to "Make it light for me," and many times I have -heard the required promise given and an arrangement made. Sometimes I am -glad to think that I have heard policemen give the reply: "I shall speak -the truth"; but not often was this straightforward answer given.</p> - -<p>In this respect a great change has come about, for policemen do not hold -a conference with their prisoners in the waiting-room, and it is now a -rare occurrence for a policeman to take a drink at his prisoner's -expense.</p> - -<p>And this improvement is to be welcomed, for it is typical of the -improvement that has been going on all round. Gaolers in those days were -"civil servants," and were not under police authority; now they are -sergeants of the police, and under police discipline and authority. The -old civil servant gaoler looked down from his greater altitude with -something like contempt upon the common policemen, and this often led to -much friction and unpleasantness. Now things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> work smoothly and easily, -for every police-court official knows his duties and to whom he is -responsible.</p> - -<p>But a great change has also come over the magistrates—perhaps the -greatest change of all. Doubtless the magistrates of those days were -excellent men, but they were not only officials, but official also.</p> - -<p>It was their business to mete out punishment, and they did it. Some were -old—too old for the office. I have seen one sleeping on the bench -frequently, and only waking up to give sentence. Once while the justice -nodded his false teeth fell on his desk; he awoke with a start, and made -a frantic effort to recover them. No doubt these men were sound lawyers, -but they were representatives of the community as it then existed; there -was no sentimentality about them, but they were rarely vindictive.</p> - -<p>The legal profession, too, has changed. Where are the greasy, drunken -old solicitors that haunted the precincts of police-courts twenty-five -years ago? Gone. But they were common enough in those days, and touted -for five-shilling jobs, money down, or higher prices when payment was -deferred. With droughty throats and trembling limbs, they hastened to -the nearest public-house to spend what payment had been given in -advance. Here they would remain till their clients were before the -magistrate, and would then appear just in time to say: "I appear for the -prisoner, your Worship." Horrid old men they were, the fronts of their -coats and vests all stained and shiny with the droppings of beer. -Frequently the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>magistrate, unable to tolerate their drunken or -half-drunken maunderings, would order them out of court; but even this -drastic treatment had little effect upon them, for the next day, or even -on the latter part of the same day, they, apparently without shame or -humiliation, would inform his Worship that they were in So-and-so's -case, and ask at what time it would be taken—as if, forsooth, their -engagements were numerous and important.</p> - -<p>The bullying solicitor, too, has disappeared or mended his ways. No -longer is he allowed to bully and insult witnesses or prosecutors, and -cast scurrilous and unclean imputations on the lives and characters of -those opposed to him. Generally these fellows were engaged for the -"defence."</p> - -<p>They one and all acted on the principle that to attack was the best -defence. I once heard an athletic young doctor ask a solicitor of this -kind, who had been unusually insulting, to meet him when the case was -over, assuring him also that he would receive his deserts—a good -thrashing. The pompous, ignorant solicitor, with neither wit, words, -action, utterance, nor the power of speech—he, too, has gone. One -wondered at the strange fate that made solicitors of such men; wondered, -too, how they passed the necessary examinations; but wondered most of -all why people paid money for such fellows to defend them. Invariably -they made their client's case much worse; they always declined to let -"sleeping dogs lie," and were positively certain to reveal something or -discover something to the disadvantage of the person whose interests -they were supposed to be upholding. I remember one magistrate,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> sitting -impatient and fidgety while the weary drip of words went on, calling out -suddenly: "Three months' hard labour, during which you can ruminate on -the brilliant defence made by your solicitor!"</p> - -<p>All these have passed, and police-courts have been civilized; for law is -more dignified, and its administration more refined. Magistrates are -up-to-date, too, and quite in touch with the new order of things and -with the aspirations of the community.</p> - -<p>Bullying, drunken, and stupid solicitors have no chance to-day. In all -these directions great changes have come about, and great progress has -been made.</p> - -<p>But the greatest change of all is that which has taken place in the -appearance of the prisoners and of police-court humanity generally.</p> - -<p>Where are the "blue-bottle" noses now? Twenty-five years ago they were -numerous, but now London police-courts know them not.</p> - -<p>Where are the reddened faces that told of protracted debauch? They are -seldom to be met with. Hundreds of times in the years gone by, in the -prisoners' waiting-room, I have heard the expression, "He's got them -on"; and I have seen poor wretches trembling violently with terror in -their faces, seeking to avoid some imaginary horror. But delirium -tremens seems to have vanished from London police-courts.</p> - -<p>Do people drink less? is a question often asked. If I may be permitted -to reply, I would say they do, and very much less; but whether they are -more sober is another question.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>Of one thing I am perfectly certain, and it is this: people are more -susceptible to the effects of drink than they were twenty-five years -ago.</p> - -<p>Whether this susceptibility is due to some change in the drink or to -physiological causes in the drinkers I do not know, but of the result I -am, as I have said, quite sure.</p> - -<p>I am inclined to believe that we possess less power to withstand the -effects of alcohol than formerly. We seem to arrive at the varying -stages of drunkenness with very much less trouble, and at very much less -cost. The reverse process, too, is equally rapid. Formerly there was not -much doubt about the guilt of a man or woman who was charged with being -drunk. If the policeman's word was not quite sufficient, the appearance -of the prisoner completed the evidence. But now men and women are mad -drunk one hour and practically sober the next. Red noses and inflamed -faces cannot be developed under these conditions. I have seen in later -years a long array of prisoners charged with being drunk, and no -evidence of tarrying long at wine upon any one of them, and no evidence -of drinking either, excepting the bruises or injuries received.</p> - -<p>This ability to get drunk quickly and to recover quickly leads sometimes -to unexpected results; for some men, when released on bail, rush -promptly to their own doctor and get a certificate of sobriety, and then -bring the doctor as a witness.</p> - -<p>His Worship is in a dilemma when the case is brought before him, for the -police state that the man was mad drunk at 1 a.m., while, on the other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> -hand, medical testimony is forthcoming that at 2 a.m. he was perfectly -sober.</p> - -<p>Other men, when detained in the cells, get quickly sober. Nor can they -believe they have been drunk; indignantly they demand an examination by -the police divisional doctor, and willingly pay the necessary bill of -seven and sixpence for his attendance. This time it is the doctor who is -in a dilemma; he knows in his heart that the man <i>has been</i> drunk; he -also naturally wishes to confirm the police evidence; still, he cannot -conscientiously say that the man <i>is</i> drunk. "He appears to be -recovering from the effects of drink," is the testimony that he gives, -and his opinion is attached to the charge-sheet for the magistrate's -guidance. "No," says the prisoner, "I was not drunk; neither had I been -drunk; but I was excited at being detained in the cells on a false -charge." And he will call as witnesses friends who were in his company -during the evening, and from whom he had parted only a few minutes -previous to arrest. They declare that the prisoner was perfectly sober; -that he could not possibly have been drunk; that they had only a limited -number of drinks; that he was as sober as they were—the latter -statement being probably true!</p> - -<p>What can the magistrate do under such circumstances but discharge the -prisoner?—and "Another unfounded charge by the police" is duly -advertised by the Press.</p> - -<p>I believe this to be the secret of so much contradictory evidence, and -this new physiological factor must be taken into account when weighing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> -evidence, or much discredit will fall upon the police, when they have -but honestly done their duty. It ought no longer to avail a prisoner who -proves sobriety at one o'clock, sobriety at three o'clock, to contend -that he could not possibly have been drunk at two o'clock. I have seen -so much of drunkenness that I believe two hours a sufficient length of -time to allow many men to get drunk and to get sober too.</p> - -<p>I must not enter on an inquiry as to why this change has come about; I -merely content myself with stating a fact, that must be recognized, and -which is as worthy of consideration by sociologists and politicians as -it is by judges and magistrates.</p> - -<p>This facility of getting drunk means danger, for passions are readily -excited, and delusions readily arise, and are most tenaciously held in -brains so easily disturbed by drink. All sorts of things are possible, -from silly antics to frenzy and murder; but, as I have said, the varying -stages pass so quickly that only onlookers can realize the truth: for -the victim of this facility is nearly always sure that the evidence -given against him is absolutely false.</p> - -<p>But prisoners generally have changed: I am not sure that the change is -for the better. Time was when prisoners had character, grit, pluck, and -personality, but now these qualities are not often met with. Formerly a -good number of the vagabonds were interesting vagabonds, and were -possessed of some redeeming features: they seemed to have a keen sense -of humour; but to-day this feature cannot often be seen.</p> - -<p>Prisoners have put on a kind of veneer, for both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> youthful offenders and -offenders of older growth are better dressed.</p> - -<p>They are cleaner, too, in person, for which I suppose one ought to be -thankful—even though, to a large extent, rags and tatters were -picturesque compared with the styles of dress now too often seen. Loss -of the picturesque has, I am afraid, been accompanied by loss of -individuality, and the processions that pass through London -police-courts now are not so striking as formerly. They are devoid of -strong personality, and the mass of people in many respects resembles a -flock of sheep. They have no desire to do wrong, but they constantly go -wrong; they have no particular wish to do evil, but they have little -inclination for good. In a word, weakness, not wickedness, is their -great characteristic.</p> - -<p>But weakness is often more mischievous and disastrous in its -consequences than wickedness.</p> - -<p>In the young offenders this lack of grit is combined with an absence of -moral principles, and though the majority of them appear to know right -from wrong, they certainly act as if they possess little moral -consciousness.</p> - -<p>Again I content myself with merely stating a fact, for I must not be led -into philosophic inquiry or speculation as to the causes of this loss of -grit, though I hope to say something upon the subject later on.</p> - -<p>Crime, too, has changed in some respects. There are fewer crimes of -violence; there is less brutality, less debauchery, less drinking; -but—and I would like to write it very large—there is more dishonesty, -which is a more insidious evil.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p><p>Here again I am tempted to philosophic inquiry, or to engage in some -attempt to answer the question—Are we as a nation becoming more -dishonest? I answer at once, We are.</p> - -<p>For twenty-five years I have watched the trend of crime, for the past -ten years I have closely studied our criminal statistics, and I can say -that personal experience and a close study of our annual criminal -statistics confirm me in this matter.</p> - -<p>Some explanation of the growth of dishonesty may be found in the social -changes that have been going on. As education advanced the number of men -and women employed as clerks, salesmen, and business assistants -multiplied, and it follows that the temptations to, and opportunities -for, dishonesty multiplied also. For years a large transference of boys -and young men from the labouring and artisan life to the clerk's desk or -to the shop-counter has been going on. The growth in the number of -persons employed as distributors of the necessaries of life, who day -after day receive, on behalf of their employers, payments for bread, -milk, meat, coal, etc., multiplies enormously the facilities for -dishonest actions.</p> - -<p>Most of those engaged in this class of work come from the homes of the -poor, and in too many cases receive insufficient payment for arduous and -responsible services. Still, I am sure that we must not look for the -reason of this growing dishonesty in the multiplication of the -opportunities, or to sudden temptations caused by the stress of poverty.</p> - -<p>To what, then, shall it be attributed? I do not hesitate to answer this -question, by replying at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> once: To that lack of moral backbone and grit -to which I have alluded; to the absence of direct principles; to the -desire of enjoying pleasures that cannot be afforded, and of spending -money not honestly acquired. Some people to whom I have spoken on this -subject have said to me: "But these are the faults of the rich; surely -they are not the sins of the poor." And I have said: "Well, you know -more of the rich than I do, so maybe they are characteristic of both." -Though I do not believe them to be national characteristics, sorrowfully -I say the trend is in that direction. I know perfectly well that some -people will say that this is the croaking of one who is growing old, and -that old men always did, and always will, believe in the decadence of -the present age.</p> - -<p>But this is not so. I am a born optimist. I believe in the ultimate -triumph of good. I believe that humanity has within itself a sufficiency -of good qualities to effect its social salvation. Nevertheless, I am -afraid of this growing dishonesty, for I have seen something of its -consequences. Sneaking peculations, small acts of dishonesty, miserable -embezzlements, falsified accounts, and contemptible frauds, have damned -the lives of thousands, and the strands of life are covered by human -wrecks, whose anchorage has been so weak that the veriest puff of wind -has driven them to destruction.</p> - -<p>I know something of the evils of drink; I have seen much of the -blighting influence of gambling; but dishonesty is more certain and -deadly in its effects among educated and ignorant alike: for it begins -in secrecy, it is continued in duplicity, it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> destroys the moral fibre, -and it ends with death.</p> - -<p>I have said that the police-court processions are not so interesting as -in years gone by: probably that is a superficial view, for humanity is, -and must be always, equally interesting. It may not be as picturesque, -but that is a surface view only, and we really want to know what is -beneath. But the underneath takes some discovering, and when we get -there it is only to find that there is still something lower still.</p> - -<p>Much has been said of late years about the increase of insanity. Whether -this increase is more apparent than real is a debatable point. I am glad -to know that more people are certified than formerly, and that greater -care is taken of them. This undoubtedly prolongs their existence, and -consequently adds to their number. But whatever doubt I may have about -the actually insane, I have no doubt whatever about the increase in the -number of those who live on the borderland between sanity and insanity, -and whose case is far more pitiful than that of the altogether mad.</p> - -<p>Poor wretches! who are banged from pillar to post, helpless and -hopeless, they are the sport of circumstances; they are an eyesore to -humanity, a danger to the community, and a puzzle to themselves. For -such neither the State nor local authorities have anything to offer. If -committed to prison, they are certified as "unfit for prison -discipline." If they enter the workhouse, they are encouraged to take -their discharge at the earliest moment. They cannot work, but they can -steal,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> and they can beg. They have animal passions, but they have less -than animal control. They can perpetuate their species, and pile up -burdens for other generations to bear. Nothing in all my experiences -astonishes me so much as the continued neglect of these unfortunate -people. Prisons have been revolutionized; dealing with young offenders -has developed into a cult; prisoners' aid societies abound; the care, -the feeding, the education, the health, and the play of children have -become national or municipal business: but the nation still shirks its -responsibility to those who have the greatest claim upon its care; for -these people are still in as parlous condition as the lepers of old. My -memory recalls many of them, and profoundly do I hope that in the great -changes that are impending, and in the great improvements that are -taking place, consideration of the poor, smitten, unfortunate half-mad -will not be wanting.</p> - -<p>Surely I am not wrong in affirming that, when the State finds in its -prisons a number of people who are constantly committing offences, who -are helpless and penniless, and whose mental condition is so low that -they are not fit to be detained even in prison, provision should be made -for their being permanently detained and controlled in institutions or -colonies, with no opportunity for perpetuating their kind. In our -dealings with the "unfit" we have, then, made no progress, and we are -still waiting and hoping for a solution of this distressing evil. To -show how this evil grows by neglect, I offer the following instance:</p> - -<p>I happen to be a churchwarden, and when leaving church one Sunday -morning I was asked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> by the verger to speak to a man and woman who sat -by the door. They had come in during the service, and asked for the -Vicar, in the hope of obtaining relief.</p> - -<p>The man was wretched in appearance—much below the usual size—and was -more than half blind; the woman was equally wretched in appearance, and -not far removed from imbecility. I knew the man at once, and had known -him for twenty years. I had met him scores of times at London -police-courts, where he had been invariably committed to prison, -although certified as "unfit." He had been in the workhouse many times. -In the workhouse he had met with the poor wretch that sat by his side. -They were legally and lawfully married, and were possessed of three -children—or, rather, they were the parents of three children, for other -folk possessed them; but doubtless they would make their losses good in -due time, the couple being by no means old.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The number of women charged with drunkenness has increased largely -during late years, and the list of those constantly charged has grown -considerably.</p> - -<p>From this it would appear safe to conclude that female intemperance -generally has largely increased.</p> - -<p>Many people have come to this conclusion, and are very apt with figures -which seem to prove their case.</p> - -<p>But even figures can lie, for a woman who has been convicted ten or -twelve times in the year has furnished ten or twelve examples of female<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -inebriety; but, after all, she is but one individual. And to get at -approximate truth, we must ascertain the number of separate individuals -who have been charged. Nor will this give us the whole truth, for it -must also be ascertained who are the women that are constantly charged. -To what class do they belong? What is the matter with them? Why are they -different from women generally? Such inquiries as these have been -conveniently avoided.</p> - -<p>I will endeavour to supply the missing answers.</p> - -<p>Eighty per cent. of the women charged repeatedly with drunkenness belong -to one class, and may be described as "unfortunates." The number of -these women has increased tremendously during the last twenty years. The -growth of London accounts partly for this increase in the number of -"unfortunates," and the growth of provincial towns supplements the -growth of London. In all our large centres we have, then, a large army -of women whose lives are beyond description, whose vocation renders -drinking compulsory, and whose habits bring them into conflict with the -police. Their convictions, which number many thousands, should be -charged to another evil.</p> - -<p>Of the remaining twenty per cent. I must also give some description. Ten -per cent. of them are demented old women, who spend their lives in -workhouses or prisons, upon whom a small amount of drink takes great -effect.</p> - -<p>The remaining ten per cent. may be considered more or less respectable, -but my experience has led me to believe that less rather than more would -be a fitting description. I want it to be clearly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> understood that I am -now speaking of women "repeaters," not of women who are occasionally -charged with drunkenness.</p> - -<p>In considering female intemperance, the above must be eliminated, and -when this is done I think it will be found that the alleged increase of -drunkenness among women is not proved. At any rate, it is not proved by -criminal statistics. But a great change has come over women: they are no -longer ashamed of being seen in public-houses, for respectable women are -by no means careful about the company they meet and associate with in -the public-houses. In police-courts I have noticed this growing change. -Time was when few or no women were found among the audiences that -assembled day by day in the courts. It is not the case now. Formerly, if -women had any connection with cases that were coming on, they discreetly -waited in the precincts of the court till they were called by the police -or the usher.</p> - -<p>It is very different now, for there is no scarcity of women, ready to -listen to all repulsive details of police-court charges. Sometimes, when -the order is given for women to leave the court, some women are ready to -argue the matter with the usher; and when ultimately compelled to leave, -it is evident they do so under protest, and with a sense of personal -grievance.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it may be natural for police-courts to supply to the poor and -the tradesman class that excitement and relish the higher courts and -divorce courts furnish to those better off.</p> - -<p>In one direction I am able to bear direct testimony to the virtue of -women, for they are more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> honest than men, and their honesty increases -rather than diminishes. This is the more remarkable as opportunities for -dishonesty have become much more numerous among women. Still, in spite -of multiplied opportunities, dishonesty among women seems to be a -diminishing quantity. I am glad to find that our annual statistics for -some years past confirm me in this experience.</p> - -<p>But my experiences do not furnish me with any reason for believing that -we have made any progress with the housing of the very poor. The State, -municipal authorities, and philanthropists still act upon the principle, -"To him that hath it shall be given." Consequently, they continue to -provide dwellings for those who can pay good rents. In another chapter -some of my experiences with regard to the housing of the very poor will -be found, so I content myself here with a few reflections and -statements. During the years covered by my experience the rents of the -very poor have increased out of all proportion to their earnings. I have -taken some trouble to inquire into this question, and when speaking to -elderly men and women living in congested streets, I have obtained much -information. "How long have you lived in this house?" I asked an elderly -widow. "Thirty years. I was here long before my husband died." "What -rent do you pay?" "Thirteen shillings per week." "But you can't pay -thirteen shillings." "No, I let off every room and live in this -kitchen." We were then in the kitchen, which was about nine feet square. -The house consisted of four rooms and a back-yard about the same size as -the kitchen; there was no forecourt. "What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> rent did you pay when you -first came here?" "Six shillings and sixpence." The rent had doubled in -thirty years.</p> - -<p>"Who is your landlord?" "I don't know who it is now, but a collector -calls every week."</p> - -<p>"Why don't you go somewhere else?" "I can't get anything cheaper, and I -like the old place, and I don't have to climb a lot of stairs."</p> - -<p>This little conversation exactly outlines the lot of the poor, so far as -their housing is concerned: they must either take a "little house and -let off," or make their homes in one or more of the very little rooms. -Let me be explicit. By the very poor I mean families whose income is -under twenty-five shillings weekly—women whose husbands have but fitful -work; women who have to maintain themselves, their children and sick -husbands, when those husbands are not in the infirmary; widows who have -to maintain themselves and their children, with or without parish -assistance; and elderly widows or spinsters who, by great efforts, -maintain themselves.</p> - -<p>For these and similar classes no housing accommodation has yet been -attempted. Yet for them the need is greatest, and from neglecting them -the most disastrous consequences ensue.</p> - -<p>The State will lend money to the man who has a fair and regular income; -municipal authorities and philanthropic trusts will build for those who -can regularly pay high rents; but the very poor are still hidden in -prison-houses, and for them no gaol deliverance is proclaimed, so they -huddle together, and the more numerous the building improvements, the -closer they huddle. The new<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> tenements are not for them, neither is any -provision made for them before they are displaced, so a great deal of -police-court business arises in consequence, to say nothing of greater -and more far-reaching evils. But I deal more fully with housing in my -next chapter.</p> - -<p class="space-above">In dealing with child offenders, vast improvements have been made. -To-day rarely, indeed, are children sent to prison, and we appear to be -on the verge of the time when it will be impossible for anyone under the -age of fourteen to receive a sentence of imprisonment. The birch, too, -is more sparingly used, and only when there appears to be no other -fitting punishment. One magistrate quite recently, in ordering its -infliction, declared it was the first time he had done so for twelve -years. The courts do not run with the blood of naughty lads, as some -suppose; but the birch has not disappeared, and the lusty cries of -youthful delinquents are sometimes to be heard.</p> - -<p>While I hate cruelty and do not love the birch, I would like to place on -record the fact that I have never known it administered too severely, or -any serious injury inflicted.</p> - -<p>The statement that the most powerful policeman is selected for the duty -is fiction pure and simple. In London, at any rate, the sergeant-gaoler -or his deputy administers the birch. Whatever else may be charged -against the police, cruelty to children cannot be brought against them, -for the kindness of the Force to children is proverbial. And this -kindness is reflected in police-courts. Nowhere are children more -considerately<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> treated. I agree with the movement in favour of separate -courts for children, because I would not have children's actions -considered as criminal; but, in the light of my experience, I am bound -to disagree with many of the statements made by some advocates of the -movement. Children are tenderly treated and considered in the London -police-courts of to-day.</p> - -<p>But I am more concerned for the Toms, Dicks, and Harrys between fourteen -and twenty years of age, who, having little or no home accommodation, -crowd our streets, especially on Sunday evenings, and make themselves a -nuisance to the staid and respectable.</p> - -<p>For these the bad old rule and simple plan of fines to be promptly paid, -or imprisonment in default of payment, still prevails; but of this I -have more to say in a chapter on Hooliganism.</p> - -<p>Years ago the brute, coarse and cruel though he was, was different from -the brute of to-day; for, at any rate, he was an undisguised brute. -Youthful offenders, too, had more pluck and self-reliance; in fact, -while offences remain much the same, and the ways in which offences are -committed have not altered greatly, the bearing and appearance of the -offenders have completely changed. Rags are not so plentiful as they -were, and child offenders are very much better dressed; for civilization -cannot endure rags, and shoeless feet are an abomination. Veneer, then, -is very palpable to-day in police-courts. This may be indicative of good -or evil. It may have its origin in self-respect, in changing fashions, -or in deceit; it may be one of the effects of insufficient education, or -it may be a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>by-product of the general desire to appear respectable. It -may also be claimed as an outward and visible sign of the improved -social condition and the enlarged financial resources of the poor. The -change in speech, too, is strongly noticeable; the old blood-curdling -oaths and curses spiced with blasphemy are quite out of fashion.</p> - -<p>Emphasis can only be given to speech to-day by interlarding it with -filthy words and obscene allusions. This method of expression is not -confined to the poorest, for even well-dressed men adopt it, and the -style and words have now passed on to thoughtless young people of both -sexes.</p> - -<p>There are no "women" to-day. Times have improved so greatly that every -woman has become "a lady." The term "woman" is one of reproach, and must -only be used as indicative of scorn or to impute immorality. Magistrates -have tried hard to preserve the good old word and give it a proper -place, but in vain. "Another woman" always means something very bad -indeed; she is one that must be spoken of with bated breath. Even the -word "female" carries with it an implication of non-respectability.</p> - -<p>Indeed, so far have we progressed in this direction, and so far does the -politeness of the Force extend, that when giving evidence against a -woman of the worst possible character an officer will refer to her as -"the lady," not as the prisoner. Sometimes, as I have already hinted, -the magistrate intervenes at this point, and tries to preserve some of -the last shreds of respectability that still attach to the once-honoured -word.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>Here again one might speculate as to what has produced this change, and -ask whether the development of obscene language has anything to do with -the abandonment of the words "woman" and "female." Personally, I am -inclined to believe that it has. "What did he say?" peremptorily asked -an irate magistrate of a young and modest constable. "Your Worship, the -words were so bad that I don't like to repeat them." "Write them down, -then." The officer did so. "Well, they are pretty bad, but you will soon -get used to them. They don't shock me, for I hear them all the day, and -every day." The magistrate was correct, and, more the pity, his words -are true. The old oaths were far less disgusting and far less -demoralizing. The invocation of the Deity, either for confirmation of -speech or for a curse upon others, argued some belief in God, which -belief has probably suffered decay even among the coarse and ignorant. -Still, if police-court habitués and their friends continue to embellish -their speech with obscenity, then their last state will be worse than -their first. Likely enough, this fashion in speech has much to do with -the substitution of the word "lady" and the abandonment of the word -"woman." It may be, after all, only a clumsy attempt to speak -courteously, without casting any imputation on the moral character of -the person referred to. That, however, is the only redeeming feature I -can find in the matter, which is altogether too bad for words. I only -refer to the subject because I wish to be a faithful witness, and these -changes cannot be ignored, for they are full of grave portent.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p>Profoundly I hope this fashion will change, and if appeal were of any -use, I would honestly and earnestly appeal to all my poor and -working-class friends to set themselves against this vile method of -expression, and to encourage a higher standard of thought and speech.</p> - -<p class="space-above">But I must now give a little consideration to some legal changes that -have taken place, from which much was expected, and from which much has -followed. Whether the results have been exactly what were expected, and -whether the good has been as large as we looked for, are moot points. It -is, of course, true of social problems, and peculiarly true of humanity -itself, that evil defeated in one direction is certain to manifest -itself in another, so that standing still in social life, or in -individual life, must and does mean retrogression, when the old evils -assert themselves differently, but more speciously guised. Briefly, the -new Acts that have had most effect in London police-courts are the First -Offenders Act, the Married Women's Protection Act (1905), and some -clauses in the Licensing Act of 1902.</p> - -<p>The former Act has undoubtedly kept thousands of young people from -prison, for which everyone ought to be supremely thankful. It was, -perhaps, impossible for us to have a reform of this magnitude without -some evil attaching to it, for we have not as yet discovered an unmixed -good. This beneficent Act has been much talked of and widely advertised. -The public generally have been enraptured with it, and magistrates have -not been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> slow to avail themselves of its merciful provisions, though -generally exercising a wise discretion as to their application.</p> - -<p>But human nature is a strange mixture, for while excessive punishment -hardens and demoralizes a wrong-doer, leniency often confirms him. It -is, and must always be, a serious matter to interpose between a wilful -wrong-doer and the punishment of his deeds; but the punishment must be -just and sensible, or worse evils will follow. The utmost that can be -urged against this well-known Act is that it has not impressed on the -delinquent youth the heinousness of his wrong-doing, and this is the -case. True, he has been in the hands of the police, and he has been -admonished by the magistrate; he has also been in the gaoler's office, -and bound in recognizance to be of good behaviour. But this is all, for -nothing else has happened to him. He has not been made to pay back the -money stolen, neither has he been compelled to make any reparation to -those he has injured. The law, then, has considered his offence but -slight, and his dishonesty but a trivial matter. In his heart he knows -that, though he has purged his offence as far as the law is concerned, -he has not absolved his own conscience by any attempt to put the matter -right with the person he has wronged; consequently, he is quite right in -arguing that the law has condoned his offence. Frequently, then, he goes -from the court a rogue at heart. Hundreds of times I have tried to -persuade young persons, who have been charged with dishonesty and dealt -with as first offenders, of the duty and necessity of paying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> back the -money dishonestly obtained, but I never succeeded. The law had done with -them; nothing else mattered. The wrong to the individual and to their -own conscience was of no consequence.</p> - -<p>Human nature being, then, so constructed, it cannot be a matter for -surprise that the First Offenders Act failed in conveying to young -persons who had fastened around themselves the deadly grip of dishonesty -that the law considered dishonesty a most serious matter. Many of the -young offenders could not realize this, for, to use their own -expression, "They got jolly well out of it." But such results might have -been foreseen, and ought to have been foreseen.</p> - -<p>This matter is, however, now attended to, for Mr. Gladstone's Probation -Act (1908) empowers magistrates to compel all dishonest persons that are -dealt with under the Act to make restitution of stolen property or money -up to the value of £10. I have long advocated this course, which is both -just and merciful—just to the person who has been robbed and just to -the robber; merciful because it compels the wrong-doer in some degree to -undo the wrong, and enables him to break the chains of his deadly habit. -It will also prove to him that the law is not so tolerant of dishonesty -as he believed. Common-sense, too, says that the pardoned rogue ought -not to profit from his roguery, while the person he has robbed has to -suffer, not only the loss of goods or money, but also the trouble and -expense of prosecution.</p> - -<p>Most respectfully, then, would I like to point out to all magistrates -that they may now order dishonest persons dealt with under this Act to -make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> restitution up to £10. It is to be hoped that our magistrates will -freely avail themselves of this permissive power, and make young rogues -"pay, pay, pay." It matters not how small the instalments nor how long a -time the payments may be continued, for I feel assured that nothing will -stem the onward sweep of dishonesty, and that nothing will bring home to -young offenders the serious character of dishonesty so much as the -knowledge that great inconvenience, but no pecuniary benefit, can come -to those who indulge in it.</p> - -<p>The Married Women's Protection Act came at last. It was inevitable. -There was a horrible satire contained in the suggestion that in England, -with its humanity and civilization, after a thousand years of -Christianity an Act to protect women against their legal husbands should -be necessary; but it was.</p> - -<p>This Act came in the very fulness of time. Everybody was tired and -altogether dissatisfied with the old and ineffectual plan of sending -brutal husbands to prison. This feeling arose not from sympathy with -brutal husbands, but from pity to ill-treated wives, for it was -recognized that sending brutal husbands to prison only made matters -worse. Briefly, the Act empowered married women who had persistently -cruel husbands to leave them, and having left them, to apply to the -magistrates for a separation and maintenance order, which magistrates -were empowered to grant when persistent cruelty was proved.</p> - -<p>Police-courts then became practically divorce-courts for the poor, for -thousands of women have claimed and obtained these separation orders.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> -It seems just, and I have no hesitation in saying it is right, whatever -may be the consequences, that decent suffering women whose agony has -been long drawn out should be protected from and delivered out of the -power of human brutes. But in a community like ours we are bound to have -an eye to the consequences.</p> - -<p>Women very soon found that it was much easier to get separation than it -was to get maintenance. However modest the weekly amount ordered—and to -my mind magistrates were very lenient in this respect—comparatively few -of the discarded husbands paid the amounts ordered: some few paid -irregularly, the majority paid nothing. The "other woman" became an -important factor, and the money that should have gone to the support of -the legal wife and legitimate children went to her and to illegitimate -children. Such fellows were, then, in straits. If they left the "other -woman," affiliation orders loomed over them; if they did not pay their -legalized wives, they might be sent to prison. Some men I know found -this the easiest way of paying their wives "maintenance," for they would -go cheerfully to prison, and when released would promptly start on the -task of again accumulating arrears.</p> - -<p>Undoubtedly very many women were much better off apart from their -husbands—at any rate, they had some peace—but mostly they lived lives -of unremitting toil and partial, if not actual, starvation. On the -whole, this Act, which was quite necessary and inspired by good -intentions, has not proved satisfactory. But married men began to ask, -"Why cannot we have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> separation orders against habitually drunken -wives?"</p> - -<p>Why, indeed! The principle had been admitted, and "sauce for the goose -must be sauce for the gander." Joan had been protected; Darby must have -equal rights. And Darby got them, with something added. The Licensing -Bill of 1902 put him right, or rather wrong. Under some provisions of -this Act habitual drunkenness in case of either husband or wife became a -sufficient reason for separation, and police-courts became more than -ever divorce-courts for the poor. But Darby came best, or rather worst, -out of this unseemly matter, for there was no need for him to leave his -wife and his home before applying for a separation. He might live with -his wife in their home, and while living with her apply for a summons -against her, and this granted, he might continue to live with her right -up to the time the summons was heard—might even accompany her to the -court, and drink with her on the way thither. Then, proving her -drunkenness to the magistrate's satisfaction, he could get his order, -give her a few shillings, go home and close the door against her, -leaving her homeless and helpless in the streets. She may have borne him -many children, she might be about to become a mother once more; in fact, -the frequent repetition of motherhood might be the root-cause of her -drunkenness. No matter, the law empowers him to put her out and keep her -out. Such is the law, and to such a point has the chivalry of many -husbands come. But Darby may go still further, for he may call in -"another woman" to keep house and look after the children. In a sense -he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> may live in a sort of legalized immorality, and do his wife no legal -wrong; while, if she, poor wretched woman, with all her temptations and -weaknesses, yields but once to a similar sin, all claim to support is -forfeited, and she goes down with dreadful celerity to the lowest -depths. Plenty of good husbands, and brave men they are, refuse to take -advantage of this Act, and bear all the unspeakable ills and sorrows -connected with a drunken wife, bearing all things, enduring all things, -and hoping all things, rather than turn the mothers of their children -into the streets. But it is far different with some husbands, whose -lives and habits have conduced to, if they have not actually caused, -their wives' inebriety; to them the Act is a boon, and they are not -backward in applying for relief. I have elsewhere given my views as to -the working of these special clauses, but I again take an opportunity of -saying that the whole proceedings are founded in stupidity. In action -they are cruel, and in results they are demoralizing to the individuals -concerned, and to the State generally. All this is the more astounding -when one realizes that the Act might easily have been made a real -blessing; and it is more astounding still when the temper and tone of -society is considered.</p> - -<p>We demand, and rightfully demand, that first offenders shall have -another chance. Has it come to this—that a wretched wife, who, through -suffering, worry, neglect, or ill-health or mental disturbance, has -given way to drink, shall have less consideration than the young thief? -So it appears. We scour London's streets, we seek<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> out the grossest -women even civilization can furnish—women whose only hope lies with the -Eternal Father—and we put them in inebriates' reformatories, and keep -them there, at a great expense, for two or three years. Money without -stint is spent that they may have the shadow of a chance for -reclamation. Organized societies are formed for their after-care when -released from the reformatories. And yet we calmly contemplate married -women, otherwise decent but for drink, real victims of inebriety, being -thrust homeless into the streets, with the dead certainty that they will -descend to the Inferno out of which we are seeking to deliver the unfortunates.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">SOME BURGLARS I HAVE MET</span></h2> - -<p>The common London burglar is by no means a formidable fellow. Speaking -generally, there is nothing of Bill Sikes about him, for he has not much -stature, strength, courage, or brains. Most of those that I have met -have been poor specimens of manhood, ready alike to surrender to a -self-possessed woman or to a young policeman. Idle, worthless fellows, -who, having no regular work to do, and being quite indifferent as to -what happens to them, often attempt burglary, but of the crudest -description.</p> - -<p>These young fellows evince no skill, exhibit little daring, and when -caught show about as much pluck as a guinea-pig. For them one may feel -contempt, but contempt must be tempered by pity. Circumstances have been -against them. Underfed and undersized, of little intelligence, with no -moral consciousness, they are a by-product of our civilization, a direct -product of our slum-life. If caught young and given some years' manual -training and technical education, together with manly recreation and -some share in competitive games, many of them would go straight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> on -their release, provided a reasonable start in life were given them.</p> - -<p>Idle liberty is dangerous to young men who have no desire for -wrong-doing, but who at the same time have little aspiration for -right-doing. Our prisons are crowded with them, and a series of short -imprisonments only serves to harden them, until they become confirmed -but clumsy criminals. But real burglars are men of different stamp, and, -if I may be pardoned, men of better metal, for at any rate they possess -nerve, brain, and grit. They may be divided into two classes: first, the -men who are at war with society, who live by plunder, and who mean to -live by plunder, who often show marvellous skill, energy, presence of -mind, and pluck; secondly, men who, having once engaged in burglary, -find it so thrilling that no other pleasure, passion, or sport has to -them one tithe of the joy and glamour that a midnight raid presents. Let -me give you one example of the former.</p> - -<p>A well-dressed gentleman—frock-coat, silk hat, gold-rimmed eyeglasses, -etc.—took a house in a swell neighbourhood at £120 a year rental. His -references were to all appearances undeniable; his manner, speech, and -bearing were beyond reproach; so he obtained a lease of the premises, -and entered into possession. His next step was to call on the local -superintendent of the police and give him his address, asking also that -the police might keep a watchful eye upon the house till he took up his -residence in it. He was, he said, a practical consulting and analytical -chemist; he was fitting up an expensive laboratory on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> premises, and -a good many things of value to him would be sent to the house. He -himself would be there during the day, but he would be grateful if the -police would, when on their beat at night, sometimes see that all was -right. The police were charmed with him. He was a small man, about 5 -feet 4 inches in height. The same night a mean-looking little man was -converted at an open-air meeting of the Salvation Army. He wished for -lodgings for a time, that he might be shielded from temptation, for -which he was prepared to pay. So he went to lodge with the officer in -command, and donned a red guernsey. He was employed on night-work, he -told his landlady, but sometimes he had to go away for a day or two. His -friends were well pleased with him; his conversion seemed genuine, and -he gave but little trouble. Meanwhile, at the large house close by -consignments of goods were, constantly arriving, and sometimes the -frock-coated gentleman showed himself to the police. For many weeks this -went on, till one day the convert was missing from his lodging. He did -not return the next day, nor the day after that. They were anxious about -him; they were poor, too, and he owed money. But they could get no -tidings of him. Thinking something might have happened to him by way of -accident, they went to the police-station to inquire. A keen detective -heard their inquiry, and kept his own counsel; but next morning he went -to the remand prison, and sure enough he found the missing man there -among the prisoners. He had been arrested for "failing to report." He -was on "ticket-of-leave," and had to report<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> himself once a month to the -police. Either his religious emotion or the interest of his night -employment had caused him to neglect this trivial matter.</p> - -<p>About this time the consulting and analytical chemist disappeared, and -no more consignments of goods for the laboratory arrived. The little -convert was once more remanded, for the magistrate and the police wanted -to know what he had been doing. The police, too, had been keeping an eye -on the big house; they thought, too, that something had happened to the -chemist, so they forced the door and entered. It was verily a robbers' -cave they found. No trace of scientific implements, except burglars' -tools, no trace of chemicals or laboratory; but they found the proceeds -of many clever burglaries that had been committed in various parts of -London. The chemist and the convert were one; their identity was -established. When I spoke to him in the cells, he called himself an -"ass" for failing to report himself to the police. "If it had not been -for that, I should have been all right," he said.</p> - -<p>In a previous book I have given at some length my experiences of a -burglar who is a living example of the second class; but I have -something to add to the story, for since "Pictures and Problems" was -issued his fifth term of penal servitude terminated, and the man came -back to me.</p> - -<p>Twice had I given him a good start in life, for he was both clever and -industrious, and in many respects honest. I do not think he would have -cheated anyone, and I know that he would have scorned to pick anyone's -pocket. I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> twice previously set him up in his business—bookbinding. -Twice had he appeared to be on the way to thorough reformation of -character and good social standing; but twice, when things were -prospering with him, and when he had acquired plenty of good clothing, -etc., and had saved at least £10, had he lapsed into burglary, with the -inevitable result—he was caught. Well under fifty years of age, yet his -accumulated sentences amounted to nearly forty years; but it must be -borne in mind that one-fourth of the time he had been on -"ticket-of-leave," for he behaved well in prison, and obtained every -possible mark for good conduct, etc. I had not expected to see any more -of him, for I knew that he had heart trouble, and, moreover, had been -ill in prison. The officials had, however, taken good care of him, and -during the months previous to his discharge he had been an occupant of -the prison hospital. He appeared to be in fair health. The hair on his -head had been allowed to grow; he had been decently shaved. His -clothing, however, betrayed him, for there was no mistaking it.</p> - -<p>He had earned £6 in prison, which sum had been placed with the Church -Army for his benefit. Neither the Church Army nor the Salvation Army -could find or give him any employment, and the £6 was soon spent. I saw -much of him, and watched him closely, for he interested me. When he was -quite penniless and apparently hopeless, I obtained work for him with a -local tradesman, for which he was to receive £1 weekly, but was required -to do a certain amount of work every day; for I was anxious for him to -have regular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> work, and to be able to earn sufficient for his need, but -no more. I also agreed to find or procure sufficient work to keep him -going. This arrangement seemed likely to prosper, and I felt some hope. -There was no sign of repentance to be observed in him, neither was he in -the least ashamed of his past; indeed, he seemed to think, like a good -many other ex-convicts, that it was the duty of the community to help -him and compensate him for the years he had spent in prison. I soon had -cause for suspicion, but kept silent, till one day I saw him with -something that he could not possibly have purchased. I told him that I -should warn the police. He did not deny the impeachment, but he wanted -to argue the matter, and seemed to believe that in some way or other his -conduct was justifiable.</p> - -<p>Within a fortnight from the time of this conversation he was again in -the hands of the police, who charged him with attempted burglary, and -once more he went back to penal servitude. He has not written to me; I -hope he will not write. I confess myself hopeless with such men. The -chances of their reformation are almost nil, and I for one welcome -heartily and unreservedly the proposals of the present Home Secretary, -and sincerely hope that those proposals will soon become part and parcel -of our penal administration. No Prisoners' Aid Society can help such -men, and those of us who are behind the scenes know perfectly that no -Prisoners' Aid Society tries to help them. They naturally prefer more -plastic material to work upon.</p> - -<p>The strangest part of this matter is the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>undoubted fact that these men -have within them a great deal that is good, for sometimes I have known -them to be stirred by pity and animated by love; but it requires someone -in much worse plight than they themselves are to evoke that pity and -kindle that love.</p> - -<p>The following story, true in all particulars, will be of interest:</p> - -<p>In one of our large prisons I saw an old man acting as "orderly" in the -prison hospital. He was leaning over the bed of a young man who was -dying of consumption. He was pointed out to me as an "old lag"—that is, -an ex-convict. He was a habitual criminal, a sin-seared, oft-convicted, -hardened old man, of whom and for whom there was no hope; a danger to -the community and a pest to society, well known to prison officials. His -last offence being of a technical character, he was sent to prison for a -short term only. What could the Governor do with him? Solitude and -severity had proved ineffectual for his reformation; deadening and -soul-destroying monotony had failed to soften him; the good advice of -various chaplains had fallen like seed in a stony place. He seemed -impervious to feeling, not susceptible to kindness—a hopeless, -dead-alive man.</p> - -<p>An inspiration came to the Governor. He made the "old lag" into a nurse, -and sent him into the hospital. Muttering and cursing, he went among the -sick and the weak. He was brought face to face with suffering and death. -Prison does not secure immunity from the fell scourge consumption, and -the old man's days had to be spent among some upon whom the scourge had -fixed its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> relentless grip. Sometimes death makes a long tarrying, and -the wheels of consumption's death-car are long delayed.</p> - -<p>Suffering, waiting, hoping for the end, lay a young man who was alone in -the world. Too ill and too near death, he could not be discharged from -prison; he had no friends into whose care he could be committed; so he -must suffer, wait and hope for the end. And the old convict had to nurse -him. Soon strange sensations began to thrill the old man, for pity took -possession of him. By-and-by the old man's heart became tender again, -and the foundations of the frozen deep were broken up; the "old lag" had -learned to love! He had found someone in worse plight than himself, -someone who needed his care, and someone whom he could care for. As the -weary days passed, and the days lengthened into weeks, and the weeks -into weary months, the affection between the two men grew in intensity, -till the fear of separation filled their minds—a separation not caused -by death.</p> - -<p>Would the old man's sentence expire before the young man died?</p> - -<p>Would the young man die before the old man's time was up? Who would be -nurse for the young man when the old man was gone? Alas! the convict's -time was up first, and the day came when the prison-gates were opened -and he must go free, when he must say farewell to his friend. The day -came, but the old man refused to leave, and he implored the Governor to -let him stay "and see the last of him." Surely it was a beautiful -exhibition of the power of love. The old man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> had passed through love to -light, and the dear old sinner was ready to sacrifice himself for the -benefit of the dying lad. But it was not to be. Prison rules and prison -discipline could not be relaxed, and the old convict must needs go. -There was no place for him in the prison, so with sad heart he bade his -friend farewell and departed. But three days later he was back in the -same prison, and once more he was "orderly" in the hospital.</p> - -<p>On leaving prison the convict said to the Governor: "You won't let me -stop, but you will soon have me back again, and you won't be able to -refuse me admission."</p> - -<p>In prison he had earned a few shillings, so into the nearest -public-house he went, got drunk, came out and "went for" the first -policeman, who naturally took him into custody. When before the -magistrate he asked for three months, but the magistrate thought that -one month met the justice of the case. So back he went to prison, where -the Governor promptly gave him his "old job."</p> - -<p>When I saw the old man, his month was running out.</p> - -<p>I have since learnt that when he was again discharged, he said to his -friend, "Cheer up! I shall soon be back." But the dying youth lingers -on, and waits for him in vain.</p> - -<p>Eagerly he scans every fresh comer, but no glint of recognition lights -up his poor face. The officials, too, scan every list that comes with a -fresh consignment of prisoners, but the "old lag's" name has not -appeared. Neither do the police know anything of him. What has happened -to the old convict? Perhaps, after all, his time was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> up first. Maybe he -waits in the spirit-world for the coming of his friend. Maybe the young -man will plead for the old convict, and say: "Lord, I was sick and in -prison, and he came unto me." And the Lord will answer and say: -"Inasmuch as ye did it unto him, ye did it unto Me."</p> - -<p>The police effect many smart and plucky captures. Sometimes they are -aided by a stupid oversight on the part of the criminal, but quite as -often by some extraordinary piece of luck. Let me give an instance of -the latter.</p> - -<p>A six-foot fellow from the country joined the London police-force. He -also, as soon as possible, joined himself in matrimony to a servant-girl -living in London. Her health proved to be very bad, but this did not -prevent her having children quickly, and so it came about that, before -he had been in the police-force many years he was in debt and -difficulties. Four young children and a wife constantly ill do not help -to make a policeman's life a happy one. His friends made a collection -for him on the quiet, but it had little beneficial effect. The children -became ill, the wife became worse, the debts heavier, and exposure -threatened. It was winter-time. He left his ailing wife and crying -children to go on night-duty, wishing he was dead and out of it all. As -he went quietly to his beat, his step became slower and slower, until it -stopped altogether, and he found himself standing with his back to the -wall thinking of suicide.</p> - -<p>Some months afterwards he gave me this account of what happened.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Holmes, pluck and courage had nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> to do with it, for I had -just made up my mind to make a hole in the water, when I happened to -look at the window of a jeweller's shop, in which a light was burning.</p> - -<p>"I saw somebody move in the shop, so I took out my truncheon and went -softly into the shop door. I had an idea it was unfastened, so I stood -still for a minute or two, hardly breathing, and then I rushed at the -door, and sure enough it opened, and in I went.</p> - -<p>"The three fellows were just packing up the jewellery. One of them came -for me with a pistol, but before he could get it to fire I caught him on -the head with my truncheon, and down he went. Another made for the door, -but he had to pass me, and I laid him out. The third came at me with a -big jemmy, and we had a fight, but I was too big and quick for him. I -almost broke his arm. So I took the lot; but I should not have cared if -they had killed me. I was just in a mad fury, and it was nothing but a -piece of luck."</p> - -<p>Yes, it was a bit of luck. A large sum of money was collected for him by -the public. His praises were duly sung in the Press, his debts were -paid, and his wife sent for a time to a convalescent home. He might have -made headway in the Force, but he was no scholar. I went sometimes to -give him lessons in arithmetic, spelling, etc., but it was of no use. He -wanted to catch more thieves, and sometimes made the terrible mistake of -arresting an innocent person. The last time I saw him he told me that -his wife was no better, but that she had had another child.</p> - -<p>Not long ago a singular mistake occurred in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> North London. Burglars had -infested a respectable road for some time. An attempt to enter had -evidently been made at one house without success, for they had left -jemmy-marks upon the door, but did not enter. The police resolved to -watch this house from the outside. The owner and his stalwart son -resolved to watch inside, but neither communicated with the other. At -midnight two men were seen by the police to enter the garden and go to -the front door, so the constables softly followed and listened at the -door, which was closed. Evidently there was someone inside, so they -cautiously opened the door, when suddenly they were set on by two men -armed with heavy hammers. A severe blow fell on the shoulder of one of -the officers, who responded with a crack on the head with a truncheon, -and the man inside fell on the floor. Poor fellow, he was the owner! The -son also got injured, and when the police were about to handcuff him, -the affair was explained. Meanwhile the thieves went higher up the road, -made a real attempt, and were caught. But the owner of the house lay ill -for some days, suffering from concussion of the brain, while the officer -was incapacitated from duty for some weeks.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">THE BLACK LIST AND INEBRIATES</span></h2> - -<p>In my opening chapter a slight reference was made to the Habitual -Inebriates Act of 1898.</p> - -<p>I now wish to deal more fully with this subject, for it has occupied -much time in police-courts, and has held a large place in the public -mind and interest.</p> - -<p>The uselessness of short terms of imprisonment for persons frequently -charged with drunkenness had been fully proved; they had not been found -deterrent or reformative, the only practical result being that the lives -of those constantly committed were considerably lengthened.</p> - -<p>Sometimes I have felt that it would be good if the women to whom I now -refer could have gone quietly out of existence, for I believe that the -All-Merciful would extend greater mercy to them than they show to -themselves.</p> - -<p>But life has a firm grip upon women; and when it is devoted to animalism -and idleness, when the cares and worries of home, children, and -employment do not concern them, then indeed those lives are often -lengthened out beyond the lives of their more virtuous and industrious -sisters.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><p>For these women prisons had proved useful sanatoria, and frequent -sentences times of recuperation.</p> - -<p>Small wonder, then, that new methods should at length be tried. The -Habitual Inebriates Act came into being in 1898.</p> - -<p>The Act adopted the definition of a much earlier Act as to what -constituted the habitual inebriate, which was as follows:</p> - -<p>"Those who, by the excessive use of intoxicating drink, are unable to -control their affairs or are dangerous to themselves or others."</p> - -<p>I quite believe that if the framers of this Act had realized the -character of those who would come within its provisions, a far different -definition would have been found. But the Act also conditioned that only -those who were charged four times during the year with drunkenness -should be dealt with, the great mistake being that no attempt was made -previously to inquire into the character and condition of those that -happened to be charged four times in the year. I suppose it was a -natural inference that anyone so frequently charged must be of necessity -a confirmed and regular inebriate. But the reverse proved true, for the -worst inebriates, dipsomaniacs, and sots, escaped the meshes of the net -so carefully spread.</p> - -<p>They at any rate did not fall into the hands of the police so -frequently; indeed, many of them did not at all. But the Act netted a -very different kind of fish—a kind that ought to have been netted many -years previously, and dealt with in a far more effectual manner than was -now proposed.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p><p>The Act gave power to local authorities and philanthropic societies to -establish inebriates' reformatories, which, after satisfying the -requirements of the Home Office, were to be duly licensed to receive -habitual inebriates qualified under the new law. These institutions were -to be supported by an Imperial capitation grant for every inebriate -committed, the local authorities being empowered to draw upon the rates -for the balance.</p> - -<p>Magistrates were given power to commit to these establishments for one, -two, or three years, when the persons charged before them pleaded guilty -to being habitual inebriates, and desired the question settled without -reference to a higher court; but magistrates could not deal with them -until they had been charged four times within the year.</p> - -<p>If consent was refused, magistrates were empowered to send them for -trial before the Judge and jury. Early in 1898 I took considerable pains -to ascertain the exact character and condition of the persons who came -within the provision of the Act. I found, as I expected to find, that -they were idle and dissolute persons, nearly all of them women, and such -women as only the streets of our large towns could furnish.</p> - -<p>So much misapprehension and uncertainty prevailed as to the kind and sex -of the persons who would be affected by the new law that the London -County Council, after acquiring a valuable property in Surrey for the -purposes of the Act, prepared for the reception of males. For this there -was no excuse. A glance at the annual criminal statistics would have -shown to what sex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> the oft-convicted inebriates belonged, and an inquiry -among the police would have revealed their true character and condition. -A considerable time elapsed before these reformatories were ready, local -authorities being very reluctant to use their powers, but at length the -task of trying to cure London's grossest women of inebriety began. It -was a hopeless task from the first. After eight years' experience its -futility has been fully demonstrated.</p> - -<p>In the <i>Contemporary Review</i> of May, 1899, I ventured to give a -description of the men and women who would be dealt with. The women, I -said, would consist of 80 per cent. of gross unfortunates, dominated by -vice or mental disease, homeless and shameless women; 10 per cent. old -women who live alternately in workhouses and prisons, with occasional -spells of liberty and licence; and 10 per cent. of otherwise decent -women, the majority of whom would be mentally weak.</p> - -<p>The men I described as idle, dissolute, and dishonest fellows, or worse. -Eight years' experience of the working of the Act has verified my -analysis. The report of the Government Inspector for 1906 amply proves -it. Dr. Branthwaite (the Government Inspector), a properly qualified -medical officer, has taken infinite pains to ascertain the mental -condition of those committed to certified reformatories, and who became -his special charge. I quote from his report for 1906:</p> - -<p>"During the eight years the Act has been in operation 2,277 men and -women had been committed to reformatories. Of these, 375 were men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> and -1,902 were women." He thus classifies them as to mental condition: 16·1 -per cent. as insane, defective, imbecile, or epileptic; 46·5 per cent. -as eccentric, dull, or senile; 37·4 per cent. as of average mental -capacity. This means that out of the total admissions for the eight -years, 62·6 per cent. were practically insane, and therefore hopeless -from a reformatory point of view. The remaining 37·4 per cent. were, he -says, of average mental capacity. But the Inspector can only speak of -them as he finds them; he cannot speak of their mental capacity when -outside his reformatories. I can; therefore I wish to say here something -about them. There exists a large class of men and women who, when placed -under absolute control in prisons or reformatories, submit themselves -quietly to the authority that controls and the conditions that environ -them. They obey orders, they display no anger, they offer no violence; -they are not moody or spiteful, but they fulfil their duties with some -degree of cheerfulness and alacrity. Those who have charge of them -naturally look upon them as the most hopeful of their prisoners. A -greater mistake could not be made. It may be vice, it may be drink, it -may be dishonesty, that is the master passion of their lives; it may be, -for aught I know—and in reality I believe that it is—some inscrutable -mental disease that causes their passions or weaknesses; but whatever -the passion, and however caused or controlled, when these people are -under absolute authority in places where the vice, passion, or weakness -cannot possibly be indulged, then that passion, vice, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> weakness is -absolutely non-existent for the time, and its victims appear as normal -people.</p> - -<p>But a far different state of mind and body exists when they are released -from authority, for with liberty the old instinct or passion comes into -fierce existence, and instantly demands gratification. While the -released person has on the one hand gained considerably in health of -mind and body, the sleeping passion too has gained in strength during -the time it has hibernated. These persons, I am happy to believe, are -not of normal mind, for they are helpless before the stress of -temptation. In fact, decent as they may seem while in custody, the -gratification of their particular vice is the only thing of importance -in life to them. These unfortunate people, when at liberty, are in -reality under authority of a different kind, and their obedience to the -dark, mysterious authority that controls them is as implicit as if they -were detained in prison or reformatory, for they do not question or -gainsay its imperious demands. Small wonder, then, that nearly all the -women who have been committed to inebriate reformatories revert to their -old habits of life. To speak of their relapse is wrong, for in reality -there is no relapse about it; they have only been held by force from -their old life, which they resume when that preventive force is -withdrawn.</p> - -<p>But it has been a costly experience so far, at any rate, as London is -concerned. The Government led off with a capitation grant of 10s. 6d. -weekly. For the first few years it cost about £1 10s. per week, in -addition to the outlay on land, buildings, and appointments, to keep -each of these demented<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> women. Though this cost has now been -considerably reduced, it is even now about £1 weekly. No one, I feel -sure, would begrudge this outlay if there was the remotest chance of -these extraordinary women living decently when released from the -reformatories.</p> - -<p>Sadly, but emphatically, I say no such chance exists. Let it be clearly -understood that I am not making this terrible statement about inebriates -generally, but only with regard to those women who fall into the hands -of the police four times in one year, thus qualifying for committal -according to the Act. The very hopelessness of these women excites my -deepest pity, and because I pity them I point out plainly their -condition, in the sincere hope that more satisfactory methods of dealing -with them may be provided. The Inspector claims that it is better for -these women to be detained in inebriate reformatories than to undergo a -continual round of short terms of imprisonment, varied by spells of -liberty spent in gross orgies upon the street. He says, too, that it is -the cheaper course. There is some truth in his contention. Of the exact -proportion of the monetary cost of the two methods I am not concerned, -but undoubtedly, for the good of the community and the purity of our -streets, lengthened detention in inebriate reformatories is infinitely -better than short detention in prisons. I am not objecting to their -lengthened detention, but to the method and objects of detention. If -their detention is to be for the good of the public, let it be -understood that the common weal demands it. But as they are a class -altogether apart from ordinary women, even from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> ordinary drunken women, -they ought to be detained in institutions adapted for women of their -condition only, and the absurdity of trying to cure vice-possessed women -of the drink habit ought to cease.</p> - -<p>But the legal advantages attaching to the life of a gross and disorderly -woman are considerable—far greater than the advantages that are -attached to a life of virtue and honest toil. "Only be bad enough, gross -enough, violent enough, and you shall have your reward. Only get into -conflict with the guardians of law and order four times in one year, and -three years' comfort in an inebriate reformatory shall be your reward. -There your work shall be limited, your leisure shall be certain, your -food shall be plentiful and varied, and your recreation, indoors and out -of doors, shall not be forgotten. There you shall live lives of comfort -and comparative ease." So the State seems to say to the women of the -class who at present fill our inebriate reformatories. And some are not -slow to accept the invitation. I remember one massive young Irishwoman, -who had a strong aversion to anything like honest work, saying to me one -morning when she was again in custody: "Mr. Holmes, I am about sick of -this: I'll go to a home for a year. Ask the magistrate to send me; it -will do me good."</p> - -<p>I declined to be the intermediary, so she appealed to the magistrate to -send her away under the Act.</p> - -<p>There being some doubt as to the requisite number of convictions, the -magistrate added to the list by giving her fourteen days. At the -expiration of her sentence—indeed, on the very day of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> discharge -from prison—she got into collision with the police, and next day was -again before the magistrate. She again asked the magistrate to send her -to a reformatory. But she had another grievance this time: she told the -magistrate that Mr. Holmes had insulted her. On being asked for -particulars, she said that I had refused to help her to get into an -inebriate reformatory, and further (and this was the insult), that I had -said that she was big enough, strong enough, and young enough to work -for her living. I pleaded guilty to the insult, and pointed out to the -magistrate the physical dimensions of the prisoner. He smiled, and said -there was some truth in my statement; but as the prisoner was young, -there was hope of her reformation, so he committed her for two years. I -ventured respectfully to tell him that he had but allowed her one of the -legal advantages of an idle and disorderly woman.</p> - -<p>Drink had no more to do with her condition than it has with mine, though -to some extent it was useful to her; but vice and idleness were the -dominant factors in her life, not drink.</p> - -<p>The Habitual Inebriates Act of 1898 was followed by the Licensing Act of -1902, some clauses of which dealt with habitual inebriates, and provided -for the compilation of a Black List.</p> - -<p>Every person, male or female, charged with drunkenness, or some crime -connected with drunkenness, four times in one year, was to be placed on -an official list, whether sent or not sent to an inebriate reformatory. -Their photographs were to be taken and circulated to the police and to -the publicans. Publicans were prohibited under a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> severe penalty from -serving the "listed" with intoxicating drink within a period of three -years. If the "listed" persons procured, or attempted to procure, any -drink during that time they, too, were liable to a penalty not exceeding -£1 or fourteen days. There was considerable fear and a strange anxiety -among many of the repeatedly convicted as to what would happen to them -when this Act began its operations.</p> - -<p>But this wholesome dread soon disappeared. When its operations became -known, the lists were duly made and circulated; the photographs were -accurately, if not beautifully, taken; the police were supplied with the -lists and the publicans with the photographs. But very soon the "listed" -proceeded to procure drink and get drunk as usual, for a wonder had come -to light. When charged under the new Act, instead of getting their usual -month they received but a fortnight, for the Act did not allow a more -severe punishment. True, they had committed more heinous offences, for -they had defied the law, which said they must not procure drink, and -their offences had been <i>dual</i>, for they had been drunk, too, and -disorderly and disgusting as of yore. Nevertheless, their double offence -entitled them to but half their former reward. Magistrates soon saw the -humour of it, and soon got tired of it, and sometimes, when a charge was -preferred against a "lister" under the Act, they ordered the police to -charge the prisoners under the old Act, that more punishment might be -given. But if these clauses were not successful from a legal point of -view, they were from another.</p> - -<p>The Act came into force on January 1, 1902.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> At the beginning of May in -the same year—that is, in four months from commencing operations—339 -names, mostly women, were on that List. I sometimes have the privilege -of looking at the List, which has now grown to a portentous length. It -is an education to look at those hundreds of portraits. I look at them -with fear and wonderment, for they are a revelation—an awe-inspiring -picture-gallery! I would like every student of humanity and every lover -of his kind to have a copy of that List, to study those photographs, and -ponder the letterpress description that accompanies each photograph. It -would almost appear that we are getting back to primeval man, the faces -are so strange and weird. Different as the faces are, one look is -stamped upon them all—the look of bewilderment. They one and all seem -to think that there is something wrong, and they wonder what it is. No -one can glance for a single moment at those terrible photographs without -seeing that there is something more than drink at the root of things. No -one can meet them, as I have met them, face to face, can look into their -eyes, and know, as I know, how pitifully sad, yet how horrible, are -their lives, without affirming, as I affirm, that the State proclaims -its ignorance when it classifies them as inebriates, and its impotence -when it asks others to cure them of the love of drink. These are the -women that fill our inebriate reformatories, and of whom the Home Office -Inspector reports that 62·6 per cent. are not sane. Certainly they are -not sane, and it is high time that the truth was realized and the fact -faced. Is it scientific to call their disease<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> inebriety, when in sober -truth it is something far worse—something that comes down through the -ages, and in all climes and at all times has seized hold upon certain -women—a something that never releases its hold till the portals of -death are open for its victims? Oh, I could almost laugh at the irony of -it all! Cure them of animal passion elemental in its intensity? Cure -them of diseased minds and disordered brains, by keeping them for two or -three years without drink? It cannot be done. But something can be done; -only it is so simple a thing that I feel sure it will not be done. Yet -if we had any thought for the purity of our streets, any concern for -public morality and public decency, any consideration for the public -weal, we should take these women aside, and keep them aside—not for -one, two, or three years, but for the remainder of their natural lives, -justified by the knowledge that they are not responsible creatures, and -that pity itself demands their submission to kindly control and to -strong-handed restraint.</p> - -<p>But the Licensing Act of 1902 dealt with another class of women -inebriates, and dealt with them in a drastic but unsatisfactory way. The -law got hold of really drunken women this time, but it did not give them -half the consideration extended to gross and demented unfortunates. It -empowered magistrates to grant separation orders between married couples -when either husband or wife became habitually drunken. In this Act the -same definition of habitual inebriety that governed the 1898 Act was -adopted, and husbands very promptly began to demand separation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> orders -on account of their wives' drunkenness. My experiences of the result of -this Act are sorrowful to a degree; but I expected those results, for I -knew that the clauses that empowered separation orders must be either -inoperative or disastrous. Alas! they did not remain inoperative, for -the number of discarded wives began quickly to multiply.</p> - -<p>When the Bill was before Parliament I spent some weeks in a vain -endeavour to prevent some of the worst consequences that I knew would -follow, and have followed. I contributed several articles to leading -reviews; I wrote to <i>The Times</i> and scores of other influential papers; -I wrote to leaders of temperance societies; I circularized the Members -of both Houses, pointing out the enormity and the absurdity of putting -drunken wives homeless on the streets; I pleaded, I begged, with heart, -voice, and pen, for just one chance to be given the miserable women. My -efforts were vain. No one supported me. I was a voice crying in the -wilderness. It might be thought that I was asking for some great thing -or some silly thing. I asked for neither. Let my readers judge. We had -established inebriate reformatories at the public cost. We were filling -them with the grossest unfortunates, of whom there was no hope of -redemption; these women we were maintaining for two or three years in -comfort. Will it be believed? I asked that drunken, but not immoral, -women should be given equal chances of reformation. I asked that when a -wife's drunkenness was proved, that she should, whether she consented or -not, be committed for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> one year to an inebriate reformatory, and that -the husband's contribution for her support should be paid to the -institution that controlled her. But the House of Commons would have -none of it; the House of Lords would not entertain it; the Christian -Churches would not support it; the guardians of public morality ignored -it. Drunken wives, though physically weak and ill, though mothers of -young children, though decent in other ways, were not to be allowed one -chance of reformation, were not to be considered for one moment worthy -of treatment equal to that given to demented and gross women of the -streets. "Pitch them out!" said our lords and gentlemen of both Houses. -"Get rid of them!" said the Christian Churches. Husbands have not been -slow in taking this advice, for they have been pitching wives out and -have been getting rid of wives ever since. But the public do not get rid -of them so easily. It has to bear the burden that cast-off wives bring, -and that burden grows with every separation granted; so wives hitherto -moral are fast qualifying for the legal advantages given to unspeakable -women, and by-and-by, when the cast-out women behave themselves -sufficiently badly, and the police take them into custody four times in -a year—then, and not till then, when it is too late, both Houses of -Parliament, the Christian Churches, and the guardians of public morality -offer them the reforming influences of an institution for the cure of inebriety.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Contrasts: the Young Commission Agent and a Brave Old Man.</span></p> - -<p>One of the first men to apply for a separation order under the Act was a -thriving commission agent—<i>i.e.</i>, a bookmaker—who had married a -barmaid. His jewellery was massive, and there was all over him the -appearance of being extremely well-to-do. He brought with him a -solicitor to advocate his cause, and witnesses, too, were forthcoming. -His young wife, when asked for her statement, did not attempt to deny -that she was sometimes the worse for drink, but contented herself by -saying that her husband drank a great deal more than she did, but it -took less effect. She also said if she did drink, her husband was the -cause of it, for he was unfaithful to her. She readily agreed to her -husband's offer of £1 weekly, so the order was promptly granted, and she -went her way alone. The husband, I noticed, was not so lonely, being -accompanied by a well-dressed female.</p> - -<p>The second act of this unseemly farce was played before the same court -after a three months' interval. The commission agent, again fortified by -his solicitor's presence, applied for an abrogation of the order made -upon him for his wife's maintenance. Her lapse into immorality was duly -proved, her defence—which, of course, was no defence at all—being that -her husband was worse than herself, for he had been living with the -woman now in court for some months. The magistrate had no option—for -private opinion must not prevent the due fulfilment of the law—so the -order<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> was quashed. Henceforth the husband was free of all obligations, -pecuniary or otherwise, excepting that he might not legally marry till -his wife's death. Whatever her faults were, I must confess that I felt -very sorry for her. Young, friendless, and homeless, she was already on -that polished, inclined plane down which many are precipitated to the -lowest depths, from which nothing short of a miracle could save her. A -few minutes later I was speaking to her outside the court, and asking -about her future, when the opulent commission agent and his expensively -dressed but non-legalized wife passed us. Triumph was written on his -coarse face, and, turning to his cast-off wife, he snapped his fingers -in her face, and said: "I knew I should soon get rid of you!" using, of -course, vulgar embellishment. To such contemptible blackguards, men -without an atom of decency, this Act has provided a ready means for -getting rid of wives when their company proves distasteful. But oh the -chivalry of it, especially when the fellow who participated in the -wife's wrong-doing comes cheerfully to give evidence against her! When I -think on these things, I believe that I have some faith still in -physical chastisement.</p> - -<p>But I turn gladly—nay, eagerly—to another side of the question; for -all men are not made on the same lines as the opulent bookie, for which -we have need to be thankful. Among some of the men who, driven almost -distraught by the misery they had endured—and only those who have to -endure it can tell how great that misery is—have applied for separation -orders on account<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> of their wives' habitual drunkenness, I have met some -that shone resplendent amid the moral darkness so often connected with -police-court cases.</p> - -<p>A sorrowful-faced old man, nearly seventy years of age, applied to the -magistrate for advice. His wife for some years had been giving way -constantly to drink. His home was ruined; he was in debt. He produced a -bundle of pawn-tickets, etc. "Have you any sons and daughters? Cannot -they influence her?" "They are married, and are all abroad. They cannot -help me; but they send me money when I require any. They want me to go -to them, but I cannot leave her." "Do you earn any money?" "Oh yes! -quite sufficient to keep us. I have had a good place for forty years." -"Well," said the magistrate, "I cannot advise you, but you can have a -summons against her for habitual drunkenness. Will you have one?" "Yes, -sir," said the bewildered old man. The summons was served upon the wife, -and in due time they appeared before the court.</p> - -<p>A pathetic couple they were; neither of them appeared to exactly -understand why they were there. He knew that he had to prove his wife's -drunkenness, and he did it simply enough. It was the old, old story of -drink, neglect, waste, and dirt—no food provided, no house made tidy, -no beds made, no washing of clothes. That was the negative side. The -pawnings and debts, and cuts and wounds she had received from falling, -formed the positive.</p> - -<p>The old woman denied nothing, but said it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> all true. When asked for -her defence, she could only reiterate: "He's been very good to me; he's -been very good to me." When asked about his means, the old man said he -thought that he could allow his wife 10s. a week. The magistrate thought -that 7s. was as much as he could afford, and made the order accordingly. -The couple waited in court till the separate orders were delivered to -them, and then tremblingly rose to go, he to his lonely home and she to -——. I accompanied them into the streets, and said to the old woman: -"Where are you going to live?" She replied: "I am going home." "But you -are separated. The magistrate has given your husband an order which says -that you must no longer live with him." "Not live with my husband! Where -am I to live, then?" I do not think that either of them understood till -that moment what a separation order meant, for the old man said: "You -can't live anywhere else." Then, turning to me, he said half defiantly: -"I suppose I can take her back home if I like?" "Certainly," I said; -"but you cannot come to the magistrate for another order." "I will never -ask for another. I don't want this"; and he tore it in twain.</p> - -<p>"Come on." And he offered his arm to his old and bewildered partner, and -away they went—he to endure patiently and still to hope; she, touched -by his faithful love, to struggle and, perchance, to conquer. He was a -brave old man—a Sir Galahad with bent back and frosty locks. I watched -them as they slowly disappeared along the street. Old as they were, they -were passing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> through love to light. For I saw them many times after -that day; I made it my business to see them, and to give them such -encouragement as I could: they sorely needed it. So I learned the story -of their lives.</p> - -<p>She had been a good wife and mother till late in life. Then her children -had all dispersed, and great loneliness came upon her. She had not even -the prattle of a grandchild to cheer her. Her husband was away so much -from home, for he worked many hours.</p> - -<p>Old age steals away the power of self-control, and loneliness is hard to -bear, and drink promised to cheer her. The old man's faithfulness was -her only anchorage, but it held. The battle went sometimes against her, -but from the day they stood before the magistrate the old woman began to -gain strength, and with strength came hope and happier days.</p> - -<p>I have selected these two instances because they fully illustrate the -dangers and the weakness of this system. But these two by no means stand -alone, and I am not exaggerating when I say that hundreds of men have -consulted me about their wives' drunkenness, all of them expecting some -help or relief from the Act. When I have explained to them exactly how -it affected them and what a separation order meant, by far the greater -number went away sorrowing, and most of them have added: "I thought she -would be put in a home for a time, where I could pay a little for her. I -cannot put her homeless into the streets; I should not be able to sleep -if I knew she was out." Of course not; what decent husband could?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> And -this feeling has, I am glad to say, been characteristic of husbands who -have suffered intensely and long, and who through it all have been good -and patient husbands. I do not wish it to be understood that I think -evil of every husband who enforces a separation order on account of his -wife's habitual drunkenness—far from it; for I know only too well that -with some it has been a bitter and last resource, nothing else being -apparently possible. But I do say this, and for this reason I have told -the above stories: that this law places it in the power of a worthless -husband, who cares not what becomes of his wife, to get rid of her and -his responsibilities at practically the same time, but does nothing for -the unfortunate husband who hopes for his wife's reformation, and who -has still some respect for her; also that it consigns wretched women to -a position that is certain to bring about their complete demoralization, -for it submits them to temptations they cannot withstand.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">POLICE-COURT MARRIAGES</span></h2> - -<p>The fashion that has arisen of late years of judges or magistrates -engineering weddings among the wretched and often penniless people who -sometimes come before them savours of indecency. Such proceedings ought -to have no place in our courts of penal administration. The effects of -thriftless and ill-assorted marriages are so palpable in police-courts -that one wonders to what malign source of inspiration the suggestion -that some criminal youth or some vicious young woman can be reincarnated -by marriage is to be attributed.</p> - -<p>Some of the most effective and eloquent homilies I have ever listened to -have been delivered from the bench upon youthful and thriftless -marriages, and upon the folly of obtaining household goods by the -hire-purchase system.</p> - -<p>In spite, however, of the well-known results of such marriages—for -squalor and misery inevitably attend them—educated gentlemen of -position and experience appear to take pleasure in arranging them, and -Police-Court Missionaries find occupation and joy in seeing the -arrangements duly carried out.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p><p>The altogether unwholesome effect of arranging these marriages is -considerably enhanced by the press, which duly chronicles in heavy type -and sensational headings a "Police-Court Romance."</p> - -<p>Romance! I would like to find the romance. I have seen much of the -results of such marriages, but I never discovered any romance; they were -anything but romantic. While I have seen the results, and have had to -alleviate some of the miseries following such marriages, I am thankful -to say that I never did anything quite so foolish as to take part in -arranging or giving any assistance in carrying out the arrangements for -a single marriage of this description.</p> - -<p>Many years ago I was asked by a worthy magistrate to see that the -arrangements for a marriage of this kind were duly carried out; I told -him that I must respectfully decline.</p> - -<p>He reminded me, with a humorous twinkle in the eye, "that marriages were -made in heaven." The reply was obvious: "Sometimes in hell, your -Worship." And the sequel proved my reply to be true. Magistrates seldom -see the after-results, but those results are far-reaching. From this one -case alone grievous burdens have already been cast upon the public, and -future generations will be called upon to bear an aggravated burden. For -in a short time the couple were homeless, with three young children, and -were found sleeping, or trying to sleep, in a van one winter's night.</p> - -<p>It requires no prophetical vision to see the consequences of these -marriages, but a few instances may stimulate imagination.</p> - -<p>Three years ago a decent-looking young woman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> of twenty was charged in -one of our courts with abandoning her illegitimate child. She was young, -pretty, and told a sad tale about her wrongs.</p> - -<p>The press account of the matter appeared with such embellishment as -befitted a "romance," for a young man had risen in court and offered to -marry the girl, and make her into an "honest woman." Now, this -chivalrous young man had not seen the girl previously—they were -complete strangers; nevertheless, the magistrate adjourned the case, and -offered a sovereign towards the wedding expenses. The hero in this -business—the chivalrous young man!—was penniless and out of work; in -fact, if he himself spoke truly, he had done no work for a year; but, -seeing publicity had been gained and interest excited, he wrote a letter -to the press, asking the public to supplement the magistrate's -contribution, and supply him with funds to furnish a home for himself -and future wife His letter was not published, but it was sent in to me -by the editor, for I had written to the press on the subject.</p> - -<p>I have said that he was out of work, and certainly he was likely to -remain out of work, for he was one of the audience to be seen regularly -at the police-court, many of whom never seem to seek for work. I have no -hesitation in saying that the man who comes forward in a police-court -and offers to marry a young woman to whom he is a complete stranger, and -who is, moreover, charged with serious crime, is either a fool or a -rogue—probably both.</p> - -<p>Why magistrates should smile on these impromptu proposals, and order -remands that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> consummation may take place, I cannot possibly -understand. If I were a magistrate and a fellow came forward with a like -proposal, I would order him out of court; in fact, I should experience -some pleasure in kicking him out. But in this case the magistrate gave a -fatherly benediction and twenty shillings. The missionary, too, was by -no means out of it, for he afterwards took some credit for this sorry -business.</p> - -<p>The true story of the girl came out afterwards. It was not one to excite -pity, for it was a shameful one to a degree. But morbid, and I think I -may say maudlin, sympathy is one of the prevailing evils of the day, and -is not founded in real pity or love, or controlled by common-sense or by -the least discretion, as the following will show:</p> - -<p>The case of a young woman in whom I was interested was placed before the -public as a "romance," and consequently well advertised. She was by no -means a desirable person; as a matter of fact, there was nothing to be -said in her favour. The untrue statement she made before the magistrate -was, however, duly circulated. In a few days I received a large number -of letters, many of them from men with proposals of marriage. I did the -best thing possible by burning the latter, with one exception, for this -interested me, as it contained a membership ticket of a religious -society.</p> - -<p>The writer told me that he was a God-fearing man, a Church member for -many years, a carpenter in business on his own account, a widower with -several children; that he had prayed over the matter, and it was laid -upon his conscience that he must marry the young woman and save<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> her. He -also enclosed a postal order for 10s., and asked me to pay her rail-fare -and send him a telegram. I returned his membership ticket, his letter, -and his postal order, and some words of my own—brief and pointed:</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p> - -<p>"You may be a well-meaning man, but you are an ass. What right have -you to submit your children to the care of an abandoned woman? -Marry some decent woman you are acquainted with, and save them and yourself.</p> - -<p class="right">"Yours truly,<span class="s3"> </span><br /> -"<span class="smcap">T. Holmes</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<p>Quite recently a Police-Court Missionary told us through the press that -he had arranged seventy such weddings, that he raised £200 to give the -various couples a start in life, many of whom were so poor that he -loaned them a wedding-ring for the ceremony, as he always kept one by -him for emergencies. Yet he assured us, in spite of the poverty of the -persons concerned, and notwithstanding the disgraceful circumstances -that had brought them within his province, all these marriages had -turned out happily. I sincerely wish that I could believe in the -happiness of couples of this description, married under such -circumstances, but I cannot, for my experience of them has been so very -different. Indeed, I was not surprised to read an account in the press -of the trial of a young man for the murder of his wife, when the wife's -mother stated that the marriage had been arranged by a Police-Court -Missionary.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p><p>When I reflect upon this subject, I must confess myself astonished that -our Bishops and clergy, who insist so strongly on the sacredness of -marriage and of its indissolubility, are silent upon the matter, and -have no advice to give to their representatives upon it.</p> - -<p>Especially am I surprised that our good Bishop of London, who is -conversant with every phase of London life, and who has spoken so -fearlessly upon the extent and evils of immorality, is silent on -police-court marriages and police-court separations; for these marriages -are none the less immoral though they be legalized by the State and -blessed by the Church, and the evils of them will not bear -recapitulation. On divorce our leaders have much to say; on marriage -with deceased wives' sisters they have advice to give. Are the poor to -have no guidance? Are penniless, ignorant, and often gross young people -to be engineered into promiscuous marriage without a protest? Is the -widespread evil that attaches to wholesale "separation" of no -consequence? Are these and suchlike arrangements good enough for the -poor?</p> - -<p>But there is another light in which these engineered marriages must be -considered. Not very long since one of our judges had before him a young -man charged with the attempted murder of the girl with whom he had kept -company. His jealousy and brutality had alarmed her, so she had given -him up. But he was not to be got rid of so easily, for he waylaid her -and attempted to murder her by cutting her throat. He was charged, but -the charge was reduced to one of grievous bodily harm. At the trial the -young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> woman was asked by the judge whether she would consent to marry -the prisoner, adding that if she would consent it would make a -difference in the sentence imposed. The matter was adjourned to the next -session, the prisoner being allowed his liberty that the marriage might -be effected. During the adjournment they were married, and when next -before the magistrate the marriage certificate was produced. She saved -the man from prison, and the judge bestowed his benediction in the -following words: "Take her away" (as if, forsooth, she had been the -prisoner) "and be good to her. You have assaulted her before: don't do -it again"—thus giving him every opportunity of doing at his leisure -what he had barely failed to do in his haste. I ask, Is not a procedure -of this kind a grave misuse of the power of the courts? Is there any -justice about it? Is it fair to place on a young and inexperienced girl -the onus of deciding whether or not her would-be murderer shall be -punished? Is there any sense of propriety in holding a half-veiled -threat over her, and inducing her, against her better judgment, to marry -a jealous and murderous brute? I can find no satisfactory answers to -these questions, and contend such proceedings ought to be impossible in -our courts of justice.</p> - -<p>If our penal administrators think that brutality, jealousy, and -murderous instincts can be cured by matrimonial ties, especially when -these ties are forged and riveted under such circumstances, then their -knowledge of human nature is small indeed.</p> - -<p>The jealous brute when single is in all conscience bad enough, but when -married he is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>infinitely worse; for with him jealousy becomes an -absolute mania, and tragedy is almost inevitable. It must not be -understood that all magistrates and judges bring pressure to bear on -wretched or sinning couples for the purpose of compelling matrimony, for -this is not the case. We have need to be thankful that comparatively few -do so. But there is enough of this business done to warrant my calling -attention to it, and in expressing the hope that "romance" of this kind -may speedily die a death from which there is no resurrection. It may be -that among the long list of sordid cases that come before the courts -there are some in which marriage seems the best way out of the tangle, -financial or otherwise. Sometimes, perhaps, it is the only honourable -course, especially where the mother of a child is desirous of it. But it -must be remembered that in these cases the parties have had plenty of -opportunity for marriage previous to appearing before the court, and -would have like opportunities after going from the court, without -magistrates intervening.</p> - -<p>But it becomes a public matter when judges or magistrates use their -positions and the power of the law to compel young people, sometimes -mere boys and girls, to marry.</p> - -<p>Better a thousand times that many should bear the ills and sorrows that -they have, and go through life with the shadow of disgrace over them, -rather than take as partners those that have been either forced by -circumstances or terrorized by representatives of the law into the -unhappy position.</p> - -<p>It may seem strange that, while some of our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> judges, magistrates, and -missionaries betray anxiety to hurry on these indecent marriages, and to -coerce penniless young people into them, the State should find ready -means for undoing them. It is no uncommon thing for very young women who -have been married but a few months to apply for separation orders and -maintenance orders. I may add also that it is no uncommon thing for -magistrates to grant them. The extent to which separation prevails may -be gathered from the fact that under the Summary Jurisdiction (Married -Women) Act, 1895, there have been granted up to the end of 1906 (the -latest date for which statistics are available) 72,537 separation -orders; and, assuming the average for the years 1902 to 1906 to be -maintained, up to the end of 1907 there would have to be added a further -1,048 separation orders, making a total since the Act came into force of -79,583 such orders.</p> - -<p>Surely these figures ought to compel serious thought.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">EXTRAORDINARY SENTENCES</span></h2> - -<p>I owe my readers an apology for introducing this chapter, inasmuch as it -does not deal chiefly with my own experiences, but with two -extraordinary sentences recently given, and made public through the -press; though it is fair to say that I know something of the friends in -the one case and the victims in the other of the prisoners who received -those sentences. I have seen nothing during my personal experiences to -cause me any misgivings as to the administration of justice. I have not -seen people punished for crimes they had not committed, but I have seen -a large number of prisoners discharged about whose guilt there was no -moral doubt. It stands to the credit of our penal system that it is much -easier for a guilty man to escape than it is for an innocent man to be -punished. This is a just and safe position. I would like also to say -that among all the sentences that I have known imposed upon prisoners, -there have been very few—indeed, scarcely any—that I have thought did -not meet the justice of the case. I have, therefore, no sympathy with -the organized <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>outcries that are from time to time raised against our -judges and magistrates and the police. Judges and magistrates are but -human, and that they will err sometimes in their judgments is certain. -We censure them sometimes because their sentences are too severe; we -blame them sometimes because they have been too lenient; but it is -always well to remember that judges and magistrates see and know more of -the attendant circumstances of a case than the press and the public -possibly can see or know. This knowledge, of course, cannot have any -bearing on the question of guilt or innocence; but it can have, and -ought to have, some effect upon the length of sentence imposed.</p> - -<p>Within limits, then, judges and magistrates must be allowed latitude -with regard to degrees of sentence, for a cast-iron method allowing no -latitude would entail a tremendous amount of injustice.</p> - -<p>Nine times out of ten, when a judge or magistrate errs in the imposition -of sentence, he errs on the side of leniency, and it is right that it -should be so. But an error on the side of mercy does not create a public -sensation; and this speaks well for the public, for it is good to know -that the community is better pleased to hear of leniency than of -severity. Nevertheless, an error on the side of leniency is an error, -and may be followed with results as disastrous as those that follow from -an error on the side of severity; for while those results are not so -quickly palpable, they may be more extensive.</p> - -<p>I want, then, in this chapter to select two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> sentences—one given by a -judge, the other by a magistrate: the judge erring, in my opinion, on -the side of severity; the magistrate erring, in my judgment, on the side -of leniency.</p> - -<p>Neither of these sentences seems to have attracted public attention, -though both are of recent date.</p> - -<p>Let me quote from a letter received on June 4, 1907:</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p> - -<p>"I hope you will excuse me writing to you about my son, who is a -young man not twenty-three years of age.</p> - -<p>"He is a carpenter and joiner, and has a good little business of -his own, with a shop and yard.</p> - -<p>"On January 4, 1906, there was a burglary at the house next to -mine, and in a fortnight after my son was arrested on suspicion. -The people—very old friends of ours—being awake, heard voices, -but did not recognize one of the voices as that of my son.</p> - -<p>"At the trial there was no evidence produced to prove that my son -was in the house. My wife and myself are prepared to say that he -went to bed at ten o'clock, and that we called him at seven o'clock -next morning.</p> - -<p>"The jury brought my son in guilty, and the judge gave him -<i>fourteen years' penal servitude</i>. The whole court was shocked; no -one could understand it. I cannot understand it, for I have read -many instances of real old criminals, after committing robberies, -being sentenced to a few months or a year or so. But fourteen years -for a young man! Oh, sir, my family have lived in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> this old town -for nearly three hundred years, and no member of it had ever been -in a prisoner's dock till now. I have written to the Home -Secretary, and his answer was that he could not at present -interfere. I pray to Heaven that you will be kind enough to write -to him and beg of him to pardon my son. I am sending to you a paper -with a full account of the trial.</p> - -<p class="right">"I remain,<span class="s3"> </span><br /> -"Yours truly,<br />"X."</p></blockquote> - -<p>I have that paper now before me—the <i>Coventry Times</i>, dated Wednesday, -December 12, 1906. The trial took place on the previous Friday at -Warwick Assizes. Taylor was charged with breaking and entering, and -feloniously stealing twenty-four farthings, one gold locket, one metal -chain, and ten spoons; to make assurance doubly sure, he also was -charged with receiving the same property. Taylor had been in custody -since January 23, 1906. On December 7 of the same year he received his -extraordinary sentence, after being detained in prison nearly eleven -months. Everything seems extraordinary about this case—the long delay -before trial, the severe sentence, the trumpery character of the -articles stolen. I express no opinion about the prisoner's guilt. Some -of the articles were found in his possession, and it was proved that he -had been spending farthings. That the people whose house had been -entered did not suspect the prisoner was clear, as they sent for him -next morning to repair the door that had been broken. But, at any rate, -the jury<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> believed Taylor guilty, for, without leaving the box, they -gave their verdict to that effect.</p> - -<p>One of the objects of the burglary appears to have been the acquisition -of the silver teaspoons.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wilson, the prosecutor's wife, had been previously married to a man -named Vernon, and the spoons in question belonged to him. It was said -that the friends of Vernon wanted the spoons, and Mrs. Wilson admitted -that "they would like them; but they had let her alone for twenty -years."</p> - -<p>These spoons disappeared. They were not found in Taylor's possession, -but someone had undoubtedly taken them. Mrs. Wilson stated in her -evidence that after the burglary there was a piece of paper left on the -parlour table, on which was written in pencil the words, "Mrs. Vernon, -after twenty years"; but this paper was missing, and the prisoner's -mother had been in the parlour and had seen the paper, which could not -be found after she left.</p> - -<p>Whether Taylor committed a trumpery burglary, or whether he did the -thing out of mean spirit, or whether he was in collusion with others, -does not matter very much. Punishment he doubtless deserved, but -fourteen years for a young man for a silly offence seems beyond the -bound of credibility. But it is true; for in June, 1907, I approached -the Home Secretary, begging for a revision of the sentence, and received -a reply similar to that sent to the prisoner's father—that it was too -early a date for interference. It is only fair to assume that the judge -was in possession of knowledge that justified his words, if not his -sentence, for in addressing the prisoner he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> said: "You have been -convicted, and properly convicted; but I know the sort of man you are, -from this case and from the fact that there is another charge against -you in this calendar. Fourteen years' penal servitude!"</p> - -<p>I am not surprised to read that "The prisoner appeared to be stunned -when he heard the sentence, and fell into the warders' arms who -surrounded him!" I am not surprised to read that the prisoner's father -and mother rose to their feet, and that the one shouted, "He is -innocent!" and that the other went into hysterics; but I am surprised to -read that an English judge could not allow something for parental -feelings, and that he said fiercely: "Take those people away!" and when -the prisoner's father shouted, "I can go out, but he is innocent!" that -the judge instantly retorted: "If you don't go out, I will commit you to -prison." Fourteen years for a young man of twenty-two! Fourteen years -for a first offender! It requires an effort to make oneself believe it, -but it is a fact.</p> - -<p>I should like to know what was at the back of Mr. Justice Ridley's mind -when he gave that sentence. Surely he had some reasons that he, at any -rate, considered sufficient to justify it. It is difficult to imagine -what they were, for no personal violence had been offered, no firearms -had been carried, no burglar's tools had been discovered. Taylor was not -even suspected of connection with any professional criminals. It was, -moreover, the first time he had been in the hands of the police. Taylor -seems to have been industrious, for at twenty-two years of age he was -in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> business on his own account. I can't help thinking that there was -something wrong with Taylor, some mental twist or peculiarity; for, -admitting him to be guilty, he acted like a fool. To leave a piece of -paper, in his own handwriting, referring to matters of which only -intimate friends could have knowledge, was of itself an extraordinary -thing; but to go spending openly at public-houses stolen farthings was -more extraordinary still. So the responsibility for his conviction rests -largely with himself.</p> - -<p>But fourteen years even for a fool is unthinkable, and the -responsibility for that rests with his judge.</p> - -<p>This leads me to say that stupid and half-witted criminals are often -more severely dealt with than clever and dangerous rogues. The former -"give themselves away" in such sweetly simple fashion that they appear -hardened and indifferent, and are punished accordingly. I am afraid, -too, that sometimes judges and magistrates cannot attain to Pauline -excellence and "suffer fools gladly." Hundreds of times I have heard the -expression about someone who had received a severe sentence: "Well, he -deserved it for being such a fool!" Even the public is more prepared to -tolerate severe punishments for the men whose crimes savour of crass -folly, if not of downright idiocy, than it is for dangerous, clever -daring, and calculating rogues. My second example will tend to show that -magistrates are not exempt from this kind of feeling, but when led by -it, rush to the other extreme, and inflict no punishment whatever. The -hearing of the case<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> I am about to relate took place at Tower Bridge -Police-Court in July, 1908.</p> - -<p>A young married woman was charged with obtaining by false pretences £75 -in cash and £15 worth of jewellery from an old woman who had been a -domestic servant, but who at the age of seventy had given up regular -work, and was hoping to make her little savings suffice for the -remainder of her days. The prisoner was also charged with obtaining by -fraud £10 5s. from a working man in whose house she had lodgings.</p> - -<p>Evidence was given that the prisoner had an uncle abroad, but nothing -had been heard of him for a very long time. Two years ago the prisoner -spread a report that he had died immensely rich, and had left her -thousands of pounds. In order to pay legal expenses, she said, she -borrowed money from her aunt, an old woman of eighty. Having exhausted -her aunt's money, and leaving her to the workhouse authorities, the -prisoner then proceeded to draw upon the retired domestic, who parted -with every penny of her savings and her jewellery.</p> - -<p>In due time she was penniless also, and had again to seek work, at -seventy years of age, having no friends to help her. The prisoner then -turned her attention to her landlord, and obtained £10 5s. from him; but -he became suspicious, and wanted to see some documents or solicitors. -She gave him the address of her solicitors in Chancery Lane. Then he -insisted upon her accompanying him to see them; he compelled her to go, -and, on arriving, found the address to be a bank. The landlord then -communicated with the police, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> she was arrested. The prisoner -admitted that the whole story was false, and that she was very wicked. -It was stated in evidence that the prisoner had an illegitimate child, -which she said was the child of a gentleman, and that she had persuaded -a young man to marry her by promising him £300 from the child's father, -when the wedding took place; but the young husband had never received -the money.</p> - -<p>The lady missionary told the magistrate that she had received a letter -from the prisoner, whilst under remand in Holloway Prison, expressing -her deep sorrow, and promising to work hard and pay the money back.</p> - -<p>Mr. Hutton bound the prisoner over under the Probation Act! I wonder -what was at the back of Mr. Hutton's mind when he practically discharged -her.</p> - -<p>If the Probation Act is to bring us such judgments as this, it would -have been well if we had never heard of it.</p> - -<p>I can imagine no more heartless and cruel series of frauds than those -perpetrated in this case.</p> - -<p>The prisoner seems to have pursued her victims with unerring instinct -and skill: the old aunt was robbed and ruined; the old domestic, after a -long life of hard work and economy, was robbed and ruined; then, with -confidence in her own powers, she proceeded to rob her landlord. A -continual succession of lies, deceptions, and frauds, extending over -years! And then bound over! Herein is a problem: If ten teaspoons, one -metal chain, and one gold locket are equal to fourteen years' penal -servitude, what are some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> hundreds of pounds, obtained by two years' -fraud, and entailing the ruin of two decent old women, equal to?</p> - -<p>The answer, according to the magistrate, is, Nothing! A great deal has -been said, and not without some show of justice, about there being one -law for the rich and another for the poor. In this case it is positively -true, though in an opposite sense to the generally accepted meaning of -the words.</p> - -<p>I have no hesitation in saying that if the prosecutors had been in more -influential circumstances, and had employed a solicitor to put their -case, the law would not have been satisfied by accepting the prisoner's -recognizances. Are we to accept the principle that punishment must be in -inverse ratio to the seriousness of the offence? It appears so!</p> - -<p>The innocent young man she decoyed into marriage has not received his -£300—he never will—but he received what he might have expected, and at -least he got his deserts.</p> - -<p>I ask my readers to ponder this decision: Bound over! I ask them to -ponder this sentence: Fourteen years' penal servitude! There is an -eternity between the two sentences; the one is permitted to go on her -guileless way. The other is sent to confinement, monotony, and -degradation for fourteen years. The latter was at the worst a foolish, -clumsy rogue; the other was a consummate and accomplished artist in -deception.</p> - -<p>Whether the old women would have received any benefit from the -imprisonment of the younger woman is beside the question. I am sure they -will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> receive no benefit from her liberty, though she says she will work -hard and repay them!</p> - -<p>On what principle can she be called a first offender? If rogues are to -be imprisoned at all, by what process of reasoning can it be argued that -she ought to go free?</p> - -<p>Surely the time is come when other people as well as prisoners must be -considered. What will be the effect of a judgment like this? It can have -but one effect: it will encourage similar young women in their lives of -deception and fraud.</p> - -<p>I may here stop to ask whether a young <i>man</i> charged with similar -offence would have been dealt with at Tower Bridge Police-Court, or at -any other court, in a similar way. My own conviction is that he would -not have been so dealt with.</p> - -<p>This raises the question whether there is or ought to be equality, or -something approximating to equality, of punishment for the sexes.</p> - -<p>This being the day of women's rights, I would say that certainly there -ought to be something like equality even in the imposition of sentences; -but the law and its administrators do not hold this view. I do not -remember any case of a man and woman being jointly charged, both being -jointly and equally guilty, in which the man did not receive much the -heavier sentence.</p> - -<p>I can understand it in the case of husband and wife, for the law -considers husband and wife as one; but, unfortunately for the husband, -it considers the male person as that particular one. But, with regard to -unmarried couples, I can see no general reason for severity to the man -and leniency to the woman.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p><p>At the risk of appearing ferocious, I must say that I was taken aback -at the Tower Bridge Police-Court decision, for I confess that I would -have preferred the magistrate giving the prisoner six months' hard -labour, or sending her for trial before judge and jury. Not that I want -either men or women to be detained in prison—I hate the thought of -it—but I happen to hate something else much more, and that is the idea -that plausible and crafty young women can rob and ruin decent old women -with impunity.</p> - -<p>I hold—though in this I may be wrong—that if the law cannot compel -fraudulent persons to restore their ill-gotten gains—and in the case of -the prisoner at Tower Bridge this was, of course, impossible—then at -least it ought to administer in such cases a decent amount of -punishment. But the course adopted did not uphold the dignity of the -law; it did not in the least help those that have suffered; it did not -punish the prisoner; neither did it serve to act as a warning to others. -But while, as I have previously said, justice is, on the whole, fairly -administered, there is still a wide difference in the sentences given -for like offences. The demeanour of a prisoner before the magistrate may -easily add to or lessen the length of his sentence; crocodile tears and -a whining appeal for mercy generally have an opposite effect to that the -prisoner wishes.</p> - -<p>A scornful, defiant, or violent attitude is almost certain to increase -the length of sentence. The plausible, cunning, and somewhat clever man, -who cross-examines with the skill of an expert, is sure to be hardly -judged and appraised when sentence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> is given; but the devil-may-care -fellow, who bears himself a bit jauntily, and who, moreover, has -considerable humour and a dash of wit, is almost sure by a few witty or -humorous quips to partially disarm justice and secure for himself more -lenient punishment. I suppose we all have a sneaking kindness for the -complete vagabond; we instinctively like the fellow who can make us -laugh; we do not want to believe that the man who is possessed of humour -is altogether bad, and when we have to punish him we let him off as -lightly as possible. But the stubborn thick-head does not excite either -our risible faculties or our heart's sympathy; nevertheless, that -thick-head may be far less guilty than the complete vagabond—in truth, -he is often a far better fellow—but his thick-headedness is against -him, and we punish him accordingly. And here I draw upon my own -experiences, for I have known complete vagabonds that were also absolute -scoundrels, who, by their apparent candour, jollity, and flashes of -humour, continually saved themselves from anything approaching long -sentences.</p> - -<p>One fellow in particular took at least twelve years in qualifying for -penal servitude, though he was a thorough rogue and a vagabond -absolutely. He was a printer and a clever workman; but he never -worked—not he! He would steal anything. Several times he had called on -clergymen, and while conversing with them in their halls had -appropriated their best silk umbrellas. On one occasion he had gone away -without booty, but he returned five minutes afterwards, and rang the -bell, which, being answered by the servant, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> said: "I am very sorry -to trouble, but I forgot my umbrella. Ah! here it is." And he went away -with the parson's best.</p> - -<p>"Give me another chance," I have heard him say. "You know you like me: I -am not a bad fellow at heart." He saved himself from penal servitude -many times, but he got it at last, after several narrow escapes.</p> - -<p>One winter night I was told he was at my front-door, where he had been -many times, for I never asked him in: I am sure he would have robbed me -if I had. "Well, old man, how are you?" he said, for he always -patronized me in a delightful manner. "Oh, it is you, Downy, is it?" -"Ah, it is me. I say, Holmes, I am starving!" "There is some comfort in -that," I said. "Bah! you don't mean it; you are too good-hearted. Give -us a cup of tea." I declined his invitation, and told him that I had no -umbrellas to spare. "Well, that's a bit thick," he said; "I did not -expect that from you. Well, I'm off." Then, as an afterthought, he said: -"What's the time?" "Five minutes past six," I said. "Why, I have been on -this doorstep quite five minutes." "Quite ten minutes," I said.</p> - -<p>Away he went to the parish clergyman, who did not know him, and -delivered some imaginary messages from myself. He got two shillings and -a meal from the clergyman.</p> - -<p>To my surprise, I saw him in the dock next day, charged with stealing a -valuable fur-lined overcoat. He had called at a gentleman's house to ask -for employment. The servant had admitted him, and left him standing in -the hall while she summoned the master. It was dark, but he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>discovered -the valuable coat and put it on. There was no work for him, and the -gentleman, who knew Downy well, showed him out promptly. He afterwards -missed his coat, and quickly gave information to the police. Downy was -as light-hearted as usual, denied his guilt, and closely examined the -prosecutor as to the exact time he (Downy) called on him. The -magistrate, having had depositions taken, was about to commit him for -trial, when the prisoner said: "I have a witness to call." "You can call -him at your trial," the magistrate said. "Who is your witness?" "Mr. -Holmes." "What can he prove?" "That I was at his house at exactly the -same time that it is said I was at the prosecutor's." I declined to give -evidence, for I believed the fellow had the overcoat, though he was -without a coat when I saw him. He was duly committed for trial, but -before leaving the dock he turned to the magistrate and said: "You have -made up your mind that I am to get five years, but you are mistaken this -time: no jury will convict on the evidence." The grand jury threw out -the bill, so I was saved the pleasure of giving evidence for him. In a -few days he appeared at the court desiring to speak to the magistrate. -When given the chance, he said: "Well, I'm here again. I thought you -might be pleased to know that no true bill was found against me; my case -did not go to the jury. You haven't done with me yet." "I am sorry," -said the magistrate. "But you will not be disappointed many more times. -You will get your five years." "Probably, but not at your suggestion. -Good-morning!"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>He was on my doorstep again that evening. "Come to see you again, -Holmes, my boy. Lend us half a crown!" I declined. "Ha!" he said, "you -would lend it me soon enough if you knew what a lark I have had. I can't -help laughing. Why, I have been to old —— and offered to give him back -his fur coat for a quid." And the rascal roared at the thought of it. -"What did he say to you?" "Well, he rather hurt my feelings, for his -language was not polite." "I suppose you have not restored it?" "What do -you think?"</p> - -<p>But Downy got his five years within a few weeks. He removed a big marble -clock from the bar of a public-house, and got away with it, too, in -broad daylight; but Fate tripped him at last, and he got his well-earned -five years. As he is still under forty years of age, I have no doubt but -that in prison his talent will be developed. Not that he has much to -learn, but even Downy may gather a few wrinkles when given proper -opportunities.</p> - -<p>Now, Downy represents a very numerous class of men and women, though few -of them have his cool assurance and originality, but, like him, live to -a large extent by thieving and general dishonesty. These people can -seldom furnish <i>bona-fide</i> addresses, or give any proof that they have -been doing honest work. Yet they go on from year to year, in and out of -prison, undergoing small sentences—first a few days, then a few weeks, -followed by a few months, then committal to trial, when sentences of one -or two years are passed upon them. Some of them, though their lives are -devoted to criminality, never arrive at the dignity of penal servitude.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>With due respect, there is, I submit, even now room for improvement -with regard to the infliction of sentences. A large amount of latitude -must be allowed, for judges and magistrates ought not, must not, be -automatic; a certain amount of liberty must be granted to them. But when -that latitude includes the right and the power to give fourteen years' -penal servitude to a young man of twenty-two for a trumpery offence, and -that his first offence; when it includes the right and the power to -practically discharge a clever and dangerous woman who has lived by -fraud, and whose frauds brought untold suffering upon innocent and aged -victims—when this latitude allows cool and calculating rogues to -continue interminably their lives of roguery, alternated with very small -and insufficient sentences, it is evident that the liberty and latitude -allowed require in some way to be circumscribed.</p> - -<p>Judges and magistrates are human, and I for one would keep them human, -with the power to sympathize and the power to laugh, for these things -are altogether good, and to a reasonable extent it is right that these -wholesome qualities should exercise some influence; but even these -faculties require some restraint, or injustice instead of justice will -be done. I am afraid there is some truth in what many discharged -prisoners have told me—that the length of sentence depends on the whim -of the judge, and that on some days it appears evident that a crumb of -undigested cheese impairs the temper and judgment, and adds appreciably -to the length of the sentences given.</p> - -<p>If this is in the least degree true, it is a matter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> for profound -regret. In spite of temper, pain, or indigestion, the balance of justice -ought to be fairly held. I am glad to think that I have sometimes known -pain and suffering to have the opposite effect when judgment has been -given. A magistrate of my acquaintance, noted for good temper and -courteous urbanity, was one morning in a very unpleasant frame of mind. -Everything went wrong with him, and, as a consequence, with everyone who -had to deal with him. He was cross, peevish, and rude. The police knew -it, for he was not civil to them; witnesses knew it, for he was rough -with them. On one occasion when he had been at his worst he caught my -eye. After the court was over he said to me: "You thought me very -ill-tempered this morning?" "Indeed I did, your Worship, for you were -rough to everyone." "Ah!" he said, "I have neuralgia frightfully; I have -had no sleep all night." I said: "I am very sorry, your Worship; but I -noticed another thing." "What was that?" "Why, you let all the prisoners -down lightly." "Oh," he said, "you noticed it, did you? I had to let -myself go sometimes, for I could hardly bear it, so I let go when it did -not matter very much; but I kept a tight hand over myself when it came -to sentences. I was determined that the prisoners should not suffer for -my neuralgia."</p> - -<p>He was wise, and he did nobly. It would be well if all our judges and -magistrates kept a tight hand on themselves when it comes to sentences; -for everyone must admit a cruel wrong is done when prisoners are awarded -heavier sentences because the judge is either in ill-health or out of temper.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">DISCHARGED PRISONERS</span></h2> - -<p>It was, of course, inevitable, considering the large space prison reform -and discharged prisoners have occupied in the public mind, that some -influence, not altogether healthy, would be exercised on both prisoners -and public. The leniency of sentences, or of treatment whilst undergoing -sentences, has upon most prisoners a humanizing and softening effect. On -others it produces a very different feeling, for in a measure it -confirms them in wrong-doing. Personally, I have great faith in wise and -discriminate leniency, preferring the risk of confirming the few to the -certainty of hardening the many. Still, it is worth while, in our -efforts for prison reform and for ex-prisoners' social salvation, to -pause sometimes and inquire not only what success is being achieved, but -also what is the general effect of our efforts. The constant stream of -appeals on behalf of discharged prisoners that flows throughout the -length and breadth of our land, while productive of good, is of a -certainty productive of much evil. The efforts made in prison to get -prisoners to attach themselves to some recognized Prisoners' Aid Society -before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> discharge, good as they are, are not without some ill -consequences. The sympathy of the community for men and women who have -broken their country's laws, and who are undergoing, or have undergone, -terms of imprisonment, has been so often and so earnestly proclaimed -that even this expression of sympathy has had consequences that were not -anticipated, but which might have been expected if a little more thought -had been given to the matter. It is, I know, impossible that any -movement or trend of thought can be absolutely free from evil, and every -influence for good has something connected with it that acts in an -opposite direction. One result of all this public sympathy and effort -has been to lead a large number of people to think and believe that -because they have been criminals, and have suffered just punishment for -their evil-doing, it is someone's bounden duty to help them, and provide -them not only with the means of living when discharged from prison, but -also with suitable employment.</p> - -<p>So far has this kind of belief permeated, that several of my -acquaintances, educated men who have suffered well-merited terms of -imprisonment, contend that the community ought to receive them back with -open arms, and not only restore them to a position, but give them again -the confidence and respect they had forfeited. Their offences having -been purged, they argue, by the term of imprisonment suffered, the law -has been satisfied; and the law now holding them guiltless, nothing else -ought to be considered. These men, as I have said, were educated men, -and well able to win<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> back the public confidence if they set themselves -to the task. But I am more concerned for the effect of this belief upon -the ordinary prisoners, who have but little education, and for them it -has disastrous effects. If there is one virtue that is absolutely -necessary to a discharged prisoner, it is the virtue of self-reliance. -Without it he is nothing. No matter what sympathy and what aid be -extended to him from societies or individuals, without self-reliance he -is a certain failure. Anything that tends to lessen self-reliance in -discharged prisoners has, then, a tendency to reduce their chances of -reformation. After all has been done that can possibly be done for -discharged prisoners, one is compelled—reluctantly compelled—to the -conclusion that the only men who can be rescued are those who possess -grit and self-reliance. Many—I think that I can with safety say -most—discharged prisoners appear to believe that assistance once given -gives them a claim to other assistance. I have met with very few to whom -I have given material help who thought that the help given them was -exceptional and given with the view of helping them to a little start, -that they might afterwards rely upon themselves. On the other hand, I -have met with hundreds who actually believed that help previously given -constituted an absolute claim to continued assistance. Sometimes it has -taken much persuasion, and occasionally a display of physical force, -before I have been able to get some discharged prisoners to accept my -view of the matter.</p> - -<p>The complete assurance with which many of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> them present themselves at my -door and inform me that they are "Just come out of prison, sir," is of -itself astounding, but a little conversation with them reveals more -surprising things still. About eleven o'clock one winter night there was -a loud rap at my front-door, to which I responded. When I opened the -door, a big man stood before me, and he promptly put his foot across the -doorstep, and the following conversation took place: "What do you want?" -"Oh, you are Mr. Holmes. I want you to help me." "Why should I help you? -I know nothing of you." "I have just come out of prison." "Well, you are -none the better for that." "Well, you help men that have been in -prison." "Sometimes, when I see they are ashamed of having been in." -"Well, I don't want to get in prison again." "How do I know you have -been in prison?" "Why, didn't you speak to us like a man last Sunday?" -"Yes, I was at Pentonville last Sunday, and I hope I spoke like a man." -"Ah, that you did! And when I heard you, I said: 'I'll see him when I -come out. He will be sure to give me half a dollar.'" "How did you get -my address?" "From another chap." "When did you come out?" "This -morning." "How long have you been in?" "Six months." "Got all your -conduct marks?" "Every one." "Then you had eight shillings when you left -the prison. How much have you got left?" "Never a sou!" "What have you -done with it?" "I bought a collar, a pocket-handkerchief, a necktie, and -a bit of tobacco, and a good dinner." "You saved nothing for your -lodging?" "No; I thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> you would see me right." "I see! How old are -you?" "Thirty-four." "How tall?" "Six feet one." "What is your weight?" -"Fourteen stone." "My friend, you are big enough, strong enough, and -young enough to help yourself. You seem to be making a bad job of it; -but you will get no help from me." "Not half a dollar?" "Not half a -penny." "What are you for?" "Well," I said, "I appear to exist for a -good many purposes, but at the present time I am for the purpose of -telling you to move off. Take your foot from my doorstep and clear!" -"Not without half a dollar." "Take your foot away!" "No fear! I am going -to have some money for my lodgings." "You will get no money here. Clear -off!" "You don't mean to say that, after speaking to us like a man, you -won't give me any money?" "That is exactly what I do mean to say." "What -are you for?" "I will show you what I am for"; and I called three -stalwart sons. "I ask you once more to withdraw your foot, or we shall -be compelled to put you as gently as possible in the gutter." He then -left us, muttering as he went: "I wonder what he's for?"</p> - -<p>The sight of an ashamed and broken ex-prisoner touches me, and my heart -goes out to him. Neither sympathy nor help will I deny him. But when -unabashed fellows confront me, and show not the slightest evidence of -sorrow or shame, but trade, as far as they can trade, upon the shameful -fact that they have been rogues and vagabonds, very different feelings -are evoked. My experience leads me to the belief that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> greater -majority of ex-prisoners are by no means ashamed of having been in -prison, or of the criminal actions that preceded prison; neither are -they anywise reticent about their actions or thoughts.</p> - -<p>So well is the public desire to help prisoners understood that I have -sometimes been the victim of specious scoundrels who probably had never -been in prison, but who richly deserved the unenviable distinction.</p> - -<p>One morning, when I was leaving home for the day, I saw on the opposite -side of the street a young man, who looked intently at me when I bade my -wife good-bye. As he was an entire stranger to me, I did not speak to -him, but went about my business. During the evening my wife said to me: -"Oh, you owe me ten shillings!" "What for?" I inquired. "I gave young -Brown his fare to Birmingham." "What young Brown?" I inquired. "That -nice young fellow that got into trouble two years ago, and you helped -him when he came out of prison. He kept the place you got for him, and -now he has got a much better one at Birmingham." I tried to recall young -Brown, but my memory was vacant on the matter. At length I asked for his -description, when the young man I had seen in the morning was revealed. -He noted my departure, and when quite sure that I was not in the way, he -came to the door and asked to see me. He told my wife a long tale about -his imprisonment and of my kindness to him, of his struggle for two -years on a small salary, and of the good position open for him in -Birmingham;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> and also of his certainty that I would, had I been at home, -have advanced his fare, and wound up by expressing the great sorrow that -he had missed me. He did wish so much to tell me of his success, for it -was all due to my kindness. He got his fare, and I sincerely hope that -by this time he has got his deserts too.</p> - -<p>But, independently of specious rogues, it is high time the fact was -recognized that a feeling does largely exist among prisoners and -ex-prisoners that the fact of having been in prison is a sure passport -to public sympathy, and constitutes a claim upon public assistance. A -large proportion of prisoners are, of course, people of low -intelligence, who cannot estimate things at a proper value or see things -as ordinary-minded people see them, and to these the belief becomes a -certainty and the hope almost a realization. Let me repeat, then, that -the duty of the community to help and "rescue" discharged prisoners has -been so insistently and persistently proclaimed that prisoners now quite -believe it, and are eagerly ready to leave to societies, organizations, -or individuals other than themselves those efforts that are undoubtedly -necessary for their own reformation and re-establishment.</p> - -<p>I hold, and very strongly hold, that there is no hope of any prisoner's -reformation who has no sorrow for the wrong he has done, and no sense of -shame for the disgrace he has brought upon himself and others. I am not -sure which is the more hopeless and repulsive kind of an individual—the -man who blatantly demands assistance because he has been a rogue, or the -fawning hypocrite who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> professes repentance, tells of his conversion, -and thanks God that he has been in prison; but I do know that both have -the same object in view, and that both are but specimens of a numerous -class.</p> - -<p>While giving a course of lectures in our large prisons I had -opportunities of becoming acquainted with many of the prisoners. At the -conclusion of each lecture those prisoners who had expressed during the -week a wish to consult me were allowed to do so in strict privacy. I had -some very interesting talks with them. For many of them I felt -profoundly sorry, and made some arrangement to meet with them when they -were once more at liberty. For others I felt no pity, for I realized -that they were barely receiving a just reward for their deeds.</p> - -<p>One young man, with a heavy face and a leering kind of a look, came to -me, and informed me that he had asked permission to see me, because he -wanted my help in a fortnight's time, when he would be at liberty. Clad -in khaki and marked with broad arrows, there was nothing to -differentiate him from the ordinary prisoner, excepting, perhaps, that -his face was duller and less intelligent than the majority. I asked him -how long he had been in prison. "Six months." "What are you in for?" -"Forgery." "How much money did you get by it?" "Five hundred pounds." -"You were a bank clerk, then?" "Yes." "Is your father alive?" "No." -"Have you a mother?" "Yes, and two sisters." "In what way do you want me -to help you?" "I want to go to Canada." I looked at him closely and -said, "Tell me what you did with the five hundred pounds." For<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> the -first time I saw brightness in his eyes and face, and he promptly -replied, "Oh, I had a high old time." I saw sensual enjoyment written -very largely about his lips and eyes; but I repeated his words, "A high -old time?" "Yes; a good time, you know." So I enumerated drink, -gambling, women, and to each of them he replied, "Yes." He evidently -looked back to that wicked period with great pleasure. I felt that he -was far beyond my prentice hand, for I thought of his mother and -sisters, of the employer he had so ruthlessly robbed, and of his own -certain future. So I said to him, "My son, I cannot help you; no one can -help you. It is no use wasting money in sending you to Canada. Canada is -no place for you, for you cannot get away from yourself." He said, "I -shall be away from temptation in Canada." "No," I said; "that is -impossible: the devil is always to hand, even in Canada." "Won't you -help me to get away from London?" "No," I said. "Stop in London, where -you have been a wicked rogue; face life where you are known; show -yourself a man by living decently and working honestly at anything you -can get. Try and win back your mother's and sisters' respect. Write to -your employer and ask his forgiveness; tell him that at some time in -life you will endeavour to repay him. Feel ashamed that you have been a -disgusting rogue; don't rejoice in having a 'high old time.'" He did not -blush, or appear in any way concerned, but said: "If you won't help me, -others will." It needs no great knowledge of life to forecast that young -man's future. I often feel dismayed when I consider<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> some of the -present-day tendencies. There is such a feverish and manifest desire -among thousands of people to stand between a prisoner and the law, and -to relieve him at any cost from the legal consequence of his -wrong-doing.</p> - -<p>Indeed, some folk would move heaven and earth, if it were possible, to -keep a heartless young rogue out of prison. I would not lift my finger; -to me it seems a most serious matter, for the consequences of criminal -actions ought to be certain as daylight. I would, however, do much to -make those consequences, not only certain, but swift, reasonable, and -dignified, but not vindictive or revengeful. Punishment should be severe -enough to convey an important and a lasting lesson. There ought to be no -element of chance about it, but at present there is a great deal of -uncertainty whether a prisoner, even if found guilty, will receive any -punishment or be merely admonished.</p> - -<p>I am aware that the views I have just expressed are not held by many -people, but I am speaking from a long experience, during which I have -dealt personally with individuals, and have taken infinite pains to -learn something of those individuals. From this knowledge and experience -I am forced to the conclusion that, as a rule, it is not a wise or a -good thing to prevent the consequence of crime falling upon the -criminal; but, as I have previously said, those consequences ought to be -reasonable and sensible. We need a healthier public feeling on this -question, and I earnestly long for the time when we shall all feel and -acknowledge that the real disgrace lies in the action, and not in the -degree of punishment awarded the perpetrator.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p><p>A thief discharged on "probation" is still a thief equally with the one -who had received a term of imprisonment, but the community thinks -otherwise. I am quite sure that I shall be hardly judged and condemned -for giving expression to this opinion; it will doubtless be said that I -have grown hard-hearted late in life, and have lost my sympathy for -unfortunate people. I ask my readers to accept my assurance that this is -not the case; my sympathy is larger than ever, for poor broken humanity -is with me an ever-present sorrow. I never refuse assistance to a -hard-up scoundrel without a heart-wrench and subsequent feelings of -uneasiness. I love men, but I hate the very thought of "coddling" -humanity. I know what it leads to, and I think how poor broken humanity -catches on to the process, and becomes more and more willing to be -"coddled." But poor humanity is the poorer for the process.</p> - -<p>A man that has committed some crime, and has then taken his gruel in -both senses, who faces the world, and by pluck, perseverance, and -rectitude regains his footing in life, is to me a hero; for I can -appreciate his difficulties, and appreciate, too, his moral worth. It is -my privilege to know such men, and it is my joy sometimes to meet them. -When I pass one of them in the street, I always feel inclined to cry, -"There goes a man." Thank God, men of this sort are more numerous than -might be expected, and it is only fair to our prison authorities to say -that among a number that I know none complain of their treatment. Whilst -undergoing sentence they did not like prison, of course, but they had to -put up with it, and made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> the best of it. But while I am writing -this—on July 16, between 9 and 10 p.m.—I have been called three times -to speak to young men who claimed—and I have no doubt in their cases -truly claimed—to be discharged prisoners. Each time it was a young man -under thirty that required help; two were absolute strangers to me; one -I had known previously, for, unfortunately, six years ago I met him -before he was consigned to prison, and also after he came out. At that -time I did my best for him, and gave him a suit of clothes, and procured -him, after great difficulties, some employment. During the last year he -had called on me several times, when I had resolutely declined to assist -him. He seemed astonished, and said, "But you helped me before." -To-night I was a bit angry, and said, "Oh, is it you again? You are -troubling me too often; I can do nothing for you." He resented the idea -that he was a too frequent visitor. "Why, it is six weeks since I was -here." My next visitor was a strong, healthy young man, who promptly -touched his forehead with his fingers by way of salute. "Just come out -of prison, sir." "Well, what of that?" "I am a married man, with two -children." "I am sorry for your wife and children." He misunderstood me. -"I thought you would be. We must pay our rent to-night, or we shall be -put out in the street." "Where are you living?" "In Campbell Road, -Finsbury Park. We have furnished apartments; we have been there one -week, and they want the rent." I said, "You came out of prison a week -ago, and paid a deposit on your room?" "Yes, sir." "You pay, or should -pay,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> seven shillings a week for that wretched room. You have not paid, -so you ask me to help you; but I cannot do it: I know nothing whatever -of you. Please go away: I am busy." He looked at me and said: "But I -stole boots, you know, and I got three months. What are my wife and -children to do?" "Well," I said, "if you did steal boots, you were a -thief, and I cannot think the better of you on that account. You may or -may not have a wife and two children; I do not know. Furnished -apartments in Campbell Road are too dear and too nasty. I cannot give -away money to keep the landlord of Campbell Road." With great difficulty -I got rid of him, and I am afraid that my temper was not sweetened in -the endeavour.</p> - -<p>I had just settled down at my work when once more I was informed that a -man wished to see me. The inevitable front-door again. I sometimes -wonder how many silent vows I have registered on my own doorstep. The -broken ones, I know, have been numerous enough to condemn me.</p> - -<p>Another old acquaintance this time. As I stand on the doorstep, the rain -sweeps in at the open door. The poor fellow is soaked through; it is -nearly ten o'clock; he is homeless and penniless. I can spare half a -crown; he has it, and I direct him to the nearest lodging-house—not -that he needed directions—feeling quite sure that he will there meet -with my two previous visitors; possibly, too, will tell them of his -success, and chaff them about their failure. But it was the rain that -did it, and I hope that fact may be taken into consideration when -judgment is delivered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> True, by their continual coming they had wearied -me, and by their persistence they had annoyed me; but the sight of a -homeless vagabond in the pelting rain acted as a counter-irritant, and -pity had to triumph over censorious judgment. So I went back to my desk -knowing that I had done wrong; but somehow I had received satisfaction, -for my temper was soothed. Perhaps it was good for me that I was not -visited again that night by any discharged prisoners. For, poor fellows! -they demand our pity; but how to transmute that pity into practical help -is a difficult problem.</p> - -<p>When a discharged prisoner possesses health, skill, and self-reliance, -he has a hard battle to fight, one that will call forth either the best -or the worst that is in him. But the great bulk of discharged prisoners -have but indifferent health, and possess no technical skill or -self-reliance; any service they can render to the community is but poor -service, and of a kind that many thousands of honest men are only too -anxious to secure for themselves. If the great bulk of them could, when -discharged, be put into regular employment, and be enabled to earn a -living, they would, if under a mild compulsion, conduct themselves -decently; but if work and reasonable payment were provided, compulsion -would still be necessary, for the greater part of them have no -continuity of purpose, and are as thoughtless of to-morrow as -butterflies, and they would very soon, were it possible, revert to an -aimless, wandering life. It is the lack of grit, of continuity of -purpose, of moral principles, combined with inferior physical health and -a low standard of intelligence, that renders the position<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> of many -discharged prisoners so hopeless. We may blame them—perhaps it is right -to blame them—for not exercising qualities they do not possess, but it -is certain they do not possess the qualities I have named. They do, -however, possess qualities that are not quite so estimable, for -irresponsibility and low cunning are their chief characteristics. These -men are nomads: settled life, regular work, the patient bearing of -life's burden, and the facing of life's difficulties, are foreign to -their instincts and nature. This kind of character is developed at an -early age, for it is very prevalent in our growing youths; it is one of -the signs of our times, and it bodes no good to our future national -welfare.</p> - -<p>After giving the last of a course of weekly lectures to youths under -twenty-one in one of our provincial prisons, I spoke a few friendly -words to them, and asked those to put up their hands who had been -previously in prison. A number of hands were put up. On questioning -them, I found that they by no means resented short terms of imprisonment -alternated with irresponsible liberty.</p> - -<p>During the present summer, when commencing a similar course of lectures -in one of our large London prisons, I asked the youthful prisoners who -had previously met me to put up their hands. Here again a number of -hands went up. I found, to my astonishment, at least six youths who had -listened to my lectures in other prisons were detained in this -particular prison. I could not help telling them that I thought my -lectures had not done them much good. "We liked them, sir,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> was the -response. "Well," I said, "I wish those addresses had been a great deal -better or a great deal worse; they were not good enough to keep you out -of prison, neither were they bad enough to frighten you away."</p> - -<p>What place is there in strenuous life for such young fellows? The -difficulties outside a prison's wall are so great that they cannot face -them. But the saddest part of it is that they do not want to face them, -and it must be confessed that they have not the slightest idea how to do -so.</p> - -<p>Weakness, then, not wickedness, is the great characteristic of what are -termed "the criminal classes." Who can rescue them? Who can reform them? -No one, unless they can infuse into their very bones, blood, and marrow -the essence of vigour and the germ of self-reliance. Prisoners' Aid -Societies are powerless with them. Church Army and Salvation Army and -all the Labour Homes combined can do nothing with them or for them; for -prison life is easier than wood-chopping, and the comforts of prison are -superior to those of a Labour Home. The Borstal system is good, so far -as it goes, but it does not go half far enough; it is not vigorous -enough. Possibly, if these young men were detained three times as long -as they are at present, and given three times the amount of work they -have to do at the present time, with the rough up-to-date technical -training, many of them would profit; but I am certain that no -half-measures can be effectual with the large army of young prisoners -who have either acquired or inherited the love of an idle and -irresponsible life.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p><p>I was speaking a short time ago to a young man whom I knew had been -several times in prison, and asked him: "What are you in for this time?" -"For making a false attestation," was his reply. He had tried to enlist -under false pretences. But he is now in the army, for I have received -letters from him. Three other young fellows whom I had met in prison -when at liberty consulted me about joining the army. I warned them of -the risk, and told them they would have to tell lies. Nevertheless, they -are now in the army. Why there should be any difficulty about such -fellows joining the army I don't understand. They are animals, and they -can fight! If their teeth are not good, what does it matter? They are -not now required to bite cartridges. They can be taught to discharge -rifles, and a bullet from one of their rifles may prove as deadly as a -bullet from the rifle of a better man. "The character of the army must -be maintained." By all means keep up the character of the army. Some -people are advocating conscription. Well, here is a chance. Form a -regiment, or two regiments, of young men who have been three times in -prison. Give them ten years of thorough discipline and sound manual and -technical training. Under discipline they will be obedient, and at the -worst they will be as good men as those that manned Nelson's ships, and -would prove quite as good as those that fought at Waterloo, or captured -India for the East India Company.</p> - -<p>I am no advocate of war, but I am afraid that the prospect of universal -peace is remote. Devoutly I wish that it was close at hand. We must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> -look at things as they are. Let me state the case: Here are thousands of -young men who have no settled places of abode, no technical skill, no -great physical strength, no capabilities, and no desire for continuous -honest labour. No one can provide them with employment. There is no -place for them in industrial life. They are content to spend their lives -in cheap lodging-houses or in prison. They beg or they steal when at -liberty. Occasionally they do a little work, when that work does not -require much strength or brains. They graduate in idleness and crime; -they become habituated to prison, and finally they become hopeless -criminals. Large sums of money are expended in a vain endeavour to -reform them; larger sums still are expended in maintaining public -institutions that we call prisons, in which they are kept for a short -period, and in which they are submitted to lives of semi-idleness. Large -numbers of warders are maintained to look after them when in prison; -large numbers of police are required to look after them when they are at -liberty. Innocent people suffer through their depredations; innocent -people, honest and hardworking people, have to keep them when they are -submitted to the comparatively comfortable life of prison. They become -fathers of children, and future generations will be compelled to bear -heavy burdens because of them.</p> - -<p>Many of them, when young, join local regiments of militia. Once a year -they are called up for training, but their few weeks of training soon -pass, after which they hark back to lodging-houses or prisons.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p><p>They get some liking for a soldier's life; but if they have been in -prison, there is no honest place for them in the army. They are not good -enough to be shot at! They are not good enough to shoot at others! It -would appear that a large amount of moral excellence is required before -a man can be allowed to be the recipient of a bullet, or before he can -receive a State licence to kill.</p> - -<p>I am persuaded that nothing but a long period of strict discipline will -avail the mass of young men who constantly find their way into prison. -At present prison discipline is too short to be effectual, too deadening -to be useful, too monotonous to be elevating. Compulsory discipline, -with a fair degree of liberty, a reasonable remuneration for their -services, and a lengthened training, are the only things that are at all -likely to be effectual with young men who will not, cannot, submit -themselves to the higher discipline that is self-imposed.</p> - -<p>Failing the army, there is but one alternative—national workshops, with -manual and technical training. But that means socialism pure and simple; -for if workshops were provided for young criminals, there could be no -possible objection against a similar provision for the children of the -industrious poor.</p> - -<p>The State needs to be careful not to hold out any inducements to -youthful criminality, for of a surety it will be a bad day for England -when idle and dishonest youth stands a better chance in life than youth -that is industrious and honest. Even now certain signs point to danger -in that direction.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p><p>Prisoners' Aid Societies have an impossible task when they attempt to -reform these young men. They are heavily handicapped from the start, -inasmuch as they cannot enforce discipline even in a Labour Home; -neither can they compel continuity of work; neither can they secure -regular employment for any that might be inclined to perseverance and -industry. No Prisoners' Aid Society can do this, and it would be well -for everybody concerned if this fact were honestly admitted and the -truth fairly faced. In justice to many of the societies, it is only fair -to say that they freely admit that they have nothing to offer to those -that have been several times convicted.</p> - -<p>During 1906, 10,700 men and women, each of whom had already been in -prison more than twenty times, were again received into the local -prisons of England and Wales.</p> - -<p>Think of it. In one year only, and that the very last year for which -criminal statistics are available, 10,700 men and women who had been -committed to prison more than twenty times each were again sent to -prison in England and Wales alone!</p> - -<p>These official figures not only bring a grave indictment against our -prison system, but they also serve to show the inability of Discharged -Prisoners' Aid Societies to deal with the bulk of discharged prisoners -in ways that can be called satisfactory. The fault does not lie with the -societies, for they are all animated with an earnest desire to help -discharged prisoners. Every society that exists, and every individual -member of every society, would be more than delighted—they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> would be -thankful to God—if they could in some effectual way help every -discharged prisoner. But they cannot. The difficulties are too great, -too stupendous. Of a truth, they have no work to offer discharged -prisoners; for they cannot create work at will, neither can they produce -from some mysterious and inexhaustible store situations to suit the -varying capabilities of ex-prisoners.</p> - -<p>Social conditions are dead against the work of these societies, though -the sympathy—that is, the abstract sympathy—of the public is with -them. For every situation that is vacant, or likely to be vacant, where -skill and experience are not required, a hundred honest men are -waiting—waiting to fight each other for a remote chance of getting it. -Employers will not hold situations in abeyance till some Prisoners' Aid -Society can supply them with a doubtful servant. They would act -foolishly—I might say wickedly—if they did. Again I say—for I would -have this fact emphasized—no organization, be it large or small, can -offer situations to discharged prisoners. Certain things they can do. -But what avails intermittent wood-chopping? Of what use is casual -bill-distributing? Can an irregular supply of envelope-addressing, -continued for a few weeks, be considered work? Paper and rag sorting, -and the carrying of advertising boards at intervals, must not be -dignified by the word "work." All these things are useful to a limited -extent and to a certain class. They suit those men, and those men only, -who have no desire for the discipline of real work, by which I mean -regular and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>continuous labour. Any discharged prisoner who possesses a -fair amount of health and strength and an atom of grit stands a much -better chance when he relies upon himself than when he seeks the aid of -an organization; for life in a Labour Home does not procure him, or help -him to procure, honest and continuous work. Even a lengthened stay in a -Labour Home leaves him in the same position as when he left prison. -Relying on himself, an ex-prisoner can take his chance among the hundred -who are scrambling or fighting for the coveted job; and if his health -and appearance are satisfactory, he is as likely to get it as any other -man. But even though a large number of discharged prisoners enter Labour -Homes, the managers have no power to compel them either to work or -remain in the home. As a consequence, the majority depart in a very -short time, preferring liberty and semi-starvation to the non-compulsory -restraint of the home. So they pass into freedom, glorious freedom! -Free, but with no desire, and with very little chance, of doing right; -free, with little desire and no ability to live by honest labour. -Freedom to them means liberty or licence to do wrong, and only serves to -give them opportunities of getting once more into prison.</p> - -<p>It follows, then, as a matter of course, that Aid Societies concern -themselves, and rightly concern themselves, with first-time prisoners. -They are younger; they are not so hopeless; they stand a much better -chance in the labour world; they have not been so often through the -deadening mill of prison. All these things are true, but with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> all these -things in their favour, only a very limited amount of success is -obtained in the reformation of first-time prisoners. The reasons are -obvious. First, no society has the power to enforce any discipline or -impose any restraint upon them; secondly, no society can procure, even -for young ex-prisoners, continuous and progressive employment. I know -the difficulties, and something of the anxieties that societies -experience in this direction, for I have shared them. Honesty is -essential even for porters, vanmen and milkmen. The choice of occupation -for ex-prisoners under twenty-one is very limited. The pick and shovel -are of no use to them. Trades they have none. Clerkships are out of the -question. Positions—even humble positions—of trust are not for them. -Too old for boys' work, yet not fitted for men's, although first-time -prisoners, they are in a difficult position. So are those who try to -help them. "Send them to sea!" Well, we are a nation of sailors, but -those who go down to the sea in ships do so of their own choice. For -them the sea has an attraction; they love it—or they think they love it -when they enter on the life. But all English youths do not love the sea; -neither are all fitted for a sailor's life.</p> - -<p>But supposing the sea be decided upon, in what capacity are they to go? -They cannot go as sailors, nor yet as apprentices; neither can they go -as stewards or cooks. The difficulty of sending them to sea is scarcely -less than that of finding them occupation ashore. Numbers of them are -put on coasting vessels, it is true; but this course is certain to -fail—and it does fail. Their first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> voyage, in sight of land all the -time, may last a week—maybe a fortnight. At the end of the voyage they -are paid off at the port where the ship discharges its cargo. During the -time aboard they have had a rough time. The voyage has lasted long -enough to make them heartily and bodily sick of the sea; but it has not -lasted long enough to inure them to the life and give them a liking for -it, while the comfort aboard a "collier" makes them sigh for the -comforts of prison. If not paid off at the first port, a good many -youths, to use their own expression, "can't stick it," so they "bunk" at -the first opportunity. Still, they have been "sent to sea," and figure -accordingly in the published report and statistics. This course is, I -contend, unfair even to discharged prisoners. It is not only a -foredoomed failure, but it lands youths in positions where they are -certain to get into mischief. Some of them tramp back to London, after -having sold their "kit," which had been bought for them out of their -prison earnings. No; it is idle to suppose that youths who have been -subject to no discipline other than that of prison will be reformed and -induced to work steadily and persistently by a few days' unpleasant -experience on a coasting vessel.</p> - -<p>Quite recently a strong youth came to see me. I had met him in prison, -where the Governor quite wisely had him trained for a ship's cook. He -had behaved well in prison and obtained all his marks, and his sentence -was long enough to allow him to earn a substantial gratuity. This was -spent by an agent of a society in buying a very meagre<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> outfit and a -railway-ticket to Hull. The youth supposed that he was going to have a -berth on an ocean-going steamer, but no such berth was forthcoming. -Ultimately he was shipped aboard a small coaster with a cargo of coals -for Southend. At the end of seventeen days he was paid off at Southend. -By arrangement, he was to receive 30s. per month for his services, and -should therefore have received at least 17s. He was considerably -surprised to find that only 9s. was forthcoming, the skipper telling -him, and producing a document to that effect, that there was a lien upon -his first wages of 8s. for a "shipping fee" which he, the skipper, had -paid to the man who introduced him. He stayed in Southend for a short -time looking for another berth, for his discharge-note was in order, and -his conduct appears to have been satisfactory. But berths are not to be -had at Southend, so with his last money he paid his fare to London, -where he landed penniless. This custom of paying "hangers-on" at the -docks of large seaports a sum of money for "shipping" youths prevails -largely, and a most unsatisfactory practice it is. I have personally -known several men engaged in what is termed rescue work resort largely -to this method of getting rid of responsibilities they themselves have -undertaken, and which they ought to bear, or honestly say at the outset -that they cannot undertake them. The fact is that prison youths are not -wanted even at sea, or, if they are, it is under such circumstances that -the hope of their doing any good for themselves must be abandoned. "Send -them to sea" has too long been a catchword. Whether it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> ever did cure -youths of idleness and dishonesty I am doubtful, but I am certain, at -any rate, that it does not at the present time act as the grand -specific.</p> - -<p>The navy will not accept prison youths; the mercantile marine will have -none of them, and short coasting voyages are worse than useless; for -honesty and industry are estimable qualities even at sea. It would be -well indeed if all Prisoners' Aid Societies and all those engaged in -similar work would plainly and unmistakably state the difficulties they -experience when called on to find situations or employment for -discharged prisoners, be they young, middle-aged, or old; well for the -discharged prisoners themselves to know the truth at once, rather than -that they should go on calling day after day at any office, and waiting -hour after hour among many others to see if anything has "come in," for -nothing with the least resemblance to regular work can "come in" well, -too, for the public if they could understand the difficulties under -which societies labour, and the difficulties which ex-prisoners have to -face. Better still would it be for our authorities to clearly understand -these matters, for then surely more effectual methods would be found for -dealing with those who, either from incapacity, desire, or social -circumstances, appear quite willing to spend their days in prison. With -the older prisoners I am not now concerned, for the Home Secretary and -his advisers fully recognize that for them new methods must be tried, -and their Bill now before Parliament makes it sufficiently evident; but -why not begin with them earlier in life? Surely, if the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> fact of an -elderly man having been committed four times on indictment is sufficient -to stamp him as "habitual," for whom a more drastic treatment must be -provided, then the fact of a youth or young man under twenty-five having -been in prison an equal number of times, coupled with the fact that he -is homeless and workless, ought to be quite sufficient to ensure him a -long period of useful discipline in some place other than prison. By -some such means the supply of young criminals, that at present seems -inexhaustible, would be stopped, and the difficulty with regard to older -criminals would almost vanish. And pity demands it, for the bulk of -these young men have had but little chance in life. Birth and -environment have been against them; of home life in its full sense they -have known nothing; to discipline they have been strangers, and they are -a product of our present civilization. Can we expect them to exhibit the -rarer qualities of human nature? Temptation is, I know, no respecter of -persons, for not seldom do young men of good parentage and splendid -environment fail; but to the young of whom I write temptation is as -nothing, for they do not understand the beauty of moral worth, the -dignity of man, and the virtue of honest labour. For the future they -care nothing; they live in the present, content to be idle. To eat, to -sleep, to enjoy themselves in an animal way, is their idea of life. -Their wits are only sharpened to deceive. To get the better—or, as they -put it, "to best"—others is their one aim, and a shilling obtained by -the "besting" process is worth ten obtained by honest work.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>Honesty! They have heard of it, but to them it has no meaning. They -have no moral sense, or at the best but very little. Preach to them! You -might as well preach to the east wind. But they have one soft spot, for, -as young cubs have an affection for their dams, so have these youths -some affection for their "muvvers"; but that affection does not prevent -them striking or kicking their mothers. Oh no, for every passion and -whim must be indulged. Oh, the pity of it all! Shall we deny these -youths the greatest blessing given to humanity—discipline? Punish them, -you say. My friend, you cannot confer moral worth with stripes. Longer -terms of imprisonment! They will eat your food, lie in your beds, and -make themselves as comfortable as possible. Like animals, they will -"nestle down." But they behave themselves in prison. Ay, they do that, -for they want all the advantages they can obtain. But they behave -themselves principally because they are under authority, and obedience -means to them some creature comfort. Discipline! They understand it only -when it is compulsory. Let us give these lads a chance; let us make up -to them the loss society has inflicted on them by refusing them -opportunities of wholesome discipline; let us stop for ever the -senseless round of short terms of imprisonment; let us find some method -for giving them lengthened—wholesome manual and technical training—for -their own sakes, if you will; if not, then for our own.</p> - -<p>I have mentioned the army for them, not because I am enamoured of the -army, but because it appears to offer at once restraint and discipline,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> -with a measure of freedom, and opportunities for technical training. But -wiser heads than mine may formulate a better plan; if so, I am for it. -My heart goes out to the lads, though they sometimes weary me, for I -know—and no one knows better—that they have had as yet no fair chance -in life.</p> - -<p>The following account, given to me by a young man who had served a -sentence of six months' hard labour in one of our large prisons, may -prove interesting, for it will serve to show the exact life of a -prisoner treated under the Borstal system. I give it as written by the -ex-prisoner himself. He was twenty-one years of age, was 5 feet 11 -inches in height. As a boy he had been a telegraph messenger, and -afterwards a postman; but having stolen postal orders, he received the -above sentence. It will be observed that he was placed in the -bookbinding department, and that the greatest amount of hard labour he -performed was three and three-quarter hours per day, and this at a trade -of which he had not the slightest previous knowledge—a trade, too, that -requires not only skill, but celerity of movement, and, moreover, a -trade at which there was not the slightest chance of his obtaining -employment when at liberty. He did not average three hours' real work -per day, and this works out at forty-three days' work of ten hours per -day for the whole six months. It is obvious that no one can get a useful -knowledge of bookbinding in forty-three days of real hard work. In his -case, the "trade" taught proved of no use whatever on his discharge. He -was very quickly in another prison, again for dishonesty;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> but his -previous sentence not being discovered, his sentence was a very light -one. If I am to believe a letter that I received from him, he is now in -the army, and, of course, had to make a false attestation when he -enlisted.</p> - -<p>It will be noticed that he speaks well of the treatment received in -prison, and testifies to the kindness of all the officials. On this -point I can corroborate him, for I know something of those who had -charge of him, and feel sure that it would have been a great -disappointment to them had he on a second occasion been committed to -their charge. His failure cannot be charged to the prison officials. -They honestly did their best, for they were genuinely interested in him. -Neither do I say that any prison system would have saved him, but I do -say—and in this I think most reasonable people will agree with me—that -very light work done at a very deliberate pace is not sufficient, even -in prison, for a young man of his health, build, and capacity. I think, -too, most people will agree that if young men are to be taught trades in -prison, they should be taught under conditions that approximate to -outside conditions so far as style, pace, and hours of work are -concerned.</p> - -<p>Prison industries present a very difficult problem. I believe the -officials would be glad to give prisoners twice the amount of work they -are at present given; but they have not the work to give them, so a life -of semi-idleness results.</p> - -<p>Finally, it is to be hoped that the new probation system will be so -thoroughly worked that large numbers of young men will be kept out of -prison,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> for at present prisons do not punish, neither do they reform in -the majority of cases.</p> - -<p>I now give the ex-prisoner's statement:</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">How I spent my Life in Prison.</span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>By a Juvenile Adult.</i></p> - -<p>"Four o'clock was just striking, and there I stood in the prisoners' -dock at the Old Bailey. The judge, having considered the case, -pronounced the sentence: 'Six months' hard labour.' I was then taken -back and put into a cell, and was given a hunch of bread and a piece of -cheese. About six o'clock I was taken in a prison-van to prison, where I -arrived about 7.15. I was then taken to the reception-hall, and after -being searched and all particulars taken, I was told to strip, and all -my property was entered in a large book, and I had to sign to -acknowledge that all my belongings were duly entered. I then had a bath, -and was given my prison attire. I was then given a tin containing a pint -of porridge and 8 ounces of bread. After having eaten part of this—for -I tackled it—I was given two sheets, a pillow-sheet, and towel, and -then taken into a large hall containing 352 cells, and put into one of -them. Thus my arrival at that large establishment.</p> - -<p>"My daily duty for the first fourteen days was: Arise at 6 a.m. and -clean my cell; breakfast at 7.15 a.m., and then I had to scrub and sweep -my cell on alternate days. At 8.30 I had to put out my dust or bucket, -and at 8.45 I went to chapel. At 9.40 to 10.40 drill, then back in my -cell for the rest of the day, having to work in my cell. Dinner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> was -given me at twelve o'clock, and supper at five o'clock. At seven o'clock -I had to put out my work.</p> - -<p>"After the first fourteen days I was put into the J.A. bookbinders' -shop, and my days were then changed. I arose at 6 a.m., shop at 6.30 to -7.15, breakfast 7.15 to 8.30, chapel at 8.45 to 9.20, drill 9.40 to -10.40, school 10.45 to 11.45, dinner 12 o'clock to 1.30, shop 1.45 to -4.45, supper at 5 o'clock. Thus my change till the first of March. After -this I went to drill before breakfast, and my duties were as follows: -Arise 6 a.m., drill 6.30 to 7.15, breakfast 7.15 to 8.30, chapel 8.45 to -9.20, shop 9.30 to 10.30, school 10.45 to 11.45, dinner 12 o'clock to -1.30, shop 1.45 to 4.45, and back to my cell for that day.</p> - -<p>"On Wednesday I went to the schoolroom, where a lecture was given by -gentlemen to all the J.A. prisoners who had done more than one month. -This was from 5.30 to 6.30, and on Friday there was a choir-practice at -the same time for the same prisoners.</p> - -<p>"The food I could not get on with at all at first, but gradually I had -to eat, till after three months, when I did not find it enough; but when -I had done five months, I seemed perfectly satisfied with it. I found -that the Sundays were the worst of all prison life. I was awakened at 7 -a.m., breakfast 7.15 to 8.30, chapel 8.50 to 10.30, exercise 10.50 to -11.20 (if weather permitted), dinner 12 o'clock to 1.30, chapel 1.45 to -2.45, and supper at about 4.15 to 4.30; and, as I could not bear to sit -about, I went to bed every Sunday by five o'clock the latest. I was -searched three times a day, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> not on Sundays, and a general search -once a fortnight, when I was kept in my cell all the afternoon. The last -of every month I was weighed.</p> - -<p>"I had obtained all good marks that could be given me, and had earned -twenty shillings whilst doing my six months. The Governor, the chaplain, -and all the officials were good to me. I was confirmed in prison. The -long nights and insufficiency of work were the hardest things to bear."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">THE LAST DREAD PENALTY</span></h2> - -<p>For more than half a century I have taken a great interest in those who, -of malice aforethought, and after considerable pains, succeed in taking -the lives of others. I remember as if it were to-day the excitement that -arose when William Palmer was charged with the murder of John Parsons -Cook. For fifty years a vivid impression of all the events and episodes -connected with the remarkable trial of that remarkable man has remained -with me. I was then a boy of eleven, but Palmer was well known to the -boys of Rugeley, and to myself amongst them. Palmer attended church on -Sundays, when racing engagements allowed, and sat in his family pew, -fairly close to the schoolboys, of whom I happened to be one. He was -most particular about behaviour in church—not only his own, but that of -the schoolboys also. Even now I can see him coming into church with some -member of his family, with firm walk and clanging heel. I can remember -how he stood up to pray into his top-hat a lengthened prayer on entering -his pew. I remember, too, that his clothing was always black,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> and that -a crape mourning band was always in evidence on his hat, for funerals -were numerous in the Palmer family. But we lads thought nothing of the -funerals; but we knew that Palmer's eye was upon us, if we did not -behave discreetly in church; we knew he had more than once pulled the -ears of boys that misbehaved. We knew, too, that Palmer's mother had an -easily accessible garden, in which were plenty of juicy apples and -toothsome cherries.</p> - -<p>Apart from his staid and correct manner at church, Palmer was a bluff, -hearty fellow, well known and well liked in our little town, where he -frequently doctored the poor for nothing; and it was always understood -that Palmer's brother George, a solicitor, was also equally ready to -give his services free of charge to the poor. It was only natural, then, -that the Palmers were liked in our town—for it was a very small town. -Grave faces, I remember, had been plentiful in Rugeley for some weeks -and things had been going on that we boys did not understand. We knew -the names of Palmer's horses, and felt any amount of interest in -Blinkbonny and Goldfinder; but we did not understand the gloom that had -settled on the town, for older people spoke with bated breath, and when -boys drew near the conversation ceased or the lads were driven away. We -knew the name of Palmer was whispered continuously. What did it all -mean? At length mystery, reticence, and whispered suspicions were -useless. Palmer had been arrested for the murder of John Parsons Cook, -whose body lay in our churchyard, and whose funeral we had witnessed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> -Now the excitement began. Rugeley became almost the hub of the universe. -Strange people arrived from everywhere, and the quiet town became a -Babel.</p> - -<p>I remember with what awe we gazed at Cook's grave after the body had -been exhumed and returned to its resting-place. We knew that some part -of the body had been taken away and sent to London for great men to -examine. We boys even discussed the ultimate destination of the parts -taken away, and wondered if they would ever get back to poor Cook. How -well I remember the exciting events of that long and dramatic trial in -London! Rugeley people were poor in those days, and newspapers were -dear, so we borrowed where we could, and lent to others when we -possessed. I read aloud the records of that trial to all sorts of poor -people, so I have cause to remember it. I prosecuted Palmer, and I -defended him; I was witness, and I was judge; I claimed a triumphant -acquittal, and I demanded his condemnation; I cross-examined the great -analyst, and even at that age began to learn something of the nature and -effects of strychnine. I thrilled with it all, but I believed Palmer to -be innocent, and in a measure I was proud of a townsman who could stand -up bravely against all the big men in London and show no fear. Oh, but -he was a brave man! He must be innocent! And when the trial was all -over, and Palmer was brought to Stafford to pay the penalty of his -crime, do I not remember how all the world rushed to Stafford to see him -hanged? Ay, I remember how people tramped all day through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> Rugeley to -Stafford, and how they stood all through the night in Stafford streets -waiting, waiting for eight o'clock the next morning. Yes, I remember it -all; and I remember, too, that the cherries in a certain garden -nevermore had any attractions! But I remember, too, that Palmer died -game, showing no fear, betraying no anxiety, with a good appetite to the -last and a firm step to the scaffold.</p> - -<p>Surely Palmer was innocent, and was supported by the knowledge of his -innocence. Murderers had fearsome consciences; they were haunted by a -sense of their guilt, and by the eyes or the spirits of their victims.</p> - -<p>So I felt and so I reasoned about murderers when I was a boy. I have -since those days had many opportunities of correcting my judgment, and -now I no longer believe that a bold, cool, collected behaviour, together -with the possession of a good appetite, is synonymous with innocence. -For I have seen enough to justify me in saying that a calm and brave -bearing is more likely to be indicative of guilt than of innocence. But -the public and certain portions of the press still translate callous -behaviour into a proof of innocence, and sometimes convert prisoners -into heroes.</p> - -<p>No greater mistake could be made, for a prisoner's behaviour has nothing -do with to his guilt or innocence. On the whole, fear or distress are -far more likely to indicate innocence than they are to denote guilt. -This I believe to hold good of all prisoners, not only of those charged -with the capital offence. I have failed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> to observe in prisoners who -were undoubtedly guilty the furtive look that is supposed to be peculiar -to guilt. I have watched closely and have spoken confidentially to many -hundreds, but their eyes met mine as naturally as those of a child. I -have been compelled to the conclusion that not only is a bold bearing -consistent with the deepest guilt, but also that a natural bearing and a -childlike trustfulness are by no means to be taken as signs of -innocence. Of the behaviour of innocent people when charged with crime, -fortunately, we do not get many opportunities of observation; still, I -have seen some, and can bear testimony that they were a great deal more -confused, excited, and unreliable than prisoners who were undeniably -guilty. Such prisoners often contradict themselves, and sometimes depart -from the truth when attempting to defend themselves. It is palpable to -everyone that they feel their position, and fear the consequences. I -have seen such astounding coolness and presence of mind, coupled with -apparent candour and sincerity, among guilty prisoners that when I know -of a prisoner exhibiting these qualities I almost instinctively suspect -him. An innocent man, in his anxiety, may prevaricate through fear and -confusion; but the veritably guilty man is careful in these matters, -though he may be sometimes a little too clever.</p> - -<p>The psychology of prisoners has, then, for years been a favourite study -with me, and a very interesting study I have found it. In my endeavours -to discover the state of mind that existed and caused certain prisoners -to commit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> serious crimes, I have sometimes discovered, almost hidden in -the dark recesses of the mind, some little shadow of some small thing -that to me seemed quite absurd, but which to the prisoner loomed so -large, so real, and so important, that he regarded it as a sufficient -justification for his deed. To myself the crime and the something in the -prisoner's mind appeared to have no possible connection, yet -unmistakably, if the prisoners were to be believed, they were cause and -effect. Now, from this kind of mania—for such it undoubtedly is—small -and ridiculous as it seems—and I have met it too often not to be -certain as to its existence—a double question is presented: What is the -cause of that little something in the prisoner's mind? and why has it -caused the prisoner to commit a certain action? I have never been able -to get any light upon these questions, but have had to content myself -with the knowledge that the mental equipment of that class of criminals -is altogether different to that of ordinary individuals. I am not here -speaking of a defined mania that dominates the life, stirs the passions, -and leads directly to the perpetration of a crime—cause and effect in -such a case are obvious, though, of course, the cause of the cause is -still obscure—but I am speaking of silly little somethings that float -about in certain minds, that refuse to be ejected, that entail much -misery and suffering, and finally crime. Possibly this state of mind may -be the outcome of indigestion, even as an extra severe sentence upon a -prisoner may be the outcome of indigestion in a judge: for it is quite -possible to suppose a case<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> in which judge and prisoner suffered from a -like cause; but the one has committed a crime because of it, and the -other inflicts unmerited punishment because of it. Two things are very -clear to me: first, that our judges and magistrates ought to be in the -very best of health when performing their duties; secondly, that -pathological causes enter very largely into the perpetration of crime. -Ill-health may make a judge irritable and severe, and so distort his -judgment, and excuses are made for him; for it is whispered he is a -martyr to gout, indigestion, or some equally trying malady. If so, he -certainly ought not to be a judge, for health and temper are absolutely -necessary for one who has to administer justice and act as the arbiter -of other people's fate. But this excuse is not made for prisoners. Yet -in hundreds of cases it might honestly be made; for while they may not -have been influenced by gout or indigestion, they have been influenced -by pathological causes, and the two things are equal.</p> - -<p>I am persuaded, after many years' close observation and many years' -friendship with criminals, that disease, mental or physical, is a -tremendous factor in the causation of crime. The "criminal class" is -often spoken of, and it might be supposed that there is a distinct class -of people to whom the appellation applies. My experience teaches me that -there is no "criminal class," but there are plenty of criminals. The low -forehead and the square jaw, the scowling eye and the stubbly beard, do -not denote criminality; the receding forehead, the weak eye, and the -almost absence of chin, do not indicate criminal instincts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> Nothing of -the sort. All these things are consistent with decent living, a fair -amount of intelligence, and some moral purpose. On the other hand, a -well-built body, a well-shaped head, a handsome face, a clean skin, and -a bright eye are consistent with the basest criminality. Some of the -worst criminals I have met—real and dangerous criminals—were handsome -as Apollo. But there does exist a class—and, unfortunately, a very -large class—who have very limited intelligence, who appear to be -retrogressing physically, mentally, and morally, of whom a large -proportion commit various kinds of offences—not from criminal -instincts, but from stunted or undeveloped intelligence and lack of -reasoning power.</p> - -<p>But I am digressing, for it is not my purpose in this chapter to speak -of criminals in general, but rather of those whom I have personally met -charged with murder, and who were convicted, some paying the full -penalty. These I want to consider more fully. From this list I must -eliminate man-slayers who had killed in the heat of passion or in a -drunken quarrel, for they were not murderers at heart. Their mental -condition was understandable, and their bearing while undergoing trial -is beside the question. Neither do I wish to include married or single -women who had killed their offspring at childbirth or soon after, for -they are outside my consideration. But I want to speak plainly about -those who had committed prearranged murders, and carried them out with -considerable skill.</p> - -<p>In refreshing my memory about these, I find that they held several -characteristics in common:</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>1. Not one of them exhibited any sense of shame, no matter how -disgraceful the attendant circumstances.</p> - -<p>2. Not one of them exhibited any nervousness or fear of the -consequences.</p> - -<p>3. Those who admitted their guilt justified their actions, and appeared -to believe that they had done the right thing.</p> - -<p>4. Those who denied their guilt, denied it with cool and positive -assurance, and denied it to the last with almost contempt, as if the -charge was more an insult than anything serious.</p> - -<p>5. None of them betrayed the slightest sorrow.</p> - -<p>6. Every one of them appeared of sound mind so far as reasoning powers -were concerned, for they were quite lucid, and remarkably quick to see a -point in their favour.</p> - -<p>7. None of them were fully able to realize the position in which they -stood, as ordinary people must have realized it.</p> - -<p>Of course, everyone will admit that the man or woman who can plan and -carry out a murder, whether that murder is likely to be detected or not, -is not, and cannot be, a normal person; but what we require to know is -where they depart from the normal, and how and why they depart from the -normal.</p> - -<p>I would like to say that the particulars just given are the results not -only of my observation of prisoners when in the dock, but also of many -personal and private conversations with them. In a word, I do not -consider that any of these prisoners were thoroughly sane. It may be -said—it is often said—that in human nature "we find<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> what we look -for," and there is truth in the saying; but when trying to understand -these people, I had not the slightest idea of what I was seeking. I knew -there must be some cause that led to the crime, something out of the -ordinary in their minds, but what it was and how to find it was more -than I could tell. So I have watched, have talked and listened. For -these prisoners were always ready to talk: there was no secrecy with -them, excepting with regard to the crime; otherwise they were talkative -enough. It takes some time and patience to discover whether or not in -people there is a suspicion of brain trouble. They appear so natural -that several lengthened conversations may be required before anything at -all is revealed. I trust that it will not be thought that I am betraying -confidences that poor wretches have given to me, for no prisoner, guilty -or innocent, ever confided in me without such confidences being -considered sacred; but as their cases are not of recent date, no harm -can be done, and possibly good may ensue, if I give some particulars -that I gained regarding their mental peculiarities. Being anxious to -ascertain how far my experience was confirmed by the experience of -others, quite recently I put a question to the chaplain of one of our -largest prisons, and whose experience was much greater than my own in -this particular direction. I asked him whether he had ever known anyone -who was about to suffer the death penalty for a premeditated and -cleverly contrived murder exhibit any sense of remorse, sorrow, or fear. -His answer was exactly what I expected—"that he had performed his last -sad offices for a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>considerable number of such prisoners, and that he -had discovered neither fear nor remorse in any of them; with one -exception, they all denied their guilt." I want it to be perfectly clear -that I am speaking now about murderers who committed premeditated crimes -that had been cleverly carried out, impromptu murders not being -considered.</p> - -<p>I now propose to give a sufficient number of examples to prove my point. -In a poor street within two hundred yards of my own door I had -frequently seen a beautiful boy of about four years old. His appearance, -his clothing, his cleanliness, and even his speech, told unmistakably -that he was not belonging to the poor. I knew the old people that he -lived with, and felt quite sure that it was not owing to their exertions -that he was so beautifully dressed and kept so spotlessly clean, for -they were old, feeble, and very poor. But the old people had a daughter -living with them, and it was the daughter who had charge of the child, -for the little fellow was a "nurse-child." Good payment must have been -given for the care of the child, for it was the only source of income -for the household. The foster-mother was devoted to the boy, and he -reflected every credit upon her love and care. Many times when I have -met them I have spoken a cheery word to the little fellow, never -dreaming of the coming tragedy, or that I should meet his real mother -and discuss his death with her. The dead body of a boy between four and -five years of age had been discovered in the women's lavatory of a North -London railway-station. Without doubt the child had been ruthlessly -murdered. His head had been smashed; his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> face was crushed beyond -recognition. A calcined brick lay close by the body, and had evidently -been used for perpetrating the deed. No other trace of the murder was -forthcoming, and the body was taken to the nearest mortuary. Meanwhile -the foster-mother and her aged parents were mourning the loss of the -bonny boy, for the boy's mother had taken him from them that he might -begin his education in a boarding-school for young children at Brighton. -They had learned to love the child, and now he was gone. The old people -missed him sadly, and the nurse-mother wept for him. The house seemed so -dull without him. The murder occurred on a Saturday. On one of the early -days of the ensuing week a neighbour chanced to tell the nurse-mother -that she had read in a Sunday paper about the discovery of a child's -mangled body at a North London railway-station, and also that the body -remained unidentified at the mortuary. Although the nurse had not the -slightest suspicion—for on the Saturday morning she had accompanied the -boy and his mother to London Bridge, where tickets had been taken for -Brighton, and the nurse had seen them safely on the correct platform and -the train waiting—yet the loss of her nurse-child had so affected her -that she wept as her neighbour told her of the newspaper account, and -they went together to the mortuary, which was some miles away, to see -the "other little dear." It was some years before the nurse recovered -from the shock she sustained on her visit to the mortuary, for the -mangled and disfigured body was that of her late charge—her "dear -Manfred." I question whether even now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> she has recovered, for several -times I know that she has been ill, and sometimes when I have been sent -for, she seemed likely to lose her reason, the one and only thing that -occupied her mind being the tragic discovery of her dear boy's maimed -body. But the child's mother undoubtedly went to Brighton on that -particular Saturday afternoon. She intended to go to Brighton, not for -the purpose of placing her child in a school, but for another purpose by -no means so praiseworthy, yet for a purpose that was esteemed by her a -sufficient justification for the murder of the child. She had lured a -young man into a promise to spend the week-end with her at Brighton, and -some reason had to be found and given for her visit. Placing the child -in a suitable school seemed a sufficient reason, so the nurse was -instructed to get the boy's clothing ready and accompany her to London -Bridge. This was accordingly done, and the nurse returned home, fully -believing that the boy and his mother were on the way to Brighton. But -the mother did not go to Brighton by that train. She allowed it to go -without her, and when the nurse was safely away she left the platform, -saying that she had missed it, but would return and go by a later train. -She then took a bus for Broad Street Station, there taking a return -ticket for Dalston, where she alighted. The lavatory in question was on -the platform, consequently she did not pass the ticket-barrier. After -accomplishing her object with the brick I have referred to, and which -she had carried in her reticule all day for the purpose—for she had -taken it from the garden of the house where she lived—she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> returned to -Broad Street, giving her correct ticket up, and then on to London Bridge -and Brighton early enough to meet the young man, who was about half her -own age, and who spent the week-end with her.</p> - -<p>I have given briefly the particulars of this gruesome affair because -they lead up to the mental conditions of the murderess. It will be -noticed that the murder was skilfully contrived beforehand; that the -object to be gained was indulgence with a young man but little more than -half her age; that within a few hours of killing her own boy she -smilingly met the young man as if nothing had happened. All these things -are extraordinary, but when to these some particulars regarding the -murderess are added, the character of the whole affair becomes more -extraordinary still. She was a governess, clever and exceedingly well -educated, with scientific accomplishments. She was about thirty-six -years of age, by no means soft or voluptuous in appearance, but with a -hard, strong cast of face. She was doing well in a pecuniary sense, and -her friends were also in good circumstances.</p> - -<p>In considering the case, the first thing that strikes me is that when a -woman of her character, standing and appearance gives birth to an -illegitimate child, at an age when girlhood has long passed, there is an -absolute departure from the normal, there is something wrong. I need not -give any details of her trial, only to say the facts I have given were -fully proved, and to add that she was found guilty, sentenced, and -hanged.</p> - -<p>It is of her bearing and demeanour that I wish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> to speak. Of course, she -protested her innocence; any other person might be guilty, but it was -absurd to hint that she was guilty. Yet she betrayed no indignation. To -her it was Euclid over again, with <i>quod erat faciendum</i>, as the result -of the problem. She was cool, alert, and fearless; she showed no -emotion, no anxiety, no feeling. The killing of a sheep could not have -been a matter of less importance to her than was the murder of her own -child. Such was her demeanour at the inquest and at the police-court -proceedings, and this attitude she maintained to the end.</p> - -<p>In her private conversation with me she was clear, animated, and -apparently calm and frank. I never saw the least symptoms of -nervousness, and her eyes met mine as naturally and unconcernedly as if -the charge she had to meet had not the remotest connection with herself. -Her last words to me were: "When I am discharged, I shall invite myself -to tea with Mrs. Holmes and yourself, for I am supported by the thought -that you firmly believe in my innocence." I had never told her this, for -I had not discussed her guilt or innocence. She had talked to me, and I -had listened, putting a question occasionally to her. I could believe no -other than that she was verily guilty, but I did not tell her so—I had -no right to tell her so—but I listened and waited for an admission that -would throw some little light upon the state of her mind, and give me a -faint idea of the cause that led her to plan and execute the terrible -deed. This she did, and I am persuaded that she took away the boy to -furnish her with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> some excuse for spending the week-end at Brighton. I -leave it to others to decide upon her sanity, though personally I am -charitable enough to think she was insane. It is certain that she was -animated with fierce passion; it is also certain that in other respects -she was cold as an iceberg. For the death of her beautiful boy, whether -she was guilty or innocent of it, never troubled her for a moment. Does -a lust for blood accompany an excess of the other passion in a woman of -her temperament and characteristics? This I do not know, but I have no -doubt that wiser people do know. At any rate, with hands that had -cruelly battered the life out of her own child, and while the blood of -that child was still hot upon them, she welcomed her male friend. I -profess that I find some comfort in the belief that she was insane. Had -her insanity been just a little more obvious, she might have escaped the -death penalty and ended her days in a criminal lunatic asylum.</p> - -<p>But I do not think the question of her sanity was ever raised. He would -have been a bold man that raised it, in the face of her accomplishments -and self-control. Some day we shall, perhaps, apply different methods to -test sanity than those now employed, and we shall look for other -symptoms in diagnosis than those we look for now. The most dangerous -madness is not that which is patent to everybody—the wild or vacant -eyes, the inconsequent or violent speech, the manifest delusions, and -the inability to conduct one's own affairs. These are simple enough; but -the possessors of these characteristics are often<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> harmless to the -community. But when the madness is half madness, and is covered with a -show of reason, it is then that danger is to be feared.</p> - -<p>In the case I am now about to give insanity was just a little more -apparent, though I do not think it was more real. But its manifestation -was of sufficient magnitude to prevent capital punishment.</p> - -<p>A young woman whose character was beyond reproach, and whose ability and -business aptitude gave the greatest pleasure to her employer and his -wife, was engaged as the manageress of a department in a drapery and -millinery shop in North London. She had been in the situation for some -months, and perfect confidence existed between the different parties. -One hot Sunday afternoon she suddenly awoke from an afternoon nap with -the conviction that she had been criminally assaulted by her employer. -The fact that she was in her own room with the door fastened did not -weigh with her at all. She declared that her employer was the guilty -person. The fact that he and his wife spent the afternoon out of doors -was nothing to her. Possessed with this extraordinary idea, she left -London at once for a town on the South Coast, where her brother lived. -Her brother appears to have accepted her statement without question or -demur, and to him the delusion became as real as to his sister. He armed -her with an exquisitely made and very formidable dagger, and provided -himself with an equally dangerous pistol and cartridges. Thus armed, -they came to London—he to take vengeance upon the man who had -dishonoured his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> sister, she to point out the man, and to be ready with -the dagger if the pistol failed to take effect. The brother did not -fail, for he shot the man dead. Now that vengeance was satisfied, the -couple were again harmless, for neither brother nor sister attempted to -do any more injury. They were arrested, and gave up their arms willingly -enough. They declared that they had done the deed, and that they -intended to kill the man; that they procured the weapons and came to -London for the express purpose. They claimed to be perfectly justified -in their joint action. This attitude they maintained before the court, -for when asked if they wished to put any questions to the witnesses, "Oh -no!" was the reply. "Of what use would they be? We did it; we are glad -that we did it. The consequences do not matter." There was quite a -little dispute between the sister and brother. He declared that as he -killed the man he alone was entitled to the glory and the punishment; -but the sister declared that it was done at her request, and also that -she was prepared to kill if her brother had failed. Both were found -guilty, and both were committed to a criminal lunatic asylum. Yet they -had every appearance of being thoroughly sane; their manner, their -speech, their reasoning powers, and everything appertaining to them, -savoured of clear reason, their delusion alone excepted. If that -delusion had not been so manifest, undoubtedly they would have been -hanged. There seems to me to be no point from which a line can be drawn -to divide insanity from sanity. At present we have but clumsy, -uncertain, and very speculative<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> methods of deciding upon a prisoner's -sanity—methods that must often result in the punishment, if not the -death, of the prisoners who suffer from some kind of mental disease. I -am inclined to believe that the more all traces of madness are hidden by -clever murderers, the stronger is the probability of that madness -existing, for the very essence of cunning is employed in hiding it. They -will cheerfully contemplate the executioner's rope rather than be -considered mad. The brother and sister to whom I have referred would -have cheerfully accepted the death penalty in preference to committal to -a lunatic asylum. In one of my conversations with the brother, I -suddenly asked him: "Have any of your relations been detained in lunatic -asylums?" He was quite ready for me, and he replied: "I am as sane as -you are; and if you are ever placed in a similar situation to mine, I -hope you will prove as sane as I have."</p> - -<p>The more I think over the two cases—one woman found sane and hanged, -the other declared insane and sent to a lunatic asylum—the more I am -convinced that equal justice has not been done. Probably the madness in -both women proceeded from the same cause, and it is clear that neither -of them had the slightest compunction about shedding blood.</p> - -<p>I will deal briefly with my next case, and of a truth there is not much -to be said. He was a clerk about twenty-six years of age. He had married -a decent young woman, for whom he had made no provision other than a -loaded pistol. He had no home and no money, excepting a few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> pounds that -he had embezzled, and with this he had paid the marriage expenses. With -his last few shillings he hired a cab; drove, accompanied by his wife, -from place to place, in pretence of finding a home for her; and, -finally, while still in the cab, he did the deed for which he had -prepared—he shot her. He made no attempt to escape; he offered no -reason for his deed; he was quite satisfied with his action; and when -before the court he was absolutely unconcerned. I had several -conversations with him, and as he had publicly owned to the deed, there -was no harm in my assumption of his guilt. I said to him: "Tell me why -you did this cruel deed?" He said: "I don't consider it a cruel deed. -What else could I do? You would have done the same." Argument, of -course, was out of the question, but I did venture to express the hope -that I might not have done what he had done, when he again replied: "You -think so now; but if you had to do it, you would do it!" And this frame -of mind he maintained to the end—for he was hanged.</p> - -<p>I do not say that he ought not to have been hanged, for it is difficult -to point out in what other way he could have been dealt with; but so -long as insanity is considered a sufficient reason for preventing the -death penalty, I do say that every possible means should be taken to -test a prisoner's sanity before a final decision is arrived at; and, -further, that the appearance of positive sanity is under such -circumstances an indication of insanity. Every criminal, in addition to -murderers, ought to be subjected to a careful and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> prolonged scrutiny -and mental examination by experts. The cost would not be great, and I am -fully sure the results would compensate if the expense was great. -Prisons ought to become psychological observatories, and be made to -furnish us with a vast amount of useful information. There are so many -things we ought to know, and might know if we would only take pains to -know. It might be that the information obtained would make us sad and -excite our fear; it might be that our pity would be deeply stirred, and -that we should have a whole army of human beings upon our hands, for -whom we might feel hopeless and helpless. But we have these even now, -and for them imprisonment or hanging is a ready and simple plan that -suffices us! But ought they to suffice in these enlightened days? I -think not. At any rate, we ought to gather knowledge. With knowledge -will come power, and with power better methods of dealing with erring or -afflicted humanity. For the days will surely come when the hangman's -rope will be seldom in requisition; when all the unhealthy and -demoralizing publicity attaching to a murder trial will be a thing of -the past; when criminals will not be made into public heroes, because of -the speculative and perhaps equal chances of life or death; when morbid -and widespread sentiment will not be created by public appeals to the -Home Secretary; and, perhaps best of all, when diseased minds will be no -longer influenced by the unhealthy publicity of the details pertaining -to a death sentence to commit the other crimes for which no motives have -been apparent.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>Since writing the above chapter, the following appeared in the daily -papers of August 5, 1908:</p> - -<blockquote><p>"Thomas Siddle, a bricklayer, was yesterday executed at Hull for -the murder of his wife in June last. The crime was a particularly -callous one. Siddle was to have gone to prison for not paying his -wife's maintenance under a separation order. On the day, however, -he visited her, and after some conversation savagely attacked her -with a razor. <i>Before his execution</i> the prisoner <i>ate a hearty -breakfast, and smiled at the warders as he walked firmly to the scaffold.</i>"</p></blockquote> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII</span> <span class="smaller">HOUSING THE POOR</span></h2> - -<p>And now, so far as this book is concerned, I have done with prisoners -and criminals, so I turn right gladly to the other side of my life. For -my life is dual, one half being given to sinners and the other to -saints. I have spoken freely about the difficulties of prisoners and -with prisoners; let me now tell of the struggles, difficulties, and -virtues of the industrious poor. I will draw a veil over the ignorance, -the drunkenness, the wastefulness, and the cupidity of the very poor. -Other people may find these matters congenial, and may dilate upon them, -but such a task is not for me. I know these things exist—I do not -wonder at their existence—but other things exist also—things that warm -my heart and stir my blood—and of them I want to tell. And I have some -right to speak, for I know the very poor as few can know them. From -personal touch and friendly communion my experience has been acquired, -and I am proud to think that at least twelve hundred of London's poorest -but most industrious women look upon me as their friend and adviser.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p><p>When I gave up police-court work, I thought to devote the remainder of -my days absolutely to the London home-workers; but Providence willed it -otherwise, so only one-half of a very busy life is at their service. Of -what that half reveals I cannot be silent, though I would that some far -abler pen than mine would essay the task of describing the difficulties -and perils that environ the lives of the industrious poor. I want and -mean to be a faithful witness, so I will tell of nothing that I have not -seen, I will describe no person that does not exist, and no narrative -shall sully my pages that is not true in fact and detail. Imagination is -of no service to me. I am as zealous for mere facts as was Mr. Gradgrind -himself, and my facts shall be real, self-sufficing facts, out-vying -imagination, and conveying their own lesson. If I carry my readers with -me, we shall go into strange places and see strange sights and hear -piteous stories; but I shall ask my readers to be heedless of all that -is unpleasant, not to be alarmed at forbidding neighbourhoods or -disgusted with frowzy women, but to contemplate with me the difficulties -and the virtues of the industrious poor, and then, if they will, to -worship with me at the shrine of poor humanity.</p> - -<p>Quite recently I was invited to take sixty of my poor industrious women -to spend a day at Sevenoaks. Among the party was a widow aged sixty and -her daughter of thirty-five. They were makers of women's costumes, and -had worked till half-past four that very morning in order to have the -day's outing. I had known them for years, and many times had I been in -their poor home<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> watching them as, side by side, they sat at their -machines. Happy were they in recent years when their united earnings -amounted to twenty-one shillings for a week's work of eighty hours. -"Tell me," I said to the widow, "how long have you lived in your present -house?" "Forty years," said the widow. "Emmy was born in it, and my -husband was buried from it. I have been reckoning up, and find that I -have paid more than twelve hundred pounds in rent, besides the rates." -"Impossible," I said, "out of your earnings!" She said: "We let off part -of the house, and that pays the rates and a little over, but we always -have to find ten shillings a week for rent." Ten shillings out of -twenty-one shillings, when twenty-one was forthcoming, which was by no -means the case every week. "We cannot do with less than three rooms—one -to work in, one to sleep in, and the little kitchen. I cannot get -anything cheaper in the neighbourhood."</p> - -<p>Here we come at once upon one of the greatest difficulties of the -industrious poor. If they wish to live in any way decently, one-half -their earnings disappears in rent.</p> - -<p>"We have nowhere to go." The difficulties the poor have in finding -suitable—or, indeed, any—rooms that may serve as a shelter for -themselves and their children, and be dignified by the name of "home," -are almost past belief. All sorts of subterfuges are resorted to, and it -is no uncommon thing for a woman, when applying for one or more rooms, -to state the number of her children to be less than half what it is in -reality. Sometimes, it must be confessed, the people who obtain rooms<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> -by such means are not desirable tenants; but it is also true that even -decent people have to resort to some kind of deception if they are to -find shelter at all.</p> - -<p>Day after day in London police-courts the difficulty is made manifest. -Houses altogether unfit for human habitation have to be closed by order -of the authorities; but, wretched and insanitary as those dwellings are, -dangerous to the health and well-being of the community as they may be, -they are full to overflowing of poor humanity seeking some cover. But -they must "clear out." Their landlords say so, the sanitary authorities -say so, and the magistrate confirms the landlord and the sanitary -authorities. The one cry, the one plea of all the poor who are to be -ejected is: "Where are we to go? We can't get another place." The kindly -magistrate generally allows a few weeks' grace, and tells them to do -their best meanwhile to procure other rooms. For some this is a -possibility, but for others the period of grace will pass, and on an -appointed day an officer of the court will be in Paradise Row or Angel -Court, as the case may be, to see that the tenants are ejected without -undue violence, and that their miserable belongings are deposited safely -in the street.</p> - -<p>On dark November days, with the rain coming steadily down, I have -frequently seen the débris of such homes, the children keeping watch, -and shivering as they watched. I have spoken to the children, asked them -about their mother, and their reply has been: "Mother has gone with the -baby to look for another place."</p> - -<p>Heaven help that mother in her forlorn hope<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> and desperate search! I can -imagine her clutching the babe tightly to her, holding in her closed -hand the shilling that is to act as a deposit for binding a tenancy, her -last rent-book in her bosom to show her <i>bona fides</i>, going from street -to street, from house to house, climbing staircase after staircase, -exploring and appealing time after time. She will stoutly declare that -she has but two children, when she has six; she will declare that her -husband is a good, sober man, and in regular work, neither of which will -be true. Ultimately, she will promise to pay an impossible rent, and -tremulously hand over the shilling to bind the contract; then she will -return to the "things," and tell the children of their new home. This is -no imaginary picture. It is so very true, so very common, that it does -not strike our imagination. The cry of the very poor is ever sounding in -our ears: "We have nowhere to live! We don't know where to go!"</p> - -<p>This fear of being homeless, of not being allowed to live in such -wretched places as they now inhabit, haunts the very poor through life, -and pursues them to the grave. And this worry, anxiety, and trouble -falls upon the woman, adding untold suffering to her onerous life; for -it is the woman that has to meet the rent-collector, whose visits come -round all too quickly; she has to mollify him when a few shillings -remain unpaid. The wife has to procure other rooms when her husband has -fallen out of work, and she receives the inevitable notice to quit when -there appears to be a possibility of the family becoming still more -numerous. If sickness, contagious or otherwise, comes upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> any of the -children, and the shadow of death enters the home, upon the wife comes -the heart-breaking task of seeking a new home and conveying her children -and "things" to another place. This is no light task. The expense is a -consideration, and the old home, bad as it was, had become in many ways -dear to her. What more pitiful sight can be imagined than the removal? -No pantechnicon is required—a hired barrow is sufficient; and when -night has well advanced the goods are conveyed in semi-darkness from the -old home to the new.</p> - -<p>Think for a moment what a life she lives, to what shifts she is reduced, -what privations she endures! Is it any wonder that the children born of -her have poor bodies and strange minds?</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"The children born of thee are fire and sword,</div> -<div>Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws,"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Tennyson makes King Arthur to say. In many respects these words are true -of poor mothers in London. The houses in which they live, the conditions -under which they exist, the ceaseless worries and nameless fears they -endure, make it absolutely certain that many of the children born will -be strange creatures.</p> - -<p>And right up to the verge of eternity the fear of being homeless haunts -the poor. Let one instance suffice. I was visiting a young married woman -whose husband had been sent to prison for some months. She lived in one -room, for which she paid, or should have paid, four shillings and -sixpence weekly. The street was a very poor street, and the house a very -small house. It stood, without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> any forecourt, close up to the street -pavement. While I was speaking to the young woman a message came that -the landlady, who lived downstairs, wanted to speak to me; so down the -narrow stairs I went. There being only one room below, I rapped at the -door, and a very queer voice told me to "Come in." I went in, and found -a very small room, occupied chiefly by a bed, a small table, and several -broken chairs. On the bed lay an old woman. Her face was puckered with -age, her forehead was deeply furrowed, her eyes were dim, and the hands -lying on the quilt were more like claws than human hands. As I stood -over her, she looked up and said: "Are you Mr. Holmes? I want my rent." -Her voice was so strange and thin that I had some difficulty in -understanding her, but I found that the tenant upstairs owed her five -weeks' rent, and that, now her husband was in prison, the poor old woman -was afraid of losing it. As the matter seemed to trouble her greatly, I -told her that I would pay the arrears of her rent. "But I want it now," -she went on. "The collector is coming to-morrow, and I shall be put -out—I shall be put out." I stroked her thin hair, and told her that I -would call early the next morning and give her the money. But the poor -woman looked worried and doubtful. I called early the next morning, and -found the old woman expecting me. "Have you brought my rent?" were the -first words I heard on entering the room. I took up one of her thin -hands and opened it, and put a sovereign in it. "That is a sovereign," I -said. She held it up, and tried to look at it; but she was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> -satisfied, for she said to her daughter, who was standing by: "Jane, is -this a sovereign?" When Jane assured her that it was, the old hand -closed convulsively upon it. "Hold out your other hand," I said. She -held it open, and I counted five shillings into it. Then that hand -closed, and the old head lay a bit closer to the pillow, and an -expression of restful satisfaction passed over her withered face. A week -later I called at the same house, but the old woman was not there, -neither had she been "put out." She had paid the rent-collector when he -called, and her rent-book was duly signed; but the Great Collector had -not forgotten her, for He also had called and given her a receipt in -full. Her worries were ended.</p> - -<p>If we would but think—think of the effect that such anxieties must have -upon the present and future generations—I believe that we should -realize that first and foremost of all questions affecting the health -and happiness of the nation stands the one great question of "housing -the very poor"; for the chivalry of our men, the womanliness of our -women, the sweetness of our daughters, and the brave hearts of our lads -depend upon it.</p> - -<p>But if the fear of being "put out" has its terrors, none the less has -the continuous occupation of one room its attendant evils. It is so easy -for humanity to get used to wretched homes and vile environments, so -easy to get accustomed to dirt, thick air, and insanitary conditions, -that one does not wonder that poor people who have lived for years under -such conditions prefer those conditions to any other. And this holds -true even with those who have known the bracing effect of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> cold water on -their bodies, and have felt the breath of God in their lungs. The return -path to dirt is always alluring to the human body. Time and again I have -gone into places where I hardly dared to breathe, and in which I could -only with the greatest difficulty stay for a few minutes; and when I -have sometimes ventured to open a window a look of astonishment crossed -the faces of those I had called on, for even the thick atmosphere had -become natural.</p> - -<p>And other results follow—mental as well as physical. To become, through -bad but frightfully dear housing, gradually used to dirt and bad air, -till these are looked upon as natural, carries along with it, as part -and parcel of itself, another deadening influence. Filth raises no -feeling of disgust; high rents produce no sense of injustice, no -feelings of resentment: for the poor become absolutely passive. Yes, and -passive in more ways than one; for they, without question or demur, -accept any payment that may be given them for such services as they can -render. Inevitably, they become the prey of the sweater, and work for -endless hours at three halfpence per hour; and if the payment for the -work they do should, without their permission, be reduced, it only means -that a couple of hours more must be added to the long day already -worked.</p> - -<p>It is this passivity of the poor that appals me. Their negative virtues -astonish me, for I find in them no bitterness, no sense of wrong, no -idea of rebellion, no burning resentment—not even the feeling that -something is wrong, though they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> know not what. Their only ambition is -to live their little lives in their very little homes; to be ready -weekly with their four shillings for their wretched room in a wretched -house; to have plenty of poorly-paid work, though they sit up all night -to do it; and to sit in poverty and hunger when sufficient work is not -to hand, to suffer silently, to bear with passive heroism, and to die -unburied by the parish.</p> - -<p>Such is the life of many London home-workers, of whom some are my -personal friends. But what becomes of this life? The death of -aspiration. A machine-like perseverance and endurance is gradually -developed; but the hope of better things dies: hope cannot exist where -oxygen is absent. Then comes the desire to be let alone, and alone to -die.</p> - -<p>I have met women who had become so used to the terrible conditions under -which they lived that no amount of persuasion could induce them to move -out of those conditions. Again I draw upon my experience.</p> - -<p>One cold day in February a young married man was charged with stealing a -piece of pork. I had some conversation with him, and he told me that he -was out of work, that his wife and children were starving, and that his -widowed mother, who lived in the same house, was in much the same -condition. He gave me their address—a poor street in Haggerston—so I -visited the family. It was a terrible street even for Haggerston, but it -was crowded with humanity. I found the house, and went up the rotten -staircase to the first-floor back. There I found the prisoner's wife, -sitting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> at a machine making babies' boots. In the room was an old -broken perambulator, in which were two children, one asleep and the -other with that everlasting deceit, a "baby's comforter," in its mouth. -As the child fed on the thick air it looked at me with wondering eyes, -and the mother kept on working. Presently she stopped and answered my -questions. Yes, it was true her husband was out of work. He was good to -her, and a sober, industrious man. They paid three and sixpence weekly -for their room, when they could. Would I excuse her? She must get on -with her work; she wanted to take it in. I excused her, and, leaving her -a few shillings, went in search of the older woman.</p> - -<p>I found her in another small room; but, small as the room was, there -were two beds in it, which were covered with match-boxes. A small table -and two old chairs completed the furniture. She was seated making -match-boxes as I entered, and I saw her hands moving with that -dreadfully automatic movement that has so often made me shudder.</p> - -<p>She looked up at me, but on she went. I spoke to her of her son, told -her my business, and ultimately sat down and watched her. Poor old -woman! She was fifty-six, she told me. She might have been any age over -seventy. She was a widow. She had lived in that room thirteen years, -having come to it soon after her husband's death. Whilst I was speaking -to her she got up from her boxes, took a small saucepan off the -miserable fire, and out of it took some boiled rice, put it in an old -saucer, sat down, and ate it. It was her dinner.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p><p>Afterwards she put the remaining rice in a saucer, covered it with -another, and placed it in front of the fire. I soon saw why. A lanky boy -of nearly fourteen came in from school, and she pointed to the saucer. -He took it, and swallowed the rice, and looked at me. I looked at the -boy, and read the history of his life in his face and body. He had been -born in that room; that was his bed in the corner covered with -match-boxes. The old woman was his mother. Three and sixpence every week -had she paid for that room. Nearly three days of the week she had worked -for interminable hours to earn the money that paid for the shelter for -herself and the boy.</p> - -<p>I will not describe the boy. Was he a boy at all? All his life he had -lived, moved, and had his being in that room; had fed as I saw him feed, -and had breathed the air I was breathing.</p> - -<p>He went back to school, and I talked to his mother. She owed no rent; -she had received no parish help. She never went to church or chapel. She -wanted nothing from anybody. That little room had become her world, and -her only recreation was taking her boxes to the factory. Grimy and -yellow were the old hands that kept on with the boxes. I offered her a -holiday and rest. There was the rent to be paid. I would pay the rent. -She had no clothes suitable. Mrs. Holmes would send her the clothes. -There was the boy to be seen to. I would arrange for him. No; she would -not go. Her last word was that she did not wish or care to leave her -home. Neither did she. And though years have passed since my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> first -visit to that one-roomed house, out of it the old woman has not passed, -excepting on her usual errand. And fresh air, clean sheets, and -relaxation meant nothing to her.</p> - -<p>I sat in the dark, damp kitchen of a house in one of the narrow streets -of Hoxton. Over my head some very poor clothing was hanging to dry. It -was winter-time, and the gloom outside only added to the gloom within, -and through a small window the horrors of a London back-yard were -suggested rather than revealed.</p> - -<p>As I sat watching the widow at her work, and wondered much at the -mechanical accuracy of her movements, I felt something touch my leg, -and, looking down, found a silent child, about three years of age, on -the floor at my feet. I had been in the room some few minutes, and had -not previously seen or heard the child, it was so horribly quiet. I -picked it up, and placed it on my knee, but it was passive and open-eyed -as a big doll. The child had been born in that kitchen on a little -substitute for a bed that half-filled the room. Its father was dead, and -the widowed mother got a "living" for herself and her children by -attaching bits of string to luggage labels, for which interesting work -she got fourpence per thousand. In her spare time she took in washing, -and the clothes over my head belonged to neighbours.</p> - -<p>Fifteen years she had lived in that house. It was her first home after -marriage. Till his death, which occurred three years before, her husband -had been tenant of the whole house, but always "let off" the upper part, -which consisted of two rooms, it being a two-storied house.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>He died of consumption in the other room on the ground-floor, which -abutted the street pavement. Her child was born in the kitchen as her -husband lay dying a few feet away in the front-room. So that wretched -house was dear to her, for love, death, and life had been among its -visitants, and it became to her a sacred and a solemn place. She became -tenant of the house, and continued to let off the two upper rooms; and -with her children round her she continued her life in the lower rooms. -The rent was 13s. weekly. She received 7s. 6d. weekly for the two upper -rooms, leaving 5s. 6d. weekly to be the burden and anxiety of her life; -so she tied knots and took in washing. The very sight of the knot-tying -soon tired me, and the dark, damp atmosphere soon satisfied me. As I -rose to leave, the widow invited me to "look at her boy in the other -room." We went into the room in front. It was now quite dark, and the -only light in the room came through the window from a street-lamp. The -widow spoke to someone, but no answer came. I struck a wax match and -held it aloft. A glance was enough. I asked the widow to get a lamp, and -one of those cheap, dangerous abominations provided for the poor was -brought to me.</p> - -<p>On the bed lay a strange-looking boy of nine, twisted and deformed in -body, wizened in features, suffering writ all over him, yet -apathetically and unconcernedly waiting for the end. With the lamp in my -hand, I bent over him and spoke kindly to him. He looked at me, then -turned away from me; he would not speak to me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> Poor little fellow! He -had suffered so long and so much that he expected nothing else. He knew -that he was dying. What did it matter? The mothers in London streets are -not squeamish, and their young children are very soon made acquainted -with the mysteries of life and death.</p> - -<p>"He has been in two hospitals, and I have fetched him home to die," said -the widow to me. "How long has he lain like this?" I asked. "Three -months." "Who sleeps in that bed with him?" "I do, and the little boy -you saw in the kitchen." "Who sleeps in the kitchen?" "Only George: he -is fourteen."</p> - -<p>On inquiry, I was told that the dying boy had always been weak and -ailing, and also that, when five years of age, he had been knocked down -in the street by a cyclist, and that he had been crippled and twisted -ever since.</p> - -<p>Nearly five years of suffering, and now he had "come home to die." Poor -little fellow! What a life for him! What a death for him! Born in a dark -kitchen while his father lay dying; four years of joyless poverty in a -London street; five years of suffering, in and out of hospitals; and now -"home to die." And he knew it, and waited for the end with contemptuous -indifference. But he had not much longer to wait, for in three weeks' -time the blessed end came.</p> - -<p>But the widow still takes in washing, damp clothes still hang in her -dark kitchen, and by the faint light of her evil-smelling lamp she -continues to "tie her knots"; and the silent child is now acquiring some -power of expression in the gutter.</p> - -<p>Slum property sometimes gets into queer hands.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> Sometimes it is almost -impossible to find the real owners, and the fixing of responsibility -becomes a great difficulty.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">A Slum Property Holder.</span></p> - -<p>An old woman, dressed in greasy black silk, with a bonnet of ancient -date, often appeared in one of our courts for process against some of -her many tenants. Her hair, plastered with grease, hung round her head -in long ringlets; her face never showed any signs of having been washed; -a long black veil hung from her old bonnet, and black cotton gloves -covered her hands. She was the widow of a well-to-do jeweller, and owned -some rows of cottage property in one of our poorest neighbourhoods. -After her husband's death, she decided to live in one of her cottages -and collect her own rents. She brought with her much jewellery, etc., -that had not been sold, and there in the slums, with her wealth around -her, and all alone, lived the quaint old creature. Week by week she -appeared at the court for "orders" against tenants who had not paid -their rent. Though seventy-three, she would have no agent; she could -manage her own business. Suddenly she appeared as an applicant for -advice. She had married: her husband was a carpenter, aged twenty-one. -They had been married but a few days, and her husband refused to go to -work—so she told the magistrate. "Well, you know, madam, that you have -plenty for both," said the magistrate. "That's what he says, but I tell -him that I did not marry him that I might keep him." She got neither -help nor comfort from the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>magistrate, so she tottered out of the court, -grumbling as she went. In a few days she appeared again. "My husband has -stolen some of my jewellery." Again she got no comfort. Still again she -complained. "My husband has been collecting my rents." "Send a notice to -your tenants warning them not to pay your husband." She did so; the -husband did the same, warning the tenants not to pay his wife. This -suited the tenants admirably: they paid neither. Never were such times -till the old woman applied for ejectment orders wholesale. While these -things were going on the youthful husband wasted her substance in -riotous living, and showed a decided preference for younger women. This -aroused the old woman's jealousy; she couldn't put up with it. Packing -her jewels and valuables in a portmanteau, she left her house. When her -husband returned at night the wife of his bosom was gone; neither did -she return. He was disconsolate, and sought her sorrowing. Some miles -away she had a poor widowed sister, and there the old woman found shelter.</p> - -<p>But there paralysis seized her, and a doctor had to be called in. He -acted in the double capacity of doctor and lawyer, for he drew up a -will, put a pen into her hands, and guided her gently while she signed -it. "All her worldly goods were left to her sister." Ultimately the -husband found out where she was located, and frequently called at the -house, but the door was barred against him. It was winter-time, and the -snow lay on the ground. At midnight a cab drew softly up to the house -where the old woman lay. Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door, -and the sister came down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> to answer. Thoughtlessly she opened the door, -when she was seized by two men, who locked her in the front parlour -while they ran upstairs, rolled the old woman in warm blankets, carried -her to the cab, and away they went. A nice room and another doctor were -awaiting her. Another will was drawn up, which the old woman signed. -"All her worldly goods were left to her dear husband." Next morning the -sister applied for a summons against the young husband, but the -magistrate decided that the man had a right to run away with his own -wife. All might have gone merrily for the husband, but the old lady -died. The sister went to the police, who arrested him for causing his -wife's death. For many days the case was before the court, half a dozen -doctors on each side expressing very decided opinions. Ultimately he was -committed for trial. Doctors and counsel galore were concerned, but the -jury acquitted him at last. And then came another trial. Counsel and -doctors were again concerned. Which will was to stand? I don't know how -they settled it, but one thing I am sure about—when the doctors and -lawyers had got their share, and the counsel had had a good picking, -there was not much left for the loving husband and the dear sister.</p> - -<p>Since writing the above, the following paragraphs have appeared in the -daily press:</p> - -<p class="center">"<span class="smcap">Widower's Pathetic Plight.</span></p> - -<p>"'My wife is lying dead in the house, and the landlord threatens to -eject me at twelve o'clock if I am not out. What can I do?' Thus asked a -respectable-looking working man of Mr. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>d'Eyncourt at Clerkenwell -Police-Court. 'Has he given you notice?' 'Yes; but how can I go just -now? The funeral is to-morrow, and I have offered to go on Wednesday, -but he says he will put me in the street to-day.' 'Well, he's legally -entitled to do so, I am afraid. I can do nothing.' 'I thought that -perhaps you might ask him to let me stay for a day or two.' 'No, that is -a matter for you. I cannot interfere,' the magistrate observed in -conclusion."</p> - -<p class="center">"<span class="smcap">London Land without an Owner.</span></p> - -<p>"Mr. H. Sherwin White requested Mr. Marsham at Bow Street Police-Court -to appoint someone under the Lands Clauses Consolidation Act to -determine the value of the forecourts of five houses in Coldharbour -Lane, Brixton, which had been required for tramway purposes. He added -that the owner of the houses could not be found. Mr. Marsham appointed -Mr. A. L. Guy to be valuer."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IX</span> <span class="smaller">THE HOOLIGANISM OF THE POOR</span></h2> - -<p>Present-day excitements have killed the "hooligan" scare. Good nervous -people now sleep comfortably in their beds, for the cry of "The -hooligans! the hooligans!" is no longer heard in our land. Yet, truth to -tell, the evil is greater now than when sensational writers boomed it. -It grows, and will continue to grow, until the conditions that produce -it are seriously tackled by the State. I must confine myself to the -hooliganism of the poor. Of the hooliganism of undergraduates, medical -students, stockbrockers, and politicians I say nothing. Of Tommy Atkins -on furlough or of Jack ashore I wish to be equally silent. But of the -class, born and bred in London slums, who do no regular work, but who -seem to live on idleness and disorder, I desire to speak -plainly—plainly, too, as to the conditions that are largely responsible -for the disorderly conduct of the rising youth.</p> - -<p>A large number of undoubtedly good people think it is easy to cure by -punitive methods. I do not. "A policeman behind every lamp-post and the -lash—the lash!" cried a notable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> divine during a never-to-be-forgotten -week when he edited an evening paper. Such was his recipe! For months -the cat with nine tails was a favourite theme, and all sorts of people -caught the infection, and there was a great cry and commotion raised and -sustained by a sensational but altogether inaccurate press. Every -assault committed by a labouring man, every bit of disorder in the -streets, if caused by the poor and ignorant, was a signal for the cry -"The hooligan again!" Rubbish! But the people believed it, and so to -some extent our level-headed and kind-hearted magistrates caught the -spirit of the thing, and proceeded to impose heavier sentences on boys -charged with disorderly conduct in the streets. But this was not enough, -for the Home Secretary (Mr. Ritchie) in the House of Commons, in reply -to a question about youthful hooligans, said it was thought that the -magistrates had been too lenient with them, and stated that the police -had orders to charge those young gentlemen on indictment, so that they -might not be dealt with summarily, but committed for trial. In other -words, they were to take from the magistrates the power of so-called -lenient punishment, and have them tried by judge and jury. Very good, -but what good longer terms of imprisonment would do, the Home Secretary -did not say; and as to the magistrates, they can be severe enough, -though they do know when to be lenient, and in aggravated cases they -already commit for trial.</p> - -<p>Profoundly I wish that all Home Secretaries would exercise their minds -on the causes that lead to youthful hooliganism, and do something to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> -remove them. It were better far than taking steps to secure more severe -punishment. Such talk to me seems callous and cruel, for punitive -methods will never eradicate the instincts that lead to disorderly -conduct in the streets among the "young gentry" of the poor. I must -confess to a feeling of discomfort when I see a boy of sixteen sent to a -month's imprisonment for disorderly conduct in the streets. It is true -that he has been a nuisance to his elders, and has bumped against them -in running after his pals. Equally true that he uses language repulsive -to ears polite; but to him it is ordinary language, to which he has been -accustomed his life through. But I am afraid it is equally true that -similar offences committed by others in a better position would be more -leniently dealt with. Would anyone suggest that a public-school boy, or -a soldier on furlough, or a young doctor, or an enthusiastic patriot, -should be committed for trial on a like charge? I trow not. Allowances -are made, and it is right they should be made. I claim these allowances -for the poor and the children of the poor.</p> - -<p>Moreover, if these "young gentry" are to be consigned in wholesale -fashion to prison, will it lessen the evil? I think not. On the -contrary, it will largely increase it. Some of them will have lost the -moderate respectability that stood for them in place of character; many -of them will lose their work, and will join the increasing army of -loafers; but all of them will lose their fear of prison, that fear of -the unknown that is the greatest deterrent from crime and disorder. -Familiarize these "young gentry" with prison,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> and it is all over with -them. The sense of fear will depart, and to a dead certainty more -serious disorder and grosser crime will follow. Undoubtedly many of them -will find prison quarters preferable to their own homes, and though they -may resent the loss of liberty, they will find some comfort in the fact -that they do not have to share with four others an apology for a bed, -fixed in an apology for a room, of which the door cannot be opened fully -because the bedstead prevents it.</p> - -<p>If our law-makers, our notable divines, and our good but nervous people -had to live under such conditions, I venture to say they would rush into -the streets for change of air; and if any steam were left in them, who -can doubt but that they would let it off somehow? Under present -conditions, the "young gentry" have the choice of two evils—either to -stay in their insufferable homes or to kick up their heels in the -streets. But this includes two other contingencies—either to become -dull-eyed, weak-chested, slow-witted degenerates, or hooligans. Of the -two, I prefer the latter. The streets are the playgrounds of the poor, -and the State has need to be thankful, in spite of the drawback in -disorder and crime, for the strength and manhood developed in them. It -will be a sorry day for England when the children of the poor, after -being dragooned to school, are dragooned from the streets into the -overcrowded tenements called home. Multiply large towns, run the -"blocks" for the poor up to the skies, increase the pains and penalties -for youthful disorder, and omit to make provision for healthy, vigorous, -competitive play: then we may write "Ichabod"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> over England, for its -glory and strength will be doomed. Wealth may accumulate, but men will -decay. Robust play, even though it be rough, is an absolute condition of -physical and moral health.</p> - -<p>Consider briefly how the poor live. Thousands of families with three -small rooms for each family, tens of thousands with two small rooms, a -hundred thousand with one room. And such rooms! Better call them boxes. -Dining-room and bedroom, kitchen and scullery, coal-house and -drawing-room, workshop and wash-house, all in one. Here, one after -another, the children are born; here, one after another, many of them -die. I went into one of these "combines," and saw an infant but a few -days old with its mother on a little bed; in another corner, in a box, -lay the body of another child of less than two years, cold and still. I -felt ill, but I also felt hot. I protest it is no wonder that our boys -and girls seek the excitement of the streets, or that they find comfort -in "dustbins." What can big lads of this description do in such -surroundings? Curl up and die, or go out and kick somebody. The pity of -it is that they always kick the wrong person, but that's no wonder. -Tread our narrow streets, where two-storied houses stand flush with the -pavements; explore our courts, alleys, and places; climb skyward in our -much-belauded dwellings; or come even into our streets that look snugly -respectable. You will find them teeming with juvenile life that has -learned its first steps in the streets, got its first idea of play in -the gutter, and picked up its knowledge of the vulgar tongue from those -who have graduated in a gutter school. Is it any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> wonder that young -people developed under these conditions look upon the streets as their -natural right, and become oblivious to the rights of others? They are -but paying back what they have received. Neither is it to be wondered at -that as they grow older they grow more disorderly and violent, but -altogether less scrupulous. It is absurd to suppose that boys who have -grown into young men under these conditions will, on reaching manhood, -develop staid and orderly ways, and equally absurd to suppose that by -sending them for "trial" they will be made orderly.</p> - -<p>Let us have less talk of punishment and more of remedy; and the remedy -lies, not with private individuals, but with the community. The -community must bear the cost or pay the penalty. Oxford and Cambridge -contend in healthy rivalry on the river, and the world is excited. Eton -plays Harrow at cricket, and society is greatly moved. A few horses race -at Epsom, and the people generally go wild. But when the Hackney boys -contend with the boys of Bethnal Green, why, that's another tale. But -they cannot go to Lord's or to Putney, so perforce they meet in the -places natural to them—the streets. "But they use belts!" Well, they -have no boxing-gloves, and it may comfort some folks to know that -generally they use the belts upon each other. The major part of -so-called youthful hooliganism is but the natural instinct of English -boys finding for itself an outlet—a bad outlet it may be, but, mind -you, the only outlet possible, though it is bound to grow into -lawlessness if suitable provision is not made for its legitimate -exercise.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p><p>At the close of one of my prison lectures, among the prisoners that -asked for a private interview was an undersized youth of nineteen, a -typical Cockney, sharp and cheeky as a London sparrow. He put out his -hand and said, "How do you do, Mr. Holmes?" looking up at me. I shook -hands with him, and said: "What are you doing here?" "Burglary, Mr. -Holmes," he said. "Burglary?" I said—"burglary? I am sure God never -intended you for a burglar." Looking up sharply, he said: "No, He would -have made me bigger, wouldn't He? But I have had enough of prison," he -said—"I've had enough. I'm going straight when I get out, and I shall -be out in three weeks. It is very good of you to come and talk to us, -and I am glad to know about all those men you have told us of; but I've -come to see you because I want you to tell me how I am to spend my spare -time when I am out. I am going back home to live. I've got a job to go -to—not much wages, though. I shall live in Hoxton, and I want to go -straight. If I get some books and read about those fellows you talked -of, I can't read at home—there's no room. If I go to the library I feel -a bit sleepy when I've been in a bit, and the caretaker comes along and -he gives me a nudge, and he says: 'Waken up! This ain't a -lodging-house.' We have no cricket or football. There's the streets for -me in my spare time, and then I'm in mischief. Now, you tell me what to -do, and I'll do it."</p> - -<p>Municipal playgrounds are absolutely necessary if our young people are -to be healthy and law-abiding. Of parks we have enough at present.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> Our -so-called recreation-grounds are a delusion and a snare, though to some -they are doubtless a boon, with their asphalted walks, a few seats, and -a drinking-fountain. They are very good for the very old and the very -young; but if Tom, Dick, and Harry essayed a game of rounders, tip-cat, -leap-frog, or skittles, why, then they would soon find themselves before -the magistrate, and be the cause of many paragraphs on youthful -hooliganism in the next day's papers. Now, private philanthropy and -individual effort is not equal to the task—and, in spite of increasing -effort and enlarged funds, never will be equal to the task—of finding -suitable recreation for our growing youth. I know well the great good -done by our public-school and other missions, with their boys' clubs, -etc.; but they scarcely touch the evil, and they certainly have not the -means of providing winter and summer outdoor competitive games. Every -parish must have its public playground, under proper supervision, lit up -with electric light in the evening, and open till 10 p.m. Here such -inexpensive games as rounders, skittles, tip-cat, tug-of-war, might be -organized, and Hackney might have a series of competitions with Bethnal -Green, for the competitive element must be provided for. A series of -contests of this sort would soon empty our streets of the lads who are -now so troublesome. I venture to say that a tournament, even at "coddem" -or "shove-ha'penny" alone, would attract hundreds of them, and certainly -an organized competition of "pitch-and-toss" would attract thousands. -Counters might be used instead of coins, and they would last for ever.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> -The fact is, that these youths are easily pleased, if we go the right -way to work; but we must take them as they are, and must not expect them -all to play chess, billiards, and cricket. Football, I think, I would -certainly add, for it is a game which any healthy boy can play, and it -gives him robust exercise. Give the lads of our slums and congested -dwellings a chance of healthy rivalry and vigorous competition, and, my -word for it, they won't want to crack the heads either of their -companions or the public. The public are not aware of the intense -longing of the slum youth for active, robust play. During last year more -than fifty boys were summoned at one court for playing football in the -streets and fined, though in some cases their footballs were old -newspapers tied round with string. Hundreds of youths are charged every -year at each of our London police-courts with gambling by playing a game -with bronze coins called "pitch-and-toss." Now, these youths do not want -and long for each other's coins, but they do want a game, and if they -could play all day and win nothing they would consider it an ideal game. -Organized games in public playgrounds, creating local and friendly -rivalry, are absolutely essential. The same feeling, developed but a -trifle further, becomes national, and we call it patriotism. Play they -must, or become loafers; and the round-shouldered, dull-eyed loafer is -altogether more hopeless than the hooligan.</p> - -<p>It will be an inestimable blessing to the country, and will inaugurate -quite a new era for us, when the minimum age for leaving school is -raised to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> sixteen. The increase of intelligence, physique and morality, -and order arising from such a course would astonish the nation. -Supposing this were done, and for boys and girls of over twelve two -hours in the afternoon were set apart for games—in separate -playgrounds, of course—and that the evenings were devoted to -school-work. The younger children going to school in the afternoon might -easily have their turn in the public playgrounds from five to seven. -This would allow the youths over sixteen to have the playgrounds for the -rest of the evening. But, having provided for play, I would go one step -further, and not allow any boy to leave school till he produced -satisfactory evidence that he was really commencing work. Hundreds of -boys leave school having no immediate prospect of regular work. A few -weeks' idleness and the enjoyment of the streets follow, and they are -then in that state of mind and body that renders them completely -indifferent to work of any kind. For good or for evil, the old system of -apprenticing boys has gone. It had many faults, but it had some virtues, -for, at any rate, it ensured a boy's continuity of work in those years -when undisciplined idleness is certain to be demoralizing. Once let boys -from the homes I have described—or, indeed, from working men's homes -generally—be released from the discipline of school, and the discipline -of reasonable and continuous work not be substituted, and it is all over -with them and honest aspirations. Now, this difficulty of finding decent -and prospective employment for boys is another great factor in the -production of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> youthful hooligans, but a factor that would be largely -eliminated if the age for leaving school were raised to sixteen. The -work of errand-boys, van-boys, or "cock-horse" boys is not progressive; -neither is it good training for growing boys. To the boys of fourteen -such work has its allurements, and the wages offered seem fairly good; -but when the boy of fourteen has become the youth of sixteen or -seventeen, the work seems childish, and the pay becomes mean. When he -requires better wages, his services are dispensed with, and another lad -of fourteen is taken on. This procedure alone accounts for thousands of -youths being idle upon the streets of London. What can such youths do? -Too big for their previous occupation, no skilled training or aptitude -for better work, not big or strong enough for ordinary labouring, they -become the despair of their parents and pests to society. Very soon the -door of the parental home is closed upon them; the cheap lodging-houses -become their shelter, and the rest can easily be imagined—but it lasts -for life. By raising the school age, the great bulk of this -demoralization would be prevented. Technical training in their school -years would give these youths a certain amount of aptitude and taste -that would enable them to commence life under more favourable -conditions, and though many of them would necessarily become errand-boys -or van-boys, still, the age at which they would leave those occupations -would find them nearer manhood, and in possession of greater strength -and more judgment than they can claim at the present age of leaving such -work.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> The step I am advocating would also remove another great cause of -lifelong misery and its accompanying hooliganism. Look again, if you -please, at the homes of the poor. Is it any wonder that when a youth -finds himself earning twelve shillings a week, and has arrived at the -mature age of eighteen, he enters into a certain relationship with a -girl of seventeen, who has a weekly income of six shillings? This -relationship may or may not be sanctioned by the law and blessed by the -Church; in either case it is equally immoral, and the effects are -equally blighting. How can healthy, virtuous, and orderly children come -from such unions?</p> - -<p>Give the youth of our large towns a lengthened school-training, but at -the same time remember that athletic and technical training must form -part of that life; let healthy rivalry have a chance of animating them -and a feeling of manly joy sometimes pervade them, and these horrible, -wicked juvenile unions will be heard of no more; for at present their -only chances of enjoyment are the streets, sexuality, or the -public-house.</p> - -<p>This last word leads me to another cause of hooliganism. The -public-house is bound up with the lives of the poor. To many it stands, -doubtless, for enjoyment and relaxation, for forgetfulness of misery and -discomfort, and for sociability. To many others it stands for poverty, -suffering, unspeakable sorrow, and gross neglect. Where our streets are -the narrowest, where the sanitary arrangements are of the most execrable -description, there the public-house thrives, and thrives with disastrous -effects. The home-life of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> the poor and the public-house act and react -on each other. The more miserable the home and the greater the dirt, the -more the public-house attracts; the more it attracts, the viler the -home-life and the greater misery and dirt. It is no marvel that people -who live thus demand fiery drinks; nor is it any great marvel that all -the tricks of science and all the resources of civilization are brought -to bear in manufacturing drinks for them. No wonder, when "the vitriol -madness flushes in the ruffian's head," that "the filthy by-lane rings -with the yell of the trampled wife." But the State shares the profits -and the State shares the guilt. Long ago Cowper wrote:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"Drink and be mad, then—'tis your country bids:</div> -<div>Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The State does not care very much what compounds are served to the poor -so long as the sacred revenue is not defrauded. But the State cannot -escape the penalties. What of the offspring that issue from these homes -and these neighbourhoods? They have daily seen women with battered -faces; they have frequently seen the brutal kick, and heard the -frightful curse; they have been used to the public-house from their -infancy; whilst boys and girls have been allowed to join openly, and as -a matter of course, in the carousals, and stand shoulder to shoulder in -the bar and drink with seasoned topers. In the evening, when half drunk, -they patrol the streets or stand together at some congested corner. They -are not amenable to the influence of the police; they are locked up, and -the cry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> "The hooligans! the hooligans!" is heard in the land; and there -is a demand for more punishment, instead of a feeling of shame at the -conditions that produce such young people and at the temptations that -prevail amongst them. Can it be right—is it decent or wise?—that boys -and girls of sixteen should be allowed free access to public-houses, -with free liberty to drink at will? What can be expected but ribaldry, -indecency, disorder, and violence? A wise Government would protect these -young people against temptation and against themselves. No improvement -in the morals and conduct of the young is possible until this question -is tackled, and there ought to be no difficulty about tackling it. Let -the Home Secretary bring in a Bill, and pass it, making it illegal for -boys and girls under twenty to drink on licensed premises, and he will -do more good for public order than if he committed the whole of the -young gentry for trial.</p> - -<p>But I would put in also a plea for their parents. It is evident that we -must have public-houses; it is also certain that the public have a taste -for, and demand, malt liquors and other alcoholic drinks. Now, the State -reaps many millions of its revenue from this demand. It is therefore the -duty of the State to see that these drinks are as harmless as possible. -Let the State, then, insist upon the absolute purity of malt liquors, -and also upon a reduction in their alcoholic strength; for, after all, -this is the cause of the mischief. In this direction lies the true path -of temperance reform. Supposing the alcoholic strength of malt -liquors—really malt liquors—was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> fixed by imperial statute at 2½ -per cent. by volume, who would be a penny the worse? The brewer and the -publican would get their profits, the Exchequer would get its pound of -flesh, the Englishman would get his beer—his "glorious beer!" No vested -interests would be attacked, and no disorganization of trade would be -caused; everybody concerned would be the better, for everybody would be -the happier. It may be thought that I am getting wide of my subject, but -even a superficial inquiry will soon lead anyone to the knowledge that -the public-house is intimately connected with, and a direct cause of, -what is termed "hooliganism."</p> - -<p>Alcohol, not the house, is really the cause. To leave the house still -popular, while largely taking away its dangerous element, would be a -wise course; but this should be followed by a much higher duty on -spirits and a law fixing the maximum of their alcoholic strength when -offered for public sale. Fifty per cent. under proof for spirits and an -alcoholic strength of 2½ per cent. for malt liquors would usher in -the millennium.</p> - -<p>To sum up what I conceive to be the reforms necessary to the abatement -and cure of hooliganism:</p> - -<p>1. Fair rents for the poor, and a fair chance of cleanliness and -decency.</p> - -<p>2. Municipal playgrounds and organized competitive games.</p> - -<p>3. Extension of school-life till sixteen.</p> - -<p>4. Prohibition to young people of alcoholic drinks for consumption on -the premises.</p> - -<p>5. Limitation by law of the alcoholic strength<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> of malt liquor to 2½ -per cent. and of spirits to 50 per cent. under proof, with higher duty.</p> - -<p>Give us reforms on these lines, and there will be no "complaining in our -streets." The poorest of the poor, though lacking riches, will know -something of the wealth of the mind, for chivalry and manhood, -gentleness and true womanhood, will be their characteristics. The -rounded limbs and happy hearts of "glorious childhood" will be no longer -a dream or a fiction. No longer will the bitter cry be raised of "too -old" when the fortieth birthday has passed, for men will be in their -full manhood at sixty. Give us these reforms, and enable the poor to -live in clean and sweet content, then their sons shall be strong in body -and mind to fight our battles, to people our colonies, and to hand down -to future ages a goodly heritage. But there is a content born of -indifference, of apathy, of despair. There is the possibility that the -wretched may become so perfect in their misery that a wish for better -things and aspirations after a higher life may die a death from which -there is no resurrection. From apathetic content may God deliver the -poor! from such possibilities may wise laws protect them! -"Righteousness"—right doing—"exalteth a nation;" and a nation whose -poor are content because they can live in cleanliness, decency, and -virtue, where brave boyhood and sweet girlhood can bud, blossom, and -mature, is a nation that will dwell long in the land, and among whom the -doings of the hooligans will be no longer remembered.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER X</span> <span class="smaller">THE HEROISM OF THE SLUMS</span></h2> - -<p>In our narrow streets, in our courts and alleys, where the air makes one -sick and faint, where the houses are rotten and tottering, where -humanity is crowded and congested, where the children graduate in the -gutter—there the heights and depths of humanity can be sounded, for -there the very extremes of human character stand in striking contrast. -Could the odorous canals that intersect our narrow streets speak, they -would tell of many a dark deed, but, thank God! of many a brave deed -also. Numbers of "unfortunates," weary of life, in the darkness of -night, and in the horror of a London fog, have sought oblivion in those -thick and poisonous waters. Men, too, weary from the heart-breaking and -ceaseless search after employment, and widows broken with hard work, -endless toil, and semi-starvation, have sought their doom where the -water lies still and deep.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Hero with the Lavender Suit.</span></p> - -<p>Often in the fog the splash has been heard, but no sooner heard than -cries of "Let me die!" "Help! help!" have also risen on the midnight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> -air. One rough fellow of my acquaintance has saved six would-be suicides -from the basin of one canal, and on each occasion he has appeared to -give evidence in a police-court. Five times he had given his evidence -and quietly and quickly disappeared, but on the sixth occasion he waited -about the court for an opportunity of speaking to the magistrate. This -was at length given him, when he stated that he thought it about time -someone paid him for the loss he sustained in saving these people from -the canal. This was the sixth time he had attended a police-court to -give evidence, and each time he had lost a day's pay. He did not mind -that so very much, as it was but the loss of four shillings at -intervals; but this time he had on a new suit, which cost him thirty -shillings. He had thrown off his coat and vest before jumping into the -water, and someone had stolen them; the dirty water had spoiled his -trousers, which he had dried and put on for his Worship to see. The -magistrate inspected the garments. They had been originally of that -cheap material that costers affect, and of a bright lavender colour. He -had jumped into an unusually nasty piece of water. Some tar and other -chemicals had been moving on its surface, and his lavender clothes had -received full benefit therefrom. The garments had been tight-fitting at -the first, but now, after immersion and drying, they were ridiculously -small. Even the magistrate had to smile, but he ordered the brave fellow -to receive five shillings for expenses and loss of day's work, and ten -shillings compensation for damage to his clothing. He looked ruefully at -his ruined<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> clothes and at the fifteen shillings in his hand, and went -out of the court. I went to speak to him. "Look here, Mr. Holmes," he -said, "fifteen shillings won't buy me a new lavender suit. The next -blooming woman that jumps in the canal 'll have to stop there; I've had -enough of this." I made up the cost of a suit by adding to his fifteen -shillings, and he went away to get one. But I know perfectly well that, -whether he had on a new lavender suit or an old corduroy, it would be -all the same to him—into the canal, river, or any other water, he would -go instinctively when he heard the heavy splash in the darkness or fog.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">An Amusing Rescue.</span></p> - -<p>An amusing episode occurred with regard to a would-be suicide in the -early part of one winter. A strong, athletic fellow, who had been a -teacher of swimming at one of the London public baths, but who had lost -position, had become homeless, and was quite on the down-grade. Half -drunk, he found himself on the banks of the Lea, where the water was -deep and the tide strong. Suddenly he called out, "I'll drown myself!" -and into the water he went. The vagabond could not have drowned had he -wished, for he was as much at home in the water as a rat. It was a -moonlight night, and a party of men from Hoxton had come for a walk and -a drink. One was a little fellow, well known in the boxing-ring. He also -could swim a little, but not much. He heard the cry and the splash, and -saw the body of the man lying still on the water. In he went, swam to -the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> body, and took hold of it. Suddenly there was a great commotion, -for the little man had received a violent blow in the face from the -supposed suicide. A fight ensued, but the swimmer held a great advantage -over the boxer.</p> - -<p>A boat arrived on the scene, and both were brought ashore exhausted. The -swimmer recovered first, and was for making off, but was detained by the -friends of the boxer, who, being recovered, walked promptly up to the -big man and proposed a fight to the finish. This was accepted, but the -little man was now in his element, and the big man soon had reason to -know it. After a severe handling, he was given into custody for -attempted suicide and assault, and appeared next day in the -police-court, with cuts and bruises all over his face. The charge of -attempted suicide was dismissed, but the magistrate fined him twenty -shillings for assault. "Look at my face." "Yes," said the magistrate; -"you deserve all that, and a month beside."</p> - -<p>I give these examples of manly pluck to show that, in spite of all the -demoralizing influence of slum life, and in spite of all the decay of -manhood that must ensue from the terrible conditions that prevail, -physical courage still exists among those born and bred in the slums, -under the worst conditions of London life.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">More Slum Heroes.</span></p> - -<p>But higher kinds of courage are also manifested. Who can excel the -people of our slums in true heroism? None! If I want to find someone -that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> satisfies my ideal of what a hero should be, down into the Inferno -of the slums I go to seek him or her. It is no difficult search; they -are to hand, and I know where to light on them. The faces of my heroes -may be old and wrinkled, their arms may be skinny, and their bodies -enfeebled; they may be racked with perpetual pain, and live in dire but -reticent poverty; they may be working endless hours for three halfpence -per hour, or lie waiting and hoping for death; they may be male or they -may be female, for heroes are of no sex; but for examples of high moral -courage—a courage that bids them suffer and be strong—come with me to -the slums of London and see.</p> - -<p>And how splendidly some of our poor widows' boys rise to their duties! -What pluck, endurance, and enterprise they exhibit! Hundreds of such -boys, winter and summer alike, rise about half-past four, are at the -local dairy at five; they help to push milk-barrows till eight; and with -a piece of bread and margarine off they go to school. After school-hours -they are at the dairy again, washing the churns and milk-cans. -Sharp-witted lads, too. They know how to watch their milk on a dark -morning, and how to give evidence, too, when a thief is brought up. For -supreme confidence in himself and an utter lack of self-consciousness or -nervousness, commend me to these boys. They fear neither police nor -magistrate. They are as fearless as they are natural; for adversity and -hard work give them some compensation. But their dangers and temptations -are many. So I love to think of the lads who have stood the test and -have not yielded. I love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> to think of the gladness of the widow's heart -and her pride in the growing manliness of her boy—"So like his father."</p> - -<p>I was visiting in the heart of Alsatia, and sat beside the bed of a -dying youth whose twenty-first birthday had not arrived—which never did -arrive. It was but a poor room, not over-clean. From the next room came -the sound of a sewing-machine driven furiously, for a widow by its aid -was seeking the salvation of herself and children. She was the landlady, -and "let off" the upper part of the house. The dying youth was not her -son; he belonged to the people upstairs. But the people upstairs were -not of much account, for they spent their time largely away from home, -and had scant care for their dying son; so the widow had brought his -pallet-bed into the little room on the ground-floor wherein I sat, "that -I might have an eye on him." There must have been some sterling -qualities in the woman, though she was not much to look upon, was poorly -clad, and wore a coarse apron over the front of her dress. Her hands -were marked with toil and discoloured by leather, for she machined the -uppers of women's and children's boots, and the smell of the leather was -upon her; but she had a big heart, and though every time "she had an eye -on him" meant ceasing her work and prolonging her labour, she could not -keep away from him for long periods. But, my! how she did make that -machine fly when she got back to it! Blessings on her motherly heart! -There was no furniture in the room saving the little box and the chair I -occupied. The ceiling was frightfully<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> discoloured, and the walls had -not been cleaned for many a day. But a number of oil-paintings without -frames were tacked on the walls, and these attracted my attention. Some -were very crude, and others seemed to me to be good, so I examined them. -They bore no name, but evidently they had been done by the same hand. -Each picture bore a date, and by comparing them I could mark the -progress of the artist. As I stood looking at them, forgetful of the -dying youth below me, I said, half to myself: "I wonder who painted -these." An unexpected and weak reply came from the bed: "The landlady's -son." My interest was increased. "How old is he?" "About twenty." "What -does he do?" "He works at a boot factory"; adding painfully: "He went -back to work after having his dinner just before you came in." "Why," I -said, after again examining the dates on the pictures, "he has been -painting pictures for six years." "Yes. He goes to a school of art now -after he has done his work." The youth began to cough, so I raised him -up a little; but the landlady had heard him, and almost forestalled me. -This gave me the opportunity I wanted, for when the youth was easier, I -said to her: "You have an artist son, I see," pointing to the pictures. -"Yes," she said; "his father did a bit." "How long has he been dead?" -"Over seven years. I was left with four of them. My eldest is the -painter." "What was your husband?" "A shoemaker." "How long have you -lived here?" "Ever since I was married; I have kept the house on since -his death." "Any other of your children paint?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> "The youngest boy does -a bit, but he is only thirteen." "Have you any framed pictures?" "No; we -cannot afford frames, but we shall, after a time, when he gets more -money and the other boy goes out to work." "You are very good to this -poor youth." "Well, I'm a mother. I must be good to him. I wish that I -could do more for him." I never saw the consumptive lad again, for he -died from hæmorrhage the next day.</p> - -<p>Some years afterwards I thought of the widow and her artist son, and -being in the neighbourhood, I called at the house. She was still there, -still making the machine fly. I inquired after her painter son. "Oh, he -is married, and has two children; he lives just opposite." "What is he -doing now?" "He has some machines, and works at home; his wife is a -machinist too. They have three girls working for them." "I will step -across and see him." "But you won't find him in: he goes out painting -every day when it is fine." "Where has he gone to-day?" "Somewhere up -the river." "How can he do machining if he goes out painting every day?" -"He begins to work at five o'clock and goes on till nine o'clock, then -cleans himself and goes off; he works again at night for four or five -hours. His wife and the girls work in the daytime. His wife is a rare -help to him; they are doing all right." "I suppose he has some framed -pictures now?" "Yes, lots of them; but you come in and look at the room -the poor lad died in." I went in, and truly there had been a -transformation. The ceiling was spotless, the walls were nicely -coloured, the room was simply<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> but nicely furnished, and there were some -unframed pictures on the wall, but not those I had previously seen. "My -youngest son has this room now; those pictures are his."</p> - -<p>"What does he work at?" "Boots." "Does he go to a school of art?" "Every -night it is open." I bade the worthy woman good-day, telling her how I -admired the pluck, perseverance, and talent of her boys, also adding -that I felt sure that she had a great deal to do with it and their -success. "Well," she said, "I have done my best for them, but they have -been good lads." Done her best for them, and a splendid best it was! Who -else could have done so much for them? Not all the rich patrons the -world could furnish combined could have done one-half for them that the -brave, kindly, simple boot-machining mother had done for them. She was -better than a hero; she was a true mother. She did her best!</p> - -<p>But her sons were heroes indeed; they were made of the right material. -Birth had done something for them, although their parents were poor, and -one departed early, leaving them to the mother, themselves, the slums, -and the world. When I can see growing youths, surrounded by sordid -misery and rampant vice, working on in poverty, withstanding every -temptation to self-indulgence, framing no pictures till they can pay for -them, whose artistic souls do not lead them to despise honest labour, -whose poetic temperaments do not lead them to idleness and debt, when -they are not ashamed of their boot-machining mother, I recognize them as -heroes, and I don't care a rap whether they become great artists or not. -They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> are men, and brave men, too. I can imagine someone saying: "He -ought not to have married; he should have studied in Paris. Probably the -world has lost a great artist." Perhaps it has, but it kept the man, and -we have not too many of that stamp. Perhaps, after all, he did the right -thing, for he got a good helpmate, and one who helped him to paint.</p> - -<p>Genius is not so rare in the slums as superior people suppose, for one -of our great artists, but lately dead, whose work all civilized -countries delight to honour, played in a gutter of the near -neighbourhood where the widow machinist lived, and climbed a lamp-post -that he might get a furtive look into a school of art; and he, too, -married a poor woman.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">A "Foster-Mother."</span></p> - -<p>And what wonderful women many of our London girls are! I often think of -them as I have seen them in our slums, sometimes a little bit untidy and -not over-clean; but what splendid qualities they have!</p> - -<p>They know their way about, nor are they afraid of work. Time and again I -have seen them struggling under the weight of babies almost as big as -themselves. I have watched them hand those babies to other girls whilst -they had their game of hop-scotch; and when those babies have showed any -sign of discontent, I have seen the deputy-mother take the child again -into her arms, and press it to her breast, and soothe it with all the -naturalness of a real mother.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p><p>And when the mothers of those girls die, and a family of young children -is left behind, what then? Why, then they become real deputy-mothers, -and splendidly rise to their position.</p> - -<p>Brave little women! How my heart has gone out to them as I have seen -them trying to discharge their onerous duties! I have seen a few years -roll slowly by, and watched the deputy-mother arrive at budding -womanhood, and then I have seen disaster again overtake her in the death -of her father, leaving her in sole charge.</p> - -<p>Such was the case with a poor girl that I knew well, though there was -nothing of the slum-girl about Hettie Vizer. Born in the slums, she was -a natural lady, refined and delicate, with bright dark eyes. She was a -lily, but, alas! a lily reared under the shade of the deadly upas-tree. -When Hettie was fifteen her mother, after a lingering illness, died of -consumption, and Hettie was left to "mother" five younger than herself. -Bravely she did it, for she became a real mother to the children, and a -companion to her father.</p> - -<p>In Hoxton the houses are but small and the rooms but tiny; the air -cannot be considered invigorating; so Hettie stood no chance from the -first, and at a very early age she knew that the fell destroyer, -Consumption, had marked her for his prey.</p> - -<p>Weak, and suffering undauntedly, she went on with her task until her -father's dead body lay in their little home, and then she became both -father and mother to the family. Who can tell the story of her brave -life? The six children kept together; several of them went out to work, -and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> brought week by week their slender earnings to swell the meagre -exchequer. Who can tell the anxiety that came upon Hettie in the -expenditure of that money, while consumption increased its hold upon her?</p> - -<p>Thank God the Home Workers' Aid Association was able, in some degree, to -cheer and sustain her. Several times she went to the home by the sea, -where the breath of God gave her some little renewal of life.</p> - -<p>But the sorrowful day was only deferred; it could not be prevented. At -length she took to her bed, and household duties claimed her no more. A -few days before her death I sat by her bedside, and I found that the -King of Terrors had no terror for her. She was calm and fearless. To her -brothers and sisters she talked about her approaching end, and made some -suggestions for her funeral, and then, almost within sound of the -Christmas bells, only twenty-one years of age, she passed "that bourne -whence no traveller returns," and her heroic soul entered into its -well-earned rest. And the five are left alone. Nay, not alone, for -surely she will be with them still, and that to bless them. If not, her -memory will be sanctified to them, and the sorrows and struggles they -have endured together will not be without their compensations. "From -every tear that sorrowing mortals shed o'er such young graves, some good -is born, some gentler nature comes, and the destroyer's path becomes a -way of life to heaven."</p> - -<p>It was my privilege to know her, and in my gallery of heroes she has a -foremost place. Strong<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> men may do and dare and die. Firemen, colliers, -lifeboatmen, may risk their lives to save others; martyrs may face the -flames, and prophets may undergo persecutions. Their deeds live, and -their stories thrill us. But Hettie Vizer stands on a higher plane -still: a slum-girl, but a lady; a foster-mother, with a mother's love; a -child enduring poverty, hard work, bereavements, and burning -consumption. But, rising triumphantly over them all, she listened to the -bells of God as they rang her into that place where sorrows and sighing -are no more.</p> - -<p>And now her younger sister has succeeded her, for the home is still kept -together, and every week their little budget is considered, as it was -"when Hettie was alive."</p> - -<p class="space-above">I have elsewhere spoken of the patient courage shown by weak and elderly -women, but I must again refer to it, for in my judgment there is no -sphere of life wherein greater courage is exhibited. For it must be -borne in mind that they are not sustained by hope. It may be said that -there is a good deal of fatalism connected with their courage and -endurance, and doubtless this is true; but no one can deny their -courage, endurance, and magnificent self-reliance. I have in my mind as -I write some hundreds of women engaged in London home industries whose -lives and struggles are known to me and who compel my veneration, so -when courage is spoken of I like to think of them; for though the -circumstances under which they live and the wrong they suffer bring a -terrible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>indictment against us, no one can, no one shall, deny their -possession of great courage, poor, weak, and elderly though they be.</p> - -<p>Ay, it takes some courage to face day after day their life. I do not -think that I am short of pluck, but I am quite certain that I should -want to lie down and die were I submitted to lives such as theirs. Men -with animal courage could not endure it, and I freely grant that even -patient women ought not to endure it: perhaps, for the sake of future -generations, it might be best for them to die rather than endure it.</p> - -<p>But when I see them and know their circumstances, see their persistent -endurance and their indomitable perseverance, I marvel! And in spite of -the oppression they suffer I know that these women are exhibiting -qualities that the world sadly needs, and are showing a type of heroism -for which the world is bound to be ultimately the better. Poor brave old -women! how I respect you! I venerate you! for the only hope that touches -your heart is the hope that you may keep out of the workhouse, and be -buried without parochial aid. Poor brave old women! I never enter one of -your rooms without at once realizing your brave struggle for existence. -I never see you sitting at your everlasting machines without realizing -your endless toil, and I never see your Industrial Life Assurance -premium-book lying ready for the collector without realizing that the -two pennies that are ready also are sorely needed for your food. Poor -brave old souls! how many times when your tea-canister has been quite -empty, and 4.30 in the afternoon has come,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> and the collector has not -yet called, have you been tempted to spend those pennies and provide -yourself with a cup of tea? How many times have you picked up the -pennies? how many times have you put them down again? for your horror of -a parish funeral was too strong even for your love for a cup of tea! -Brave old women! is there a stronger, more tragical, temptation than -yours? I know of none. Esau sold his birthright for a tasty morsel, well -fed as he was; but you will not surrender your "death right"—nay, not -for a cup of tea, for you are made of better stuff than Esau. So you go -without your tea; but your burial money is not imperilled. Yes, it takes -some moral courage to resist such a temptation; but there is no glamour -about it: the world knows not of it; nevertheless, it is an act of stern -self-repression, an act of true heroism. Shame upon us that it should be -required! glory to us that it is forthcoming! What a life of heroism a -poor woman has lived for that ten, twenty, or forty years, who, in spite -of semi-starvation, has resisted the temptation to spend her burial -money! Those few pounds so hardly saved are as fragrant as the box of -costly ointment poured upon the Master's feet, and convey the same -sentiment, too, for their brave old souls respect their poor old bodies, -and against their day of burial they do it! It may be a mean ambition, -but of that I am by no means sure; still, it is better than none, for -poor, desolate, and Godforsaken must the old woman be who does not -cherish it. Poorer still will the old women be, and more desolate their -hearts, when this one ambition disappears, and they are heedless, -apathetic, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> unconcerned as to how and where their poor old bodies -are buried.</p> - -<p>So the heroism of the slums is of the passive more than the active kind, -of the "to be and to suffer" sort rather than of the "to do and dare." -And it must needs be so, for opportunities of developing and exhibiting -the courage that needs promptitude, dash, and daring have very largely -been denied the people who live in our narrow streets. But their whole -lives, circumstances, and environments have been such that patience -under suffering, fortitude in poverty, and perseverance to the end could -not fail to be developed. In these qualities, despite all their vices -and coarseness, poor people, and especially poor women, set a splendid -example to the more favoured portions of the community.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XI</span> <span class="smaller">A PENNYWORTH OF COAL</span></h2> - -<p>It was winter-time, and the cold damp fog had fallen like a heavy cloud -on East London. The pavements were grimy and greasy; travelling, either -on foot or by conveyance, was slow and dangerous. The voices of children -were not heard in the streets, but ever and again the hoarse voice of -some bewildered driver was heard asking his way, or expostulating with -his horse. Occasionally a tell-tale cough came from some foot-passenger -of whose proximity I had been unaware, but who, like myself, was slowly -groping his way to a desired haven.</p> - -<p>I found my objective at last, and I entered a queer room possessing two -doors—one the ordinary street door; the other, of which the upper part -was glass, opened into an outhouse at a right angle with the house door. -This annexe had once been a greengrocer's shop, and fronted a -side-street; now it was used as a coal and coke depot, and to it -resorted the poor for their winter's supply of coal and coke.</p> - -<p>The proprietor was ill, had been ailing for years, and now the shadows -of eternity hovered around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> him. It was afternoon, and he was resting. I -sat talking with his wife, an elderly woman, who sat at a machine making -a new pair of knickers out of an old garment for a neighbour who had -many children, the while a girl waited to have a new frock made out of -an old dress that had been purchased probably at a street causeway -auction, when, "A penn'orth of coal, please, Mrs. Jenkins!" The voice -came from the coal depot. Mrs. Jenkins got up from her machine. "John, -can you come down and attend to the shop?" I heard a step on the bedroom -floor above me, and presently John, weak and gasping, descended the -stairs, passed through the little room and through the glass door, and -served the pennyworth of coal; came back, and, delivering the penny to -his wife, gasped his way upstairs again. "How much coal do you give for -a penny?" I asked Mrs. Jenkins. "Six pounds." "Why, that is above one -shilling and sixpence halfpenny per hundredweight—nearly thirty-two -shillings per ton," I said. "Yes, sir, it is dear buying it by -penn'orths, but I can't sell it any cheaper." "How much do you give for -a ton?" I asked, for I had not then been in the coal depot, or I need -not have asked. "Oh, sir, we never get a ton; I buy it by the -hundredweight from the trolly-man, and give one and fourpence the -hundredweight." "Do you get full weight from the trolly-man?" "Well, we -don't get anything over; but the London County Council has looked after -them so sharply that they dare not give us short weight now." "But there -is some dirt and slack in every sack you buy." "Yes, but I burn that -myself with a bit of coke." She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> then continued: "I wish the poor people -would always buy fourteen pounds." "Why?" "Well, it would be better for -them, you see; we only charge them twopence farthing for fourteen -pounds, so it comes cheaper to them." "Yes," I said, "they would save -one halfpenny when they had bought eight lots of coal." "Yes, sir. I -make just twopence on a hundredweight when they buy it like that." "No," -I said, "you don't, for you cannot make eight complete lots out of one -sack."</p> - -<p class="space-above">"Fourteen pounds of coal, please, Mrs. Jenkins!" Again a voice came from -the depot. "John! John!" Again John came wearily downstairs to weigh the -coal. He returned with twopence halfpenny, which he handed to his wife, -and said: "A farthing change."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Jenkins searched her small pile of coppers, but failed to find a -farthing. "Is it Mrs. Brown?" she asked her husband. "Yes," was the -reply. "Oh, then give her the halfpenny back, and tell her to owe me the -farthing." John went into the shop, taking the halfpenny with him, and I -heard a discussion going on, after which John returned with the coin, -and said: "She won't take it." But Mrs. Brown followed him into the room -with her fourteen pounds of coal in a small basket. "No, Mrs. Jenkins, I -can't take it; I owe you two farthings now. If you keep the ha'penny I -shall only owe you one, and I'll try and pay that off next time." "Never -mind what you owe me, Mrs. Brown; you take the ha'penny. You have little -children, and have no husband to work for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> you like I have," was Mrs. -Jenkins's reply. But Mrs. Brown was not to be put down, so after a -protracted discussion the halfpenny remained in the possession of Mrs. -Jenkins, and poor feeble John retired to rest.</p> - -<p>I sat wondering at it all, quite lost in thought. Presently Mrs. Jenkins -said: "I wish Mrs. Brown had taken that ha'penny." "Why?" I said. "Well, -you see, she has little children who have no father, and they are so -badly off." "But you are badly off, too. Your husband is ill, and ought -to be in the hospital; he is not fit to be about." "I rest him all I -can, but this afternoon I have these knickers and frock to make; that -work pays better than coal when I can get it." "How much rent do you -pay?" "Fifteen shillings and sixpence a week, but I let off seven and -sixpence, so my rent comes to eight shillings." "But you lose your -tenant sometimes, and the rooms are empty?" "Yes." "And sometimes you -get a tenant that does not pay up?" "Yes." "And sometimes you allow poor -women to have coal on credit, and you lose in that way?" "Yes," she -said, and added slowly: "I wish I could have all that is owing to me." -"Show me some of your debts." We went into the coal depot. "I have had -to stop that woman," she said, pointing to a name and a lot of figures -chalked up on a board. She owes me one and elevenpence farthing." I -reckoned up the account. "Quite correct," I said.</p> - -<p>"She had sixteen lots of coal for one and elevenpence farthing; she -can't pay me at all now, she is so far behind. I ought to have stopped -her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> before, but I did not like to be hard on her." Several other -"chalked up" accounts confronted me—one for sixpence, another for -ninepence—but that one and elevenpence farthing was the heaviest -account. It was too pitiful; I could inquire no further.</p> - -<p>The difficulty of obtaining even minute quantities of coal constitutes -one of the great anxieties of the very poor, and exposes them to -unimaginable suffering and hardship.</p> - -<p>To poor old women with chilly bones and thin blood, who especially need -the glow and warmth of a substantial fire, the lack of coal constitutes -almost, and in many cases quite, tragedy.</p> - -<p>The poorest class of home-workers, who require warmth if their fingers -are to be nimble and their boxes or bags are to be dried, must have some -sort of a fire, even if it be obtained at the expense of food. Small -wonder, then, that their windows are seldom opened, for the heat of the -room must not be dissipated; they must be thrifty in that respect. -During the winter, generally in January, I set out on a tour of -discovery, my object being to find out old widows who manage to keep -themselves without parish relief, and get their little living by making -common articles for everyday use. Formerly I experienced great -difficulty in finding the brave old things; I have no difficulty now, -for at a day's notice I can assemble five hundred self-supporting widows -to whom a single hundredweight of coal would loom so large that it would -appear a veritable coal-mine.</p> - -<p>So I ask my readers to accompany me on one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> of these expeditions—in -imagination, of course. Come, then, through this side-door, for it -stands open, though not invitingly so, for the stairs are uncarpeted and -dirty and the walls are crumbling and foul.</p> - -<p>We pass the room on the ground-floor, and observe that it is half -workshop and half retail-shop, for old furniture is renovated and placed -in the shop-window for sale. Up one flight of unwashed stairs and past -another workshop—this time a printer's. Up again! The stairs are still -narrow, and the walls are still crumbling, the stairs still unwashed. We -pass another workshop, mount more stairs, and then we come to a small -landing and some narrow, very narrow, stairs that are scrupulously -clean, though innocent of carpet or linoleum.</p> - -<p>We are now at the very top of the house and in semi-darkness, but we -discover the door of the room we are looking for. On rapping, we are -told to "Come in." It is a small attic, just large enough to contain a -bed, a table, and a small chest of drawers.</p> - -<p>She sat at the table underneath the dormer window, and was busy at work -making paper bags: a widow alone in the world, seventy-eight years of -age, who had never received one penny from the parish in her life. Take -notice of the little bedroom grate. It is a very small one, but you -notice it is made much smaller by two pieces of brick being placed in -it, one on each side, and between them a very small fire is burning, or -trying to burn. She tells us that she gets fivepence per thousand for -her paper bags, and that she buys<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> her own paste; that she works for her -landlord, who stops her rent every week out of her earnings. She buys -her coal by the quarter of a hundredweight, which costs her fivepence; -she does not buy pennyworths. Sometimes the men below give her bits of -wood, and the printer lets her have scraps of cardboard. She can't do -with less than two quarters in the week, it is so cold, but she manages -with a bit less in the summer-time. So the brave old woman gabbles on, -telling us all we want to know. I produce some warm clothing, and her -old eyes glisten; I give her a whole pound of tea in a nice canister, -and I think I see tears; but I take her old skinny hand, all covered -with paste, and say: "You must buy a whole hundredweight of good coal -with that, or give it back to me; you must not use it for anything -else." Ah, this was indeed too much for her, and she burst out -hysterically: "Oh, don't mock me—a hundredweight of coal! I'll soon -have those bricks out."</p> - -<p>Come with me into another street. We have no stairs to climb this time, -for the house consists of but two stories, and contains but four small -rooms. We enter the front room on the ground-floor, and find three old -women at work. There being no room or accommodation for us to sit, we -stand just inside and watch them as they work. Two are widows bordering -on seventy years of age; the other is a spinster of like years. One sits -at a machine sewing trousers, of which there is a pile waiting near her. -As soon as she has completed her portion of work she passes the trousers -on to the other widow, who finishes them—that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> is, she puts on the -buttons, sewing the hem round the bottom of the trousers, and does all -the little jobs that must needs be done by hand. When her part of the -work is completed, she passes the trousers on to the spinster, who has -the heaviest part of the task, for she is the "presser," and manipulates -the hot and heavy iron that plays such an important part in the work. -Each of them occupies one of the four rooms in the house, but for -working purposes they collaborate and use the widow machinist's room; -for collaboration increases their earnings and lessens their expenses, -for the one room is also used for the preparation and consumption of -food. One kettle, one teapot, and one frying-pan do for the three. Old -and weak as they are, they understand the value of co-operation and the -advantages to be obtained by dividing labour. But they understand -something else much better, for "one fire does for the three," and the -fire that heats the iron warms the room for three, and boils the kettle -for three. Talk about thrift! Was there ever seen that which could -eclipse these three old women in the art and virtue of saving? Thrift -and economy! Why, the three poor old souls fairly revelled in it. They -could give points to any of the professional teachers of thrift who know -so much about the extravagance of the poor. One gaslight served for the -three, and when a shilling was required to gently induce the automatic -gas-meter to supply them with another too brief supply of light, the -shilling came from common funds; and when the long day's work was done, -and the old widow machinist prepared to lie down in the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> bed that -had been erstwhile covered with trousers, the other widow and aged -spinster went aloft to their little rooms to light their little lamps -and to count themselves happy if they possessed a bit of wood and a few -crumbs of coal wherewith to make the morning fire. If not so fortunate, -then, late and cold though the night be, they must sally forth to the -nearest general shop, and with a few hardly-earned coppers lay in a -fresh stock, and return laden with one pint of paraffin oil, one -halfpennyworth of firewood, one pennyworth of coal, and most likely with -one pennyworth of tea-dust. And in such course their lives will run till -eyesight fails or exhausted nature gives way, and then the workhouse -waits.</p> - -<p>It is the old widow machinist that talks to us, but she keeps on -working. Her machine whirrs and creaks and rattles, for it is an old -one, and its vital parts are none too good; and the old woman speaks to -it sometimes as if it were a sentient thing, and reproves it when a -difficulty arises. In her conversation with us frequent interjections -are interposed that sometimes appeared uncomplimentary to us: "Now, -stupid!" "Ah! there you are at it again!" But when she explained that -she was referring to her machine and not to us, we forgave her.</p> - -<p>"I have had this machine for twenty-one years, and it has been a good -one. I bought it out of my husband's club and insurance money." "How -much did you have altogether?" "Twenty pounds, and I paid for his -funeral and bought my mourning and this machine, and it's been a friend -to me ever since, so I can't help talking to it;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> but it wants a new -shuttle." "How much will that cost?" "Five shillings!" "Let me buy one -for you." "I don't want to part with the old one yet. It will perhaps -last my time, for I want a new shuttle, too. We are both nearly worn -out;" and the machinist kept on with her work, and the other widow with -her finishing, and the aged spinster with her pressing.</p> - -<p>Oh, brave old women! We are lost in wonder and veneration. Utilitarians -and the apostles of thrift tell us that the poor are demoralized by -"charity," and of a surety indiscriminate giving without knowledge and -personal service is often ill bestowed. But in the presence of three old -women possessed of heroic souls, living as they lived, working as they -worked, who cares for utilitarianism or political economy either? A fig -for the pair of them!</p> - -<p>"But," say our teachers, "you are in reality subsidizing their -employers, who exploit them and pay them insufficiently." Another -self-appointed teacher says: "Ah! but you are only helping them to pay -exorbitant rents; the landlord will profit." Who cares? Others, in very -comfortable circumstances, who themselves are by no means averse to -receiving gifts, say: "Don't destroy the independence of the poor." -Wisdom, prudence, political economy, go, hang yourselves! we cry. Our -love is appealed to, our hearts are touched, our veneration is kindled, -and we must needs do something, though the landlord may profit, though -the employer may be subsidized—nay, though we run the terrible risk of -tarnishing the glorious privilege and record of these independent old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -women—a record nearly completed. Help them we must, and we bid defiance -to consequences. So we find the "trolly-man," and three separate bags of -good coal are borne into three separate rooms. A whole hundredweight for -each woman! Where could they put it all? What an orgie of fire they -would have! Would the methodical thrift of the old women give way in the -face of such a temptation?</p> - -<p>We don't care: we have become hardened; and we even promise ourselves -that other bags of coal shall follow. Then we examine their tea-caddies, -and throw this tea-dust on the fire—a fitting death for it, too—and -further demoralize the ancient three with the gift of a pound of good -tea, each in a nice cannister, too. A hundredweight of coal and a pound -of tea! Why, the teapot will be always in use till the pound is gone. -The poor drink too much tea. Perhaps so; but what are the poor to drink? -They have neither time, inclination, nor money for the public-house. -Coffee is dear if it is to be good. Cocoa is thick and sickly. Water! -Their water!—ugh! At present poor old women have the choice of tea or -nothing. Then leave them, we beseech you, their teapot, but let us see -to it that they have some decent tea. So, with five shillings in silver -for each of them, we leave the dauntless three to their fire, their -teapots, and wonder, and go into the streets with the feeling that -something is wrong somewhere, but what it is and how to right it we know -not.</p> - -<p>I could, were it necessary, multiply experiences similar to the above, -but they would only serve to prove, what I have already made <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>apparent, -that the worries and sufferings of the very poor are greatly aggravated -by their inability to procure a reasonable supply of coal. Slate-clubs, -men's meetings, and brotherhoods have of late years done much to secure -artisans and working men who are earning decent wages a supply of good -coal all the year round. Weekly payments of one shilling and upwards -enable them to lay in a store when coal is cheap—if it is ever -cheap—or to have an arrangement with the coal merchant for the delivery -of a specified amount every week. People possessed of commodious -coal-cellars may buy largely when coal prices are at their lowest; but -the poor—the very poor—can neither buy nor store, for they have -neither storehouses nor barns. Even if they could, by the exercise of -great self-denial, manage to pay a sum of sixpence per week into a local -coal-club, they have nowhere to put the supply when sent home to them. -They must needs buy in very small quantities only. The advantages of -co-operation are not for them, but are reserved for those that are -better off. One scriptural injunction, at any rate, the community holds -with grim tenacity: "To him that hath it shall be given."</p> - -<p>Yet I have seen attempts at co-operation among the poorest, for one -Christmas-time, when the weather was terribly severe, and when, as -becomes a Christian country, the one great necessity of life among the -poor was put up to a fabulous price, I knew four families living in one -house to contribute threepence per family wherewith to purchase -fifty-six pounds of coal that they might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> have extra fire at that happy -season. Some of the very poor buy pennyworths of coke to mix with their -coal, but though coke seems cheaper, it only flatters to deceive, for it -demands greater draught, and it must be consumed in larger quantities. -If for economy's sake a good draught and a generous supply be denied, it -sullenly refuses to burn at all, and gives off fumes that might almost -challenge those of a motor-car. The lives of many young children have -been sacrificed by attempts to burn coke in small rooms where the -draught necessary for good combustion has not existed. Certainly coke is -no friend to the very poor. There are still meaner purchases of firing -material than pennyworths of coal or pennyworths of coke, for -halfpennyworths of cinders are by no means uncommon. A widow of my -acquaintance who had several young children startled me one day when I -was in her room by calling out, "Johnny, take the bucket and run for a -ha'porth of cinders and a farthing bundle of wood." The farthing bundle -of firewood I knew of old—and a fraudulent fellow I knew him to be, -made up especially for widows and the unthrifty poor—but the -halfpennyworth of cinders was a new item to me. I felt interested, and -decided to remain till Johnny returned. He was not long away, for it was -the dinner-hour, and the boy had to get back to school. He was but a -little fellow, and by no means strong, yet he carried the bucket of -cinders and firewood easily enough. When the boy had gone to school the -widow turned to me as if apologizing for wasting three farthings. "I -must have some fire for the children when they come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> in." "Aren't you -going to make the fire up for yourself? It will soon be out, and it is -very cold to-day." "No; I am going to work hard, and the time soon goes. -I shall light it again at half-past four," said the unthrifty widow. -Meanwhile I had inspected the cinders, which I found to be more than -half dirt, fit only for a dust-destructor, but certainly not fit to burn -in a living-room. "Do you buy cinders by weight or measure?" "I think he -measures them." "How much have you got here?" "Two quarts." "Do you see -that quite half is dirt?" "They are dirty. I expect he has nearly sold -out. When he has a fresh lot we get better cinders, for the small and -the dirt get left till the last." "I suppose he will not have a fresh -supply in till he has cleared the last?" "No; he likes to sell out -first. One day when I complained about them he said: 'Ah! they are -pretty bad. Never mind! the more you buy, the sooner they'll be gone; -then we'll have a better lot.'" "How many fires will your cinders make?" -"Two, if I put a bit of coal with them." "Do you ever buy a -hundredweight of coal?" "Not since my husband died. I try to buy a -quarter twice a week." "How much do you give for a quarter?" -"Five-pence." "How many fires can you light with your farthing bundle of -wood?" "Two, if I don't use some of it to make the kettle boil." "How -much rent do you pay?" "Five shillings for two rooms."</p> - -<p>Poor widow! Because ye have not, even the little that ye have is of a -truth taken from you.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XII</span> <span class="smaller">OLD BOOTS AND SHOES</span></h2> - -<p>One hundred pairs of old boots and shoes that have been cast off by the -very poor present a deplorable sight—a sight that sets one thinking. -Many times I have regretted that I did not call in a photographer before -they were hurried off to the local dust-destructor. What a tale they -told! or rather what a series of tragedies they revealed! There was a -deeply pathetic look about every pair: they looked so woefully, so -reproachfully, at me as I contemplated them. They seemed to voice not -only their own sufferings, but also the wrongs and privations of the -hundred poor widows who had discarded them; for these widows, poor as -they were, had cast them off. The boots and shoes seemed to know all -about it, and to resent the slight inflicted on them; henceforth even -the shambling feet of poor old women were to know them no more. They had -not a coy look among them; not an atom of sauciness or independence -could I discover; but, crushed and battered, meek and humiliated, they -lay side by side, knowing their days were over, and pitifully asking for -prompt dissolution. What a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> mixed lot they were! No two pairs alike. -Some of the couples were not pairs, for a freak of fortune had united -odd boots in the bond of sufferings and the gall of poverty. Many of -them had come down in life; they had seen better days. Well-dressed -women had at some time stepped daintily in them, but that was when the -sheen of newness was upon them and the days of their youth were not -ended. In those days the poor old boots were familiar with parks, -squares, and gardens, and well-kept streets of the West; but latterly -they have only been too familiar with the slums and the grime of the -East. How I wished they could speak and tell of the past! How came it -about that, after such a splendid beginning, they had come to such a -deplorable end? Had the West End lady died? Had her wardrobe been sold -to a dealer? What had been the intermediate life of the boots before -they were placed, patched and cobbled, in the dirty window of a fusty -little second-hand shop in Hoxton? I know the widow that bought them and -something of her life; I can appreciate the effort she made to get -possession of them. She paid two shillings and sixpence for them, but -not all at once—oh dear, no! Week by week she carried threepence to the -man who kept the fusty little shop. He cheerfully received her payments -on account, meanwhile, of course, retaining possession of the coveted -boots. It took her four months to pay for them, for her payments had not -been quite regular. What would have become of the payments made if the -widow had died before the completion of purchase, I need not say, but I -am quite sure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> the boots would have speedily reappeared in the shop -window. But, after all, I am not sure that the old cobbler was any worse -in his dealings with the poor than more respectable people are; for -pawnbroking, money-lending, life assurance, and furniture on the hire -system among the poor are founded on exactly the same principles. How -much property has been lost, how many policies have been forfeited, -because poor people have been unable to keep up their payments, we do -not know; if we did, I am quite sure that it would prove a revelation. -In this respect the thriftiness of the poor is other people's gain.</p> - -<p>It was a triumph of pluck and grit, for at the end of four long months -the widow received her cobbled boots. Her half-crown had been completed. -"I had them two years; they lasted me well—ever so much better than a -cheap new pair," the widow told me; nevertheless, she was glad to leave -them behind and go home with her feet shod resplendently in a new pair -of seven-and-elevenpenny. She might venture to lift the front of her old -dress now as she crossed the street, and I am sure that she did not -forget to do it, for she was still a woman, in spite of all, and had -some of that quality left severe people call vanity, but which I like to -think of as self-respect.</p> - -<p>"How is it," I was asked by a critical lady, "that your poor women let -their dresses drag on the pavement and crossings? I never see any of -them lift their dresses behind or in front. They must get very dirty and -insanitary." "My dear madam," I replied, "they dare not, for neither -their insteps nor their heels are presentable;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> but give them some new -boots, and they will lift their dresses often enough and high enough."</p> - -<p>There was another pair, too, that had come down, and they invited -speculative thought. They were not born in the slums or fitted for the -slums, but they came into a poor widow's possession nevertheless. They -had not been patched or cobbled, and just enough of their former glory -remained to allow of judgment being passed upon them. They had been -purchased at a "jumble sale" for threepence, and were dear at the price. -The feet that had originally worn them had doubtless trodden upon -carpet, and rested luxuriantly upon expensive hearthrugs. They were -shoes, if you please, with three straps across the insteps, high, -fashionable heels, buckles and bows in front. But their high heels had -disappeared, the buckles had long since departed, the instep straps were -broken and dilapidated, the pointed toes were open, and the heels were -worn down. When completely worn out and unmendable, some lady had sent -them to a local clergyman for the benefit of the poor. I gazed on them, -and then quite understood, not for the first time, that there is a kind -of charity that demoralizes the poor, but it is a charity that is not -once blessed.</p> - -<p>Here was an old pair of "Plimsolls," whose rubber soles had long ago -departed; there a pair of shoes that had done duty at the seaside, whose -tops had originally been brown canvas, and whose soles had been -presumably leather; here a pair of "lace-ups"; there a pair of -"buttons"—but the lace-holes were all broken, and buttons were not to -be seen.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p><p>But whatever their style and make had been, and whoever might have been -their original wearers, they had now one common characteristic—that of -utter and complete uselessness. I ought to have been disgusted with the -old rubbish, but somehow the old things appealed to me, though they -seemed to reproach me, and lay their social death to my charge and their -present neglect to my interference. But gladness was mixed with pathos, -for I knew that a hundred widows had gone to their homes decently booted -on a dismal Christmas Eve.</p> - -<p>But now, leaving the old boots to the fate that awaited them, I will -tell of the women who had so recently possessed them.</p> - -<p>It had long been a marvel to me how the very poor obtained boots of any -sort and kind. I had learned so much of their lives and of their ways -and means that I realized boots and shoes for elderly widows or young -widows with children must be a serious matter. Accordingly, at this -particular Christmas I issued, on behalf of the Home Workers' Aid -Association, invitations to one hundred widows to my house, where each -widow was to receive a new pair of boots and Christmas fare. They came, -all of them, and as we kept open house all day, I had plenty of time to -converse with them individually. I learned something that day, so I want -to place faithfully before my readers some of the things that happened -and some of the stories that were told.</p> - -<p>One of the first to arrive was an elderly widow, accompanied by her -epileptic daughter, aged thirty. I looked askance at the daughter, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> -said to the widow: "I did not invite your daughter." "No, sir; but I -thought you would not mind her coming." "But I do mind, for if every -widow brings a grown-up daughter to-day I shall have two hundred women -instead of one hundred." "I am very sorry, sir; but I could not come -without her." They sat down to some food, and my wife looked up a few -things for the daughter. "Now for the boots," I said. "Of course, we -cannot give your daughter a pair." "No," said the widow; "we only want -one pair." I knew what was coming, for I had taken stock of the -daughter, who was much bigger than her mother. "What size do you take?" -"Please, sir, can my daughter try them on?" "No; the boots are for you." -"Oh yes, sir, they will be my boots, but please let my daughter try them -on." It was too palpable, so I said: "Your daughter has bigger feet than -you have." "Yes, sir." "And you want a pair that will fit either of -you?" "Yes, sir." "Then when you go out you will wear them?" "Oh yes, -sir." "And when your daughter goes out, she will wear them—in fact, you -want a pair between you?" "Yes, sir," the reply came eagerly from both. -"Well, put your right feet forward." They did, and there was no doubt -about it: mother and daughter both stood sadly in need, though they -scarcely stood in boots; no doubt, either, as to the relative sizes. The -daughter required "nines" and the mother "fives." I gave them a note to -a local shopkeeper, where the daughter was duly fitted, so they went -away happy, because they jointly possessed a new pair of -"seven-and-elevenpenny's."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> But whether the widow ever wore them, I am -more than doubtful. It is the self-denial of the very poor that touches -me. It is so wonderful, so common, perhaps, that we do not notice it. It -is so unobtrusive and so genuine. We never find poor widows jingling -money-boxes in the streets and demanding public contributions because it -is their "self-denial week." Their self-denial lasts through life, but -the public are not informed of it. I fancy that I should have had an -impossible task if I had asked, or tried to persuade, the widow to go -into the streets and solicit help because she had denied herself a pair -of boots for the sake of her afflicted daughter. Oh, it is very -beautiful, but, alas! it is very sad. The poor couple worked at home in -their one room when they had work to do and when the daughter's fits did -not prevent. They made "ladies' belts," and starved at the occupation.</p> - -<p>Another widow had four young children; her feet were partly encased in a -flimsy pair of broken patent slippers. She, too, had her note to the -shoemaker's.</p> - -<p>A deep snow fell during the night, and on the morning of Boxing Day it -lay six inches deep. I thought of the widows and their sound boots, and -felt comforted; but my complacency soon vanished. I was out early in the -streets, warmly clad, spurning the snow—in fact, rather enjoying -it—and thinking, as I have said, with some pleasure of the widows and -their boots, when I met the widow who has four young children. She was -for hurrying past me, but I stopped her and spoke. "A bitter morning, -this." "Yes, sir; is it not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> a deep snow?" "I am so glad you have sound -boots. You had them just in time. Your old slippers would not have been -of much use a morning like this." "No, sir." "Did you get what suited -you?" "Yes, sir." "Fit you all right?" "Yes, sir." "Did you have buttons -or lace-up?" "Lace-up, sir." "That's right. Lift up the front of your -dress. I want to see whether the shopman has given you a good pair." She -began to cry, and, to my astonishment, the old broken patent slippers -were revealed, half buried in the snow. "Don't be cross," she burst out. -"I did not mean to deceive you. I got two pairs for the children: they -wanted them worse than I do."</p> - -<p>I learned afterwards from the shopman that she added a shilling to the -cost of a pair for herself, and the shopman, being kind-hearted, gave -her another shilling, so she went home with her two pairs of strong -boots for her boys. Of course, I told her that she had done wrong—I -even professed to be angry; but I think she saw through my pretence. -What can be done for, or with, such women? How can anyone help them when -they are so deceitful? However, I forgave her, and confirmed her in her -wickedness by next day sending the shop assistant to her home with -several pairs of women's boots that she might select a pair for herself. -That kind of deceit has an attraction for me.</p> - -<p>"How long have you been a widow?" I asked one of the women. "Twelve -years, sir." "How long is it since you had a new pair of boots?" "Not -since my husband's funeral, sir." Twelve<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> long years since she felt the -glow of satisfaction that comes from the feeling of being well shod; -twelve years since she listened to the ringing sound of a firm heel in -brisk contact with the pavement; twelve years she had gone with that -muffled, almost noiseless sound so peculiar to poor women, telling as it -does of old slippers or of boots worn to the uppers! What a pity, when -so many shoemakers are seeking customers! There is a tremendous moral -force in a new pair of boots that possess good firm heels. Everybody -that hears them knows instinctively what the sound means, and the -neighbours say: "Mrs. Jones is getting on a bit: she is wearing a new -pair of boots. Didn't you hear them?"</p> - -<p>Hear them! Of course they had heard them, and had been jealous of them, -too; but that kind of music is not heard every day among London's very -poor, and for a time Mrs. Jones was on a higher plane than her -neighbours; but by-and-by she comes back to them, for the heels wear -away, and she has no others to put on whilst they are repaired, so -gradually they slip down to the chronic condition of poor women's boots; -then Mrs. Jones's ringing footsteps are heard no more.</p> - -<p>My shopman told me that he had been in a difficulty; he could not find a -pair of boots large enough for one young widow. He searched his store, -and found a pair—size eleven—that he had had by him for some years; -but, alas! size eleven was not big enough. He offered to procure a last -of sufficient proportion and make a pair of boots for her, kindly saying -that he would not charge anything extra for size. I told him to get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> a -proper last made for the young woman, who took "twelves." This he did, -so now a poor blouse-maker, who keeps an aged and invalid mother, has -her boots made to order, and built upon her own "special last." When I -had made this arrangement, I was puzzled to know in what way she had -previously obtained boots, so I asked him: "What boots was she wearing -when she came to your shop?" He laughed, and said: "A very old pair of -men's tennis-shoes—of large size, too." I had known her for many years, -and had admired her cleanliness and neatness. I had known, too, how -miserable her earnings were, and how many demands her aged mother made -upon her. She was upright in carriage, and of good appearance; -self-respecting, and eminently respectable, she carried her secret -nobly, though the dual burden of size twelves and men's tennis-shoes -must have been very trying. I told her of our arrangement about the -last, but, of course, made no reference to the dimensions of her feet; -but I often wonder how she felt when she put on her new boots.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIII</span> <span class="smaller">JONATHAN PINCHBECK, THE SLUM AUTOLYCUS</span></h2> - -<p>It was application time in a London police-court. All sorts of people, -with all sorts of difficulties, had stepped, one after another, into the -witness-box, and had put all sorts of questions to the patient -magistrate. They had gone away more or less satisfied with the various -answers the experience of the magistrate suggested, when, last of all, -there stepped in front of him a quaint-looking elderly man. Below the -average size, with a body somewhat bent, grey hair, and a bristly white -moustache, together with a complexion of almost terra-cotta hue, he was -bound to attract attention. When looked at more closely, other -characteristics could be noted: his lips were full and tremulous, his -eyes were strained, and there was a look of pathetic expectancy over his -face.</p> - -<p>He handed a paper to the magistrate, and said: "Read that, your -Worship." His Worship read it. It was an order from the relieving -officer to the manager of the "stone-yard" for Jonathan Pinchbeck to be -given two days' work. "Jonathan Pinchbeck! is that your name?" said the -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>magistrate, looking at the quaint old man. "Yes, that's me." "Well, -what do you want? Why don't you go and do the work?" "Well, your -Worship, it is like this: I have been to the stone-yard, and they have -got no work to give me." "Well," said the magistrate, "I am sure that I -have no stones for you to break." "But I don't want you to give me work! -I ask you for a summons against the Vestry for four shillings," he said. -"Surely they are bound to find me work or give me the money. I am out of -work, and my wife is ill."</p> - -<p>The magistrate told him that the matter could not be decided in a -police-court, and that he had better go to the County Court. Very -dejectedly the old man stepped down, and silently left the court. I -followed him, and had some conversation with him. He was a -dock-labourer, but had grown old, and could no longer "jostle," push, -and fight for a job at the dock gates, for younger men with broader -shoulders stepped up before him. He gave me his address, so in the -afternoon of the same day I went to Mandeville Street, Clapton Park. The -landlady told me that Pinchbeck was not at home, but that he occupied -with his wife one room "first-floor front," and that his wife was an -invalid.</p> - -<p>I was about to leave when a husky voice from the first-floor front, the -door of which was evidently open, called out: "Is it a gentleman to see -Jonathan? Tell him to come up." I went up. I shall not forget going up, -for I found myself in the queerest place I had visited. I was in -Wonderland. The owner of the voice that called me up, Mrs. Pinchbeck, -sat before me—huge, massive, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> palpitating. She was twenty stone in -weight, but ill and suffering. Asthma, dropsy, and heart disease had -nearly done their work. It was a stifling day in July, and she drew -breath with difficulty.</p> - -<p>She sat on a very strongly-made wooden chair, and did not attempt to -rise when I entered the room. The chair in which she was sitting was -painted vermilion red, and studded with bright brass nails. Every chair -in the room—of which there were four—the strong kitchen table, the -strong wooden fender, and the powerful bedstead, were all vermilion red, -embellished with brass nails. One directing mind had constructed the -lot. When my surprise was lessened, I sat down on a red chair beside the -poor woman, and entered into conversation. Her replies to my questions -came with difficulty, but, despite her illness, I noticed that she was -proud of her quaint husband, and especially proud of the furniture he -had made for her, for the household goods were his workmanship.</p> - -<p>"He had only a saw, a hammer, and some sandpaper," she said, nodding at -the furniture, "and he made the lot."</p> - -<p>They were well-built, and calculated to bear even Mrs. Pinchbeck. -"Vermilion red was his favourite colour," she said, "and he thought the -bright yellow of the nails livened them up. They had been made a good -many years, but he sometimes gave them a fresh coat of paint."</p> - -<p>Pinchbeck and she had been married many years; they had no children. -They lived by themselves, and he was a very good husband. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> there -were other wonders in the room beside the poor woman and the brilliant -furniture, and they soon claimed attention.</p> - -<p>In front of me stood a monumental cross some feet in height, and made -apparently of brown marble. The cross stood on three foundation steps of -brown marble, and at intervals round the body of the cross were bands of -yellow ribbon.</p> - -<p>She saw me looking at it. "That's all tobacco," she said; "it is made of -cigar-ends." There was a descriptive paper attached to the cross. -"Jonathan collected the cigar-ends, and he made them into that monument, -and he made the calculations in his head, and I wrote them down," she -said, referring to the paper. "He walked more than ninety thousand miles -to collect the cigar-ends," she said. I asked permission to read the -descriptive paper attached, and after permission—for I saw the whole -thing was sacred to the suffering woman—I detached it. I was lost in -interest as I read the paper, which was well written, and contained some -curious calculations. I found on inquiry that Jonathan could neither -read nor write, but he could, as she said, "calculate in his own head."</p> - -<p>The document consisted of a double sheet of foolscap, which was covered -on the four pages with writing and figures in a woman's hand. Briefly it -told of the great deeds of Jonathan, who, as I have previously said, was -a dock-labourer. He had lived in Clapton Park for more than thirty -years, and he had walked every day to and from the East London Docks, a -five-mile tramp every morning, and a return journey at night of equal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> -length. Hundreds of times his journey had been fruitless, so far as -getting a day's work was concerned; but, like an industrious bee, -Jonathan returned home every night laden with what to him was sweeter -than honey—cigar-ends that he had gathered from the pavements, gutters, -and streets he traversed and searched during his daily ten-mile tramp. -They lay before me, converted into a massive monumental cross, erected -upon three great slabs of similar material. On each side of it stood a -smaller cross, as if it were to show off the dimensions of the great -cross. The paper stated that the whole of the cigar-ends collected -weighed one hundredweight and three-quarters. It also told how far the -cigars would have reached had they been placed end to end; one cigar was -reckoned at three inches, four to a foot, twelve to a yard, and seven -thousand and forty to a mile. The paper also told how much they cost at -twopence each, how long they took to smoke at one half-hour each, also -how much duty the Government had received on each at four shillings per -pound. Thirty years of interminable tramping, with his eyes on the -ground like a sleuth-hound, had Jonathan done. Hour after hour he had -sat in his little home contemplating his collection, and making his -mental calculations while his wife wrote them down, and then in its -glory arose his great monument.</p> - -<p>Handing the paper to Mrs. Pinchbeck, I proceeded to examine the cross. I -felt it, and found it hard, solid, firm, and every edge square and -sharp. I wondered how he had converted such unlikely materials as -cigar-ends into such a solid piece of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> work. The poor woman told me that -from all the cigar-ends he brought home he trimmed off the burnt ends, -and carefully placed them in a dry place; then he made a great wooden -frame, screwed together, the inside of which represented the cross. In -this frame he arranged end-ways layer after layer of his cigar-ends, -pressing them and even hammering them in; now and again he had poured in -also a solution of treacle and water, placing more cigar-ends until it -was pressed and hammered full. Then it was left for months to slowly -dry. It was a proud day for the couple when the wooden frame was -removed, and the great triumph of Jonathan's life stood before them.</p> - -<p>But the tobacco cross did not by any means exhaust the wonders of the -room. All round strange things were hanging from the ceiling, threaded -on a string like girls thread beads and boys thread -horse-chestnuts—rough, flat-looking things, about the size of a plate -and of a dirty brown colour. "Whatever have you got there, hanging from -the ceiling?" I said. The answer came in a hoarse whisper: "Tops and -bottoms." Tops and bottoms! tops and bottoms! I looked at them, and -cudgelled my brains to find out what tops and bottoms were. I had to -give it up, and the hoarse whisper came again: "Tops and bottoms." There -the "tops" hung like a collection of Indian scalps, and there hung the -"bottoms" like a collection of burned pancakes. On examining one string -of them, I found attached the inevitable paper, on which was written -"1856."</p> - -<p>"Oh," I said, "these are the tops and bottoms<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> of your bread. Why did -you cut your bread in that way?" "It was Jonathan's fancy," she said. It -might have been her husband's idea, but she had entered heartily into -it, for she had saved the crusts from all their loaves; she had written -the papers and particulars that were attached to them, and she was proud -of the old crusts, some of which dated from the time of the Crimean War. -I was prepared for other strange whims after my experience with the -vermilion furniture, the tobacco cross, and the "tops and bottoms," and -it was well that I was, for other revelations awaited me. I found a -great bundle of sugar papers—coarse, heavy papers, some blue, others -grey—neatly folded, tied together, and tabulated. These were the -wrappers that had contained all the sugar the worthy couple had bought -during their married life. A document attached gave particulars of their -weight, told also of how much they had been defrauded by the purchase of -paper and not sugar, told the price of sugar in various years, and the -variations of their losses. Next to these stood a pile of tea-wrappers, -tabulated and ticketed in exactly the same manner. Mr. and Mrs. -Pinchbeck had evidently a just cause of complaint against the grocers.</p> - -<p>I cannot possibly reveal the whole contents of the room. Had a local -auctioneer been called in to make a correct inventory, he would surely -have fled in despair. Every available square inch of the room was fully -occupied with strange objects. In one corner was a pile of nails—cut -nails and wrought nails, French nails and old "tenpenny" nails, barndoor -nails and dainty wire <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>nails—collected from the streets during -Jonathan's long life. They told the industrial history of those years, -and spoke eloquently of the improvement that had taken place even in -nail-making. They told, too, of the poor home-workers of Cradley Heath, -and of the women and children who had made them. Beside the nails was a -heap of screws—poor old blunted rusty things, made years before Mr. -Chamberlain introduced his improved pointed screws, lying mingled with -the Screws of present use, bright, slender, and genteel. Here was a heap -of shoe-tips, some of which had done duty forty years ago in protecting -the heels and toes of cumbrous boots that had stumbled and resounded on -the cobble-stone streets of those days. They, too, had a tale to tell, -for Blakey's protectors lay there mingled with old, heavy, rusty tips -that had protected "wooden shoon" in the days of long ago.</p> - -<p>Decidedly, Jonathan was a modern Autolycus, a "snapper-up of -unconsidered trifles." He had almost established a corner in hairpins. -There they were, six hundred thousand of them, neatly arranged in starch -boxes, nicely oiled to prevent rust, box after box of them, every box -weighed and counted, the whole lot weighing, so the descriptive paper -says, two and a half hundredweight: hairpins from St. James's and -Piccadilly—for Jonathan, when work was scarce, had on special occasions -searched with magnetic eye the El Dorado of the West—hairpins from the -narrow streets of the East; hairpins from suburban thoroughfares; -hairpins from the pavements of the City; old, massive hairpins that -would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> almost have tethered a goat; demure, slender hairpins that would -nestle snugly in the hair, and adapt themselves comfortably to the head; -hairpins plain and hairpins corrugated—there they lay.</p> - -<p>I was lost in wonder and imagination, and forgot the nasty cigar-ends in -picturing to myself the world of beauty that had worn and the delicate -hands that had adjusted those hairpins. But the hairpins were not alone -in their glory. Hatpins claimed attention, too. Cruel, fiendish things -they looked, as they lay closely packed in several boxes, with their -beaded ends and sharp, elongated points. I turned quickly from these, -for I knew only too well the fresh terror they added to life—especially -to a policeman's life. So I proceeded to examine the next -department—"babies' comforters"—with mingled feelings: two large boxes -full of them, horrible things!—ivory rings, bone rings, rubber rings, -and vulcanite rings, with their suction tubes attached, made to deceive -infant life, and to enable English babies to feed on air. Some day a -similar collection may form a valuable addition to a museum, -illustrating the fraud practised on babies in the twentieth century.</p> - -<p>I forgot the presence of poor asthmatical Mrs. Pinchbeck on her red -chair, for the shelves that were fixed on the walls attracted me. These -were heavily laden with glass jars and bottles of various sizes -containing specimens of bread, sugar, tea, coffee, butter, and cheese of -varying dates. "Bread, 1856, 10d. per loaf, Crimean War." "Tea, 1856, -4s. 6d. per pound." "Sugar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> (brown), 1856, 6d. per pound." So ran some -of the descriptions that were attached to the various jars. But I had to -leave the examination of these till another time, when still more -wonders were revealed, of which I must tell you later.</p> - -<p>Bidding Mrs. Pinchbeck "Good-afternoon," and promising her another -visit, I left her, for other suffering and troubled folk needed me. -Alas! that was the only time I saw the poor woman, for not much longer -was she able to rise from her bed, and in a few weeks there was a -strange funeral, at which Jonathan was chief mourner, and he was left -alone and friendless.</p> - -<p>Hard times followed; old age crept on. Failing health and lack of -nourishment combined to make Jonathan of less value in the labour -market, so by-and-by he faced starvation. But by no means did he give up -collecting; his useless stores grew and grew until he had no longer room -to store them. Then he sold his pile of nails for a few shillings; his -screws and tips followed suit, and some of the fruits of his industry -vanished.</p> - -<p>Sad to relate, a worse fate befell his cigar-ends, and the great triumph -of his life—his "monumental cross"—brought a second great sorrow into -the poor fellow's life. It occurred to him that he might obtain money by -exhibiting his work, so he hired a barrow, and, packing his crosses on -it, went into the streets to attract attention and collect coppers. He -secured plenty of attention, especially from boys, who made a "mark" of -the old man; ribald youth scoffed at him; policemen moved him on—but -the other "coppers" came not to him. The barrow cost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> one shilling per -week. A crisis had arrived; he must sell his tobacco. At eleven o'clock -one night I found him at my front door. There stood the barrow and the -tobacco. He wanted my advice about selling it. It was the only thing to -do. He had received notice to leave his room, and must look for a -smaller home at a less rental. The next day slowly and reluctantly -Jonathan pushed his barrow to Shoreditch. He had found a wholesale -tobacconist who might buy his tobacco at a price. "Bring it in," he -said, "and I will look at it." Jonathan took it in. Jonathan was taken -in, too. "Leave it here till to-morrow, and I will decide," said the -merchant. It was left, and Jonathan pushed an empty barrow on the return -journey. His room seemed empty that night; his wife was dead, and now -his monumental cross was gone. The next day he visited the tobacco -merchant, and found an officer of the Inland Revenue waiting for him. -The merchant had informed. Pinchbeck's tobacco was impounded, and he -himself was threatened with proceedings for attempting to sell tobacco -without holding a licence. In vain the poor old man protested; in vain -he argued and proved that his tobacco had paid duty, and that the State -had received its dues. His tobacco was detained, and Jonathan saw it no -more. Poor old Jonathan! How he cried over it! But the next day he -turned up at the police-court and asked for a summons against the Inland -Revenue for detaining his tobacco, and here again disappointment awaited -him, for the magistrate had no jurisdiction. It was a heavy blow to him; -his heart appeared to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> be broken, and all interest in life seemed to -have gone. I sympathized with him, and did my best to cheer him. He -moved to a smaller home, again parting with some of his museum. For a -brief time he struggled on, but he became ill.</p> - -<p>For some months he lay in the workhouse infirmary, alone and unfriended, -and I thought the streets of London would know his peering eyes no more. -But there was more vitality in the old man than I expected. One cold -winter's day, when the snow was falling, I met a melancholy procession -of sandwich-men on Stamford Hill, among whom was Jonathan. The wind -buffeted him, and his hands and his face were blue with cold. "I could -not stand it any longer; I should have died if I had not come out," he -told me when I asked as to his welfare. He gave me his address, and the -quaint old man and I were again on visiting terms. Where he had bestowed -his strange collection during his sojourn in the workhouse I never -ascertained, but the bulk of it was in his new home. His things had been -taken care of, he said, but no more. "How are you going to live?" "They -allow me three shillings and sixpence from 'the house,' and I must pick -up the rest." So he proceeded to pick up, for his health improved and -his collection grew; but he did not pick up much money. The spring came, -and Jonathan grew young again. One fine morning I met him, looking quite -fresh and debonair. "Why, Jonathan," I said, "I really did not know you. -How well and fresh you look!" "Yes, bless the Lord! He gives me strength -to walk." "I wonder why He does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> that?" I foolishly said; but I expected -the answer I got. "To find things that nobody else would find, and to -prove that teetotallers are fools," he said. "But, Jonathan, I am a -teetotaller." "I can't help that, can I? Look here, you can tell me how -many gallons of water there is in a barrel of beer, but you can't tell -me how much paper you bought when you thought you were buying tea and -sugar." I humbly admitted my ignorance, and asked him what he was -finding. "All sorts of things. Come in and see them when you are down my -way." I went again to his "palace of varieties," and saw a cross of -about eighteen inches high, standing in a neat wooden base, which was -painted a bright vermilion, and a smaller cross made of cigarette-ends -standing beside it. Pointing to the latter, he said: "That's to lie on -my breast when I am in my coffin, and that" (the bigger one) "is to lie -on my coffin when I'm buried. I don't want any wreaths." Small chance of -wreaths at a parish funeral when this, our dear brother, is -unceremoniously committed to the earth, I thought; but he was fearful -about his tobacco. "You won't tell, will you? Don't give the show away," -he said. I advised him not to offer the tobacco for sale this time. "Not -me; I'll die first," he promptly replied.</p> - -<p>His cigar and cigarette ends amounted to over thirty pounds in weight, -which he had pressed into various shapes. A strange piece of -architecture, with many turrets and towers, all shining like burnished -silver, claimed attention. "What have you here?" "Five hundred empty -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>milk-tins. I have saved them all. They have all been full. I always use -the 'Milkmaid' brand." "I suppose you alter your plan of your building -sometimes?" "Oh yes," he said; "I make cathedrals sometimes."</p> - -<p>Twenty-four flat cardboard boxes, with covers on, attracted me. "What -have you got in these boxes?" "Ah! I have got something to show you," -and he proceeded to take off the lids. One look dazzled me, for never in -my life had I seen such a weird combination of brilliant colours; the -old vermilion seemed quite pale and insipid in comparison. Blues, -greens, yellows, and pinks of every shade predominated; but almost every -other colour and shade of colour was represented, and their combined -effect was stupendous. Some of the boxes were full of little cubes, -others of narrow strips; some full of flat pieces about one inch square; -others with the same substance graduated in different sizes. "All -orange-peel, Mr. Holmes, picked up in the streets; all of it would have -been wasted but for me." "But what good is it now?" I asked. He looked -sadly at me, and said: "Good, good! Why, it shows what can be done." -Whether it was worth the doing did not concern him; but my question had -offended him, so I had to make peace. Half a crown soothed his wounded -feelings. I then asked him how he did it all. "Picked 'em up, flattened -'em, cut 'em up, and coloured 'em," was all I could get out of him. "Do -you know what's in these boxes?" producing four boxes of similar -pattern, and opening them. They contained small cubes of material, and -their colours,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> at any rate, were of modest hue. I confessed again my -ignorance. "Taste!" I was much alarmed, but I tasted. "Potatoes?" -"Right," he said. "That's how I save all my potatoes. They do to put in -my broth." "But how do you get them all to this size and colour?" I -asked. "That's my secret," he said. I asked him if he was saving "tops -and bottoms" now. "Only the new uns; I have made use of the old uns. -I'll show you." He went on his knees, and from a store under his bed he -produced several three-pound glass jars full of some brown meal, of -varying degrees of coarseness. "All good—all good food! Microbes can't -live in bread fifty years old. These are 'tops and bottoms.'" He had -broken up his old bread, pounded it with a hammer, put the crumbs -through different sized sieves, and stored the resulting material in -glass jars. "Beats Quaker Oats, Grape Nuts, and 'Sunny Jim,'" he said. -"I can stand a siege. I just boil some water, take two spoonfuls of -'Milkmaid,' two tablespoonfuls of 'tops and bottoms,' and I have good -milk porridge in three minutes. I have a pot of Bovril, too, and when I -want some soup, hot water, Bovril, and desiccated potatoes or -potato-powder give it to me. The old man is not such a fool as people -think!" But again he put me into a tight place. He wanted me to buy, or -find customers for, his granulated "tops and bottoms." He felt sure if -people only knew how good and nice the "food" was, they would buy it -readily.</p> - -<p>I had to change the subject, and asked him what was in the box over the -head of his bed, so securely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> attached to the wall. I was just going to -handle it when he sang out: "Don't touch it! don't touch it, or you'll -blow up the whole house!" "What is it?" "Explosives," he said. "I may -want them; I'm not going to the workhouse again." I did not touch them, -but got away as far as possible. Jonathan then produced an ordinary -medicine-bottle, about half full of some liquid. "That's the last bottle -the doctor ever sent my wife, and half of it was enough. I'm saving the -other half; I may require it. No workhouse or parish doctor for me." I -began to feel creepy; but the old man continued: "Lift that little -bucket out of the corner, and tell me what's in it." I lifted it, and -examined it, and said: "It is three parts full of charcoal, on the top -of which is a quantity of sulphur. There is a piece of candle fixed in -the sulphur and a box of matches attached to the handle of the bucket."</p> - -<p>"Right," he said. "When my food is gone, I may put that bucket beside my -bed, lock my door, light that candle, and lie down to sleep. I may do -that, or I may blow the show up, or I may take that half-bottle of -medicine. I haven't decided yet."</p> - -<p>There was no appearance of boasting or jesting about the old man; his -lips quivered, and he evidently meant what he said. But life has too -much interest for him at present, and so long as he can find things and -employ his strange talents in strange ways, Jonathan will not hasten his -end. But when the streets know him no more, when his fading eyesight and -his dwindling strength prevent him finding things, when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> feels his -dependence on others and can no longer burnish his milk-cans, then, and -not before then, Jonathan will make his choice, and he may light his -candle.</p> - -<p>But the end was not yet, neither did it come in catastrophic fashion. I -had not seen him for months, but, wishing to know how the old man was -getting on, I ran down to his little home to renew our acquaintance; but -he had disappeared, for the workhouse infirmary had received him.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Passing of Jonathan.</span></p> - -<p>Poor old Jonathan! The byways and thoroughfares of London know him no -longer. Hairpins lie in scattered profusion on our pavements East and -West, and babies' comforters may be seen in the mud and slime of our -gutters; but hairpins and comforters lie unheeded, for Jonathan has -passed.</p> - -<p>The peering eyes, the quaint face, the bent body, and the bulging -pockets of my old friend are now memories, for Jonathan has passed. Poor -old Jonathan! my heart goes out to him as I think of him in his new and -last earthly home—surely the saddest of all earthly homes—a lunatic -asylum; for I know that even there his heart is with his treasures, and -his poor brains are concerned about the mass of things he had been so -long in collecting, and the rubbish that he had so passionately loved. -Fifty long years ago he commenced his self-imposed task; fifty years, -with bent back and eyes on the ground, had he traversed thousands of -miles with wearied feet, but with a brave and expectant heart.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>Load after load he had carried home as he returned day after day to his -little hive, like a bee laden with honey. Who can estimate the amount of -interest and even pleasure he had experienced during those fifty years, -as he added little by little to his great store? Surely the joy that a -collector of curios experiences was no stranger to the heart of -Jonathan. And now the asylum! It is all too sad; we could wish it far -otherwise.</p> - -<p>But Jonathan has some compensations, for he lives in the past, and joys -in the knowledge of what he has accomplished; but he does not know the -cruel fate of his great collection, and surely it is to be wished that a -kindly Providence may preserve him from the knowledge, for such -knowledge would bring to him the greatest sorrow of his life. So in the -asylum Jonathan's heart is with his treasures; they still exist, and -their value is "beyond the price of rubies."</p> - -<p>Jonathan grew feebler. With increasing age sandwich-boards grew too -heavy for him, and the grasshopper became a burden when it was -discovered that kind friends, for charity's sake, supplemented the -miserable sum (three shillings and sixpence) allowed him weekly by the -"parish," and which served to pay his rent; and this discovery was -brought to the knowledge of the said "parish"; then the "parish," with -all the humanity it was capable of, stopped the allowance, and Jonathan -was left to his own exertions. So he got behind with his rent; his -worries increased; he got less food and of a poorer quality, and illness -came upon him. By-and-by the dreaded day arrived when the gates of a -great workhouse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> opened for him and closed upon him. Jonathan was -separated from his treasures. This was the unkindest cut of all, and it -proved too much for his tottering reason, and the infirmary ward of the -great workhouse was supplanted by a ward in a well-known pauper lunatic -asylum, where it is to be hoped that Jonathan's days will be few. The -old man had for many years been a great sufferer, and it has always been -a marvel to me how he went through his innumerable wanderings and tasks, -subject always to a great physical disability and intense pain.</p> - -<p>I have previously told my readers that Jonathan could not read or write: -his wonderful memory enabled him to dispense with those requirements; -but he could not forget, neither does he forget now, so his treasures -have acquired an added value. No fabled cave ever contained the riches -that his poor home contains. Day by day they increase in value, and he -lives in the certain hope that some portion may be sold, that the -"parish" may be repaid for the cost he imposed on it, and that some -friendly hand will knock at the door of the asylum, and some friendly -voice will cry, "Open, sesame," that he may come forth a free man to -join the residue of his quaint collection. And it is well, poor old -Jonathan! that thou shouldst live in this belief, and that thou shouldst -hug those delusions, for in thy case a false hope is better far than a -knowledge of the truth. Live on, then, quaint old man, long or short as -the days may be—live on in the world of thy own creating.</p> - -<p>But to my friends who may read this sketch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> of real life, the plain, -unvarnished truth is due. Jonathan's accumulation of treasures passed -into the fiery furnace of the local dust-destructor, and from thence -leapt into thin air or emerged as "clinkers." It sorely puzzled the -"parish," which had disposed of Jonathan, how to dispose of Jonathan's -effects, but it promptly annexed the vermilion chairs. The parish -labourers, not behind time, promptly annexed the tobacco, and the -"crosses," that were to lie "one on my breast inside the coffin and one -on the lid," disappeared, to be devoted, doubtless, to a less honourable -cause.</p> - -<p>But the hairpins that had nestled in the hair of many fair ladies no one -would look at; no scrap merchant would buy them; so into the fiery -furnace of the dust-destructor they went. Hatpins—instruments of -torture, weapons of offence or defence, that had added many a danger to -life—followed the hairpins. Babies' comforters—the fiery furnace -roared for them, and licked its hot lips as it sucked them in. Think of -it, mothers, who mock your children with such civilized productions! -"Tops and bottoms," hoary scalps of fifty years ago, "granulated tops -and bottoms," that drove "Sunny Jim" to despair, had scant -consideration. In they went, and the flames leapt higher and higher as -box after box of Jonathan's treasure fed them, till, "like the baseless -fabric of a vision," they dissolved, and "left not a wrack behind."</p> - -<p>But the "parish" looked suspiciously at and walked warily round the box -of explosives wherewith Jonathan had the means of "blowing up the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -blooming show." This was carefully deposited in a cistern of water -before it was carried off. But the fiery dragon at the dust-destructor -refused the "Milkmaid" milk-tins, and, alone in their glory, sole -representatives of Jonathan's power, they remained in Jonathan's room, -for even the dust-collector fought shy of them. Like pyramids they stood -as silent witnesses of the past. How they missed Jonathan! Their lustre -was tarnished; there was no friendly hand to polish them now; neither -was there any subtle brain to devise new styles of architecture for -them. Well had it been for the "Milkmaids" if they had suffered the -fiery fate of their many companions, for a far worse fate awaited them; -for when the nights were dark, and fogs deadened sound, Jonathan's old -landlady would steal craftily with an apron full of "Milkmaids," and -drop one in the gutter, throw others over the garden-walls, dispose of -some on pieces of unoccupied ground, till all were gone. The painter and -paperhanger were afterwards required in Jonathan's room.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIV</span> <span class="smaller">PEOPLE WHO HAVE "COME DOWN"</span></h2> - -<p>London's abyss contains a very mixed population. Naturally the "born -poor" predominate, of whom the larger portion are helpless and hopeless, -for environment and temperament are against them.</p> - -<p>Amongst these, but not of these, exists a strange medley of people who -have "come down" in life. Drunkenness, fast living, gambling, and -general rascality have hurried many educated men into the abyss; and -such fellows descend to depths of wickedness and uncleanliness that the -gross and ignorant poor cannot emulate, for nothing I have met in life -is quite so disgusting and appalling as the demoralized educated men -living in Inferno.</p> - -<p>Misfortune, sorrow, ill-health, loss of friends, position or money, and -ill-advised speculations, are often prime causes of "descent," producing -pitiful lives and strange characters; while others—sometimes women, -sometimes men—have been cursed by very small annuities, not sufficient -for living purposes, but quite sufficient to prevent them attempting any -honest labour. Often these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> are ashamed to work, but by no means ashamed -to beg. Clinging to the rags of their gentility, they exhibit open -contempt for the ignorant poor, who treat them with awesome respect, -because "they have come down in life."</p> - -<p>The postman brings them numerous letters—replies to their systematic -begging appeals—and not before a detective calls to make inquiries do -the poor question the <i>bona fides</i> of, or lose their respect for, "the -poor lady upstairs."</p> - -<p>Backboneless men and women in a moral sense are numerous in the abyss, -with no vices, but with virtues of a negative character. Possessing no -grit, no adaptability, no idea of making a fight for life, they appear -to think that because their parents were well-to-do, and they themselves -had "received" an education, it is somebody's business to keep them. -They are as sanguine as Mr. Micawber, always expecting something to -"turn up," but never proceeding to turn up anything on their own -account.</p> - -<p>Waiting, hoping, starving, they go down to premature death—if, indeed, -the workhouse infirmary does not swallow them alive.</p> - -<p>But what courage and endurance, what industry and self-respect others -exhibit, deprived by death or misfortune of the very means of existence, -brought face to face with absolute poverty! Men and women, precipitated -into the abyss through no fault of their own, shine resplendent in the -dark regions they have been forced to inhabit. Not soured by misfortune, -not despondent because of disappointment, hand in hand and heart to -heart, I have seen elderly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> couples living in one-roomed homes, joining -bravely in the great struggle for existence.</p> - -<p>Others are made bitter by their misfortune, and nurse a sense of their -grievances; they "keep themselves to themselves," and generally put on -airs and graces in any dealings they may have with their neighbours. -They quickly resent any approach to friendship; any kindness done to -them is received with freezing politeness, and any attempt to search out -the truth with regard to their antecedents is the signal for storm. -Personally, I have suffered much at the hands of scornful ladies "who -have come down." Sometimes I am afraid that my patience and my temper -have been exhausted when dealing with them, for such ladies require -careful handling.</p> - -<p>Experience is, however, a great teacher, and I learned at least to hear -myself with becoming humility when such ladies condescended to receive -at my hands any help that I might be able to give.</p> - -<p>"Do you know, sir, that you are speaking to an officer's daughter? How -dare you ask me for references! My word is surely good enough for a -Police-Court Missionary. You are a fitting representative of your -office. Please leave my room."</p> - -<p>I looked at her. She was over sixty, and there was the unmistakable air -about her that told of better days. She was starving in a little room -situated in a little court—not St. James's. She owed a month's rent to -people who were poor and ill, and who had two epileptics in the family; -and now their worries were increased by the loss of rent, and the -knowledge that they had a starving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> "lady" upstairs. She had brought -down to the abyss to keep her company a grandchild, a pretty boy of -seven. I sat still, and she continued: "I know I am poor, but still I -have some self-respect, and I will not be insulted. References, indeed!" -"Well, madam," I at length ventured to say, "you sought my help; I did -not seek you." "Yes; and I made a great mistake. Sir, are you going?" -"No, madam, I am not going at present, for I am going to pay the rent -you owe the poor, suffering people below. Shame on you! Have you no -thought for them? How are they to pay their rent if yours remains -unpaid? Please don't put on any airs, and don't insult me, or I will -have you and the child taken to the workhouse. Find me your rent-book."</p> - -<p>She sat down and cried. I called the child to me, and from my bag -produced some cake, fruit, and sweets, filling the child's pinafore. He -instantly began to eat, and running to the irate lady, said: "Look, -grandma, what the gentleman has given me! Have some—do have some, -grandma."</p> - -<p>That was oil on the fire.</p> - -<p>"I knew you were no gentleman; now I know that you are a coward. You -know that I cannot take them away from the child." I said: "I should be -ashamed of you if you had, and I should have left your room and never -re-entered it. See how the child is enjoying those grapes! Do have some -with him. Let us be friends. Bring your grandma some grapes." And as the -child came to her, I saw the light of love in her old eyes—that -wonderful love of a grandmother. The child's enjoyment of the food -conquered her: the child<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> "beguiled her, and she did eat"; but she -considered I had taken a mean advantage, and she never thoroughly -forgave me—never, though we became cool friends.</p> - -<p>I found the utmost difficulty in obtaining her confidence, although I -visited her many times, and removed her most pressing wants.</p> - -<p>She was always on heights to which I could not hope to attain, and she -treated me with becoming, but freezing, dignity. I wanted to be of -assistance to her, but she made my work difficult and my task thankless. -When I called upon her one day to pay a week's rent, etc., she said in a -lofty way: "Small assistance is of little use to me, but I can't expect -anything better from one in your position." I put up with the snub, and -humbly told her that it would be possible for me to do more if she would -condescend to give me the names and addresses of her friends.</p> - -<p>This bare suggestion was enough. She rose majestically, opened the room -door, and in a dramatic manner said, "Go!" I sat still, and examined -some needlework she was doing for a factory. Beautiful work it was—all -done by hand. I knew that she would not earn more than one penny per -hour, for her eyes were getting dim, and the room was not well lighted. -So I talked about her work and her pay. Many times since that day have I -been glad that I stayed on after that unceremonious "Go," for I learned -a lesson worth the knowing, for as I sat the postman's tap-tap was -heard, and the epileptic girl from below brought up a letter. "Excuse -me, sir, while I read this," she said. I, of course, bowed -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>acquiescence, and watched her while she read. I saw her tremulous -fingers and quivering face. Presently she sat down; the letter and a -ten-pound note dropped on the floor. For a moment she sat quite silent, -then the tears burst forth. She rose, picked up the letter and note, and -her eyes flashed as she cried: "Read that! read that! and then dare to -ask me for a reference." She threw the letter at me. It was from an old -servant of hers, who was a cook for a regimental officers' mess, getting -forty pounds a year. This is the letter:</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs.</span> ——,</p> - -<p>"Yesterday I received my quarter's salary, and I am sending it to -you, hoping that you will kindly receive it as a small -acknowledgment of your many kindnesses to me.</p> - -<p>"When I think of the happy days I spent in your service, of your -goodness to everyone in trouble, and of the beautiful home you have -lost, I cannot rest night or day. I wish I could send you a hundred -times as much, that I might really help you and the dear little -boy."</p></blockquote> - -<p>The letter was better than any testimonial; it was too much for me. -"Madam," I said, "I am very sorry that I hurt your feelings by -questioning you. That letter makes me ashamed. It more than answers any -questions I put to you. Will you kindly lend me the letter, that I may -show it to my friend?"</p> - -<p>She looked triumphant, and said that I might have the letter for a short -time. I sent the letter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> to ladies and gentlemen who had not "come -down." Some old friends were found who cheerfully subscribed a -sufficient sum to furnish a commodious boarding-house in a fashionable -watering-place, so she again had a beautiful home of her own. But she -was very "touchy," and I had no pleasant task in making arrangements. -She never gave me the least credit, and it always appeared that she was -conferring favours by allowing me the privilege of consulting her.</p> - -<p>However, the boarding-house was ready at last. She entered possession, -and with some help prepared to receive visitors. My wife, myself, and -some friends were her first "paying guests," paying, of course, the -usual charges. We spent a miserable three weeks. We were not of the -class she wanted and had been used to; she kept us in our places. I had -to speak to her, and treat her as a distinguished, but quite unknown, -lady. We were all glad when our time for leaving came; neither have we -paid her another visit.</p> - -<p>She was a remarkable woman, indomitable, industrious, and clever: -cooking, or managing a house, needlework, dressmaking, or anything -pertaining to woman's life, she was equal to; but her superiority was -too much for us all. We could not live up to it—the strain was too -great.</p> - -<p>She, however, did us a great honour the day previous to our leaving. As -a special favour, she invited us to take tea with her in the "boudoir." -The remembrance of that occasion remains with me through the years. She -prepared not only a nice little tea, with cream, knick-knacks, etc., but -the room was tastefully decorated, and she was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> suitably arrayed. Her -old silks and laces had been renovated, her old jewellery polished and -attended to; and at a definite time, after a formal invitation, we were -ushered into the "boudoir." She rose and gracefully bowed as we were -announced, and directed us to our seats. We had a stiff time of it. No -doubt it was good discipline for us all, for we realized more fully than -ever the inferiority of our birth, breeding, and manners.</p> - -<p>Poor woman! She never forgave us for knowing that she had been in the -"abyss," neither did she ever forgive me for helping her out. Our -acquaintance ended with that five o'clock tea in her "boudoir." She has -not written to me, neither have I inquired after her. Freely will I -forgive her all the snubs and insults she flung at me if she will "keep -her distance." She was a terror. One in a lifetime is quite sufficient -for me.</p> - -<p>Still, she was a good woman, and I can only suppose that privations and -disappointments had on the one side embittered her, and on the other had -developed a natural feeling until it became a craze, and the idea of -being a "lady" dominated her existence.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Some men, too, that have come down are by no means pleasant -companions—often the reverse. Several clergymen that I saw much of were -too terrible for words, so I pass them; but of one I must tell, for when -I called on him in the early afternoon, he was lying on a miserable bed, -unwashed, wearing a cassock. Penny packets of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> cigarettes—five for a -penny—were strongly in evidence. There being no chairs in the room, I -sat down upon an inverted packing-case.</p> - -<p>He rose from his bed, lit another cigarette, and asked me what I wanted. -I had previously spoken to his wife, and had made up my mind that she -was demented. I had seen a big-headed girl of seventeen, with a vacant -face and thick, slobbering lips, nursing and laughing over a little -doll. I had also spoken to a cunning-looking boy of fourteen. I had now -to speak to a demoralized clergyman.</p> - -<p>I felt that a horsewhip was needed more than the monetary help that I -was commissioned to offer from friends, on certain conditions being -complied with.</p> - -<p>He was a choice specimen of manhood: his reading seemed confined to -penny illustrated papers of a dubious kind, embellished with -questionable pictures. He no sooner learned that friends had empowered -me to act for them than his estimate of himself went up considerably. -His market value went up also.</p> - -<p>Thirty shillings per week was not enough; he was not to be bought at the -price. He must also have his wardrobe replenished. The Bishop must find -him a curacy. No, he would not leave London. Preaching to intelligent -people was his vocation. He was a Welshman, but London was good enough -for him. I sat on the box and listened; the vacant-faced girl with her -doll sat on another box in front of me; the clergyman in his cassock, -cigarette in his fingers while he talked, and in his lips when he was -silent, sat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> on the edge of the bed; and his demented wife stood by.</p> - -<p>Such was my introduction to the fellow, of whom I saw much during the -next three years; but every time I met him I became the more enamoured -of the horsewhip treatment.</p> - -<p>For three years he received more than generous help from friends of the -Church, who were anxious for his good, and more than anxious that no -scandal should come upon the Church they loved. It was all in vain, and -the last sight I had of him was in Tottenham, where I studiously avoided -him; but, nevertheless, I had opportunities of watching him. He stood -outside a public-house. He wore an old clerical coat, green and greasy; -his clerical collar was crumpled and dirty; his boots were old and -broken, and his trousers were frayed and torn. He had a rough stick in -his hand and an old cloth cap on his head. The cunning-looking boy has -been in the hands of the police for snatching a lady's purse, and the -imbecile girl, now a woman, continues to nurse her doll somewhere in -London's abyss; for the demented mother loves her afflicted child, and -only death will part them.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Artists are numerous among those who have "come down." I never meet a -poor fellow in London's streets carrying a picture wrapped in canvas -without experiencing feelings of deepest pity. One look at such a man -tells me whether his picture has been done to order, or whether he is -seeking, rather than hoping to find, a customer. The former goes briskly -enough to his destination,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> and though he will receive but little -payment from the picture-dealer, he sorely needs that little, and -hastens to get it.</p> - -<p>But the other poor fellow has no objective: he walks slowly and -aimlessly about; there is a wistful, shamefaced air about him. When he -arrives at a picture-dealer's, he enters with reluctance and timidity. -Sometimes broken-down men will hawk their pictures from door to door, -and will sell decent pictures, upon which they have spent much time and -labour, for a few shillings. Occasionally an alert policeman watches -them, and ultimately arrests them for hawking goods and not being in -possession of the necessary licence.</p> - -<p>A boy of fourteen who was hawking his father's pictures was arrested and -charged. The police had discovered that he did not hold a pedlar's -licence. The pictures were quite works of art, done on pieces of -cardboard about twelve inches square, some being original sketches; -others were copies of famous pictures. They were done in -black-and-white, and competent judges declared that the work was -exceedingly well done. The boy said his father was ill in bed, and had -sent him out to sell the pictures; his mother was dead, and his father -and himself lived together in Hackney.</p> - -<p>I went with the boy to their one room, and there, in a miserable street -and in a still more miserable room, lay the artist in bed. There was -nothing of any value in the room, excepting some pictures, and as I -entered I found him sitting up in bed at work upon another. They had no -money<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> at all, and that morning the boy had been sent out to try and -sell the pictures and bring back food and coals. The lad's mother had -died some years before, and the father and son were living together.</p> - -<p>The father had learned no other business, and at one time there was some -demand for his work, so he married. One can easily picture the life they -led—the gradual shadows, the disappointments that came upon the wife, -the hopeless struggle with poverty, the early death, and the misery of -the husband when the partner of his poverty was taken away. Now, partly -paralyzed in his legs, some days able to rise and dress himself and pay -an occasional call on the "trade," and to return home more hopeless, he -was glad to sell a picture for five shillings, unframed, that had cost -him much effort and time.</p> - -<p>I bought one of his pictures at a fair price, and saw that he had both -food and coals, for it was winter-time. I called on him frequently, and -did what I could to cheer him, and other friends bought his pictures. -But he gradually grew worse in health, until the gates of one of our -great infirmaries closed upon him, and the world saw him no more, and it -was left to me to make some suitable provision for the boy.</p> - -<p class="space-above">One Christmas Eve some years ago there was a cry of "Police! police!" In -a little upper room in North London an elderly man had been found in a -pool of blood; his throat had been cut, and as a razor lay beside him, -it was evident the injury was self-inflicted. It was a frightful gash,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> -but he was carried to a neighbouring hospital, where all the resources -of skill and science were at hand. In three months' time he was able to -stand in the dock, and evidence was given against him. He was -sixty-three years of age, had on a very old frock-coat that had been -originally blue, and an ancient fez that bore traces of silver braid. -When the evidence had been taken, and the magistrate was about to commit -him for trial, a singular-looking man stepped up, and said he was the -prisoner's brother, and that he would take care of him if his Worship -would discharge him. He said a friend had given his brother some drink, -and it was when under the influence of the drink that the prisoner had -tried to cut his own throat; that he himself was a teetotaller—and he -pointed triumphantly to a piece of blue ribbon on his very shabby -coat—and that he would take care that his brother had no more drink.</p> - -<p>The magistrate very kindly accepted him as surety, and asked me to visit -them, which I accordingly did, and found myself in very strange company. -Three brothers were living together: sixty-five, sixty-three, and sixty -were their ages. The one who had been charged was the middle brother, -and was an artist; the other two were quaint individuals: they had been -brought up in luxury, and now, being reduced to poverty, had not the -slightest idea of how to earn a shilling.</p> - -<p>The blue-ribbon brother was the youngest member of the family, and -though he drank cold water, he appeared to have a strong aversion to its -external use. He was of a religious turn of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> mind, and had he exercised -himself one-half as much about work as he did about religious subjects, -the catastrophe that had happened might have been avoided.</p> - -<p>The elder brother was in weak health, and walked with some difficulty. -The artist was certainly by far the best man of the three; still, they -all had an air of faded gentility. Briefly, they were the sons of a -well-known artist, who, many years ago, was a frequent exhibitor in the -Royal Academy, and whose frescoes adorn one of the royal palaces.</p> - -<p>After his death the three brothers and a sister lived together. Each was -left an income of about twenty-five pounds per annum, and the sister -managed their affairs. As long as she lived and the artist brother could -sell pictures, all went fairly well; but when she died the brothers were -left to struggle for themselves. Gradually their home went down—dirt -and discomfort ensued, fewer pictures were sold, and then one Christmas -the artist fell into my care. What a room it was, and how hopeless it -all seemed! I found the artist himself had exhibited in the Royal -Academy, and that he was undoubtedly a talented man. I found him as -simple as a child, and his two brothers as innocent as babes.</p> - -<p>I sold some of his pictures, and obtained orders for others; but I -discovered that, instead of the younger brother looking after the -artist, the artist had to look after the younger brother, and I also -found, to my cost, that, instead of having one unfortunate man to look -after, I had three of them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> on my hands. The elder brother sat reading -goody books hour after hour; the younger one went to his -prayer-meetings, but never brought a shilling home; while the artist -stuck to his work, when he had any to do, splendidly.</p> - -<p>One day I took counsel with the three of them, and we formed a committee -of ways and means. To the elder one I said: "What are you going to do to -bring a little grist to this mill?" In a sweetly simple manner, and -rubbing his hands, he said: "Oh, I read while Charles paints." To the -younger one I said: "What are you going to do to help the finances?" -"Oh," he said, "I'll write some texts of Scripture on cardboard, and you -can sell them for me." It was a quaint sight to see this band of -brothers go marketing, to buy their bits of meat, vegetables, etc. I -have watched them, too, at their culinary preparations, and noticed that -the artist himself washed the plates and dishes, and handled and cooked -the food.</p> - -<p>Their rooms are now larger, and in much better order. The paintings left -by their father are more visible, for the dust and dirt have been -removed. They are still living together, and the artist, without any -blue ribbon on his coat, is still working away, when he can secure -orders. They are quaint specimens of humanity, but I think much of them, -for they are kind-hearted and gentle to each other; there are no -heart-burnings and bickerings; poverty has not soured their -dispositions, and if times are sometimes hard, they make the best of -things, and hope that God will give them better days.</p> - -<p>None the less, my artist friend has to bear the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> brunt of it, and when -he sells a picture he is more than willing to share his means with his -helpless brothers.</p> - -<p>One picture I have of his conveys a striking lesson. It is founded upon -the old story of the Prodigal Son. A tall, gaunt, weary man, with his -sandals worn out, his staff by his side, and his gourd empty, sits upon -a piece of rock upon the hill-side looking down into the valley, where -he sees his father's house. He is debating within himself whether or not -he shall attempt to travel that last mile and reach his old home. The -old home looks inviting and the gardens pleasant, and he feels impelled -to go thither. Beside him is a huge cactus, and in a tree at the back of -him are two vultures waiting to pick his bones.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The failure of a popular financial scheme is often accompanied by -disastrous consequences to refined and elderly people.</p> - -<p>I have met many who, being ruined by the collapse of such investments, -were compelled to resort to that forlorn hope of distressed middle-aged -women—some branch of sewing-machine work done at home.</p> - -<p>The struggles they make in order to secure the pretence of an existence -are often heroic, and their endeavours to maintain an appearance of -respectability and comfort are great, almost passing belief.</p> - -<p>In the great world of London life and suffering no figures stand out -quite so vividly as they do, for no other class of individuals exhibit -quite the same qualities of endurance and pathetic heroism.</p> - -<p>On arriving home one Saturday I found two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> women, a mother and her -daughter, awaiting me, evidently in great distress. I had known them for -some years, and their struggles and difficulties were familiar to me. -The husband of the elder woman lay in their little home paralyzed and -ill. For years the girl and her mother had supported him and maintained -themselves by making children's costumes.</p> - -<p>He had been an accountant for many years with an old-established firm, -and had saved money, which he invested in the Liberator. Just when the -smash came their troubles were intensified by the death of his old -employer, and the consequent loss of his employment. A paralytic stroke -came upon him, and though he recovered somewhat, he became utterly unfit -for any kind of work. They received a little assistance from the -Liberator Relief Fund, and while this lasted mother and daughter gave -three months' service each, and were taught the children's costume -trade. A catastrophe had now overtaken them, hence their visit to me. -They had worked incessantly all the week in the hope of finishing some -work and getting it to the factory before twelve on Saturday. Friday -night found them behindhand. At two o'clock on Saturday morning mother -and daughter lay down on their beds without removing their clothes. At -five they rose again, and sat down to their machines.</p> - -<p>The hours passed, their task made progress, and at 11.30 they finished; -but the factory was far away—nearly an hour's ride on the tram-car. -Still, the younger one hurried with her bundle, only to find on arriving -that the factory was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> closed, and that no work would be taken in till -Tuesday morning. There was the rent to pay, the poor stock of provisions -to be obtained, some little comfort to be got for the father, who had -watched their brave but tragic struggle, and no money, after all.</p> - -<p>My wife set food before them, and they made a pitiful pretence of -eating. Their hearts were too full, though undoubtedly their stomachs -were empty.</p> - -<p>When I put a sovereign into the tremulous hand of the elder woman, they -both broke down, and went away weeping.</p> - -<p>A few weeks later the father died, and mother and daughter were left to -comfort and care for each other.</p> - -<p>Years have passed, and they still live and work together. Rising early -and retiring late, they manage to "live." But the mother is getting -feeble; her eyesight and powers for work are decaying. Never murmuring -or repining, the daughter bears the brunt of the battle. She works, -whilst her mother goes to and from the factory. And now—in June, -1908—another catastrophe has befallen them; for the feeble old woman -has slipped and fallen from the tram-car, and lies at home with a broken -arm and other injuries; but the daughter works for both.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Sometimes my experiences of women who have "come down" have been far -more unpleasant, as the following instance may serve to show:</p> - -<p>I received a letter from a titled lady asking me to inquire into the -case of two sisters who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> repeatedly appealed to her for help, and to -whose appeal she had several times responded. This lady recognized the -futility of sending a few pounds at intervals to two elderly women, of -whom she knew nothing excepting that their father had once built a house -for her. She knew, too, that their father had been in a large way of -business, employing five hundred men at one time. Her ladyship also -forwarded to me a letter she had received from the sisters, and asked me -to find out what could be done for them, promising that if I could -suggest anything reasonable, she would send me the necessary funds. -Their letter was of the usual begging-letter style, telling of their own -wrongs and poverty, and pleading for help on account of their dear -lamented father.</p> - -<p>Though their "dear lamented father" had been dead for twenty-nine years, -I called at the address given, and found it to be an old-clothes shop in -a very poor district. In the midst of old clothes and dirt I found the -landlady. No, she said, the sisters did not live there. Sometimes they -did a bit of needlework for her, and she allowed them to use her address -for postal purposes. "They had a letter this morning?" I said. "Yes, -there was one." "How many more?" "One only this morning." "Do they often -have letters?" "Sometimes." "How many do they receive a week?" "What is -that to you?" "Well, I come on behalf of a friend who wishes to help -them. The letter they received this morning was from her, and there was -money in it. How much did they give you this morning?" "Two shillings." -"They work for you:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> why should they give you money?" "I have been good -to them and lent them money; they owe me a good deal; but they have -expectations." "Did you know they had 'come down' in life?" "Oh yes, I -knew." "Now, tell me, where do they live?" "They are on the move." "What -do you mean by that?" "On the move—looking for a place." "Where did -they sleep last night?" "Somewhere close by." "Now, tell me truly as you -would a friend, what do you think about them?" "I think they are a pair -of unfortunate ladies. They have been robbed." "Would you help them if -you could?" "Certainly I would." "Shall you see them to-day?" "Oh yes; -they are sure to come in." So I gave her my address, and told her to ask -the sisters to call on me. Woe to me! I did foolishly, and had to suffer -for it. In the evening when I arrived home, one of the sisters was -waiting for me. She had been waiting some time, to the consternation of -my wife and the maid. The front door had no sooner been opened to her -imperative tap, than she marched in without any ceremony, smelling, I -was told, of the public-house and dirt. My wife said: "She is in the -drawing-room. I could not ask her in here: we were just having tea." I -found her without any difficulty. The evidence of my nose was enough. I -opened wide the window, and then looked at her, or it, or something! I -was just getting my breath, when, "Oh, you have heard from Lady ——, -and she is wanting to help me." I said: "Yes, and you have heard from -Lady ——. She sent you some money, and I see you have been spending -it." "What do you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> mean, sir? I will let you know that I am a lady." I -groaned and said: "You are letting me know it; I fully realize it." -"Look here, sir; attend to me. I am going to keep a butter and cheese -shop. I want twenty pounds to set me up. You must write to her ladyship -for it." "Very good, then." "Now I want to tell you about our troubles;" -and she did. It took me two good hours to get her safely outside the -front door, after which I gave positive orders to the whole household -that in future all business with this "lady" must be transacted on the -doorstep, with a half-closed door.</p> - -<p>She was a Welshwoman, and possessed a double amount of that nation's -eloquence. Those two hours I shall never forget. It took all the -diplomacy at my command to get her out; but she promised to come again -and bring her sister. I was terribly alarmed at the prospect, but did -not tell her not to come, for my courage failed me. However, she had -given me her address, which, unfortunately, was close by; so, finally, I -told her that, after hearing from Lady ——, I would call upon her and -give her whatever help was sent. She called every day for a week, and -every time she came my wife hid herself, and the servant was mindful of -my instructions about the door. Nevertheless, our house was attracting -some attention, for our respectable neighbours were alive to the -situation. I often wished she had made a mistake, like poor old -Cakebread did, and had gone to the wrong house; but I did not get even -that scrap of comfort. At length I sent a note to her, telling her that -I was going to call<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> on her at ten o'clock next morning. This I -accordingly did, and found that the sisters had obtained a room in the -house of a poor but very decent woman who had four young children. The -landlady let me in, and called to the sisters that a gentleman had come -to see them. "Tell him we are not quite ready to receive visitors," I -heard a familiar voice reply.</p> - -<p>The landlady asked me to step into her room. I did so, and she carefully -closed the door, and then burst out: "What can I do with them? How can I -get rid of them? We shall be ill." "Have they paid you any rent?" "No; I -won't take any. They gave me a shilling deposit before they moved in." -"Give it to them back, and tell them to go." "They won't take it, and -they won't go." "Tell your husband to put them out." "He won't touch -them, and he blames me for taking them in." "Why did you take them in?" -"We are poor; I am going to have another. I thought they were ladies who -had 'come down.' They gave me a letter from a lady to read. Whatever -shall we do?" "When did they come in?" "Just a week ago. They were drunk -the first night. One had a black eye!"</p> - -<p>In due time they were ready to receive visitors, and I went to their -room. I knew what to expect, but it was too much for me. Phew! They were -there, black eye and all. Half undressed, quite unwashed, a nice pair of -harridans; no furniture saving an old rusty bedstead, on which were some -rags. The thought of the poor woman below and her young children gave me -courage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> "I see how it is, you old sinners. Shame on you for forcing -yourselves into this poor woman's house! You are not fit to live -anywhere but in a pigsty. If you don't get out I will have the pair of -you carted to the workhouse. I will see that you get no more from Lady -——. If you don't get out pretty quick, I will myself put you out." One -of them came forward in a threatening attitude, saying: "I will let you -know that my father was your superior." I told them that I was glad I -never knew their father if he at all resembled them.</p> - -<p>I called the landlady, and told her to fetch a policeman, as they were -trespassers, and had no right in her room. But the landlady said, if -that was the case, her husband would put them out in the afternoon; it -being Saturday, he would be home early. Then the torrent of abuse began. -They rose to the occasion, and gave vent to their feelings, I am sorry -to say, in vulgar English. Had it been Welsh, it would not have -mattered, but slum English expressed with Welsh fervour was too much for -me. I left. I was, however, to have a still more striking proof of the -power that Welsh "ladies" have to express themselves in very vulgar -English, for the same evening, after having refreshed themselves, they -forced an entrance when my front door responded to their knock and ring. -Fortunately my wife was away. I was called to interview the two "ladies" -and the black eye. They were inside—there could be no mistake about -that; the door was closed, too. As soon as they saw me there was a -soprano and contralto duet. "What did you write to Lady<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> —— for? Do -you say we are dirty? Who told you we got drunk? Why did you come so -early? Ragged, are we? Help to have us put out, would you? You are a -nice Christian!" I brushed past them and opened the front door. "Fetch a -policeman, will you? We'll have the law for you, you scoundrel! robber! -thief!" I seized the one with the decorated eye, and out she went. In a -twinkling the other sister was after her, and before they realized it, -the front door was closed and bolted. Then the storm began, and for -thirty-five minutes they kept it up. Every choice expression known to -the blackguards of London tripped lightly but emphatically from their -tongues; sometimes in unison, sometimes in horrible discord, sometimes -singly, and sometimes together they kept it up. They ran through the -whole gamut of discordant notes—<i>fortissimo</i> generally, <i>piano</i> only -when breath failed. When quite exhausted, one took charge of the -knocker, the other of the bell, and instrumental music followed the -vocal. A good many of my respectable neighbours came to the concert, but -blushingly retired; they could not stand it. I knew very well that they -could not keep up the pace long; but it was the longest thirty-five -minutes I ever endured. When quite worn out and too hoarse to vocalize, -they retired, and our street resumed its normal respectability. But to -the valour of Wales they added the perseverance of women. After again -refreshing themselves, they returned to the poor woman they had "taken -in," and gave her a concert, much to her terror. Her husband called the -police, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> this only roused them. Ultimately they were taken into -custody for being drunk and disorderly, and, sad to relate, the -following Monday they were fined by the magistrate.</p> - -<p>I heard more bad language in that thirty-five minutes than I ever -listened to in a month, even in a police-court. I must have received -considerable mental and moral damage, and I really think that I ought to -receive some compensation from Lady ——.</p> - -<p>But, at all events, I hope that I have completed my experience of people -who have "come down."</p> - -<p class="center space-above">THE END</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">PRINTED BY<br />BILLING AND SONS, LIMITED,<br />GUILDFORD</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Known to the Police, by Thomas Holmes - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KNOWN TO THE POLICE *** - -***** This file should be named 55847-h.htm or 55847-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/8/4/55847/ - -Produced by MWS, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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