Part 9

In London, owing to the numerous restrictions imposed upon employers, there are only a comparatively small number of children working in factories. Girls of thirteen and upward are employed in confectionery, collar, jam, and match and other factories where skilled labour is not required, whilst small boys are principally found at rope works, foundries, and paper-mills, where their chief business is to attend to the machinery. It is almost impossible to mistake the factory-girl, and even at a glance one notes certain characteristics which distinguish her from her sister workers. Contrast her, for instance, with the theatre child out of Drury-lane. The little actress may be as poor as the Mile-end factory-girl, but in nine cases out of ten she will be very neatly clad, with spotless petticoats and well-made boots and stockings. If you watch her, you will notice she walks gracefully, and instinctively assumes, whenever she can, a picturesque and taking attitude. The little factory-girl is decently enough attired so far as her frock is concerned, but she, or her mother, cares nothing about her boots, which are invariably cheap and untidy, whilst any superfluous coin is devoted to the adornment of her hat, an article of great importance amongst factory-girls--young as well as old. But a still more characteristic feature, which, so far as I know, is peculiar to factory-girls, is their curious method of walking, which is carefully cultivated and imitated by the young ones. It is a sort of side "swing" of the skirts, and has one of the ugliest effects that can be produced, especially when executed by half a dozen young ladies walking abreast on the pavement.

At Messrs. Allen's chocolate and sweet factories, in Mile-end, some two hundred women and girls are employed. Referring to the strike, I asked a highly respectable, intelligent-looking girl why she joined it:

"Well, I don't hardly know," was the candid reply. "It was all done in a rush, and the other girls asked me to come out."

This girl was earning, by the bye, 17s. a week.

The quite young girls are principally employed in packing chocolate into boxes, covering it with silver paper, which operation they perform with great dexterity, labelling, and other easy work of this nature. The rooms are large and well ventilated, and each department is under the care of a forewoman, who not only keeps a sharp look-out on the work, but exercises what control she can over behaviour and conversation. The discipline did not strike me as particularly severe, considering that the girls left their work _en masse_, as soon as one of their number had announced, referring to the artist, "She's takin' Em'ly's likeness." The hours, from 8 to 7, are certainly too long for girls in delicate health; but the work itself is light, and a capital dining-room is provided on the premises, where the girls can cook their dinners and make themselves tea. Nor are the prospects at all bad. Here is Alice C----, a girl of fourteen, the daughter of a flower carman, not always in work. She is a packer, and gets 6s. a week, which she hands over to her mother. She says she likes doing things with her hands, and would not like to be in service, as then she wouldn't have her Sundays to herself. If she stays on at Messrs. Allen's, her wages will be steadily raised to 18s. a week; and, if she ultimately becomes a piece-worker, she may make as much as 24s. or 25s. a week. Considering that a good many educated women are teaching in High Schools for salaries of £65 per annum, this is surely not bad.

Of course all factories are not as well managed as these chocolate works, and where the hardship comes in is where hands are turned off at certain periods of the year, or when the work itself, like match-making, is injurious to health.

Still more unfortunate is the lot of some of the little girl workers who assist their mothers at home in tailoring, button-holing, and dolls'-clothes making. The united work of mother and child yields only a wretched pittance, and, carried on as it is in a room where sleeping, eating, and living go on, is, of all forms of labour, the saddest and most unhealthy. Meals consist of bread and tea, and work is prolonged till midnight by the light of one candle, with the consequence that the children are prematurely aged and diseased. This is the most painful kind of child-labour that I have come across, and would be unbearable, if it were not ennobled by the touching affection that almost invariably exists between the worn-out mother and her old-woman-wise little daughter.

The lot of the child-vender in the streets would be almost as hard, if it were not, at any rate, healthier. Terrible as are the extremes of weather to which the little flower-girl or newspaper boy is exposed, the life is in the open air, and a hundred times preferable, even if it results in death from exposure, to existence in a foul-smelling garret where consumption works its deadly way slowly. Children find an endless variety of ways of earning a living in the streets. There are the boot-black boys, who form a useful portion of the community; newspaper boys, of whom the better sort are careful little capitalists, with an immense fund of intelligence and commercial instinct; "job chaps," who hang about railway stations on the chance of earning a few pence in carrying bags; flower-girls, match-girls, crossing-sweepers, who can make a fair living, if they are industrious; and lastly, although this enumeration by no means exhausts the list--street prodigies, such as pavement painters and musicians. All Londoners must be familiar with the figure of little Master Sorine, who sits perched up on a high stool diligently painting away at a marine-scape in highly coloured chalks.

This clever little artist of eleven is the principal support of his parents, who do a little in the waste-paper line when there is anything to be done. As a rule, Master Sorine is _finishing_ his marine picture or landscape when I pass by, so that I have not had an opportunity of judging of his real ability; but his mother, who keeps guard over him, assures me that he can draw "anything he has seen"--an assertion which I shall one day test. The little fellow is kept warm by a pan of hot charcoal under his seat, which would seem to suggest rather an unequal distribution of heat. However, he seems to think it is "all right." His artistic efforts are so much appreciated by the multitude that on a "good day" he earns no less than 9s. or 10s., which mounts up to a respectable income, as he "draws in public" three days a week. Master Sorine, however, is exceptionally fortunate, and indeed there is something particularly taking about his little stool, and his little cap, and the business-like air with which he pursues his art studies. Nothing can be said in praise of such "loafing" forms of earning a livelihood as flower-selling, when the unhappy little vender has nothing but a few dead flowers to cover her begging; or of "sweeping," when the "crossing" of the young gentleman of the broom is often dirtier than the surrounding country. Now and again one comes across industrious, prosperous sweepers, who evince a remarkable amount of acuteness and intelligence. It may have been chance, but each of the three crossing-sweepers I questioned were "unattached," disdained anything in the way of families, and declined to name their residences on the ground that they were "jes' thinkin' o' movin'." This is a very precarious method of earning a livelihood, and is generally supplemented by running errands and hopping in summer. In a wealthy neighbourhood, frequented by several members of Parliament, who were regular customers, a very diligent young sweeper told me he made on an average in winter 2s. 6d. a week; but he added contemptuously: "Business ain't what it used to be. Neighbour'ood's goin' down, depend on it. I'm thinkin' of turnin' it up." This young gentleman supplemented _his_ income by successful racing speculations, obtaining his information about "tips" from his good-natured clients. It seems sad to think how much good material is lost in these smart street boys, whose ability and intelligence could surely be turned to better account. The most satisfactory point--and one which no unprejudiced person can fail to recognise--in connection with the subject of child-labour is that healthy children do not feel it a hardship to work; and that, therefore, considering, in addition, how materially their earnings add to their own comfort, all legislation in the direction of restriction and prohibition ought to be very carefully considered.

I must express my best thanks to Mr. Redgrave, of the Home Office, for his help in obtaining entrance to factories, and to Mr. Hugh Didcott, the well-known theatrical agent, for his kind services in the matter of acrobats.

_Portraits of Celebrities at different times of their Lives._

WILSON BARRETT.

BORN 1846.

MR. WILSON BARRETT, who is the son of a gentleman who farmed his own estate in Essex, received his education at a private school. During his school-days, at the age of thirteen, he one night spent his only sixpence in visiting the gallery of the Princess's Theatre, where Charles Kean was playing _Hamlet_; and he has himself described how he was therewith fired with two ambitions--to play _Hamlet_, and to marry Miss Heath, a charming actress who was appearing in the piece--and how he afterwards achieved both objects. His first appearance as the Prince of Denmark took place in 1884, on the very stage on which he had first seen the character performed. At twenty-two, the age of our first portrait, Mr. Wilson Barrett was studying his art in that great school for actors--the provincial stage. At the present day, as represented in our second portrait, his fine features are well known to every playgoer, as equally adapted to the picturesque melancholy of the _Silver King_, the classical countenance of _Claudian_, or the boyish and pathetic beauty of the _Chatterton_ of seventeen.

For these portraits we are indebted to the kindness of Mr. Wilson Barrett.

SIR PROVO WALLIS.

BORN 1791.

SIR PROVO WILLIAM PARRY WALLIS, R.N., G.C.B., Senior Admiral of the Fleet, was a hundred years of age on the 12th of last month. Sir Provo, now the oldest naval officer alive, was born at Halifax, in Nova Scotia. At thirteen he fought his first engagement, at seventeen was made lieutenant, and went through several fierce encounters with the French. At twenty-two, the age at which our first portrait shows him, he was second lieutenant of the _Shannon_ on the famous day when that gallant vessel was challenged by the American frigate _Chesapeake_. The ships met; a desperate fight ensued; the captain of the _Shannon_ was disabled, and Lieutenant Wallis was called upon to take command, both of his own ship and of the captured enemy. For his gallantry on this occasion he was made commander. Subsequently he rose to be vice-admiral, admiral, and admiral of the fleet. It is the rule for admirals to retire from active service at the age of seventy; but Sir Provo enjoys the unique honour, which he owes entirely to his reputation as a gallant warrior, of having been retained, by a special Order in Council, on the active list for life. Sir Provo now resides at the village of Funtington, near Chichester, where his striking face and figure, as represented in our second portrait, are familiar to every inhabitant of the place.

For the first of the above portraits we are indebted to the courtesy of Messrs. Brock, of Sydenham.

GEORGE R. SIMS.

BORN 1847.

Our first two portraits represent Mr. George R. Sims before he had become famous, though at sixteen he was already a keen observer of life and character. At twenty-four he was writing for several magazines and papers, and six years later he became a member of the staff of _The Referee_, under the now celebrated _nom de plume_ of "Dagonet." His first play, "Crutch and Toothpick," was produced in 1879 with great success. Then came, in 1881, "The Lights o' London"--a play which has now been running for ten years.

MR. B. L. FARJEON.

At the age of 17, as he is represented in our first portrait, Mr. Farjeon was already an author, but unknown to fame, his productions, including a full-blown tragedy, "Hakem, the Slave," written when he was 14, being buried in a nest of three drawers by his bedside, which he kept always securely locked. When he was 30, at which age he is represented in our second portrait, he made, with remarkable success, his first essay, a Christmas story, "Shadows on the Snow," which was published in New Zealand, but afterwards, re-written and enlarged, in England. He followed this up with "Grif," and the success of this story and a letter he received from Charles Dickens determined his future career. His third portrait represents him shortly before his marriage with the daughter of Joseph Jefferson. It was after this union that he opened up a new vein by writing his finest novel, "Great Porter Square." Perhaps no living author has a stronger hold upon the public.

HERR JOACHIM.

BORN 1831.

Joseph Joachim was born of Jewish parents at Kitsee, a small town near Presburg, Hungary, and while very young entered the Conservatory of Music at Vienna, where he studied under the celebrated teacher, Joseph Böhm. He was only twelve years old when his master declared that, as a violinist, he had nothing more to learn, and he appeared before a public audience at Leipzig with a success which placed his future great career beyond a doubt. He, however, studied with the utmost assiduity under the direction of Ferdinand David. At thirty-two, the age in which he is depicted in the first of our two portraits, he was Director of the Royal Concert-hall at Hanover, and was about to marry Amelia Weiss, one of the leading singers of her time, and then chief contralto at the Royal Opera in Hanover. He had already visited most of the European capitals, and was well known in London, then as now, for the extraordinary technical ability and mastery of his instrument which, combined with the feeling and the insight of a born musician, render him probably the greatest violinist who has ever lived, not even excepting Paganini.

ARTHUR W. PINERO.

BORN 1855.

The first portrait of Mr. Pinero shows him at the age of seven. The second portrait, taken at nineteen, marks an era in his life, for it was in that year he became an actor. At twenty-three he began, as he describes it, "to write little plays." His fourth portrait was taken in 1890, long before which he had firmly established his position as one of the few leading dramatists of the age.

HENRY A. JONES.

BORN 1851.

Mr. Henry Arthur Jones is the son of a Buckinghamshire farmer, and was born at Granbrough. At fourteen he had just left school, and entered commercial life at Ramsgate. Strangely enough, Mr. Jones was never in a theatre till he was eighteen. At the age of nineteen he wrote his first play, which has never been acted. Indeed, Mr. Jones was twenty-eight when he made his first bow as a playwright, with "A Clerical Error," at the Court. Then he rose rapidly, and within three years he had earned both fame and fortune by "The Silver King," the production of which marks the date of our third photograph. The subsequent work of Mr. Jones is too well known to need mention here.

MISS

MARY RORKE.

At the age of six, the age at which she is represented in our first portrait, Miss Mary Rorke had not yet made her appearance on the stage, but at eight she played _Sybil_ in "A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing" with an amateur company--which was the _rôle_, as the readers of our last number will remember, in which little Miss Marion Terry first appeared before the public, and in which Miss Mary Rorke was equally successful. At eighteen, at which age our second portrait represents her, Miss Rorke was appearing on the London stage as _Galatea_--the character which has been associated with the names of so many fascinating actresses on their first appearance, and in which, of all others, grace, beauty, and intelligence such as Miss Mary Rorke's tell most effectively. Mrs. Frank St. Aubyn, which is Miss Rorke's married name, has since become well known and popular at many theatres and in many parts.

We are indebted to the kindness of Miss Mary Rorke for permission to reproduce the above interesting series of portraits.

_Humours of the Post Office._

WITH FACSIMILES.

Many a pictorial curiosity passes through the post; and the industrious letter-sorter is often bewildered as to where to despatch missives, the envelopes of which bear hieroglyphics which would positively out-Egypt Egypt. Through the courtesy of Sir Arthur Blackwood, we are in a position to reproduce in these pages--for the first time in any publication--a number of these postal puzzles and pictures--the pictures, in many instances, being as clever as they are humorous.

Immediately such curiosities reach St. Martin's-le-Grand, they are passed on to a number of young men talented in the use of pencil and brush, who make rapid copies of them, the fac-similes being pasted in one of the three great "Scrap Books" used entirely for this purpose. We are assured by the authorities that there is no delay occasioned by this, and in every instance the letters temporarily under the care of the Post Office artists catch the post for which they are intended. Some slight delay may possibly be occasioned by the "puzzles"; but, when our readers have glanced over one or two specimens, they will unhesitatingly say that it is a big plume in the cap of the Post Office that they ever reached their destination at all.

All sorts and conditions of men are represented in the leaves of these scrap books. Her Majesty's Private Secretary finds himself addressed as--

"Sur Genarell Pansebe our Queens Privet Pus Keeper Bucom Palacs."

A seafaring man evidently expected at the Sailors' Home is addressed, "Walstrets, Selorshom Tebiekald for"; which, being interpreted, means, "Sailors' Home, Wells-street: To be called for." The School of Gunnery at Shoeburyness is set out on an envelope as "Scool of Goonery, Rile Hort Tilbrery, Shoevebry." "Bryracky" stands for Billericay, a small market town in Essex; Jarrow-on-Tyne is spelt "Jeripintine"; the Hanley Potteries are "Harley Potlerings"; whilst "Pambore near Beas and Stoke, Ence," is intended for Pamber, near Basingstoke, Hants. Fortunately for somebody at the Opera Comique Theatre, the "Hoppera cummick theatrer" found him; an envelope addressed, "For the War Office London to the Master of it," also got into the right channel. But we are rather in doubt as to whether a communication from the United States addressed to "John Smith, Esq., or any intelligent Smith, London, England," or possibly a proposal from some unknown admirer for "Miss Annie W--, London, address not known," ever reached their rightful owners.

Her Majesty has been the recipient of some remarkably addressed envelopes. There is one which says that the writer of the communication is too poor to pay for a stamp (Fig. 1), whilst a loyal and poetically inclined subject enthusiastically bursts into verse, which constitutes the address:--

"To Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen: Long may she live to wield a sway The mightiest earth has seen; Long may her loyal people pray, God bless our Empress Queen."

Whatever it lacks in poetic merit is atoned for by the poet's loyalty.

A black-edged envelope reveals a curious address on a letter intended for a Frenchman. All it has is the man's name, with "Sailing on Sunday night, half-past three o'clock, Angleterre" (Fig. 2). This was a decidedly smart move on the part of the Frenchman's correspondent. The letter was faithfully delivered, the postal authorities going down to the boat which left this country at that hour, on board of which they found Monsieur. A well-known firm of music publishers were put down as living in "Cocks and Hens," otherwise the Poultry; whilst an enterprising grocer of Naples gave the Post Office a slight test of far-sightedness in discovering addresses, when, for a wager, he drew on the envelope a couple of pears, adding the word London (Fig. 3). It is needless to say for whom this was intended.

The sending of a solitary postage stamp through the post with the name, address, and message written on the gummed side, is of frequent occurrence. It is, however, a foolish practice, for not only is the stamp likely to be lost amongst the shoals of letters, but no small amount of inconvenience is caused to the sorters and other officials. If this should meet the eye of the gentleman who wrote on a postage stamp (Fig. 4) to a generously disposed friend, "Meet me to-night without fail. Fail not--_I am hard up_," will he remember that, though he probably parted with his last penny, considering the state of his exchequer, he ran a great risk of remaining still hard up, owing to non-delivery of his communication?

The missive for a fishmonger at St. Albans who lives "Opposite the town pump," found him (Fig. 5).

We now turn to the artistic creations. One of the scrap books is devoted to fac-similes of letters intended for distant parts of the world. Many most humorously addressed envelopes were received by our soldiers during the Egyptian War. There is one with a redcoat in a very awkward predicament. He is trying to shelter his trembling form amongst the foliage of a tropical plant, and is suggestively labelled "Up a tree," for a small army of aggravating alligators are waiting for him below, and one more hungry than his companions has already commenced to sample Tommy Atkins' helmet. Another is addressed to a lance-corporal at Christmas-time. He is standing with his tongue out for inspection by an officer, and the sender has unkindly suggested that this is "the results of too much Christmas duff." These little postal humours are decidedly personal.