CHAPTER XLVII.

THE POOR OF LONDON.

BEYOND comparison London exceeds all other cities of Europe for the number of its poor, and the misery and suffering of those who individually make up the gross totals in work-houses, back slums, and miasmatic tenements.

One of the most interesting--if not the most curious and cheerful scenes in the metropolis--may be witnessed any day by a visit to the East London "Half-Penny Soup House," an institution established by good and merciful people, whereby the poor little castaways and waifs of the city are provided with a dish of soup, a piece of meat, and a small loaf of bread, once in each twenty-four hours.

The children are gathered from the promiscuous juvenile assemblages that may be, at any time, found in the London streets, and are taken to the Soup House where large and steaming dishes of soup are given them, by charitable ladies, after which they are dismissed until the next twenty-four hours have elapsed, when again they assemble to partake of the same plentiful and grateful food. This nourishment costs but a half-penny per head, all the attendance and time being given gratuitously by the good ladies who seek the little ones for their own merciful purpose.

The struggles of the London poor to keep soul and body together, are very wonderful to understand or relate. Out of every five poor families in London--it is known that at least three are compelled, between Easter and Christmas, to denude their households of all the most necessary articles of clothing and furniture, to take them to the pawnbroker's shops in order that bread and meat may be procured for their little ones. And what terrible scenes are witnessed in these pawnbroker's shops, on Saturday nights when the goods are reclaimed by dint of economy and hard scraping? None but God, the police, and the pawnbroker, ever see such struggles.

One day I paid a visit to the Workhouse of St. Martin's, in the Fields, which is not far distant from Trafalgar square. This workhouse looks like a vast prison, stern, gloomy, and frowning, in the very busiest quarter of the city. Opposite to its entrance was the barracks of some regiment of infantry, and round the doors, were talking and smoking, half-a-dozen of long-legged and slim-waisted private soldiers, in red shell jackets, whose chief occupation seemed to be that of switching their manly calves with slender rods which they jauntily carried in their hands.

[Sidenote: THE MASTER OF THE WORKHOUSE.]

The workhouse door was shown to me by a squad of small boys who were at play in the adjoining gutters, clad in a pauper's uniform of blue, and on whose heads were dirty but comfortable caps of plaid pilot cloth.

"Yes, master, there is the Workus, over yander. Will ye give us a penny? We are all Workus," said they in chorus.

I entered the low entrance and stood in a small vestibule, where stood a shelf, or stand, upon which was placed an open blank or visitors' book, in which each caller was to inscribe his name and residence, together with his object for visiting the workhouse. On the opposite page were blank spaces, on which an attendant entered the hours when a visitor called and when he left the institution.

A miserable, worm-eaten looking old man, devoid of teeth, and shambling in his gait, a perfect wreck, shuffled up to me with a deprecating look in his eye, as if he were asking pardon for being alive. Heavens! how the iron of poverty, and the bitterness of dependence, must have eaten away that poor wretch's soul before such enduring lines of degradation could have been impressed on his features.

This old pauper was detailed to wait upon the visitors, and to see that their names were inscribed, with the warning that he should not attempt to ask for or receive any gratuity.

He faintly said in a childish voice:

"What can I do for you, Sir? Do you wish to see the Workus? Ah, yes, of course, a goodish bit of people comes to see the poor paupers, now and then, but we are never allowed to take anything, Sir. No never, never. Poor paupers, poor paupers," and so he mumbled away until the Master of the workhouse was announced by his footsteps that came in echoes as I sat in the little, poverty-stricken ante-room.

To the Master, who is the supreme authority in the workhouse, under the direction of the Board of Guardians of the parish, I explained my motives for visiting the paupers' residence, and he welcomed me with much politeness, offering me every facility to inspect the place. He was a medium sized man, of middle age, plainly dressed, and after having issued orders to several of the inmates of the establishment he prepared to accompany me through the premises. Here and there, in the walks and corridors, and courts of the workhouse, we met with an occasional pauper, the males in a grey, rough, shoddy uniform, and the women in check or plaid gowns, of a coarse cotton material, and wearing caps of a faded whiteness upon their heads.

They all had a vacant, listless look, and seemed lost in astonishment to see a stranger with the Master, to whom they made the most servile of salutations.

I had seen, in my travels on the English railways, when I sought the not very wholesome refuge of the third class carriages to study character--just such poor, faded-looking people, among the families journeying wearily to their various destinations, as these poor old relics, who were now clustering around the workhouse tea tables. Oh, God! how lonely they looked, and distant from all human kind. The same wan, woe-begone faces, but more quiet and reserved than those I saw in the close railway cars devoted to poor people.

Smoking is a common thing in these crowded and close carriages, and delicate women, and puny, weak children, are forced to travel for hundreds of miles in these cattle boxes--I cannot call them aught else--until they are sometimes known to vomit from the bad air and worse stenches.

Making inquiries of this gentleman as I went through the buildings, I may as well give his explanations of workhouse life, and of the condition of the poor and destitute of London. I freely admitted to him that I had heard very strange stories in regard to the treatment, food, and medical attendance of the paupers in the Unions, and that I would be obliged to him if he could clear up my reasonable doubts on many points.

[Sidenote: SUGAR AND TEA.]

In answer to one of these doubts the Master took me into a large, long and clean-looking room, in which were about forty female paupers. These women were engaged in getting supper for themselves, and were all above middle age, and haggard-looking.

"Now, Sir," said he to me, "you, of course, can see something of which you speak, for yourself. Here is one of the busy wards of the Union. Each of these old women is allowed an ounce of dry tea per day, and enough sugar to moderately sweeten four cups of tea, which they make in their own tea-caddies, or, sometimes they mess together--three or four in a mess--and those who do not care for sugar will trade their surplus sugar for the surplus dry tea with some other paupers."

All the women arose from their low seats or benches, some of them being clustered around a grate in which were a moderate stock of burning coals, and bowed to the Master, who waved his hand and told them to sit down again, which they did with courtesies and many feeble expressions of thanks.

"That old woman over there in the corner," said the Master, pointing to a female of sixty years of age, who sat alone rubbing her bare arms, and chatting to herself senselessly, "has lost her wits. She is here forty-five years, and will die here in all probability. We have about 400 in-door paupers in this workhouse, and perhaps twice as many out-door poor, whom the parochial authorities assist as well as they can. Every pauper whom we support in this house costs the rate-payers of this parish about seventeen pounds six and ten-pence per head, which does not include charge for rent, taking the interest of the value of the property. For the children we have a school, and they get the rudiments and that's all. It is an idea with some, and I am afraid, with many poor people, "once a pauper always a pauper." The children who are born in this place, would never become independent of the parish if it were not that as soon as they grow up we send them to schools of an industrial kind outside of London, where they learn a trade, or are taught some occupation, such as gardening, blacksmithing, carpentering, or, in fact, anything that will enable them to make a living. The feeding and schooling of the children, with the nursing, &c., costs more per head for them, strange to say, than it does for a grown person's subsistence and clothing in London.

[Sidenote: WORKHOUSE RATIONS.]

"In this parish alone we have to take care of 478 children, and in some of the London parishes in Bethnal Green, and Hackney, or Stepney, they sometimes have to provide for from 1,500 to 2,000 children, of both sexes. Of course, in the very large parishes they cannot afford to educate the children, but have to content themselves with feeding and clothing as many as they can inside the workhouse, while the majority receive, with their parents, out-door relief, but the large and heavy parishes could not afford to have such fine schools as we have in the suburbs, with grounds attached, and sometimes goodish pieces of land, where farming and gardening can be taught the children. It costs the rate-payers of this parish twenty pounds a year to support and educate the parish children, and, along with all the rest of the taxes, it is no wonder that the people are grumbling and asking why we do not send the beggars to America or Australia."

"And why do you not?" said I to him, "if the sustenance of a pauper, together with his clothing, costs the parish £21 annually."

"Because, the people of London have an idea somehow or other, that the Americans will not receive paupers, and then again, if £21 was given to a pauper to go to America, they would raise a row in Parliament that too much money was going out of the country. Why," said he, "down at Birkenhead, near Liverpool, schools were built for paupers at a cost of £15,000, with bath-rooms and fine dining-rooms, and the people there raised an awful row because the cost to the rate-payers came to ten shillings per head per annum to every inhabitant in the place. They didn't want to give them bath-rooms or fine dining-rooms. They turned a man away there who was frozen, and he had to lose all of his toes on account of their neglect. In some of the work-houses, in the North of England, they are beginning to let the children out to board by the week, with farmers and families who can afford to take them, the parish authorities allowing, for each child, three shillings per week for board, with an outfit on leaving the workhouse, and six shillings and sixpence a quarter for mending and repairing their clothes, an offer which has been very cheerfully accepted by many families who are in decent circumstances."

"A 'Casual,'" said the Master, "is a pauper who is house-less and destitute in a different parish from which he has lived. When he finds himself in a strange place, as in London, he has to apply at the Police Station for a ticket, which is given him as a reference to ask for one night's lodging at the workhouse in the district. The ticket is shown to the Master, who receives him, and I will send him down here, but before he is sent down he gets a loaf of bread, weighing a pound and a quarter. He must apply to the House for lodgings before ten o'clock at night, or we will not let him in. Then he takes the loaf of bread and eats half of it for his supper, and the other half he saves for his breakfast. We give him, with the remaining half loaf of bread in the morning, a half pint of coffee or tea. But before he goes he has got to earn the breakfast which we give him, and is compelled to pick oakum from six o'clock in the morning until nine, when he leaves the House."

Before I left the workhouse the Master allowed me to inspect the beef, bread, butter, and beer, which are served out daily to the paupers. Each grown man and woman receives a twelve ounce loaf of bread, a pint of the best beer, an ounce of butter, daily, and five days in the week they receive six ounces of fresh meat, the other days being especially devoted to beans, and a liquid compound known to seafaring men as "skillagelee."

BELKNAP & BLISS,

OF

HARTFORD, CONN.,

Are engaged in the Publication of

VALUABLE STANDARD WORKS,

SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION.

Old Agents, and all others who want the Best and most Popular Books, and the Best Paying Agencies, will please send for their Circulars, which are sent free, and give full particulars.

THE EXPOSÉ:

OR,

MORMONS AND MORMONISM.

Giving its Rise, Progress, and Present Condition, with the Narration of

Mrs. MARY ETTIE V. SMITH,

a Sister of one of the High Priests--of her residence and experience for _Fifteen Years_ among them, with a full, graphic, and authentic account of their Social Condition, their Religious Doctrines, and Political Government. It is a full and truthful disclosure of the Rites, Ceremonies, and Mysteries of Polygamy, with facts and statements truly startling; and also contains the speech recently delivered before the Elders in Utah, by Vice-President Colfax, and the reply of John Taylor.

It is an Illustrated 12mo Volume, and sold only by subscription at the following prices:

Bound in Fine Cloth, $2.00 " " Leather, Library Style, 2.50 " " extra Half Morocco, 3.00

_Agents Wanted._ Apply to

BELKNAP & BLISS, HARTFORD, CONN.

PICTORIAL

History of the United States.

IN

ONE ROYAL OCTAVO VOLUME OF ABOUT EIGHT HUNDRED PAGES,

AND CONTAINING

Four Hundred Engravings on Wood, besides Twelve Full Page Steel Engravings.

By BENSON J. LOSSING.

In this single volume may be found a record of every important event, from the discovery of the country to the present time, including short biographical sketches of all the distinguished men who have figured in its history. Every family should possess it. Prices as follows:

In Embossed Cloth, $5.00 In Leather, Library Style, 5.50 In Half Turkey Morocco, 6.00

LIVES OF CELEBRATED AMERICANS.

COMPRISING

Biographies of Three Hundred and Forty Eminent Persons

AND

ILLUSTRATED WITH OVER ONE HUNDRED FINE PORTRAITS.

By BENSON J. LOSSING.

Sold only by subscription, at the following prices:

In Cloth Binding, $2.50 In Leather, Library Style, 3.00

_AGENTS WANTED._ Apply to

BELKNAP & BLISS, HARTFORD, CONN.

LOSSING'S PICTORIAL HISTORY

OF

THE GREAT CIVIL WAR.

Three Imperial Octavo Volumes,

OF OVER 600 PAGES EACH, EMBELLISHED BY

MORE THAN 1,200 ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD, and 100 PORTRAITS OF UNION GENERALS, ENGRAVED ON STEEL.

By BENSON J. LOSSING,

Author of "Field Book of the Revolution," "Eminent Americans," "History of the United States," etc.

The work is very valuable, being a full and perfect pen and pencil picture of the Great Rebellion, and illustrates everything capable of delineation by the pencil and graver.

Sold only by subscription, at the following prices:

Embossed Cloth, per Vol., $5.00 Leather, Library Style, " 6.00 Arabesque Morocco, " 6.00 Half Calf, " 7.50

_Agents Wanted._ Apply to

BELKNAP & BLISS, Hartford, Conn.

DICTIONARY

OF THE

U.S. Congress and General Government,

Compiled as a Book of Reference for the American People.

By CHARLES LANMAN.

This volume contains about Five Thousand Biographies, as well as a large amount of official information connected with the General Government not to be found in any other publication. As a book of Reference it is invaluable. Sold only by subscription at the following prices:

In Cloth Binding, $4.00 In Library Sheep, 4.50 In Half Turkey Morocco 5.00

_Agents Wanted._ Apply to

BELKNAP & BLISS, Hartford, Conn.