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diff --git a/32774-h/32774-h.htm b/32774-h/32774-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3d1efd --- /dev/null +++ b/32774-h/32774-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5925 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Night Side of London, by J. Ewing Ritchie</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 30%; } + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Night Side of London, by J. Ewing Ritchie + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + + + + +Title: The Night Side of London + + +Author: J. Ewing Ritchie + + + +Release Date: June 11, 2010 [eBook #32774] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NIGHT SIDE OF LONDON*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1858 William Tweedie edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1><span class="smcap">the</span><br /> +NIGHT SIDE OF LONDON.</h1> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +J. EWING RITCHIE,<br /> +<span class="smcap">author of the</span> “<span +class="smcap">london pulpit</span>,” <span +class="smcap">etc.</span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“In cities vice is hidden with most ease.<br +/> +Or seen with least reproach.<br /> +* * *<br /> +I do confess them nurseries of the arts.<br /> +* * *<br /> +Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim’d<br /> +The fairest capital of all the world,<br /> +By riot and incontinence the worst.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Cowper</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Second Edition, revised.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON:<br /> +WILLIAM TWEEDIE, 337, STRAND.<br /> +<span class="smcap">mdccclviii</span>.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page ii--><a +name="pageii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ii</span><span +class="smcap">john childs and son</span>, <span +class="smcap">printers</span>.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><!-- page iii--><a name="pageiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. iii</span>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">page</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">introduction</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">seeing a man hanged</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">catherine-street</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the bal masque</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">up the haymarket</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the canterbury hall</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">ratcliffe-highway</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">judge and jury clubs</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the cave of harmony</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">discussion clubs</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the cyder cellars</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">leicester-square</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">dr johnson’s tavern</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the sporting public-house</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the public-house with a +billiard-room</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><!-- page iv--><a name="pageiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. iv</span><span class="smcap">the respectable +public-house</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">night-houses</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">highbury barn</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page160">160</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">boxing night</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page166">166</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the mogul</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">caldwell’s</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">cremorne</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page191">191</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the costermonger’s +free-and-easy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page200">200</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the police-court</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the eagle tavern</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page218">218</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">the lunatic asylum</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page227">227</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<p>It is said of a stranger who came to London for the first +time, and took up his quarters in one of the most crowded city +streets, that he remained standing at the door the whole of the +first day of his London existence, because he waited until the +crowd had gone. A man, says Max Schlesinger, who would do +that, ought to rise and go to bed with the owl. The owl is +the symbol of wisdom; for once I would prevail upon the reader to +do as the owls do, and become wise as they. You may live at +Clapham all your life, come into <!-- page 2--><a +name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>the city every +day, attend on a gospel ministry, as the slang phrase +is,—for it is not only wicked people that talk +slang,—and know no more of London than the British public +do of Timbuctoo.</p> +<p>Think of what London is. At the last census there were +2,362,236 persons of both sexes in it; 1,106,558 males, of whom +146,449 were under 5 years of age; and 1,255,678 females, of whom +147,173 were under 5 years of age. The unmarried males were +679,380, ditto females 735,871; the married men were 399,098, the +wives 409,731; the widowers were 37,080, the widows +110,076. On the night of the census there were 28,598 +husbands whose wives were not with them, and 39,231 wives +mourning their absent lords. In 1856 the number of children +born in London was 86,833, only one in 25 of which is +illegitimate; in the same period 56,786 persons died. The +Registrar-General assumes that, with the additional births, and +by the fact of soldiers and sailors returning from the seat of +war, and of persons engaged in peaceful pursuits settling in the +capital, sustenance, clothing, and house accommodation must now +be found in London for about 60,000 inhabitants <!-- page 3--><a +name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>more than it +contained at the end of 1855. Think of that—the +population of a large city absorbed in London, and no perceptible +inconvenience occasioned by it! Houses are still to let; +there are still the usual tickets hung up in windows in quiet +neighbourhoods, intimating that apartments furnished for the use +of single gentlemen can be had within; the country still supplies +the town with meat and bread, and we hear of no starvation in +consequence of deficient supply. London is the healthiest +city in the world. The city death-rate, according to Dr. +Letheby’s report for 1857, is 22.5 per 1000, and in all +England it is 22.2. During the last ten years the annual +deaths have been on the average 25 to 1000 of the population, in +1856 the proportion was 22 to 1000; yet, in spite of this, half +of the deaths that happen on an average in London between the +ages of 20 and 40 are from consumption and diseases of the +respiratory organs. The Registrar traces this to the state +of the streets. He says: “There can be no doubt that +the dirty dust suspended in the air that the people of London +breathe often excites diseases of the respiratory organs. +The dirt of the streets is produced and ground now by innumerable +<!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>horses, omnibuses, and carriages, and then beat up in +fine dust, which fills the mouth, and inevitably enters the +air-passages in large quantities. The dust is not removed +every day, but, saturated with water in the great thoroughfares, +sometimes ferments in damp weather, and at other times ascends +again under the heat of the summer sun as atmospheric +dust.”</p> +<p>London, says Henry Mayhew, may be safely asserted to be the +most densely populated city in all the world; containing +one-fourth more people than Pekin, and two-thirds more than +Paris—more than twice as many as Constantinople—four +times as many as St. Petersburg—five times as many as +Vienna, or New York, or Madrid—nearly seven times as many +as Berlin—eight times as many as Amsterdam—nine times +as many as Rome—fifteen times as many as +Copenhagen—and seventeen times as many as Stockholm. +“London,” says Horace Say, “c’est une +province couverte de maisons.” It covers an area of +122 square miles in extent, or 78,029 statute acres; and contains +327,391 houses. Annually 4000 new houses are in erection +for upwards of 40,000 new-comers. The continuous line of +buildings stretching from Highgate to <!-- page 5--><a +name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>Camberwell is +said to be 12 miles long. It is computed if the buildings +were set in a row they would reach across the whole of England +and France, from York to the Pyrenees.</p> +<p>When the stone in Panyer’s Alley was placed on its site +three centuries since, the circumference was about five +miles. At present, however, to make a pedestrian expedition +around the metropolis would, to most persons, be an undertaking +of some importance, as may be seen by referring to the following +particulars, which have been gathered from a recently published +map:—From Chiswick to Kentish-town, 12 miles; from +Kentish-town to Millwall, 17½ miles; from Millwall to +Chiswick, 28 miles—total, 57½ miles, very nearly +three days’ journey, at the rate of 20 miles a day; and it +will be observed that in the line drawn, Battersea, Clapham, +Canning-town, and many other places, which even at present can be +scarcely said to be separated from London, have been left +out. “As the crow would fly” across streets and +houses from the point whence we started at Chiswick to the +farthest east, the distance is nearly eleven miles, and the +greatest width from north to south upwards of seven miles. +The metropolis is divided <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 6</span>into 38 different poor-law districts, +some of them parishes, and some of them unions, but each managing +separately their own poor. Of these, 27 are in Middlesex, +two in Kent, and nine in Surrey. Of the 27 in Middlesex, 10 +are unions of various extent; 17 are single parishes, many of +them of great extent, and comprising a large amount of property +and population. The unions in Middlesex consist of a small +number of parishes, two consisting of two parishes, two of three, +one of five, one of four, one of six, one of seven, and one of +nine parishes. The city of London consists of 98 parishes, +some of them small in extent, but containing a large amount of +property and population. The unions in Kent consist of four +and seven parishes. Of the nine in Surrey three are unions, +consisting, one of two parishes, another of three, and the third +of six parishes. The remaining six are all single parishes, +each administering its own affairs. The total population of +these districts is 2,500,000; the average number of paupers to be +dealt with 105,000; the amount of expenditure for the year ending +Lady-day, 1856, was £875,000; and the net rateable value of +the property contributing <!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 7</span>to the relief of the poor was +£10,900,000. The proportion which the metropolis bore +to the whole of England and Wales was, as to population, +one-eighth; as to pauperism, one-twelfth.</p> +<p>London has 10,500 distinct streets, squares, circuses, +crescents, terraces, villas, rows, buildings, places, lanes, +courts, alleys, mews, yards, rents. The paved streets of +London, according to a return published in 1856, number over +5000, and exceed 2000 miles in length; the cost of this paved +roading was 14 millions, and the repairs cost £1,800,000 +per annum. The Post Office employs 3200 officials in London +alone. London contains 1900 miles of gas pipes, with a +capital of nearly £4,000,000 spent in the preparation of +gas. The cost of gas-lighting is half a million. It +has 360,000 lights; and 13,000,000 cubic feet of gas are burnt +every night. Last year along these streets the enormous +quantity of upwards of 80 millions of gallons of water rushed for +the supply of the inhabitants, being nearly double what it was in +1845. Mr Mayhew says, if the entire people of the capital +were to be drawn up in marching order, two and two, the length of +the great army of Londoners would be no less <!-- page 8--><a +name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>than 670 miles, +and supposing them to move at the rate of three miles an hour, it +would require more than nine days and nights for the average +population to pass by. To accommodate this crowd, 125,000 +vehicles pass through the thoroughfares in the course of 12 +hours; 3000 cabs, 10,000 private and job carriages and carts, ply +daily in the streets; at the present time there are upwards of +800 omnibuses running along various routes in the metropolis, and +of this number 595 are the property of a single and mostly +foreign proprietary, the London General Omnibus Company. +600 omnibuses, with horses and harness and goodwill, were +purchased by the company for a sum of £400,000, or for very +nearly £700 for each vehicle. The 595 omnibuses of +the company ran in London, in the week ending 31st of October, +1857, not less than 222,779 miles, or nearly ten times the +circumference of the globe, and they carried not less than +920,000 passengers. Assuming that the remaining one-fourth +of the London omnibuses, not belonging to the company, carried an +equal proportion, we shall have, as the travelling portion of the +population of London, 1,115,000 persons. 3000 conveyances +enter the <!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 9</span>metropolis daily from the surrounding +country. In the year 1856 the total revenue derived from +the duty on omnibuses within the area of the great metropolis +amounted to £74,270 against £85,965 in 1855, and +£108,051 in 1854. The revenue from cabs in the +metropolis was £82,110 against £75,281, and +£64,210 in 1854. Of the revenue on omnibuses last +year, £69,493 accrued from mileage duty, £3791 from +license duty, and £983 from drivers’ and +conductors’ licenses. As regards the cab duty, +£74,736 accrued from weekly duty, £5292 from license +duty, and £2081 from drivers’ and watermen’s +licenses.</p> +<p>Speaking generally, Tennyson tells us—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Every minute dies a man,<br /> +Every minute one is born.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In London, 169 people die daily, and a babe is born every five +minutes. The number of persons, says the Registrar-General, +who died in 1856, in 116 public institutions, such as workhouses +and hospitals, was 10,381. It is really shocking to think, +and a deep stigma on the people,—or on the artificial +arrangements of society, by which so much poverty is +perpetuated,—that nearly one person out of five, who died +<!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>that year, closed his days under a roof provided by law +or public charity. In 1856 the police report 147 +suicides. Dr. Wakley says, 4000 infants die annually of +neglect. It is calculated 500 people are drowned in the +Thames every year. In the first week of last year there +were five deaths from intemperance alone. How much +wretchedness lies in these facts,—for the deaths from +actual intemperance bear but a small proportion to the deaths +induced by the immoderate use of intoxicating liquors; and of the +500 drowned, by far the larger class, we have every reason to +believe, are of the number of whom Hood wrote—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Mad with life’s history,<br /> +Glad to death’s mystery<br /> +Swift to be hurled—<br /> + Anywhere, anywhere,<br /> +Out of the world!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A meeting was held last year of the unemployed, chiefly the +carpenters, bricklayers, and bricklayers’ labourers of the +metropolis, in which it was stated that their number—though +very probably there may be some exaggeration here—is +35,000. If these men are married and have families, we get +a further idea of the deep <!-- page 11--><a +name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>distress in +this wealthy and luxurious capital,—this capital where the +gold of Australia, the jewels of Golconda, the silks and spices +of the East, come for sale, and are lavished as freely on the +most questionable purposes and persons as on the noblest +specimens of humanity and the most glorious objects for which men +care to live. Then think of the inmates of the lunatic +asylums, and the poor-houses, and the hospitals, in most cases +sent there as the result of their own ignorance or +imprudence. Last Christmas day the dinners provided at the +workhouses for the inmates fed between 30 and 40,000. Add +to these our prison population, and our criminal classes, and our +prostitutes,—and what a picture we get of the Night Side of +London, of the classes whose existence is a reproach or a +curse. In London one man in every ninety belongs to the +criminal class.</p> +<p>According to the last reports, there were in London 143,000 +vagrants admitted in one year into the casual wards of the +workhouses. In 1856 it appears that in all 73,240 persons +were taken into custody, of whom 45,941 were males, and 27,209 +females; 18,000 of the apprehensions were on account of +drunkenness, 8160 for unlawful <!-- page 12--><a +name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>possession of +goods, 7021 for simple larceny, 6763 for common assaults, 2914 +for assaults on the police; 4303 women were taken into custody as +prostitutes. The period of life most prolific of crime is +that between the 20th and 25th years. The convictions upon +trial in 1856 were in the following proportions:—Under 10 +years of age, 1; 10 years and under 15 years, 91; 15 years and +under 20 years, 610; 20 years and under 25 years, 770; 25 years +and under 30 years, 390; 30 years and under 40 years, 410; 40 +years and under 50 years, 188; 50 years and under 60 years, 90; +63 years and upwards, 37. The committals for murder in the +year 1856 were 11; they were 12 in 1855, 10 in 1854, 7 in 1853,11 +in 1852, 8 in 1851, 11 in 1850, 19 in 1849, 11 in 1848, and 10 in +1847. Of the larcenies in dwelling-houses last year, only +315 were committed by means of false keys, as many as 2175 +through doors being left open, 679 by lifting up a window, or +breaking glass, and 31 by entering attic windows from empty +houses. Again, 1595 such larcenies were committed by +lodgers, 1701 by servants, and as many as 673 by means of false +messages. The cases enumerated under the last three heads +are such as the police could hardly be expected to <!-- page +13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>prevent. 2371 persons were reported last year to +the police as lost, and of these the police restored 1084. +The City returns, for which I am indebted to the kindness of G. +Borlase Childs, Esq., surgeon to the force, are for 1856, as +follows: number of persons taken into custody; males 3030, +females 1014; of these, 1083 males and 450 females were +discharged; 1628 males, 517 females were summarily convicted or +held to bail; 319 males and 77 females were committed for trial: +8 males and 1 female under 10 years of age; 322 males and 37 +females under 15; 755 males and 152 females under 20; 645 males +and 235 females under 25; 341 males and 165 females under 30; 497 +males and 220 females under 40; 300 males and 116 females under +50; 125 males and 78 females under 60; and above that age 41 +males and 20 females. Tried by the education test of the +whole number taken into custody, 782 males and 421 females could +neither read nor write; 1925 males and 570 females could read and +write imperfectly; 317 males and 23 females could read and write +well; 6 males come under the head of superior instruction. +The value of property stolen was £11,425; of property +recovered £3829; the return of destitute persons taken in +<!-- page 14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>charge by the police is, men 141, women 115, children +79. During the same period 1603 males and 1097 females were +brought to the station house. Children missing and found by +the police; males 496, females 319. The return of the +metropolitan police for 1857, was 2825 brothels, and 8600 +prostitutes. In the City, the number of such houses and +persons is very small; the prison population at any particular +time is 6000, costing for the year £170,000. Our +juvenile thieves cost us £300 a-piece. The average +income of the London thief is estimated at £2 per week.</p> +<p>Again, let us look at the classes whose labours and +occupations and modes of life are inconsistent with health, or +not favourable to any great development of moral principle. +Almost 20,000 persons are engaged in Sunday trading; the number +of ragged children is nearly 30,000, the number of families +living in one room is estimated as high as 150,000. It +appears from a report by Mr. Goderich, officer of health in the +parish of Kensington, that in a place called the Potteries there +are 1147 human beings and 1041 pigs congregated within a space of +less than nine acres, the present number of pigs being <!-- page +15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>below +the usual average. The dwellings of a large proportion of +the inhabitants of this locality are mere hovels with shattered +roofs and unglazed windows, the floor is below the level of the +external soil, which has been raised by excessive accumulations +of filth of all kinds, and the walls are at all times partially +damp and giving out pestilential gases, intolerable to those who +have not been born among them, fatal to the health of those who +have. Another portion of the miserable population has +converted old caravan bodies, removed in some cases from their +wheels, into houses; others have no other dwelling than ruinous +post-chaise bodies, for which a rent of sixpence per week is +paid. In one of the caravans eight persons dwell, among +whom a child suffering from small-pox was battling with death at +the time of Mr. Goderich’s visit in March.</p> +<p>Mr. Timbs calculates the number of professional beggars in +London at 15,000, two-thirds of whom are Irish. 30,000 men, +women, and children are employed in the costermonger trade; +besides, we have, according to Mr. Mayhew, 2000 street sellers of +green stuff, 4000 street sellers of eatables and drinkables, 1000 +street sellers of stationery, 4000 street sellers of other <!-- +page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>articles, whose receipts are three millions sterling, +and whose incomes may be put down at one. Let us extend our +survey, and we shall not wonder that the public-houses—and +the gin palaces—and the casinos—and the +theatres—and the penny gaffs—and the lowest and +vilest places of resort in London, are full. In +Spitalfields there are 70,000 weavers with but 10<i>s.</i> per +week; there are 22,479 tailors, 30,805 shoemakers, 43,928 +milliners; seamstresses, 21,210; bonnet-makers, 1769; cap-makers, +1277. What hard, wretched work is theirs!</p> +<p>In the first week of January this present year, a poor woman +named Martha Duke was brought up at the Thames police office, +charged with attempting to commit suicide. She was a poor +needle-woman, and found the misery of that mode of life greater +than could be borne. Speaking not of this case in +particular, but of needlewomen in general, Mr. Burch, the +resident medical officer of the London Hospital, stated that +“a large number of patients had been under his care, and he +had carefully investigated a considerable number of cases, and +was satisfied that needle-women were the most ill-paid class of +people and the most hard-working on earth. They <!-- page +17--><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>were +miserably paid,” he added, “and he knew that numbers +of them, with constitutions broken down, earned from 3<i>s.</i> +to 4<i>s.</i> per week only, and for that scanty pittance were +compelled to work from three o’clock in the morning till +ten at night. They soon became enfeebled by insufficient +diet and over-work, and when broken down either had recourse to +suicide or prostitution.” In 1844 the operative +tailors instituted an inquiry into the sweating system, and then +it was found that there were at the West End 676 men, women, and +children working under sweaters, and occupying 92 small rooms, +the majority of which measured eight feet by ten. The +sweater, it may be as well to state, is the man who contracts +with the large houses to supply them with shirts, or clothes, or +any other kind of slop work; the more his victims sweat, the more +are his gains. The sweater is often a Jew, never a +Christian.</p> +<p>Let the reader walk with us to a fashionable clothing +establishment—a mart, we believe, as it is called. +The building, as you approach it, seems a palace. It is +redolent with polished mahogany and plate-glass and gilt. +You pass it when the lamps are lit, and you think of the <!-- +page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>Arabian Nights. It is illuminated as if peace had +just been proclaimed, or some great national desire had been +realised. You enter with cash, and all is fair and smooth +within. Whatever you want in the way of apparel is there, +and at a price for which no honest tradesman can afford to sell +it. Honest! asks the reader, is not the man honest? +Does he steal the cloth? Certainly not. Does he not +pay rent, and taxes, and wages? Most certainly he +does. Do not his creditors all get twenty shillings in the +pound? Most undoubtedly they do; the law protects them, and +with them the man, willing or not, must keep himself right. +So far as they are concerned, honesty is the best policy. +How, then, does he make his profit? How is this monster +establishment maintained? Out of what fund is it that its +glitter and glare are paid for? We shall now see. +Come down this stinking court. Go up those creaking +stairs. Enter that miserable garret. Look at those +men, who know nothing of labour but its curse, and of life but +its misery. Mark the haggard faces already stamped with the +impress of death. If you can bear the polluted atmosphere, +you will hear from these men how they toil from early <!-- page +19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>morning far into the night for two shillings a day; how +for them the fine air and the golden sunshine, and the rest of +the sabbath, exist not; and it is by them, by their sweat and +blood and sinew, that the profit is made. And now go back +and look into the gilded shop, and it will seem to you a +Golgotha—a place of skulls. Is another illustration +needed? Up in yon miserable chamber, without +fire—without food—without furniture—almost +without clothes, Martha Duke is stitching to earn the few pence +by which she prolongs life, and its misery. Once, youth was +hers, with its bright hopes and joys; but they are gone, and with +an aching heart and pallid brow she plies her daily task. +Is it wonderful that, wanting coals or something better than dry +bread, the shirt or the waistcoat should be pawned? Is it +not more wonderful that such bleak and hopeless poverty should be +so honest as it is? And yet from such poor forlorn, +forgotten women as these, proceed the profits which pay for +dazzling window and gorgeous pile. Is it strange that the +city missionaries for last year show an increase of fallen women +in their districts of 1035?</p> +<p>Bear in mind also that corporal labourers are <!-- page +20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>shorter lived and endure more physical evil than the +mental labourers. The coal-whippers’ work—the +most wasteful, unscientific, and pernicious expenditure of human +muscle ever devised, writes Dr Chambers—overstrains the +fibres of the heart, and the organs become diseased. +Painters again are liable to palsy and colic, from the use of +white lead. The tailor sits till the stomach and bowels +becomes disordered, the spine twisted, the gait shambling, and +the power of taking the exercise necessary to health +obliterated. Shoemakers and bootmakers suffer equally from +a constrained position and the pressure of the last against the +stomach. Heart-burn and indigestion are so common among +them, that a pill in the Pharmacopeia is called the +cobbler’s pill. Then there is the baker’s +malady, which carries off a large proportion of its +victims. Dressmakers are peculiarly subject to the attacks +of consumption; workwomen constantly suffer from varicose +veins.</p> +<p>There are two worlds in London, with a gulf between—the +rich and the poor. We have glanced at the latter; for the +sake of contrast let us look at the former. Emerson says +the wealth of London determines prices all over the globe. +<!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>The revenue of the corporation of the city of London for +1856 was £2,595,216 16<i>s.</i> 4½<i>d.</i> In +1853 the money coined in the mint was £11,952,391 in gold, +and £701,544 in silver. The business of the Bank of +England is conducted by about 800 clerks, whose salaries amount +to about £200,000. The Bank in 1857 had +£26,683,790 bank notes in circulation. In the same +year there were about 5 millions deposited in the Savings Banks +of the metropolis. The gross Customs revenue of the port of +London in 1849 was £11,070,176. 65 millions is the +estimate formed by Mr M‘Culloch of the total value of the +produce conveyed into and from London. The gross rental as +assessed by the property and income tax is 12½ +millions. The gross property insured is £166,000,000, +and only two-fifths of the houses are insured. The amount +of capital at the command of the entire London bankers may be +estimated at 64 millions; the insurance companies have always 10 +millions of deposits ready for investment. 78 millions are +employed in discounts. In 1841 the transactions of one +London house amounted to 30 millions. In 1840 the payments +made in the clearing house were £974,580,600,—an +enormous <!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 22</span>sum, which will appear still greater +when we remember all sums under £100 are omitted from this +statement. All this business cannot be carried on without a +considerable amount of eating and drinking. The population +consumes annually 277,000 bullocks, 30,000 calves, 1,480,000 +sheep, 34,000 pigs, 1,600,000 quarters of wheat, 310,464,000 +pounds of potatoes, 89,672,000 cabbages. Of fish the +returns are almost incredible. Besides, it eats 2,742,000 +fowls, 1,281,000 game. Exclusive of those brought from the +different parts of the united kingdom, from 70 to 75 millions of +eggs are annually imported into London from France and other +countries. About 13,000 cows are kept in the city and its +environs for the supply of milk and cream; and if we add to their +value that of the cheese, and butter, and milk, brought from the +country into the city, the expenditure on dairy produce must be +enormous. Then London consumes 65,000 pipes of wine, +2,000,000 gallons of spirits, 43,200,000 gallons of porter and +ale, and burns 3,000,000 tons of coal; and I have seen it +estimated that one-fourth of the commerce of the nation is +carried on in its port. On Boxing Night it was estimated +that 60,000 persons visited the <!-- page 23--><a +name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>various +theatres and places of amusement in London. In 1856, +361,714 persons visited the British Museum; 161,764, Hampton +Court; 344,140 went to Kew Gardens. The total number of +bathers in the Serpentine were 20,000 persons. On the last +Derby, the South Western Company alone conveyed 37,700 +passengers. In London in 1853, according to Sir R. Mayne, +there were 3613 beer shops, 5279 public houses, 13 wine +rooms. The theatres and saloons licensed by the Lord +Chamberlain are, the Haymarket Theatre, Adelphi, Olympic, +Princess’s, Strand, Surrey, Queen’s, Soho, City of +London, Marylebone, Standard, Pavilion, Victoria, Sadler’s +Wells, St James’s, Lyceum, Astley’s, Her +Majesty’s, Drury Lane, Grecian Saloon, Albert, Britannia, +Bower, Earl of Effingham. Literary Institutions shut +up. The Great Globe itself is a doubtful property. +That beautiful building, the Panopticon in Leicester-square, was +a failure, and the Adelaide Gallery has long been closed. +An attempt was made to form an educational association in Charing +Cross, where, by means of a library and cheap lectures, the +popular mind could be improved and instructed and amused, but the +attempt did not succeed; dancing, drinking, <!-- page 24--><a +name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>theatrical +representations,—most of them adaptations from the +French,—music, are the only pleasures which a London +population cared for. Even as in the old Hebrew days, +Wisdom lifts up her voice in our streets, and no man regards her +testimony.</p> +<p>And now to guard all this wealth, to preserve all this mass of +industry honest, and to keep down all this crime, what have +we? 5847 police, costing £434,081, 13 police courts, +costing £67,006, and about a dozen criminal prisons; 69 +union relieving officers, 316 officers of local boards, and 1256 +other local officers. We have 35 weekly magazines, 9 daily +newspapers, 5 evening, 72 weekly ones. Independently of the +mechanics’ institutions, colleges, and endowed schools, we +have 14,000 children of both sexes clothed and educated gratis, +and the National and British and Foreign Schools in all parts of +London, and Sunday schools. We have Bartholomew’s +Hospital, relieving, in 1856, in-patients 5933, out-patients +78,443; Guy’s Hospital; St Thomas’s, with 4531 +in-patients, outpatients, 34,281; St George’s; the +Middlesex, last year relieving 2268 in-patients, and 16,844 +out-patients; the London, the King’s College, <!-- page +25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>the +University College, and many more. In the Cancer Hospital +last year 2500 patients were treated: then there are Bedlam, the +Foundling Hospital, the Philanthropic Institution, the +Magdalen. In the report of the Statistical Society of +London it is stated that 14 general hospitals in London possess +an income from realised property to the amount of £109,687; +annual subscriptions, £17,091; donations, £16,636; +legacies, £10,206; and their miscellaneous sources of +income to £1996. The total income of all these +hospitals from every source is £155,616; and the annual +contributions of the public amount to £45,929. In +addition to the above hospitals there are in this metropolis 36 +special hospitals, possessing an aggregate income of +£117,218; making the income of the general and special +hospitals taken together amount to £272,834. There +are also returns from 42 general dispensaries, possessing incomes +from all sources of £21,000; and 18 special dispensaries, +with annual incomes of £8064. If these two sums, +making £29,064, be added to the former, it gives the +enormous amount of £301,898 annually expended in medical +charities in this metropolis; and this sum, <!-- page 26--><a +name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>large as it +is, excludes Samaritan and other funds connected with hospitals +and dispensaries, poor-law medical relief (£28,776), cost +of maintenance of pauper lunatics (£79,988), vaccination +(£4292), and nurses’ training institutions. All +these sums would make a grand total of nearly half a million +expended on our sick poor. The City Missionaries now number +325, and every missionary visits once a month about 500 families +or 2800 persons. The Ragged School Union has its +ramifications in every part of the metropolis. Their +returns are 128 Sunday Schools with 16,937 scholars in +attendance; 98 day ditto, with 13,057; 117 evening schools with +8085; and 84 industrial classes with 3224. London has 12 +societies for the reformation of life and public morals with a +total income of £11,583; 18 for reclaiming the fallen, and +staying the progress of crime, with £35,036; 14 for the +relief of general destitution and distress, with £23,880; +12 for the relief of specified distress, with £29,881; 14 +for aiding the resources of the industrious, with £7246; 11 +for the blind, deaf, and dumb, with £34,762; 103 colleges, +hospitals, and other asylums for the aged (exclusive of Chelsea +and Greenwich Hospitals, <!-- page 27--><a +name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>£83,047); 16 charitable pension societies, with +£18,989; 74 charitable and provident societies, chiefly for +specified classes, with £103,227; 31 asylums for orphans +and other necessitous children, with £81,015; 10 +educational foundations, exclusive of libraries, modern colleges, +or proprietary schools, £93,112; 4 charitable ditto, with +£13,300; 40 school societies, religious book, +church-aiding, and Christian instructing, irrespective of +government grants or establishments, with an income, taking the +sale of publications, as much as £318,189. Mr Low +gives the total number of charitable institutions as 500; Mr +Mayhew puts down their number as 530. Then there are 100 +temperance meetings held weekly. May we not hope that all +these institutions have some effect, that by means of them some +are reclaimed, and many saved?</p> +<p>The more direct religious agency may be estimated as +follows. In the Handbook to Places of Worship, published by +Low, in 1851, there is a list of 371 churches and chapels in +connexion with the Establishment; the number of church sittings, +according to Mr Mann, is 409,184; the Independents have about 140 +places of worship and 100,436 sittings; the Baptists, 130 <!-- +page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>chapels, and accommodation for 54,234; the Methodists, +154 chapels, 60,696; the Presbyterians, 23 chapels and 18,211 +sittings; the Unitarians, 9 chapels and about 3300 sittings; the +Roman Catholics, 35 chapels and 35,994 sittings; 4 Quaker +chapels, with sittings for 3151; the Moravians have two chapels, +with 1100 sittings; the Jews have 11 synagogues and 3692 +sittings. There are 94 chapels belonging to the New Church, +the Plymouth Brethren, the Irvingites, the Latter-Day Saints, +Sandemanians, Lutherans, French Protestants, Greeks, Germans, +Italians, which chapels have sittings for 18,833. We thus +get 691,723 attendants on divine exercises.</p> +<p>Those who know London life will know that I have not glanced +at its darkest side: any man of the world will tell you infamies +which I may not name here. I do not go so far as Mr +Patmore, and affirm that in the higher ranks of life a young man +is obliged to keep a mistress to avoid being laughed at; but I +can conceive of no city more sunk in licentiousness and rascality +than ours. Paris, Hamburgh, Vienna, may be as bad, but they +cannot be worse. The poor are looked after by the +police—visited by <!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 29</span>the city missionary; their wants and +woes are worked up into newspaper articles, and they live as it +were in houses of glass. It is true that one half the world +does not know how the other half lives; but it is not true in the +sense in which it is generally affirmed. Who ever has an +idea that a pious baronet, taking the chair at a religious +meeting in Exeter Hall, will prove a felon; that that house, +eminent in the mercantile and philanthropic world, will sanction +the circulation of forged Dock warrants; that that manager, about +to engage in prayer at a meeting of directors, will turn out to +be the manager of the greatest swindle of modern times? Who +sees a dishonoured suicide in the patriotic Sadleir, or in the +philanthropic Redpath a convict for life, or in the dashing +Robson a maniac? If I tell you that respectable old +gentleman now coming out of his club is going to inspect a fresh +victim, whom some procuress has lured with devilish art, you will +tell me that I am uncharitable; or if I point you to that +well-appointed equipage in the Park, and tell you that that fair +young girl that sits within has crushed many a young wife’s +heart, and has sent many a man to the devil before his time, you +will tell me I exaggerate: <!-- page 30--><a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>I do nothing +of the kind. If I were to tell what most men +know—what everyone knows, except those whose business it is +to know it, and to seek to reform it—I should be charged +with indelicacy, as if truth could be indelicate, and my book +perhaps suppressed by the Society for the Suppression of +Vice—if that abortion exists still. We are choked up +with cant; almost everything we believe in is a lie. The +prayer of Ajax should be ours,—Light—more light.</p> +<p>What are we to do?—to stand stock still, looking to +heaven “with a frenzied air, as if to ask if a God were +there?” One can almost believe, with George +Gilfillan, that the earth needs a new gospel and a new +manifestation of divine power. From this low estate who is +to rescue us? Not the aristocracy, a barbarous institution, +perpetrating barbarous ideas in our midst,—that work is not +honourable; whereas all true civilization points us to the fact, +that man is only happy and virtuous as he is steadily +industrious; and thus our most uncivilized classes are our upper +and lower,—our lords and ladies on one side, and our rogues +and prostitutes on the other. Not our law-makers, who +imprison our young lads in costly jails, <!-- page 31--><a +name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>where the +criminals have luxuries denied to the poor; and then in Newgate, +or at the public works, mix them all up together, that the +comparatively innocent may learn to be adepts in crime. Not +our religious, I fear, when, from the Archbishop of Canterbury +down to Dr Cumming, the cry is, If you have a proper translation +of the Bible you will destroy the faith of the people. Not +our trading classes, becoming richer and more sunk in flunkeyism +every day. But it may be that these—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Are graves from which a glorious phantom +may<br /> +Burst to illumine our tempestuous day.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Whom am I to blame? Not the victims, but the fathers, +and mothers, and divines, and schoolmasters, and governing +classes. Father, you have given your bold, manly son an +emasculated religion,—a religion that wilfully shuts its +eyes, and will not look upon life as it is; and, immediately he +goes into the world, away vanish all the pasteboard defences with +which you childishly sought to guard him; and yet you will not +confess that in inculcating religious creeds,—that in +teaching children catechisms,—that in vaguely telling them +to be good,—that in leading them to believe in forms rather +than truths, <!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 32</span>you are only damming up for a while +the passionate impulses of young blood, that they may ultimately +exert a more tumultuous and irresistible sway. You take the +little Arab of the streets, and, for acts of levity and +wantonness which all boys commit, you send him to prison, at an +age when you confess he is not a responsible creature, and then +idiotically wonder that he turns out a criminal, and that he wars +with society till he is hanged. You are surprised that +woman, fond of praise, of dress, and pleasure, should prefer to +walk the street in silk and satin, to have a short life and a +merry one, rather than slave and drudge, and end her days after +all in a workhouse. You tone down your fashionably educated +daughters into automatons, and then wonder that hot youth finds +domestic life tame and dull. Above all, do not go away with +the idea that we have reached the utmost height of +civilization,—that we are a model people,—that it is +our mission to set up as teachers of religion to all +mankind. Let us remember that the increase of crime and +dissipation are facts; that there can be no corrupter city than +London, and that it must be so, so long as we make professions +our practice so scandalously <!-- page 33--><a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>denies. +I have heard Her Majesty’s proclamation against vice and +immorality read at quarter-sessions by men in whose reading it +became a farce which the most ignorant bumpkin in court could +relish. Now we are going to do wonders, the policeman is to +supplement the parson, the wicked are to be hunted down. Is +this the way seriously to set about moral reform? Routine +and officialism in church and state have made the outside of the +sepulchre white enough; do we not need a little cleansing +within? How long will men look for grapes from thorns?</p> +<h2><!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>SEEING A MAN HANGED.</h2> +<p>I am<span class="smcap"> </span>not about to give an opinion +as to the propriety or impropriety of capital punishments. +On this point good men have differed, and will differ, I dare +say, for some time to come. What I wish to impress upon the +philanthropic or Christian reader is the horrible nature and +atrocious effect of a public execution.</p> +<p>A few Sunday evenings since I was passing by Newgate, along +the outside of which a considerable crowd had been +collected. Respectable mechanics, with their wives and +children, were staring at its dreary stone walls. Ragged +boys and girls were romping and laughing in the streets. +All the neighbouring public-houses were filled with a tipsy +crowd. Here and there a few barriers had been erected, and +workmen were engaged in putting up more. Why were these +preparations made? For what purpose had this crowd +collected? A man was to be hung, was the reply. I +resolved for once to see the <!-- page 35--><a +name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>tragedy +performed. To me or the living mass around, that man was an +utter stranger. I had never seen him or heard the sound of +his voice; all I knew was that he had led an outlaw’s life, +and was to die as outlaws ofttimes do. How strange the +mysterious interest with which death clothes everything it +touches! Is it that looking at a man so soon to have done +with life we fancy we can better pry into the great secret? +Do we deem that seeing him struggle we shall die more manfully +ourselves, or is it merely the vague interest with which we +regard any one about to travel into distant regions, all unknown +to him or us, and the secrets of which he can never return to +tell? Be this as it may, I went back at twelve. The +public-houses had been closed, decent people had gone home to +bed; but already the crowd had become denser, already had the +thief and the bully from all the slums and stews of the +metropolis been collected together. You can easily +recognise the criminal population of our capital. The +policeman knows them instinctively, as with their small wiry +figures, restless eyes, and pale faces, they pass him by. +One can tell them as easily as one knows the child of Norman +origin by his noble <!-- page 36--><a name="page36"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 36</span>bearing, or the Anglo-Saxon by his +blue eyes and rosy cheeks. There is generally something +fine, and genial, and hearty about an English mob. On the +night of the peace-rejoicing you might have taken a lady from one +end of London to the other, and she would not have heard an +objectionable word, or been inconvenienced in the least; but the +mob of which I now write seemed utterly repulsive and reprobate; +all its sympathies seemed perverted. It is a hard world +this, I know, and it has but little mercy for the erring and the +unfortunate; but that they should regard it with such evil eyes, +that they should be so completely estranged from all its +recognised modes of thought and action, that it should seem to +them such a complete curse, was what I was not prepared to +expect. It really made one’s blood run cold to hear +the mob around me talk. The man to be hung had rushed into +a jeweller’s shop as it was being closed, beaten the +shopman, who tried to defend his master’s property, with a +life-preserver, and then left him for dead. But he had not +said one word about his accomplices, and the crowd evidently +admired him rather than not. “The ticket-of-leave man +was out on starvation,” as <!-- page 37--><a +name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>one of them +informed me. “The Government,” I drop the +expressive adjective by which the noun was prefixed, +“dodges him, and if he steals it is only what he must do, +and if murder follows it is not his fault, and Government is +unjust in hanging him for it.” Such was the popular +notion of the subject in my immediate neighbourhood. +Government seemed to have planned the opportunity for the holders +of such opinions to ventilate them. Till eight +o’clock these men were to be formed into one compact mass; +and how were they to pass their time if they did not talk? and +here who was there to lift up his voice on behalf of law and +order? and if there were such, who would have listened? +Realise the state of the case. Look around! Where do +you see the clear front and unabashed presence of honesty and +virtue? The virtuous and the honest have long been in +bed. Here there is a fight. That bundle of rags, with +matted hair covering all the face so that you cannot clearly see +a feature, is the Clare Market Pet, and she has just encountered +Slashing Sal, between whom and herself there has been mortal +enmity for years. Both women—yes, they are women, nor +so fallen are they but that the temperance <!-- page 38--><a +name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>agent or the +city missionary may yet lead them to a diviner life, and +<i>He</i> may smile on them who never yet turned away repentant +son or daughter of sin and shame—are very tipsy, very +dirty, and very red. Shrieking and cursing, the Clare +Market Pet rushes on Slashing Sal, who is by no means loth for +the encounter. A ring is formed, men and boys halloo and +encourage, and the battle rages furiously, though both women are +far too drunk to do each other any serious harm. At length +the Clare Market Pet is vanquished and order is restored, just as +we are told tranquillity reigns at Naples. “Please +give me a penny,” says a girl of about fourteen, and I find +myself in the midst of a group of youthful costermongers and +their wives, who have come here for a lark, just as they frequent +the penny gaff, or crowd the gallery in the Victoria. I +listen to their slang till I feel sick, as I think for what a +future of crime and its result they are now rapidly +ripening. In this Christian land can no agency be formed +that shall save these young heathens? Again, I find a +female standing by my side; she is horridly dirty; she stinks of +gin; her face is that of the confirmed sot—of one who has +given up home and husband, <!-- page 39--><a +name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>and comfort, +and decency, for the accursed drink. She looks very +piteously in my face. “And so they are going to hang +the poor man,” she exclaims; “they have no mercy on +him.” “You forget,” I reply, “the +poor man whom he murdered, and on whom he had no +mercy.” “No, I don’t,” she exclaims +with tipsy gravity; “he had no right to kill the man, and +ought to be punished; but ain’t we all morally +bad?”—but here the conversation ends, for she has +sunk down, maudlin, stinking with gin, and overcome by it and +weariness, on the doorstep. Ah, these doorsteps, let us +look at them. To-night the police don’t bid the +<i>habitués</i> move on. What crowds are collected +on them,—ragged boys, who, perhaps, have nowhere else to +sleep, wild-looking women unbonnetted and shoeless, with red, +uncombed hair, faces very much marked with the small pox, only +seen on such occasions as these—old men crouch on them for +whom home has no charm, and life no lustre, and girls whose +rouged cheeks and shabby finery tell to what wretchedness and +degradation, though young in years, they have already come. +Let them sleep on, if they can, on their stony mattress, beneath +this inclement sky, out in this cold December <!-- page 40--><a +name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>night; they +are happier now than they can be in their waking hours! But +look at the windows, all lighted up and filled with gay +company. Those two beautiful girls—let us hope they +are not ladies—not English mothers or wives—who have +just stepped out of the brougham, and are now gazing from a +first-floor on the wild human sea beneath, will sit playing cards +and drinking champagne all night; yet scarce have the sounds of +Sabbath bells died away, and in a few hours a man is to be hung, +and these girls, all sensibility and tears, will sit with their +opera glasses during the fearful agony, as if merely Grisi acted +or Mario sang.</p> +<p>Let us take another stroll through this living mass. The +workmen have put up the last barriers—the clock strikes +three—a crowd, dense and eager, has planted itself by the +Old Bailey. The yard is thrown open, and three strong +horses, such as you see in brewers’ drays, drag along what +seems to be an immense clumsy black box. It stops at the +door of Newgate nearest to St Sepulchre’s. Women +shriek as it rumbles over the stones, and you shudder, for +instinctively you guess it is the gallows. By the dim +gas-light you see workmen first fix securely a <!-- page 41--><a +name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>stout +timber—then another—and then a beam across from which +hangs a chain—and now the crowd becomes denser. Let +us leave it and enter the house, at the top of which we have +previously engaged a seat.</p> +<p>We are some eight or nine in a very small room, and most of us +are amateurs in hanging, and it seems to us a very pleasant +show. Some of us have come a long way, and most of us have +been up all night. We have seen every execution for the +last ten years, and boast how on one day we saw one man hung at +Newgate, and took a cab and got to Horsemonger-lane in time to +see another. A rare feat that, and one of which we are +justly proud. We talk of these things, and how we have seen +criminals die, till some of us get very angry, and flatly +contradict each other. Altogether there is somewhat too +much mirth in the house, though we could not have had a better +place had we paid £5 for it. The women are too +exuberant and full of fun. It is true, as the girls say to +each other, “they don’t hang a man every day,” +but the gaiety is discordant. Over the way <i>he</i> is +just waking up from his troubled sleep. A thin waif of +smoke goes up from the dark dreary building opposite—<!-- +page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>are they boiling him his last cup of tea? See, +there is a light in the press-room! Ah, what are they doing +there? St Sepulchre’s strikes six. The door at +the foot of the scaffold opens, and very stealthily, and so as to +be seen by none but such as are high up like ourselves, a man +throws sawdust on the scaffold, and disappears again; we see him +this time with a chain or rope. All this while the +hydra-headed mob beneath amuses itself in various ways. It +sings songs, chiefly preferring those with a chorus—it +hoots dogs—it tosses small boys about on its top. As +we look from the window, we think we never saw such a mob +before. Far as the eye can reach towards Ludgate-hill on +one side, and Giltspur-street on the other, it is one mass of +human heads; the very air is tainted with their odour—we +smell it where we are. Our amateur friends are in excellent +spirits; they have not seen so many people at an execution for +some years. They are agreeably surprised; they all thought +the man would not have been hung, and had backed their opinions +by bets.</p> +<p>A long wearisome night was it, even to us—and it is not +yet eight. The roar of the crowd is so great—can +<i>he</i> hear it within?—that we <!-- page 43--><a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>cannot catch +the sound of the neighbouring chimes; but we see signs that the +end is approaching. The police have filled up the +intervening space between the scaffold and the crowd. A +bell tinkles dismally, horridly. We look beyond the +scaffold down into the open doorway, and there they are, +ascending the stairs. First the chaplain, then the +criminal, and then Jack Ketch. Marley walks steadily, with +pale face and eyes cast down, and places himself immediately +under the rope. He trembles slightly as his legs are being +fastened, his hands had already been pinioned behind. A +nightcap is drawn over his face, the rope is adjusted round his +neck, Jack Ketch hastens down the ladder, the chaplain, reading +the burial service all the while, steps back, down goes the drop, +a woman or two shrieks, there is a slight convulsive movement of +the body, and what was a minute back a living man is now a +dishonoured corpse. There he dangles in the cold north wind +for an hour. We cannot get away, as the crowd is determined +to see the last of it, and will not move. It stops to hoot +Jack Ketch, as he comes to cut Marley down at nine +o’clock. Till then, there he hangs, a tall, well-made +man, with fine dark whiskers, <!-- page 44--><a +name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>in his very +prime, heedless of the sixty thousand glaring eyes all round, +with hands clasped as if supplicating that divine mercy which all +born of woman need, and which may God grant us in our dying +hour. Away hastes the crowd to its business or its +pleasure; and when a short time after I pass by the very spot +where that hideous throng had stood, blaspheming in the very +presence of death, butchers’ and carriers’ carts +filled up the vacant space, and the past night seemed a ghastly +dream.</p> +<h2><!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>CATHERINE-STREET.</h2> +<p>Strand, is a busy place by day-time (it does a great business +in the newspaper line, and about four or five in the afternoon it +is used by the acute newsboys of the metropolis as a kind of +Change), but it is busier far by night, and the later the hour +the more active and lively it grows. As you walk along the +Strand any time in the afternoon and evening, have you not seen +(to our shame be it said) a sight not visible in the chief +thoroughfare of any other capital in Europe? The sight I +allude to is that of girls, whose profession is but too evident +from their appearance, stopping almost every man they meet, +mildly, perhaps, in the early part of the evening—but, +under the influence of drink, with greater rudeness and freedom +as the night wears on. These girls, as you observe, are +dressed in finery hired for the purpose; and following them, as a +hawk its prey, you will perceive at a respectful distance old +hags, always Jewesses, <!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 46</span>whose business it is to see that +these girls do not escape with their fine dresses, and that they +are active in their efforts to entrap young men void of +understanding. Well, these women all live in the +neighbourhood of Catherine-street. What a filthy trade the +Jews and Jewesses of London drive! You may go into +Elysiums, and wine-rooms, and saloons, in this district, and you +will find them belonging to Jews—the waiters Jews—the +wine, the women, the cigars, all in the hands of Jews—true +to their ancient vocation of “spoiling the +Egyptians.” Let me not be understood as joining in +vulgar prejudices against the Jews. Without reading +“Coningsby,” or “Lord George Bentinck, a +Political Biography,” I am ready to confess that there have +been, and still are, great and gifted men born to the Jewish +race; but I am speaking of the vile crew who earn an infamous +livelihood by pandering to all that is degraded in man or +woman—whose vulture eyes follow you up and down +Catherine-street, and who, if they could, would rob you of your +last farthing, and tear off from your back its last rag, and who +by fair means or foul rear up prostitutes, and trade in flesh and +blood. But pardon the digression, and yet not exactly <!-- +page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>is the subject a digression, when we remember +Catherine-street and its neighbouring courts would be a very +different locality, had not the Jews selected it as a fitting +place for operation. In the days Consule Planco, as Mr +Thackeray would write, in the hot youth of the Regency, before +George IV. had become prematurely used up, and a moral people had +erected a statue to the memory of the most dissolute king in +Christendom as a lesson for England’s ingenuous youth and +as an example for future royal princes, Catherine-street was gay +indeed, if wine and profligacy in the lowest and worst reality of +forms are ever gay. There was Mother H.’s, where +bucks assembled, and reckless women danced and drank for a few +short years ere they died wretchedly in parish poor-houses, or +sought oblivion and repose in the dark waters of the neighbouring +Thames. Up and down Catherine-street what wretchedness +masked in smiles has walked—what sin in satin—what +devilish craft and brutal lust, aye, and, what is worse than all, +what unavailing repentance and regret!</p> +<p>A very fleeting population is that of Catherine-street. +These women, commencing their life at eighteen, are few of them +supposed to last more <!-- page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 48</span>than eight years; and if you see them +in the day-time, before they are painted and dressed +up—with their red eyes and bloated faces, you will think +few of them will last even that short time; but they pass on one +by one to the spirit land, not as did Antigone, conscious of duty +done, though wailing her unwedded state, nor as Jephthah’s +high-souled daughter, for whom Hebrew maidens devoutly +wept—but with body and soul alike loathsome and steeped in +sin. Here in Catherine-street vice is a monster of a +hideous mien. The gay women, as they are termed, are worse +off than American slaves, and the men at the best are but drunken +fools frittering away time and money and health, and rooting out +from their hearts all trace of the divine that may be yet +lingering there. The West is the more fashionable quarter, +and the glory of Catherine-street is fled. Almost every +house you come to is a public-house, or something worse. +Here there is a free-and-easy after the theatres are over; there +a lounge open all night for the entertainment of bullies and +prostitutes, and pickpockets and thieves, greenhorns from the +country or London-born; here a dancing saloon, which we are told +in the advertisement no visitor <!-- page 49--><a +name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>should leave +London without first seeing, and there a coffee-house where, when +expelled from gayer places of resort, half intoxicated men and +women take an early breakfast. All round you are bitter +memories. Every stone you tread is red with blood; you can +almost hear the last dying shriek of virtue, before, by means of +the tempting purse or the hocussed draught, the poor +victim—feebler in her struggles every hour—be lost +for ever. Yet the gas burns brightly by night, and there is +dancing, and wine, and songs, and in the small hours you may hear +a hollow laughter, sadder even than cries and tears. Think +what years and years of tedious culture must have elapsed to +produce this concentrated essence of vice. How many must +have died in the seasoning—how many must have turned back +shuddering as they saw the dark ending to their infatuated +career—how many weeping parents must have won back to +decency and the observance of moral and social law—how many +the want of pecuniary means must have compelled into a reluctant +abstinence! Such a crop could only be reared in such a +Sodom and Gomorrha as ours. That landlord, gloating over +his ill-gotten gains, could not have sunk into so fallen <!-- +page 50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>a condition rapidly. It has taken years to make +him what he is. There is no excuse for him, and he knows +it. It is not for the honest refreshment of the weary or +the <i>bonâ fide</i> accommodation of the public that his +house is open. The real public have been in bed for +hours. These men around us are here for immoral +purposes. These women are on the same bad errand, and that +they may better pursue their vocation, here they come and drink; +but he sells his poison, thinking not of the mischief it will do, +but of the gain it will bring. Is he not a degraded man, +with his double chin, and dirty face, and low forehead? can you +see in him one trace of benevolence or humanity? Do you +doubt this?—spend your last farthing in his bar, pawn every +article of clothing you have, and go with an empty pocket and in +rags, and you will soon be ordered to the door. You see he +is now turning out that wretched creature. He has allowed +her to drink till she has no more money; but she solicited chance +customers, and they treated her to gin, and so the landlord let +her stop; but now she is so drunk as to interfere with his +business, and he turns her houseless and friendless out into the +streets. Let us watch her. She <!-- page 51--><a +name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>is too far +gone to have any decency left. Drink and sadness combined +have tortured her brain to madness. Her curses fill the +air; a crowd collects; the police come up; she is borne on a +stretcher to Bow-street, and in the morning is dismissed with a +reprimand, or sentenced to a month’s imprisonment, as the +sitting magistrate is in a good temper or the reverse. The +longer we stop here the more of such scenes shall we see, for +with such publicans and sinners Catherine-street abounds. I +have known life lost here in these midnight brawls; yet by day it +has a dull and decent appearance, and little would the passing +stranger guess all its revelations of sorrow and of crime.</p> +<h2><!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>THE BAL MASQUE,</h2> +<p>In<span class="smcap"> </span>foreign lands, we are told, is +something refined and delicate. I have been to some abroad +which certainly were nothing of the kind; but in England, or +rather in London, they are low, blackguard places, whether in the +Holborn Casino, or Covent Garden, or the Grecian Saloon, or +Vauxhall, or at Drury-lane. In 1723 they were put down by +government. Steele wrote of them, that in his time, +“the misfortune of the thing is, that people dress +themselves in what they have a mind to be—and not what they +are fit for.” I have seen the French men and women at +Vauxhall, and if they do in Paris what they do there—why, +then I doubt somewhat of the superiority even of French Bal +Masqués. But in England a public Bal Masqué +is a disgusting exhibition, to enjoy which every moral sense must +be deadened, and then a man must be drunk and have his pockets +well lined. The rustic flower-girls and simple hay-makers +with <!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>whom you dance will drink champagne as if it were +ginger-beer, and consume all the delicacies of the season as if +they cost no more than bacon and beans.</p> +<p>The fun, as it is termed, generally commences about 11 <span +class="smcap">p.m.</span>, by an immense mob of costermongers, +tag-rag and bob-tail, forming themselves in a row under the +<i>surveillance</i> of the police, to watch and criticise the +appearance of the maskers, and specially to regale themselves +with jokes should any unfortunate do the economical and arrive on +foot. I hear people say they like London—they can do +anything they like without being observed. I doubt that +much. I advise the strong-minded female who tells me that, +to walk down Cheapside in a Bloomer costume, and I will warrant +she will have as great a mob accompanying her as followed Kossuth +or any other hero to Guildhall. But to return to the Bal +Masqué. I presume the company are arriving and the +little boys are cheering, as only little boys can, right under +cab wheels and in between the horses’ legs. Some of +the company, to borrow an ancient witticism, go disguised as +gentlemen—some buy a mask at the door for +fourpence—others delight in monstrous noses <!-- page +54--><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>and +fearful moustache—others, especially those who have fancy +dresses, appear as Charles II.s, Cardinal Wolseys, Shakspeares, +Henry VIII.s, Scotch Highlanders, Australian Diggers, Monks, and +look far better when they enter than they do when they make their +exit in the early light of a summer morning. The same +remark holds true of their female companions, who are mostly the +same ladies that you meet in Regent-street in the afternoon, or +hanging about the Hay-market all night, a class at no time +remarkable for modesty, but whom we shall see in the course of +the evening becoming bold and brazenfaced with excitement and +wine. But the theatre is full—the guests are +met—the band is assembled—the leader wields the +baton—the sparkling chandeliers give a lustre to the scene, +and away they bound to the music, whilst from the boxes and the +gallery admiring crowds look down. Yes, there is a wild +excitement in the hour, which stirs even the pulses of old +blood. The women, as debardeurs, flower girls, sailor +boys—many of them with faces fitting them for diviner +lives, look beautiful even in their degradation and shame. +Horace tells us, wherever we go black care gets up and rides +behind. Is it so? <!-- page 55--><a +name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>Can there be +sad hearts beneath those gay exteriors? Do those cheeks +flushed and radiant eyes indicate that they belong to those whom +all moralists have held infamous, all religions condemned, and +whose existence our modern civilization perpetuates and +deplores? Is man an immortal being, sent here for awhile to +triumph over fleshly lusts and passions, to learn to trample as +dross on the vanities of earth, and to set his affections on +things above? Is it true that the most successful votaries +of pleasure, from kingly Solomon to lordly Byron, have borne the +same testimony to them, that they are not worth the gathering, +that they are but as apples gathered by the shore of the Dead +Sea, fair to the eye but deadly to the taste, and that in no way +can they answer the need and aspirations of the heart of man, +which is greater and grander than them all? Have we paid +ministers of religion, bishops and archbishops, millions and +millions of pounds to teach men these few self-evident truths, +and yet do such orgies as those of which we write not merely +exist but flourish, as if we had accepted the creed of the +Atheist,—“Let us eat and drink and be merry, for +to-morrow we die”? To-morrow! who around us now +thinks <!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 56</span>of to-morrow? Not the young +rake chaffing and dancing before us, whose mirth is the delirium +of forgetfulness and the intoxication of wine, whose to-morrow is +Whitecross-street Prison or the Insolvent Debtors’ +Court. Not that brazenfaced woman now arrayed in splendour, +and surrounded by her admirers, whose to-morrow is old age, +neglect, and a garret. Not those grey-headed gouty old +sinners in the boxes, who have not the excuse of youth for the +follies with which they desecrate old age. And certainly +not that pale clerk, who has most probably embezzled his +employer’s money, and who is frantically exclaiming, +“Waiter, another bottle of champagne,” as he tells +the women of his lot that he feels “a cup too +low.” You say he has them to cheer him. Yes, +till his money is gone. When he is at Bow-street, as +assuredly he will soon be, I promise you they will not be the +last to give evidence as to his possession of funds, or the +manner of his spending them. There may be honour among +thieves, there is none among women when they have once lost their +own.</p> +<p>Still gaily goes on the dancing. Then there is supper +and wine—and more dancing, and more music, and more +wine. The reporters for <!-- page 57--><a +name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>the papers +generally leave about supper-time, and state that the gaieties +were prolonged till a late hour; it is well they do this. +In the earlier part of the evening the rioting and chaffing is +somewhat of the coarsest, and the wit somewhat of the poorest; +and the later it grows, and the more potent is the vinous +influence, the less select, or rather the more obscene, is the +phraseology. In the wild saturnalia that ensues, all the +restraints of decency and habit are thrown on one side. It +is time to close, and the conductor sees this. Already +Henry VIII. is right royally drunk, and Cardinal Wolsey is +uttering flat blasphemy, and one monk has got a black eye, +another a bloody nose. Unless, as in the case of Covent +Garden, the theatre is burned down, and the proceedings are +abruptly terminated, there is a final dance,—a patriotic +rendering of the national anthem,—and into the air walk, or +rather tumble, the debauchees, some to go home quietly to bed, +others to keep it up in the nearest coffee-houses and +public-houses; and handmaidens rising early to take in the milk +in various parts of the metropolis are astonished by the +exceedingly unsteady gait and singular costumes <!-- page 58--><a +name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>of various +dismal gents, who have, if they are not absolute fools, sworn +that it will be a long time before they go to another +masqué bal. Such, I believe, is the general +conclusion, the only exceptions being the costumier who provides +the dresses, generally a Jew, and the bigger Jew who furnishes +the wine.</p> +<h2><!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>UP THE HAYMARKET.</h2> +<p>If I take up the reports of our various religious societies, I +find we are spending an enormous sum in sending the Gospel into +foreign parts. I<span class="smcap"> </span>don’t say +but what this is praiseworthy—Indians, Turks, Jews, +Assyrians, bond and free, are they not all children of one common +Father with ourselves?—but let us not overlook after all +the claims of home. I do not speak now of the lowest +classes, of the refuse and outcasts of our towns, of the Pariahs +of our civilization; I speak of the heathens in satin and +broadcloth, of the vice that wears patent leather boots and the +best French kid, of the intemperance that feasts at rich +men’s tables, and that is born of hock, and claret, and +champagne.</p> +<p>But what has all this to do with the Haymarket? Wait +awhile, and your curiosity will be satisfied. It is +day-time, and we will stroll up thither. There is nothing +peculiar about the place, except the unusual number of +gin-palaces, <!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 60</span>hotels, French restaurants, +oyster-shops, coffee-houses with the blinds drawn, as if to show +they did not care to do business, and the general sleepy +appearance of the waiters. There is a cab-stand seemingly +inclined to shut up shop, and if it were not for the omnibuses +there would be but few indications of life. On the +right-hand side as you go from Pall Mall there are most +respectable shops, but the wonder to me is how they manage to +attract custom sufficient to enable them to pay what must be +their very heavy rents. At the top of the Haymarket we find +the street from Leicester-square to Piccadilly always full of +traffic, and just opposite are the oyster-shops, and Turkish +divans and cafés, all quiet enough now, but at the +witching hour of night destined to be filled to suffocation with +fast men and flash women, with cabs and carriages, with old hags +with fruit and flowers, male vendors of pencils and knives, +policemen and bullies, fools and rogues. Let us skip over a +short interval of time, and suppose the neighbouring church bells +to have chimed the midnight hour. A few steps take us to +the Lowther Arcade. We take our stand with a crowd just +opposite a building with an entrance lighted with gas, which we +learn to <!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 61</span>be a handsome casino—one of the +handsomest in London—devoted to dancing and drinking. +The hour of closing has arrived, and the votaries of pleasure, as +it is called, are leaving. There are an immense number of +women all splendidly dressed—from the young girl who has +not yet learnt the bitterness of the life she has ventured on, to +the woman thoroughly dead to all feeling, all modesty, and +shame. It is a sad sight, though few see the snake in the +grass for the flowers; and of the gay ones there none think they +will ever become like the bloated, ragged women now standing in +their path and asking with the true professional whine for +alms. Some are borne away in broughams, some in cabs, but +the most on foot. Let us now look at the men. You +cannot see a finer set anywhere. Are not the flower of our +youth and manhood there? Of course I refer merely to their +physical formation. Young fellows from the army and navy, +men from all our universities and inns of court, gents from the +city and the Stock Exchange, and respectable middle-aged country +gentlemen stopping in town a night, and just dropping in to see +what is going on. Before us there is enough material to +found a mighty empire, including even that <!-- page 62--><a +name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>pale +melancholy little lordling dashing along in his cab, who has +already, boy as he is, a regiment; and all this multitude is +going headlong to the devil at express speed, in spite of the +baptismal vow and the ministrations of the church. But let +us see what they are about. Here a portion seeks supper at +the neighbouring oyster-rooms, and a rush is made at the waiters +as they bring in oysters and pale ale, as if the parties had been +famishing all day. Then we knock at the door of a place at +one time much patronized by a certain marquis, and still bearing +his name; and we find some that we saw leaving the casino here +drinking; or we go into another, where the crowd is so dense we +have scarce room to stand, and find the same occupation +vigorously carried on. Of course at the places which do not +have closed doors the bars are all filled, and drinking seems the +order of the night. In the mean while let us march up +Piccadilly. The small hours have now come, yet the place is +redolent with life. Young fellows are singing “We +won’t go home till morning”—policemen are +bidding the unfortunates that won’t fee them move +on—hideous females are waiting to rob the drunkards they +may meet in their path—and men with <!-- page 63--><a +name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>hawk eyes and +hungry aspect are hovering all round like so many birds of prey; +and boys—for they are everywhere, all dirt and rags, yet +happy in the richness of young life, for childhood, even the most +abandoned, can never be sad—dance round us, in the hope +that “your honour” will find a copper for “poor +little Jack,” singing to us of that far-famed +Ratcatcher’s Daughter, who</p> +<blockquote><p>“Didn’t live in Vestministere,<br /> +But the t’other side of the vatere.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Well, I’d rather be one of them than the proprietress of +yon house, with the gas lamp over the door, who by this time has +been borne by the Great Northern in a first-class carriage, side +by side with senators, and city magistrates, and clergymen, and +it may be your wife or mine, to her country seat. We are +standing in the very temple of vice—its ministers are all +round us. Not one unholy appetite but can be gratified +here; gamblers, blacklegs, prostitutes, surround us on every +side. Here law, and order, and decency are alike all +violated. If it be in the prohibited hours, we can go into +coffee-houses and get as much brandy as we like, which of course +is easily removed when the signal is made that <!-- page 64--><a +name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>the inspector +is coming, and is again brought out when he is gone. But +let us knock at this door; the glare of gas indicates that there +is something going on, though the cold fowl in the window, and +the cigar shop close by, scarcely inform us what. We pay +for admission, and, entering through a narrow passage, find +ourselves in a large saloon, with a balcony all round. On +the ground-floor of course there is dancing, and at the end is a +bar where drink is being rapidly supplied. Up in the +balcony are young fellows sitting with gaily-dressed women, +drinking sherry-cobblers and smoking cigars. In time the +room gets crowded, and the people in it grow a little the worse +for drink. Though we can scarce see for the smoke, and hear +on account of the roar of many tongues, it is not difficult to +perceive in the hilariousness of some, in the bad temper of +others, in the stupidity of most, and in the foul language of +all, that the drink is producing its legitimate effect. +That girl in satin and rouge in another hour we shall see lying +on the stone pavement with an unmeaning grin, till she is borne +by policemen on a stretcher to the lock-up. That fine manly +lad, out to see life, will sleep to-night where the <!-- page +65--><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>mother now praying for him in her dreams little +imagines. <i>She</i> would not have sunk so low, <i>he</i> +never would have blasted a mother’s hopes, had it not have +been for the drink. Come out with me into the air. +What a crowd there is round us, all looking pale and seedy in the +clear light of a summer morn! What has kept them out all +night? What has made them what they are but the +drink? You start at that moving mass of sores and +rags. I remember her fair and beautiful, richly apparelled +and sumptuously fed; but the drink has been her bane, and will +be, till one of these calm summer mornings she will be carried +insensible to the nearest hospital, thence to be buried, unwept +and unknown, in a pauper’s grave. Away from this +moral dunghill. In a few hours the police will have +retired, the debauchees will have gone home to bed, the +oyster-houses and gin-palaces will be deserted, the place will +have a serious and quiet business air, and bishops will ride past +it in their cushioned carriages to make speeches at meetings for +the promotion of the Gospel in foreign parts. As we go up +Regent-street we see the lamps being extinguished, and the milk +carts going round, and the red newspaper expresses tearing <!-- +page 66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>along to catch the early train, and the green hills of +Hampstead looking lovelier than ever. In the sober light of +day our night in the Haymarket will seem unreal, and when we +shall tell our experiences, we shall be told possibly that our +picture is overdrawn.</p> +<h2><!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>THE CANTERBURY HALL.</h2> +<p>“Give<span class="smcap"> </span>me the songs of the +people, and you may make its laws,” said old Fletcher, of +Saltoun, with a knowledge of human nature which statesmen do not +frequently possess. Necessity is a stern taskmaster, and +the workman in the factory, and the clerk in the counting-house, +and the shopman behind the counter, are generally compelled to +stick pretty close to work, and to the eye of the observer +present very much the same appearance. They come at certain +hours, they go at certain hours, and perform their daily toil +with a certain amount of effectiveness and skill. Very +little credit is due to them for this—their livelihood +depends upon their being diligent and active—and hence I +know little of the individual by merely witnessing him toiling +for his daily bread. I must follow him home; I must be with +him in his hours of relaxation; I must listen to the songs he +sings and the jokes he attempts; I must see what is his idea of +<!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>pleasure, and thus only can I get at the man as he +is. Even his church or chapel goings I cannot take as +indications of his real nature. He may go because his +parents go, because his master goes, because his friends go, +because he has been trained to go, because society expects him to +go,—for a hundred reasons all equally vain in the eyes of +Him who searcheth the heart and trieth the reins of the children +of men; but no man is a hypocrite where his pleasures are +concerned. I can gather more about him from the way in +which he spends his leisure hours than I can from his active +employments of the day. They are poor miserable +philosophers indeed, and guilty of an enormous blunder, who, in +their investigation into the moral and social condition of the +people, refuse to notice the amusements of the people in their +hours of gaiety and ease. I make, then, no apology for +introducing you to Canterbury Hall.</p> +<p>The Upper Marsh, Westminster-road, is what is called a low +neighbourhood. It is not far from Astley’s +Theatre. Right through it runs the South Western Railway, +and everywhere about it are planted pawnbrokers’ shops, +with an indescribable amount of dirty second-hand <!-- page +69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>clothes, and monster gin-palaces, with unlimited +plate-glass and gas. Go along there what hour of the day +you will, these gin-palaces are full of ragged children, hideous +old women, and drunken men. “The bane and the +antidote,” you may say, “are thus side by +side.” True, but you forget that youth in its search +for pleasure is blind, and sees not the warning till it is too +late; and of the hundreds rushing on to the Canterbury Hall for a +quiet glass, none think they will fall so low as the victims of +intemperance reeling, cursing, fighting, blaspheming, in their +path. But let us pass on. A well-lighted entrance +attached to a public-house indicates that we have reached our +destination. We proceed up a few stairs, along a passage +lined with handsome engravings, to a bar, where we pay sixpence +if we take a seat in the body of the hall, and nine-pence if we +do the nobby and ascend into the balcony. We make our way +leisurely along the floor of the building, which is really a very +handsome hall, well lighted, and capable of holding fifteen +hundred persons; the balcony extends round the room in the form +of a horseshoe. At the opposite end to which we enter is +the platform, on which is placed a grand piano <!-- page 70--><a +name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>and a +harmonium, on which the performers play in the intervals when the +professional singers have left the stage. The chairman sits +just beneath them. It is dull work to him; but there he +must sit every night smoking cigars and drinking, from seven till +twelve o’clock. I fancy I detect a little touch of +rouge just on the top of his cheek; he may well need it, for even +on a fine summer night like this the room is crowded, and almost +every gentleman present has a pipe or a cigar in his mouth. +Let us look round us; evidently the majority present are +respectable mechanics, or small tradesmen with their wives and +daughters and sweethearts there. Now and then you see a +midshipman, or a few fast clerks and warehousemen, who +confidentially inform each other that there is “no end of +talent here,” and that Miss --- “is a doosed fine +gal;” and here, as elsewhere, we see a few of the class of +unfortunates, whose staring eyes would fain extort an admiration +which their persons do not justify. Every one is smoking, +and every one has a glass before him; but the class that come +here are economical, and chiefly confine themselves to pipes and +porter. The presence of the ladies has also a beneficial +effect; I see no indication <!-- page 71--><a +name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>of +intoxication, and certainly none of the songs are obscene. +I may question the worth of such stanzas as the following, sung +by Mr R. Grover, Miss Pearce, and the whole of the +company:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Alfred</span>.</p> +<p> We’ll drink to the beauty that’s +beaming around,<br /> + Where Nature’s own flowers +are blooming;<br /> + Where none but the voices of happiness sound,<br /> + And our pathway the love-light +illumes.<br /> + We’ll +drink, too, to the rosy god,<br /> + + +The god of love and beauty,<br /> + For all who are +his vot’ries<br /> + + +Must tender him their duty.<br /> +We’ll drink while there’s love in the cup which we +quaff,<br /> + Since’t is love o’er the world reigns +supreme.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span>.</p> +<p>We’ll drink to friendship firm and true,<br /> +While love the cup shall crown.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Violetta</span>.</p> +<p> Come, bask in the pleasure that falls to our +share,<br /> + For Time on the wing’s ever +flying,<br /> + And flowers of love are exotics so rare,<br /> + Their odour’s scarce shed +ere ’t is flown.<br /> + Be gay, for +youth must soon depart,<br /> + + +And even love will vanish,<br /> + The brightest +scenes, alas! will fade,<br /> + + +And sweetest pleasures pall.<br /> +Be gay, then, while youth still untrammell’d by care<br /> + Shall invite us to joy and to love.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 72--><a +name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span>.</p> +<p>Ah! let us join in the toast,<br /> +In the song and the revelling,<br /> +Passing the night in mirthful pleasure,<br /> +While love shall teach us how to treasure<br /> +This paradise on earth.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I may think I have heard sublimer compositions than the +following, sung by Mrs Caulfield with great applause:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Fare you well, my own Mary Anne,<br /> + Fare you well for a while:<br /> +For the ship it is ready, and the wind it is fair,<br /> + And I am bound for the sea, Mary Anne.<br /> + + +Fare you well, &c.</p> +<p>Don’t you see that turtle dove,<br /> + A sitting on yonder pile,<br /> +Lamenting the loss of its own true love?—<br /> + And so am I for mine, Mary Anne.<br /> + + +Fare you well, &c.</p> +<p>A lobster in a lobster-pot,<br /> + A blue-fish wriggling on a hook,<br /> +May suffer some, but, oh! no not<br /> + What I do feel for my Mary Anne.<br /> + + +Fare you well, &c.</p> +<p>The pride of all the produce rare,<br /> + That in our kitchen-garden grow’d,<br /> +Was pumpkins, but none could compare<br /> + In angel-form to my Mary Anne.<br /> + + +Fare you well, &c.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>or of the following, sung by Mrs Caulfield with still +greater applause:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Down in Skytown lived a maid,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> +Churning butter was her trade,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> +She loved a feller whose name was Will,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> +His dad he used to own the mill,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span>.</p> +<p>Kemo, kimo, where? oh there! my high, my low,<br /> + Then in came Sally singing,<br /> +Sometimes, Medley winkum lingtum nip cat.<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?</p> +<p>She wanted Will for worse or better,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> +She’d have married, but dad wouldn’t let her.<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> +And so she went and got a knife,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> +She broke her heart and lost her life,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> + + +Kemo, kimo, &c.</p> +<p>Then Josh he felt his dander risin’,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> +So he went and swallow’d pisin,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> +The village folks laugh’d in their sleeve,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> +For Jordan’s a hard road to travel, I believe,<br /> + Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh?<br /> + + +Kemo, kimo, &c.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>But, compared with many of the places frequented by both +sexes, Canterbury Hall is a respectable place. I may think +that more rational amusement might be found than by sitting +smoking and drinking in a large room on a hot summer’s +night. I may have my doubts whether all go home +sober—the presence of a policeman in the room indicated +that at times there was need for his services—but I believe +the association of song and drinking and amusements pernicious in +the extreme; and, knowing that man needs relaxation—that he +must have his hour of amusement as well as of work—I cannot +too earnestly press upon the advocates of Temperance reform the +desirableness of their out-bidding the public-house in the +attempts to cater for the entertainment of the people. That +they do not do so, is clear. Where once we had a National +Hall in Holborn, for the action of moral influences, a publican +has erected a hall—for singing and drinking—capable, +I should think, of holding 1200 people, and crammed every +night. Then the “Lord Raglan” holds as +many. Nor are these alone the only competitors for public +patronage; their name is Legion.</p> +<h2><!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>RATCLIFFE-HIGHWAY.</h2> +<p>London<span class="smcap"> </span>is several cities rolled +into one. If we walk along Regent-street, it is a city of +gorgeous shops,—if you turn into the West, of parks and +palaces,—if you traverse St Giles, of gin and +dirt;—again, in Belgravia it is rich and grand,—in +Pimlico it is poor and pretentious,—in Russell-square it is +well to do,—in Islington it is plain and pious; and, +strange as it may seem, the people are equally localised in their +ideas. Jobson, the Stock-broker, lives at Clapham, and for +years he has never set foot in any other streets than those +leading from the Stock Exchange to that select and favoured +spot. The law clerks, who live in Pimlico, seldom stray +further than John-street, Bedford-row. The city gents from +Islington and Holloway generally cluster round the Bank or the +Post-office, and for years go in the morning and return at night +by one unvaried route. The races are equally +distinct. The swells in the Park, the millers in <!-- page +76--><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>Mark-lane, the graziers in the new cattle-market, the +Jews in Houndsditch or Holywell-street, the prim pale lads in the +city, the sailors in Deptford and Wapping, the German +sugar-bakers in Whitechapel, really form distinct communities, +and are as worth studying as any race of</p> +<blockquote><p>“Red Indians dwelling beyond the sunset,<br +/> +And the baths of all the Western stars.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I should not like a son of mine to be born and bred in +Ratcliffe-highway. That there would be a charming +independence in his character, a spurning of that dreary +conventionalism which makes cowards of us all, and under the +deadly weight of which the heart of this great old England seems +becoming daily more sick and sad, a cosmopolitanism rich and racy +in the extreme,—all this I admit I should have every reason +to expect, but, at the same time, I believe the disadvantages +would preponderate vastly. How is this? you ask. Does +not Ratcliffe-highway form part of our highly-favoured +land? I grant it does. I confess that there the +Queen’s writ is a power, that it boasts the protection of +the police, that it pays rates and taxes, that it has <!-- page +77--><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>its +churches and chapels, that it is not cut off from the rest of the +empire, that it is traversed by railways, by cabs and busses, and +by postmen. Nevertheless, Ratcliffe-highway is not a +favourite spot of mine. I saw lately a letter from an +Englishman in the <i>Times</i>, complaining of the magistrates of +Hamburg, because when he was coming from church with some ladies, +he strayed into a street where his sense of decorum was very +properly shocked. I know the street as I do every street in +Hamburg, and I know this, that it ill becomes Englishmen to write +of the immorality of Hamburg, or any other continental +town. Let him walk down Ratcliffe-highway or any other spot +where vice loses all its charms by appearing in all its +grossness. I fear that it is not true generally to the eyes +of the class she leads astray, that</p> +<blockquote><p>“Vice is a monster of such hideous mien,<br +/> +That to be hated, needs but to be seen,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>but I think it is true, or at any rate it contains a portion +of truth, so far as regards Ratcliffe-highway, a stroll in which +place is sure to shock more senses than one. In beastliness +I think it surpasses Cologne with its seven <!-- page 78--><a +name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>and thirty +stenches, or even Bristol or a Welsh town.</p> +<p>Ratcliffe-highway lies contiguous to the commerce and the port +of London. The men and boys engaged in navigating merchant +vessels belonging to ports of the British Empire were in 1851, +240,298; and of this multitude a large portion at some time or +other resides in Ratcliffe-highway. In 1856, 826 vessels, +with a tonnage of 498,594 tons, entered the port of London. +Jack, when he’s ashore, resides here, and Jack ashore is +the weakest and simplest of men. As an illustration of the +way in which Jack is done—whether in any provincial port or +London, for crimps are the same all the world over,—let me +refer to a case heard at the Tynemouth Police Court towards the +end of last year. A man named Glover, the landlord of a low +public-house in Clive-street, a crimp and sailors’ +lodging-house keeper, was summoned under the 235th and 236th +clauses of the Merchant Shipping Act of 1854, charged with having +taken into his possession the moneys and effects of James Hall, a +seaman, and with having refused to return and pay the same back +to Hall when requested to do so. It appears, after being +engaged in the <!-- page 79--><a name="page79"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 79</span>Black Sea in the transport service +during the late war, Hall, who had to receive £30 +15<i>s.</i>, took up his quarters at Glover’s, and made him +his “purser.” Glover charged him 14<i>s.</i> +a-week for his lodgings, the same as the Sailors’ Home, but +at the end of 16 days he told him that his money was all gone, +and bought the plaintiff’s neckerchief of him for +1<i>s.</i>, which he also spent in drink. The sailor, +finding himself destitute, had applied to the authorities, who +summoned Glover. Glover, in his defence, stated that Hall +had spent his money in drink and treating, keeping a couple of +bagpipers to play to him all the time he was on the spree. +Glover produced the following extraordinary account against +Hall:—“Dec. 9th.—20 pints of rum, £2 +6<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>; 20 quarts of beer, and 15 ounces of +tobacco, 15<i>s.</i> 10th.—8 glasses of rum, and +2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> borrowed money, 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> +11th.—Borrowed money, 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>; 5 pints of +rum, 5 gills of rum, and 15 quarts of ale, £1 12<i>s.</i> +6<i>d.</i>; 6 ounces of tobacco, 2 glasses of gin, and 2 gills of +brandy, 6<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> 12th.—Cash, 2<i>s.</i>, +15 pints of rum, and 28 gills of rum, £3; 4 quarts, half a +gallon, and 22 gills of beer, £1 3<i>s.</i> 9<i>d.</i>; 15 +glasses of rum and 11 glasses of beer, 9<i>s.</i> 3<i>d.</i>; +pint of brandy and 16 glasses of <!-- page 80--><a +name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>gin, +8<i>s.</i>; 36 ounces of tobacco and 3½ glasses of gin, +12<i>s.</i> 4½<i>d.</i> 13th.—18 pints of rum, +15 gills of rum, and 26 quarts of beer, £3 4<i>s.</i>; 26 +bottles of lemonade, and 28 gills of beer, £1; 14 ounces of +tobacco, 6 glasses of gin, 6<i>s.</i> 2<i>d.</i>; 12 glasses of +gingerade, and cash 5<i>s.</i>, 8<i>s.</i>; 1 week’s board, +14<i>s.</i> Paid for clothes, £1 2<i>s.</i> +6<i>d.</i>; 2 pints of rum, 10 gills of rum, and 4 glasses of +beer, 16<i>s.</i>; 24 glasses of spirits, 9 quarts of beer, and 7 +ounces of tobacco, 14<i>s.</i> 7<i>d.</i> 15th.—16 +half glasses of spirits, 10 glasses and 2 gills of rum, and +1½ ounce of tobacco, and beer, 2<i>s.</i> 10<i>d.</i>; +fortnight’s board, £1 8<i>s.</i>; cash, £2 +18<i>s.</i>; spirits, tobacco, and rum, 4<i>s.</i> +1½<i>d.</i>; cash, 5<i>s.</i> 17th.—Cash, +7<i>s.</i>; 20 glasses of spirits, and 8 quarts of ale, +9<i>s.</i> 4<i>d.</i> 18th.—Ale, spirits, and +tobacco, 16<i>s.</i> 4<i>d.</i> 19th.—35 glasses of +spirits, and 20 glasses of ale, and 2 glasses of brandy, £1 +4<i>s.</i> 10<i>d.</i> 20th.—Ale, tobacco, and cash, +7<i>s.</i> 24th, 25th, and 26th.—Ale and spirits, +7<i>s.</i> 11<i>d.</i>, and other items, making up the amount in +hand. The defendant had refused to deliver up Hall’s +clothes on the plea that the man was in his debt. Now in +Ratcliffe-highway such men as Glover abound. It is +unnecessary then to describe the character of the tradesmen in +Ratcliffe-highway, or the character <!-- page 81--><a +name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>of their +wares. At one shop there are the enormous boots, which only +navvies and sailors have strength to wear; at another there are +oilskin caps, and coats and trousers, or rough woollen shirts, +piled up in gigantic masses. One shop rejoices in compasses +and charts, and another in the huge silver watches which Jack +invariably affects. The descendants of Abraham swarm +here. They sell little fish fried in oil; they deal in +second-hand clothes; they keep lodging-houses; I believe they +stick at nothing to turn a penny, and don’t break their +hearts if the penny turns out a dishonest one. Everything +has a nautical adaptation. The songs sung are +nautical. The last time I was there an old woman was +singing to a crowd of the “Saucy Sailor Boy” who, +coming disguised in poverty to his lady love, is by her +ignominiously rejected, to whom rejecting he tells of his real +riches, and by whom the rejection is eagerly recalled, but in +vain, for the Saucy Sailor Boy declares:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Do you think I am foolish, love?<br /> + Do you think I am mad,<br /> +For to wed a poor country girl,<br /> + When there’s fortune to be had?</p> +<p><!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>“So I’ll cross the briny ocean,<br /> + Where the meadows are so green,<br /> +And since you have refused my offer, love,<br /> + Some other girl shall wear the ring.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Up and down Ratcliffe-highway do the sailors of every country +under heaven stroll—Greeks and Scythians, bond and +free. Uncle Tom’s numerous progeny are +there—Lascars, Chinese, bold Britons, swarthy Italians, +sharp Yankees, fair-haired Saxons, and adventurous +Danes—men who worship a hundred gods, and men who worship +none. They have ploughed the stormy main, they have known +the perils of a treacherous sea and of a lee shore; but there are +worse perils, and those perils await them in +Ratcliffe-highway. It is night, and the glare of gas gives +the street a cheerful appearance. We pass the +Sailor’s Home, a noble institution which deserves our +cordial support and praise, and find at almost every step +pitfalls for poor Jack. Every few yards we come to a +beer-shop or a public-house, the doors of which stand temptingly +open, and from the upper room of which may be heard the sound of +the mirth-inspiring violin, and the tramp of toes neither +“light nor fantastic.” There were public-houses +<!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>here—I know not if the custom prevails +now—to which was attached a crew of infamous women; these +bring Jack into the house to treat them, but while Jack drinks +gin the landlord gives them from another tap water, and then +against their sober villany poor Jack has no chance. I fear +many respectable people in this neighbourhood have thus made +fortunes. Jack is prone to grog and dancing, and here they +meet him at every turn. Women, wild-eyed, boisterous, with +cheeks red with rouge and flabby with intemperance, decked out +with dresses and ribbons of the gayest hue, are met with by +hundreds—all alike equally coarse, and insolent, and +unlovely in manners and appearance, but all equally resolved on +victimising poor Jack. They dance with him in the +beer-shop—they drink with him in the bar—they walk +with him in the streets—they go with him to such places as +Wilton’s Music Hall, where each Jack Tar may be seen +sitting with his pipe and his pot, witnessing dramatic +performances not very artistic, but really, on the score of +morality, not so objectionable as what I have seen applauded by +an Adelphi audience, or patronised by the upper classes at her +Majesty’s Theatre. And thus the evening <!-- page +84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>passes away; the publicans grow rich, the keepers of +infamous houses fatten on their dishonest gains—obese Jews +and Jewesses become more so. The grog gets into +Jack’s head—the unruly tongue of woman is +loosened—there are quarrels, and blows, and blood drawn, +and heads broken, and cries of police, and victims in abundance +for the station-house, or the hospital, or the union-house, or +the lunatic asylum, save when some forlorn one (and not seldom +either is this the case), reft of hope or maddened by drink and +shame, plunges in the muddy waters of some neighbouring dock, to +find the oblivion she found not in the dancing and drinking +houses of Ratcliffe-highway.</p> +<h2><!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>JUDGE AND JURY CLUBS.</h2> +<p>This<span class="smcap"> </span>is a comic age in which we +live. We are overdone with funny writers. The +ghastliest attempts at liveliness surround us on every +side. I would not bring back the grave deportment and +stately etiquette of days gone by, nor could I if I would. +But are we not running to another extreme? Is there not a +lack of reverence and dignity? If we train up our youth to +comic Blackstones, and teach them to extract fun out of the +grandest history done in modern Europe—the history of the +Anglo-Saxon race—of the race that has founded civil and +religious liberty, and still nurses it in the face of a frowning +continent, what can we expect? Men are what we make +them. “Just as the twig is bent the tree’s +inclined.” A feeble and contemptible father is +succeeded by a feeble and contemptible son. Have no grand +creed of your own to make your daily path lustrous with the light +of heaven. Crack your weak jest and pun at all <!-- page +86--><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>men +have reverenced. Learn from <i>Punch</i> to titter, no +matter the theme. And can you wonder that your son believes +not in man’s honour or woman’s love—in God or +the devil, but solely in the Holborn Casino and Cremorne? +For instance, is not law one of the most wonderful achievements +of civilisation? I do not go so far as “the judicious +Hooker.” I do not say with him that her seat is the +throne of God, her voice the harmony of the universe, but is it +not wonderful to think of the complex arrangements of which the +judge seated in his robes on the bench, administering law, is the +outward sign. In the first place, man must have learnt to +give up a primary instinct of his nature—that of +self-revenge. Then the central power in the darkest parts +of the land must have become dominant. What ages must have +past before law dared meddle with privilege, or before its +administrators could realize the fact of the sanctity of the +individual man, whether he starved in a garret or feasted in a +palace. And when the judges went on circuit, with the +gorgeous cavalcade of the olden time, what terror was struck into +the hearts of the rustics, and how patent became to them the +strength and dignity of law. Now <!-- page 87--><a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>why burlesque +this? The idea is good and true, yet the burlesque is +permitted and exists, aye, even to this day.</p> +<p>It is years since I was at a Judge and Jury Club, but I +believe their character is in no degree changed. The one I +speak of met in an hotel not far from Covent-garden, and was +presided over by a man famous in his day for his power of +<i>double entendre</i>. About nine o’clock in the +evening, if you went up-stairs you would find a large room with +benches capable of accommodating, I should think, a hundred, or a +hundred and fifty persons. This room was generally well +filled, and by their appearance the audience was one you would +call respectable. The entrance fee entitled you to +refreshment, and that refreshment, in the shape of intoxicating +liquor, was by that time before each visitant. After +waiting a few minutes, a rustle at the entrance would cause you +to turn your eyes in that direction, when, heralded by a crier +with a gown and a staff of office, exclaiming, “Make way +for my Lord Chief Baron,” that illustrious individual would +be seen wending his way to his appointed seat. The man I +write of was then about thirty-five, but he appeared much older, +<!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>and in his robes of office and with his judicial wig had +almost a venerable appearance. Having seated himself and +bowed to the bar—one of them they called the double of +Brougham had been a dissenting minister (he is dead now—he +died “game,” they told me)—the Lord Chief Baron +called for “a cigar and glass of brandy and water, and, +having observed that the waiter was in the room and that he hoped +gentlemen would give their orders, the proceedings of the evening +commenced. A jury was selected; the prosecutor opened his +case, which, to suit the depraved taste of his patrons, was +invariably one of seduction or crim. con. Witnesses were +examined and cross-examined, the females being men dressed up in +women’s clothes, and everything was done that could be to +pander to the lowest propensities of depraved humanity. I +do not believe the audience could have stood this if it had not +been for the drink. As it was, I believe many a youth fresh +from home felt a little ashamed of himself that he should be in +such company listening to such unmitigated ribaldry, but these +reflections were soon drowned in the flowing bowl, and the lad, +if he blushed at first, soon learned to laugh. I write of +the time <!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 89</span>when the railway mania had filled +London with overpaid engineers, and attorneys, and parliamentary +witnesses, only too anxious to see life, as they called it, and +by whom this beastly entertainment was frequented night after +night. I dare not even attempt to give a faint outline of +the proceedings. After the defence, came the summing up, +which men about town told you was a model of wit, but in which +the wit bore but a small proportion to the obscenity. The +jury were complimented on their intelligent and lascivious +appearance, all the filthy particulars which had been noticed +were referred to Dog Latin, and poetical quotations were +plentifully thrown in; and by twelve, amidst the plaudits of the +audience, the affair, so far as the Judge and Jury Club was +concerned, was over. Then there was supper for such as +wished it, and an entertainment to follow, either in the shape of +a concert or of an exhibition of <i>Posés +Plastiques</i>. To these subsequent entertainments ladies +were generally admitted—and perhaps the less I say about +them or their proceedings the better. If I refer to them at +all, it is but as an illustration of the drinking customs of +society. These Judge and Jury Clubs after all are but an +excuse for <!-- page 90--><a name="page90"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 90</span>drinking. They are held at +public-houses—there is drinking going on all the time the +trial lasts,—nor could sober men listen unless they had the +drink. I believe an attempt has been made to introduce this +kind of thing to the provinces, but it has not answered. In +all our provincial towns there exists a public opinion which +guarantees decency to a certain extent. In the metropolis +this public opinion does not exist. No one knows that I +frequent Judge and Jury Clubs, and I lose no social status if I +do; and some of the men who patronise them have no social status +to lose. In one of the lowest beershops in the New Cut the +other day I saw it announced that on Sunday night a Judge and +Jury Club was held. It is too true that we are, as Tennyson +says,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Fish that love the mud,<br /> +Rising to no fancy flies.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But man does not naturally revel in obscenity; the modesty of +nature will stick to him for years. But the Judge and Jury +Clubs make you familiar with the manners of the stews; and I +solemnly believe that in Sodom and Gomorrah nothing more filthy +could have been talked about, and that this side Pandemonium +there is nothing <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span>more debasing or debased. If +you wish to see your son thoroughly depraved, send him to a Judge +and Jury Club. In a little while he will come back to you +with every noble principle blotted out, with a mind stored with +pollution, and with a fitting phraseology, ready to run a mad +career of debauchery and vice. Some fifteen years back the +writer was at college, and one of his fellow-students was a fine +young fellow, the heir to a decent fortune, and said to be +connected with a noble family. The last time I was at the +Judge and Jury he was employed as one of the mock counsel; but he +became too intemperate even for that, and enlisted, and miserably +died. They have tragic ends, many of these frequenters of +Judge and Jury Clubs, and it is sad to think that, when the +merriment is the loudest, and the drink is most stimulating, and +the fellowship most jovial, there is burlesque even then.</p> +<h2><!-- page 92--><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>THE CAVE OF HARMONY.</h2> +<p>Reader, do you know the Cave of Harmony? If you do not, +so much the better. If you are one of its +<i>habitués</i>, I fear no words of mine can make you +forsake it. It is said the Cave is altered since we were +there—so much the better; Thackeray, I think, had something +to do with that reform—and that now nothing objectionable +is sung. Still, I doubt whether drinking and harmony after +12 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> can do much good. You +and I, it may be, are old men,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ruin’d trunks on wither’d +forks,<br /> +Empty scarecrows you and I.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We have run through youth with money in our pockets and time +on our hands, and have seen all that life can offer, and know, +what so many do not, that pleasure’s cup but sparkles near +the brim. What we have done and been has been wine working +on the fiery impulses of young blood, but now, sir, with our hair +turning grey and our eyes growing dim, shall we not lift up a +<!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>warning voice, and ask youth to pause ere it take the +final plunge which for years, it may be for ever, shall estrange +it from innocence, and peace, and God.</p> +<p>It is midnight in the great city in which we write. For +a while sorrow and care are veiled from the eyes of men, and to +the poorest and most toilworn come pleasant dreams. The +shops have long been closed, the roar of the streets has died +away, the theatres have discharged their jaded crowds, and as we +walk along, meeting now and then a poor drunkard reeling +home—or a policeman silently patrolling the +streets—or one of the unfortunates, by turns man’s +victim and curse—or some of the votaries of dissipation who +are awake when other men are asleep—we realize all the +grandeur and poetry and magnificence of London by night, and +wonder not that Savage and Johnson should have found such a +fascination in the scene, and that other sons of genius have read +such sermons in its eloquent stones. Let us stroll towards +Covent Garden—in another hour it will be ringing with the +oaths and execrations of seemingly all the market gardeners in +Middlesex—and enter that doorway indicated by the glare of +gas; come with me <!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 94</span>down these stairs, and into that +room, the door of which the waiter holds obligingly open. +Let us stand here while we recover from the effect of the fumes +of grog and the smoke of tobacco. You find yourself in a +room holding perhaps 1200 gentlemen; look around, this is a +respectable place, this Cave of Harmony, there are no poor people +here. We have heavy swells, moustached, and with white +kids—officers in the army—scions of noble +houses—country gentlemen, and merchants, and lawyers in +town on business—literary men, medical students, and old +fogies, with every moral sensibility dead, who have sat here for +years listening to the same songs and the same outpourings; they +could tell you something, these old fogies—what changes +they have seen, as one generation after another of students and +rakes and men about town have thought it fast to sup every night +within these walls; of course the majority in the room are +clerks, and commercial gents, and fellows in Government +situations, learning here the extravagance which in time will +compel them to commit frauds and forgery, and eventually perhaps +land them in a felon’s jail. For the Cave of Harmony +is not a cheap place to <!-- page 95--><a name="page95"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 95</span>sup at. The chop and baked +potatoes are excellent but dear, and four or five shillings is a +sum soon spent if you do as every one here does,—take your +pint of stout, and three or four glasses of grog; and the chances +are you will meet a friend, who will persuade you to make a night +of it and stroll West with him, where you will see Vice flaunting +more finely and with greater bravery than in any other capital in +Europe. But let us drop these considerations. We are +at one end of a long room, at the other is a raised platform, on +which is a piano, and in front of which some half-dozen gentlemen +are seated—these are the performers. Their faces you +know well enough, for they are in much repute for dinners at the +London Tavern or the Freemasons, and the last time I dined with +the Indigent Blind—with a High Church dignitary in the +chair—we had the whole half-dozen to assist; they are good +singers, I willingly confess, and sing many of them touching +songs of youth, and hope, and true love, and home—but they +don’t sing the better for singing during the small hours +and in a drinking saloon. That little Hebrew, who has been +at it, he tells me, for upwards of forty years, is not an +improvisatore <!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 96</span>like Theodore Hook, but he does it +well enough for an audience good-natured and a little the worse +for drink. The imitations of a barnyard, with its cows, and +geese, and turkeys, and other live stock, by that poor, seedy, +needy, smiling German, are amusing to hear once, but every one +here has heard them over and over again. What they need is +something richer, and more spicy, as they term it. You see +they are getting tired of sentimental songs, and war songs, and +madrigals, and glees. They don’t want to +hear—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I know a maiden fair to see,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>or,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Down in a flowery vale,<br /> +All on a summer morning,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>or,</p> +<blockquote><p>“In going to my lonely bed<br /> +As one that would have slept.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>They are careless when Podder sings “Kathleen +Mavourneen,” and are indifferent to the manner in which +Brown renders</p> +<blockquote><p>“Beautiful Venice, city of song.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In old times, before the obscenity of the place was done away +with, towards early morning it seemed a perfect Babel. A +favourite’s name was sounded—it was repeated with +every variety of <!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 97</span>emphasis in every corner of the room; +the tables were struck with drunken fists till the tumult became +a perfect storm; the master of the place raps the table with an +auctioneer’s hammer—“Silence, gentlemen, if you +please, Mr --- will sing a comic song;” and immediately a +man in a beggar’s costume, and with the face of an idiot, +jumps upon the stage. His appearance was a signal for a +whirlwind of applause. He sang, with accompanying action, +some dozen verses of doggerel, remarkable for obscenity and +imbecility. You looked around, but not a blush did you see +in that crowded room; not one single head was held down in shame; +not one high-spirited gentleman rushed indignantly from the +place. On the contrary, the singer was greeted with the +most lavish expression of applause, continued so loudly and so +long that again the proprietor had to announce, “Mr --- +will sing another comic song.” But this time the +comic singer would not dress for his part, and you saw a young, +good-looking, well-dressed, gentlemanly fellow voluntarily +degrading himself for the pleasure of men more degraded +still. You tell me the comic singer is a happy fellow, that +he gets six guineas a-week, that he lives in a nice little +cottage in <!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 98</span>the Hampstead-road. I know +better than you; the man I write of, after having been the +attraction of the Cave of Harmony for years, after having been +feasted by the nobility and gentry, after having led a career of +pleasure on the most extravagant scale, will go down yet young as +a beggar to one of our sea-port towns, and, after craving in vain +a refuge from the winter’s cold and a crust of bread, will +die in the workhouse, and be buried in a pauper’s +grave. How many of the gay young fellows now around us will +have a similar termination to their career! I never can +pass the Cave of Harmony without thinking of the comic singer as +last I saw him—in the very flush of health and life, +stimulated by wine and applause, little dreaming of the workhouse +in which he was so soon to beg for room to die. But this +exhibition is of the past,—the place is reformed; and how +it is patronized is clear, when I state that on the night of the +marriage of the Princess Royal, there were consumed in it 21 +dozen kidneys, 478 chops, 280 Welsh rabbits, 1500 glasses of +stout, and a hogshead of pale ale.</p> +<h2><!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>DISCUSSION CLUBS.</h2> +<p>It<span class="smcap"> </span>is the condition of a +public-house that it must do a good business some way or +other. Mr Hinton, who has just got his license for Highbury +Barn, says the dining apartment fell off and he was obliged to +institute Soirées Dansantes. Sometimes the publican +gets a female dressed up in a Bloomer costume; sometimes he has +for his barman a giant, or a dwarf, or an Albino, or a Kaffir +chief—actually as an attraction to decent people to go and +drink their pot of beer. I find the following advertisement +in the <i>Morning Advertiser</i>:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Sheep-eater of Hindostan.—To be +seen, the Sheep-eater of Hindostan, representing an exhibition +which took place on the 3rd of March, 1796, before Colonel +Patrick Douglas and other officers of a battalion of Native +Infantry, and a great concourse of the inhabitants of the +military station of Futtehghur. It is engraved from a +sketch, taken on the spot by a native artist, and <!-- page +100--><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>under the inspection of Major-General Hardwicke, +F.R.S. The Sheep-eater was a native of India, about thirty +years of age, five feet nine inches high, slender, well formed, +and rather muscular. He was attended by a very old man, +whom he called his father or preceptor, termed by the natives +Gooroo or Priest, who stated he had formerly followed the same +practice. He was above the ordinary stature of the natives +of India, and wore his hair, which was of great length, coiled +into the form of a turban; and his beard was twisted like a rope, +and nearly reached his feet, being five feet eight inches in +length. The exhibitor began his operation by raising the +sheep from the ground with his teeth. He then threw the +animal on its back, and, with his teeth and hands only, separated +the limbs, and stript the flesh from the bones. After +mixing dust with the meat, by rubbing it on the ground, in that +dirty state he swallowed what he tore off. The last part of +the operation was chewing the leaves of a plant, the local name +of which is Madaar (asclepias gigantea), and the milky juice, +which is of a very corrosive nature, he swallowed. Having +made a collection of money, and the assemblage of people <!-- +page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>being much increased, he offered to eat a second sheep, +and actually commenced the operation as before. It may be +proper to observe, that the sheep in most parts of India are as +small as the Welsh sheep of Great Britain. No. 1. +represents lifting the sheep from the ground with his teeth +only. 2. Having thrown the sheep on its back, he extends +the limbs, preparatory to No. 3. 3. Ripping the animal open +from the flank to the breast. 4. Having removed the +intestines, &c, he buries his head in the body, to drink the +blood collected. 5. Exhibiting his face, after this +sanguinary draught. 6. Having devoured every portion of +flesh from the bones, he chews the plant Madaar. 7. After +changing his waist-cloth, he returns with his Gooroo, or +preceptor, and offers to eat the second sheep, for the +satisfaction of the increased number of spectators.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I do not give the name of the spirited proprietor, but in his +advertisement he declares he intends exhibiting it <i>over the +bar for a short time gratuitously</i>. This is rich; it is +like the doctor’s advice gratis.</p> +<p>Now in the same manner the publicans provide a weekly +discussion meeting for that part of the public that loves to hear +itself speak. There <!-- page 102--><a +name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>is one at +the Belvidere, Pentonville; another at the Horns, +Kennington. Fleet-street is much favoured. There are +the Temple Forum, the Cogers’ Hall, and another large room +in Shoe-lane. These are gratuitous, like the picture in the +above advertisement—that is, you are expected to sit and +drink all night. The most celebrated one is that which +meets not far from the Temple, presided over by the editor of a +Sunday paper, and assisted by several reporters connected with +the daily journals. One of them not long since contested an +Irish borough on Protestant principles, but unfortunately, +instead of being returned, found himself in gaol for election +expenses. Besides these, there are many third and +fourth-rate literary men—a class, I fear (I speak of the +minors), the most braggart, lying, and needy under +heaven—men who are going to do wonders, but who never +do—whose success, if such a term may be applied to their +career, arises simply from their power of brag, and from the +possession of an enviable amount of self-esteem. Then there +are briefless barristers, but too happy to have an opportunity of +airing their dictionaries, and tradesmen, and clerks, all +fancying that there is no need why they should hide <!-- page +103--><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>their talents under a napkin. Still these places +do not flourish, and there are more bad speeches made than good +ones. You are cooped up in an inconvenient apartment, +suffocated by tobacco-smoke, and very unpleasantly affected by +the beer and gin-and-water which every one feels bound to +consume. The waiter is in the room, and you are expected to +give your orders. The speaking is a secondary +consideration. The first thing you are required to do is to +drink. I have how in my mind’s eye a young fellow who +was a great man at one of these places. He was a clerk with +limited means, but he came to these places night after night, and +drank and spent his money freely. It is the old tale over +again. He was intrusted with his employer’s +cash. He applied some of it to liquidate his +expenses. He was unable to replace it. Discovery was +made at last; he is now in Newgate, and his wife—for he was +just married—is breaking her young heart with shame and +want. The curse of these public-houses is that they lead +men into expense and reduce them into poverty, if they do not +almost necessitate crime. A discussion is all very well, +and the habit of being able to get up and say a few words when +occasion requires pertinent and <!-- page 104--><a +name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span><i>apropos</i> is invaluable, but to acquire that habit +it is scarcely worth while to sit all night toping, while +Smithers is playing old gooseberry with his H’s, or +O’Flaherty raving of the wrongs of the Green Isle. +The questions discussed are generally such as are peculiar to the +time. Was Lord Cardigan a hero? Does Sir Benjamin +Hall deserve well of the public for his conduct with reference to +Sunday bands? Does the Palmerston cabinet deserve the +support of the country? Would Lord John Russell’s +scheme of national education, if carried out, be a public +benefit? Let men talk on these subjects if they will, and +as long as they will, but I think they will think more clearly, +and talk better, and come sooner to a rational decision, if they +do not drink. I am sure I have seen the audience and the +orators more inflamed by beer than by eloquence, and when turned +out into the street after a long sitting, many, I imagine, have +seen a couple of moons and double the usual allowance of lamps +and police. The worst of it is, that after the discussion +is over, there will be always a few stop to have a bit of supper +and another glass. I remember, just as the war broke out, I +was at one of the places to which I have already <!-- page +105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>referred, the subject was the propriety of erecting on +the ruins of Turkey a united Greece. The Philhellenists +came down in great force, and young Greeks, Sophocles and +Ionides, and many more screaming at the top of their voices, were +there as well. What with the excitement of the subject and +what with the excitement of the drink, the whole affair settled +into a regular orgie, and the tumult of that night still rings +wildly in my ear. Dumbiedikes would have stared at the gift +of tongues exhibited on that occasion.</p> +<p>If you admire pot-house oratory, then attend one of these +places. The chair is generally taken about nine, and the +proceedings close at twelve. A gentleman already agreed on +commences the discussion, then the debate is left to drag its +slow length along, sometimes giving rise to animated discussions, +and at other times being a terrible failure. What is +considered the treat of the evening is generally something of +this sort—An indifferent speaker, perhaps a stranger, gets +up and makes a short speech, which brings up one of the old +seasoned debaters, great in his own eyes and in those of almost +every one present. I assure you he is down upon <!-- page +106--><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>the modest debutant in fine style, making mincemeat of +his facts, and ridiculing his logic. The easier his work +is, the more does he labour at it. The audience frantically +applaud, and the orator, as he sits down, evidently thinks +Brougham could not have slashed an opponent in better +style. The gravity of these speakers is really +amusing. Did they speak the language of millions—did +principles of eternal import dwell upon their tongue—did +nations breathlessly wait for their decisions—did they +shake the arsenal and fulmine over Greece—they could not +set about their work in a more determined manner. And +Jones, from his tremendous castigation of Palmerston, or fierce +diatribe against Lord John, will sneak off quietly to his back +garret in Pentonville, just as we can imagine Diocletian +abandoning an empire to plant cabbages at Salone. It is +clear some of the speakers are naturally good orators; but the +regular stagers have a seedy appearance, and that peculiar +redness of the nose or soddenness of the skin which indicates the +drinker; and if you go much, you will find a paper with +five-shilling subscriptions, and you will be asked to give your +name, for the benefit of some prominent debater whose affairs do +not <!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 107</span>seem to have prospered, in spite of +their master’s matchless powers of oratory. The truth +is, the money has been spent here in drink that was required +elsewhere, and wife and children have starved at home while the +orator was declaiming against Despotism abroad. I fear the +only class benefited by these discussions are the landlords, who +point to their door and whisper in your ears; Admission +gratis. Yes, that is true; but the egress, ah, +there’s the rub! It is that for which you must pay, +and pay handsomely, too, as hundreds of poor fellows have found +to their cost.</p> +<h2><!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 108</span>THE CYDER CELLARS.</h2> +<p>In<span class="smcap"> </span>the days of the gay and +graceless Charles, Bow-street was the Bond-street of +London. In the taverns of that quarter were the true homes +and haunts of the British poets. That they were much better +for all their drinking and worship of the small hours, I more +than doubt. Pope tried the pace, but found it killing, and +had the wisdom to go and live at Twickenham, and cease to play +the part of a man about town. Describing Addison’s +life at this period, he says, “He usually studied all the +morning, then met his party at Button’s, and dined there, +and stayed there five or six hours, and sometimes far into the +night. I was of the company for about a year, but found it +too much for me. <i>I hurt my health</i>, <i>and so I +quitted it</i>.” But the wits died off, and +Tom’s, Will’s, Button’s became desolate, and in +their place the Cyder Cellars grew famous.</p> +<p>You know Maiden-lane, where an old hair-dresser <!-- page +109--><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>had a son born to him, who, under the name of Turner, +won his way to the first rank amongst English +painters,—where Voltaire, “so witty, profligate, and +thin,” lodged at the house of a French peruke-maker, and +corresponded with Swift, and Pope, and the other literary men of +the times,—where Fielding laid the foundation of an eternal +fame,—where Andrew Marvell refused courtly bribes, and in +sublime poverty proudly picked his mutton-bone: there, some long +time since, stood a mansion, the residence, in a green old age, +of that Nell Gwynne of whom, with a strange perversity, the world +speaks as kindly as if she were a Grace Darling, or a Florence +Nightingale, or a Margaret Fuller, or an Elizabeth Fry. A +portion of the old house still remains, with its ancient +wainscotting. Well, on the site of this mansion was, and +is, the Cyder Cellars, the oldest house of its class in London, +actually referred to in a rare pamphlet now extant in the British +Museum, entitled “Adventures Under-ground in the Year +1750.” In those days to drink deep was deemed a +virtue, and the literary class, after the exhausting labours of +the day, loved nothing better than to sit soaking all night in +the Cyder Cellars, <!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 110</span>where all restraints were thrown on +one aide,—where the song was sung and the wine was quaffed, +and men were fools enough to think they were getting happy when +they were only getting drunk. I can understand why the wits +went to the Cyder Cellars then. Few of them lived in a +style in which they would like to receive their friends. In +a place like the Cyder Cellars they could meet after the theatres +were closed, and the occupations of the day over, and sup and +talk and drink with more freedom than in any private house; and +no doubt many were the ingenuous youths who went to the Cyder +Cellars to see the learned Mr. Bayle, or the great Grecian +Porson, or the eminent tragedian Mr. Edmund Kean, and thought it +a fine thing to view those distinguished men maudlin, or obscene, +or blasphemous, over their cups. But the wits do not go to +the Cyder Cellars now. Even the men about town do not go +there much. I remember when that dismal song, “Sam +Hall,” was sung—a song in which a wretch is supposed +to utter all the wretchedness in his soul, all his sickness of +life, all his abhorrence of mankind, as he was on his way to +Tyburn drop. Horrible as the song was—revolting <!-- +page 111--><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>as it was to all but <i>blazé</i> men, the room +was crammed to suffocation,—it was impossible often to get +a seat, and you might have heard a pin drop. Where are the +crowds that listened to that song? My own +companion—where is he? A finer young man, with richer +promise, I knew not. He had a generous disposition, a taste +for study, and was blessed with the constitution of a horse; he +had received a liberal education; his morals had been carefully +attended to; his parents were people of large property, and this +son I always deemed his mother’s favourite son; and now in +his very prime, when he might have been a blessing to society, +when in his successful professional career his parents might have +reaped a reward, when the heart of some loving, tender, trusting +woman might have joyed in his love, when fair young children, +calling him father, might have clustered round his knees, he is +dying, I am told, before their very eyes, slowly, and with agony, +from the terrible effects of drink. And does it not really +seem as if there were a curse attaching to those connected with +the trade? A week or two since, had you been passing down +Bridges-street into the Strand late on a Saturday night, or early +on a Sunday <!-- page 112--><a name="page112"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 112</span>morning, on a door-step, in spite of +the pouring rain, you might have seen a woman, in her rags and +loneliness, trying to gather a few hours of sleep. She was +too weak to pursue her unhallowed calling, and had she been so +disposed on that cold, wet night, it would have been of little +avail had she walked the streets. The policeman as he goes +his monotonous rounds tells her to move on. She wakes up, +gets upon her legs, hobbles along, and then, when he is past, +again, weary and wayworn, seeks the friendly door-step. The +policeman returns; “What, here still?” he +exclaims. Ah yes! she has not power to move away. She +is weak, ill, dying. The friendly police carry her to the +neighbouring hospital. “She cannot be received +here,” says Routine, and she is taken to the +workhouse. Again she is taken to the hospital, admitted at +last—for is she not a woman, and a young one, +too?—not more than twenty-five, it appears,—and on +her face, stained with intemperance and sin, there is the dread +stamp of death—in this case, perhaps, a welcome messenger; +for who would live, fallen, friendless, forsaken, with a diseased +body and a broken heart? “The spirit of a man can +sustain his infirmity; but a wounded spirit who <!-- page +113--><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>can bear?” Peace be with her! in another +hour or two she will have done with this wretched life of hers, +and have gone where “the wicked cease from troubling, and +the weary are at rest.” More than usual official +cruelty is visible in this case, for all that is given her +between her admission and her death is a simple cup of tea; and +the coroner’s verdict very properly censures the hospital +authorities. Well, what connexion, you ask, is there with +this girl’s sad fate and the jollity of the Cyder +Cellars? Only this, that her father made the Cyder Cellars +so popular a place of resort. If I go there again I shall +think of Louisa Regan, who began life as the daughter of a +successful publican, who had been a governess in a +nobleman’s family, at the early age of twenty-five rescued +from the streets by policemen, and dependent on charity for a bed +on which to die. In the foaming cup, in the glitter of the +gas, while the comic singer was most comical, or the sentimental +singer most sentimental, I could not be oblivious of her +fate. Is there not poison in the bowl? Is there not +madness in the merriment? To the night so bright does there +not come a dolorous morrow? You may sing and laugh the +hours away in the <!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 114</span>Cyder Cellars for a while, but you +must pay your reckoning, and then, I imagine, you will doubt +whether the amusement was worth the price. Youth generally +pays too dear for its whistle. Youth is finding this out; +at any rate the days of the Cyder Cellars are numbered, and now, +with its Judge and Jury and <i>Poses Plastiques</i>, it collects +comparatively few.</p> +<p>Let me ask, need the amusements of our leisure hours be thus +based on false principles? Cambridge, in one of the +pleasantest papers in the “World,” says, “Among +the numbers who have changed a sober plan of living for one of +riot and excess, the greatest part have been converted by the +arguments in a drinking song.” Life is real, life is +earnest. It is a battle-ground which requires heart and +muscle, and where only the brave can conquer; but if I drop for +half-an-hour into a music hall, I learn that pleasure is the +great aim of life, and that gin can make me jolly and a +genius.</p> +<h2><!-- page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 115</span>LEICESTER-SQUARE.</h2> +<p>One<span class="smcap"> </span>of the peculiar institutions of +the country is the square. Charles Knight +says:—“The Piazza, Place, Platz, of Italy, France, or +Germany, have little in common with it. Its elements are +simple enough—an open space of a square figure, houses on +each of the four sides, and an enclosed centre with turf, a few +trees, and, it may be, flowers; and there is a +square.” There are fashionable squares, all alive +with the sound of carriage-wheels and the chaste accents of a +thousand flunkeys; there are city squares, dull, dark places, +with old red-brick houses, and a stunted, smoke-dried shrub or +two in the middle. Then there are respectable squares, +which never were fashionable, nor ever aimed to be such; and then +there are squares which were once fashionable, but now are sadly +gone out of repute. One of the chief of these is +Leicester-square. Do our readers remember how Queen +Caroline found time to be the mother of seven <!-- page 116--><a +name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>promising +children, of whom the eldest, Frederick, Prince of Wales, was a +continual source of sorrow and vexation to both his +parents? “He resembled,” writes Horace Walpole, +with his usual sneer, “the Black Prince only in dying +before his father.” Well, there was a house built +before the Commonwealth, called Leicester-house. Hither +came this young, dissipated, short-lived Prince, and fixed his +court. When he passed away, and the wits wrote—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies Fred,<br /> +Who was alive,<br /> + And is dead,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>still the place had the prestige of fashion. It +gradually assumed the shape of a square, and became the +dwelling-place of men truly great. Sir Isaac Newton resided +near the square, in a house yet standing, and known to fast men +as Bertolini’s, <i>alias</i> the Newton Hotel. Where +now we see the Sablonière Hotel, Hogarth once dwelt, and +at a later time Sir Joshua Reynolds lived on the opposite side of +the square. In its neighbourhood Sir Charles Bell made his +discoveries respecting the nervous system, and here the renowned +John Hunter lived. In later times Wordsworth made it the +scene of his <!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 117</span>Moon-gazers; and if he could term it +“Leicester’s busy square,” still more is that +epithet appropriate to it at the present time. It is true +that the Great Globe is not a success; that the Panopticon +failed; that the Western Literary Institution did not flourish; +that the place is not literary or scientific, nor even +business-like, for by daylight the shops look seedy, and the +wares exhibited are somewhat of the cheapest. But at night +a change comes over the spirit of its dream. Here, from +cheap lodging-houses hard by, from cold garrets or dark and dusty +two-pair backs, crawl out to walk its flagstones, or taint its +air with the smoke of cheap cigars, men of all nations and +tongues—French, Germans, Italians, Spaniards, +Poles—the scoundrels and patriots of Europe. There is +business here now; the air is laden with the sickly odour of a +thousand dinners. Hotels and <i>cafés</i> and +<i>restaurants</i> are lit up and gay. Mr Smith opens the +Alhambra on Sundays and week-days for Music for the Million; and +women, rouged and dressed as much as possible like the nude +figures, degrade our conceptions of Venus, and Sappho, and the +Syrens, and others of our classic acquaintances, by the +exhibition of them in questionable <!-- page 118--><a +name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>groupings +tolerated as <i>poses plastiques</i>. Wine-shades attract +us; we hear the clink of billiards. This house we know to +be a betting house—that to be a hell. A man runs up +against us. He turns round and apologizes. I catch a +glimpse of his face. I see at once that he is a +billiard-room shark. Look at his pale face, his cold eye, +his hard mouth; and don’t play with him, however +civil. Above all, don’t imagine from his exterior +that he is a gentleman. A gentleman does not wear slop-shop +clothes nor mosaic gold.</p> +<p>You wish to sit down. Well, as it is past the midnight +hour, we will go into this <i>Café Chansante</i>. At +any rate the foreigners have more taste than ourselves. The +pretty young girls, French or German, at the bar give the place a +pleasant appearance, and the mirrors on all sides reflect the gay +forms and faces here assembled. But we pass into the +concert room, where some Spanish minstrels in national costumes +are singing national airs. As you are not musical and +cannot understand these distinguished foreigners, let us see who +are here, the Swiss Kellner, with his wonted civility, having +first brought us a cup of coffee and a cigar. I don’t +know why it is <!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 119</span>so, but it always struck me that of +all asses the English ass is the greatest. How conspicuous, +for instance, are those three young fellows sitting at the small +marble table in front of us. Most likely they are medical +students. Of course they are drinking and smoking, and have +female companions, respecting whose character there can be no +doubt. How happy are they in their conceit—in their +insolent laugh at the foreigners round them—in their vulgar +shouts of derisive applause. Talk to them, and you will be +astonished to find how morally dead they are, how narrow is their +range of thought, how obsolete are all their ideas, how +suppressed are all their sympathies: not even the beer they drink +can be heavier. Yet these lads are to teach the next age +its medical science—and in the last death-struggle, when we +would save the life we love, with broken hearts and streaming +eyes we shall appeal to them in vain. In England the +general practitioner will always be under-bred so long as the +night-house and the casino absorb the hours science imperiously +claims. But pass on to this next table. Look at this +girl all radiant with beauty and smiles—beautiful even in +spite of her long-lost virtue and life of sin. For,</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 120--><a name="page120"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 120</span>“You may break, you may ruin, +the vase if you will,<br /> +But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The man seated by her side is in love with her. It may +be for her love he has given up mother, sister, betrothed, home, +his fair name, his prospects in life, his hopes of heaven; and +she no more heeds his passionate vows than does the rock the +murmur of the waves at its feet; and already her wanton eye +glances round the room for other victims to sacrifice to her +vanity and pride. Oh, the deceit and craft and hardness of +women such as she! And yet on account of such in distant +village-homes there is sadness, and the mother and sister deny +themselves many a luxury, and grayhaired fathers mourn over their +lost and loved—their Benjamins—born and nurtured to +come to such an end. Perhaps at the next table the picture +is reversed; that woman is beautiful, and her face has a smile, +and there is a flush upon her cheek, and the wine has driven from +her heart for a while bitter memories; but she is not happy, +though loud be her laugh; and if she dared to sit and think of +the hour when she fell, and of the mire and dirt along which she +has crawled, of what she is now in her rustling silks, and what +she was in her peasant <!-- page 121--><a +name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>dress +then—eyes full of grief, and dim with tears, would look +into her own; and out of that gilded room, and away from all the +song and laughter and wine, would she not rush home to die? +Yet if she now sells herself to pay to-morrow’s +baker’s bill, is she to be trod on by the high-born beauty +that goes up to God’s altar with one for whom she has no +love, for an establishment that will make her bridesmaids yellow +with well-bred jealousy? But we are all gay here. Is +not the room light and cheerful? Is not the whole aspect +all mirth-inspiring? Does not dull care flee the flowing +bowl? Jolly fellows are sitting and telling each other +tales which you would be sorry your sister should hear, and which +no mother would believe would be ever heard by son of hers +without a manly protest. Women are laughing and drinking as +if theirs were not lives of shame. Sated men about town +languidly smoke, and the eye of the gloomy refugee sparkles, and +his heart beats quicker, as he hears the song of his +father-land. The hours hasten on—the company +depart—the wanton beauty, flushed with conquest, rides off +in the Hansom, or it may be in her private brougham, to her +luxurious rooms; while her sister, shivering <!-- page 122--><a +name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>in the cold +night, begs us for two-pence with which to purchase a bed of +straw. Poor forlorn one! in another year thou wilt lie down +in another bed, only to wake up when the last trump shall +sound!</p> +<h2><!-- page 123--><a name="page123"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 123</span>DR JOHNSON’S TAVERN.</h2> +<p>Leigh Hunt, Barry Cornwall, and the <i>Times</i> are all +eloquent in the praise of alcohol. It lifts us above this +dull earth, it fires our genius, it gives to us the large +utterances of the gods. Barry Cornwall tells us—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Bad are the times<br /> +And bad the rhymes<br /> +That scorn old wine.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Leigh Hunt translates “Bacchus in Tuscany,” and +sanctions such lines as the following—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I would sooner take to poison<br /> +Than a single cup set eyes on<br /> +Of that bitter and guilty stuff ye<br /> +Talk of by the name of coffee;”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and the <i>Times</i> everywhere inculcates the idea that, +without wine, poetry and eloquence and wit were dumb and +dead. Was Sidney Smith witty, was Shelley a poet, or was he +who in old times drew away the Hebrew multitude from the crowded +streets of Jerusalem out into the desert, <!-- page 124--><a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>whose food +was locusts and wild honey, whose raiment was a leathern +girdle—was he not eloquent, as he warned the +terror-stricken mob that hung upon his lips of the wrath to +come? Facts are not in favour of the wine-drinkers. +Of Waller Dr Johnson writes, “In a time when fancy and +gaiety were the most powerful recommendations to regard, it is +not likely that Waller was forgotten. He passed his time in +the company that was highest both in rank and wit, from which +even his obstinate sobriety did not exclude him. Though he +drank water, he was enabled by his fertility of mind to heighten +the mirth of Bacchanalian assemblies; and Mr Saville said that +‘no man in England should keep him company without +drinking, but Ned Waller.’” “In +Parliament,” says Burnet, “he was the delight of the +House, and, though old, said the liveliest things of any of +them.” The truth is, men have often reserved the +outpourings of their mind for the social glass, and have fallen +into the natural mistake of believing that it was the glass, and +not the opportunity and the action of mind upon mind, that +elicited a certain amount of joyous fun. I must quote an +anecdote from Sir Walter Scott’s Life to illustrate <!-- +page 125--><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>my meaning. He tells us one of his school-fellows +was always at the top of the class. Young Scott found that +when asked a question the lad alluded to was in the habit of +fumbling one peculiar button. Scott cut off that +button. The next time the poor fellow was asked a question, +as usual he put his hand to fumble the friendly +button—alas! it was gone, and with it his power, and he +speedily lost his place. The writers I have quoted, to be +consistent, should argue it was the button that made that lad +sharp and clever.</p> +<p>But if you still doubt, let us test the thing +practically. In Bolt-court, Fleet-street, there is a tavern +bearing the honoured name of Dr Johnson. Dr Johnson lived +in this court, and hence, I suppose, the sign; but the Doctor was +a total abstainer. He found he could not be a moderate +drinker, so he verily gave up the drink altogether. He told +that precious ass, Boswell, to drink water, because if he did +that he would be sure not to get drunk, whereas if he drank wine +he was not so sure; and Boswell, to whom the idea seems never to +have occurred, prints the remark as an astonishing instance of +his hero’s sagacity. But I pass on to modern +times. In <!-- page 126--><a name="page126"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 126</span>this Dr Johnson’s Tavern is +situated “The City Concert Room.” I suppose the +City does not care much about concerts, as <span class="smcap">I +</span>have generally found it very thinly attended. It is +a handsome room, and perhaps there are about fifty or sixty +gentlemen, chiefly young ones, present. You do not see +swells here as at Evans’s. They are all very +plain-looking people, from the neighbouring shops, or from the +warehouses in Cheapside. Just by me are three pale +heavy-looking young men, whose intellects seem to me dead, except +so far as a low cunning indicates a sharpness where money is +concerned. One of them is stupidly beery. Their great +object is to get him to drink more, notwithstanding his repeated +assurances, uttered, however, in a very husky tone, that he must +go back to “Islin’ton” to-night. A lady +at one end of the room, with a very handsome blue satin dress and +a very powerful voice, is screaming out something about +“Lovely Spring,” but this little party is evidently +indifferent to the charms of the song. Just beyond me is a +gent with a short pipe and a very stiff collar. I<span +class="smcap"> </span>watch him for an hour, and whether he is +enjoying himself intensely, or whether he is enduring an +indescribable amount of inward agony, I <!-- page 127--><a +name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>cannot +tell. A little farther off is another gent with a very red +scarf, equally stoical in appearance. Behind me are two +verdant youths, of limited means I imagine; but they have the +pleasure of speaking to the comic singer, and take tickets for +that interesting gentleman’s benefit. But the comic +singer comes forward, and sings with appropriate action of the +doings of a little insect very partial to comfortable +quarters. That song I have known fifteen years. I +have heard Sharp sing it, Ross sing it, Cowell sing it. +Night after night in some drinking room in some part of London or +other is a beery audience told—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Creeping where no life doth be,<br /> +<span class="smcap">A </span>rare old plant is the lively +flea.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And after a pursuit very vividly pantomimed, the little +stranger is suffered to be caught, and to tell the catcher that +it is his father’s ghost, doomed for a season to walk the +earth and nip him most infernally, and so on. Now I am sure +that every one in the room has heard this dozens of times before, +yet old men are laughing as if it was an absolute novelty. +Talk about alcohol brightening men’s intellects! When +I come to such places as this, it always seems <!-- page 128--><a +name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>to me to +have a precisely contrary effect. Men could not sit and +hear all these stale witticisms unless they drank. Sober, I +am sure they could not do it, not even if they were paid for it; +and yet all seem enraptured. I remark, however, one +exception. Two waiters help to a seat by my side a very +dirty little man with red eyes, and generally shabby +appearance. The waiters set down by him a glass of grog, +offer him a cigar, and then playfully shaking their fingers at +him, as if to intimate he had better be quiet, leave him to his +fate. After a few minutes of deep thought, he looks to me +and beckons. I take no notice. He repeats the +signal. I lean forward.</p> +<p>“Very o-old, sir.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” we ask.</p> +<p>“The comic singer very o-old, sir.”</p> +<p>We intimate as much.</p> +<p>“But get him on a fresh piece, sir, and see how he can +go-o.” Here our friend began rolling one arm rapidly +round the other, to give us an idea of the comic singer’s +powers.</p> +<p>“Pity he don’t give something new,” repeats +our friend. Another assenting nod on our part and the +conversation ceases. But we suppose it <!-- page 129--><a +name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>is with +comic singers as with others. “A man who has settled +his opinions does not love to have the tranquillity of his +convictions disturbed,” wrote Dr Johnson, and a comic +singer does not like to have the bother of learning fresh +songs. But the comic singer was applauded and encored, and +then he treated us to a monologue, in which he describes how he, +the drunken husband, stays out all night, and makes it up with +his “old ooman” when he gets home; and in the course +of his remarks of course he declares teetotalism is humbug, that +there was truth in wine, but he’d be blessed if there was +any in water; that the man who would drink the latter would be a +muddy cistern—forgetting all the while the <i>tu quoque</i> +the water-drinkers would very fairly urge, on the authority even +of Mr Henry Drummond; and then I came away, thinking that if +drinking made men witty and light-hearted, I had been very +unfortunate on the night of my visit. Once upon a time, as +the writer was in the Cave of Harmony, the polite manager asked +him his opinion of a new comic singer. Having given it, the +red-faced little man turned to us with a sigh, and said, +“Ah, sir, you have no idea what a dearth there is <!-- page +130--><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>of +comic talent now-a-days.” And truly he was +right. There is little fun and comedy and wit +anywhere. I know not where they are; I know where they are +not. You will not find them in the taverns where men sit +all the evening listening to music for which they do not care, +and drinking all the while. How should there be, since wine +is now admitted to be the product of the laboratory, not of the +grape?</p> +<h2><!-- page 131--><a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>THE SPORTING PUBLIC-HOUSE</h2> +<p>Was instituted for the combined purpose of encouraging +drinking, and what its admirers term the noble art of +self-defence. There was a time when boxing was in fashion; +when but few of our noblemen and gentlemen did not take lessons +in the pugilistic art. “<span class="smcap">I</span> +can assert, without fear of contradiction,” writes Pierce +Egan, “that <span class="smcap">I</span> furnished the +present Duke of Buccleuch with a pair of boxing-gloves and all +the volumes of ‘Boxiana’ during his studies at Eton +College.” Prince George of Cambridge learnt the +rudiments of the art from young Richmond; the late Duke of +Portland was a pupil of that Jackson whose name is familiar to +all readers of Byron. At the first public dinner of the +Pugilistic Society, held at the Thatched House Tavern, 1814, a +baronet, Sir Henry Smith, was in the chair; and it is a fact, +when the war with France was terminated, and the Emperor of +Russia and the King of Prussia, <!-- page 132--><a +name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>accompanied +by Blucher and Platoff, visited this country, that not anything +they had witnessed appeared to interest them more than the +sparring matches between Jackson, Tom Crib, Belcher, Old Dutch +Sam, at a <i>déjeuner</i> given by Lord Lowther at his +mansion. Indeed, so delighted were those great masters of +the art of war with the combats between those first-rate boxers, +that Messrs Blucher and Platoff had a second exhibition by their +own express desire at the Earl of Elgin’s house. +Actually even in the House of Commons Mr Wyndham favoured the +House with a description, warm and glowing, of a recent contest +between Richmond and Maddox, of which he had been a spectator; +and it is not long since Mr Gully, a prize-fighter, represented +Pontefract. The late George IV., when Prince of Wales, was +also a spectator at the fight upon a stage on Brighton Downs +between Tom Tyne, a distinguished boxer, with a publican of +milling notoriety. The latter was killed by a blow on his +temple, and died almost upon the instant. The royal +debauchee never attended another, but his brother, the late +William the Fourth, was often a spectator of the matches on +Moulsey Hurst. In this respect the age has made +progress. <!-- page 133--><a name="page133"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 133</span>Our noblemen no longer patronize the +prize-ring. Our young princes have a purer taste. Yet +the institution, with all its brutality and blackguardism, still +exists, and in the <i>Advertiser</i>, side by side with an +article bewailing the spread of German neology in our dissenting +colleges, or speaking evil of such earnest workers in the wide +field of philanthropy as Maurice or Kingsley, you will read of +one of the beastly prize-fights which still disgrace the +land. But the <i>Advertiser</i> is the publicans’ +paper, and it is a fact easily understood, that the +prize-fighter, when his day is over, generally keeps a +public-house, which is generally called a sporting-house. A +warm admirer of them writes, “Fun, civility, mirth, +good-humour, and sporting events are the general theme of +conversation to be met with over a cheerful glass at the above +houses.” Ben Caunt’s, in St +Martin’s-lane, is perhaps the principal one, but there are +some five or six besides in various parts of the +metropolis. Let us enter one. In spite of the +assurance of civility and good humour, I don’t think you +will stay long, but will feel on a small scale what Daniel must +have felt in the lions’ den.</p> +<p><!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>We enter, we will say, Bang Up’s hostelry, about +ten on a Thursday evening; there is Bang Up at the bar, with his +ton of flesh and broken nose. Many people think it worth +while to go and spend one or two shillings at Bang Up’s +bar, merely that they may have the pleasure of seeing him, and +consider him cheap at the money. I don’t admire their +taste. I once spent an evening with the Norfolk Giant, and +I did not find him very witty or well informed. But let us +walk up-stairs, having first paid sixpence to a doorkeeper, by +appearance a negro, for which we are to receive a certain amount +of refreshment, if beer and grog come rightly under that +denomination; at length we find ourselves in a very ordinary +room, with very extraordinary people in it. First, there +are the portraits—<i>imprimis</i> Bang Up, looking grosser +and more animal than ever. Secondly, Mrs Bang Up, the exact +counterpart of her bosom’s lord; then a tribe of Bang Ups +junior, of all sizes and sexes, attract our astonished +eyes. Then—for the room is a complete +Walhalla—we have portraits of sporting heroes innumerable, +with villanous foreheads, all “vacant of our glorious +gains,” heavy eyes, thick bull necks, <!-- page 135--><a +name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>and very +short croppy hair. Here Gully vanquishes Bob Gregson, +“the Lancashire champion,” one of the finest and most +formidable men of the day. There Jack Randall and Ned +Turner display “a fine science and capital fighting,” +almost unparalleled, and so on; for the list is long, and it is +one we do not care to repeat. We seat ourselves at the +further end of the room, with a few gentlemen drinking gin and +smoking cigars. Twenty or thirty mean-looking men are +seated along the side; they are mostly dirty, and have broken +noses; they are not very conversational, but seem chiefly to be +deeply engaged in smoking. At length the waiter brings out +some boxing gloves; one man takes off his coat and waistcoat, +possibly his shirt, and puts them on; another does the +same—they stand up to each other, the gents at the table +encourage them, and the seedy men with broken noses look on very +knowingly; they spar for some time, till the one feels that he +cannot touch the other, and throws down the gloves; a small +collection is then made for the noble art of self-defence, which, +I presume, is divided amongst the performers; other actors come +upon the stage, and the friendly contests are maintained <!-- +page 136--><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>till Bang Up closes his public-house for the +night. As I came out, it was a great consolation to me to +think that there are not many such places in London. The +style of men thus created are, I fear, neither useful nor +ornamental. They have a nasty ticket-of-leave look, and I +would fain dispense with their company in quiet back streets +during the small hours. One other thought may console you; +the sporting public-house, once popular, now attracts but a few, +and that few a weak and vicious class. Is not this matter +of encouragement?</p> +<h2><!-- page 137--><a name="page137"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 137</span>THE PUBLIC-HOUSE WITH A +BILLIARD-ROOM</h2> +<p>Is a great attraction in some places. We knew a whole +town upset by the fact that the landlord of the +“Swan” had fitted up a billiard-room. I and +Wiggins and Foley and Jobson spent at one time, I regret to say, +a good deal of time there. I am warning the reader against +the follies of my youth; but Foley failed, and Jobson and +Wiggins, after having had their debts paid three or four times by +their friends, I believe are now following that eminently healthy +occupation called gold-digging, somewhere in Australia. +Then I think of that little town in South Wales, and of the +“Angel,” under whose too hospitable roof we used to +meet. One of us was an M.P’s son; he is now, I +believe, dragging down a father’s grey hairs with sorrow to +the grave. Another of us bore a name dear to every +Englishman; he, I believe, is pensioned off by his family, and +lives as he can on the <!-- page 138--><a +name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>handsome +allowance of a guinea a-week. But these London +billiard-rooms are fifty times more pernicious. There are +some five or six hundred connected with public-houses. +There are in all our large thoroughfares separate rooms licensed +for this game, but at these drinking often goes on. And +thus the two excitements acting on the man, he is impelled +downwards with an increasing power. I have seen in these +rooms officers and secretaries of public companies in a night +losing, I am sure, a quarter’s salary; I have seen young +fellows completely ruined. There was not, when I first knew +him, a more promising, gentlemanly young fellow than Smethwicke, +and now, they tell me, he is in Marylebone Workhouse.</p> +<p>We are told that men are grown-up children. This saying +forcibly occurred to me the last time I was in a +billiard-room. After I had recovered from the feeling of +suffocation which an atmosphere infected by gas and smoke had +produced, I observed a number of men with long sticks trying to +knock a number of various-coloured balls into any of the six +pockets of the billiard-table. At each unsuccessful attempt +a chorus of observations were made by the players, not <!-- page +139--><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>remarkable for their novelty, for the vocabulary of the +billiard-room is very limited, such as “Not within a +mile”—“I didn’t play for you, +Bob”—“It smelt the hole,” &c. +&c. At each successful attempt the chorus was still +more animated, but not more original, as “Good +stroke,”—“Bad flewke”—“On the +red,” &c. &c. The game that was being played +was called “pool.” A number of people put each +2<i>s.</i> or 3<i>s.</i>, as they may choose to arrange it, and +they have each a ball of a different colour—red, blue, +pink, yellow, white, brown, black. Each player has what is +called three lives, and each time he is put in by a +player—for they play in turn—he pays sixpence or a +shilling, according to arrangement, and loses a life, whilst the +successful player is allowed to play again upon the ball which +happens to be nearest. The money in the pool is ultimately +divided between the two players who have kept their three lives +the longest. It will be seen that, if everything is +straightforward, the best player has the best chance of dividing +the pool or taking the lives. But, unhappily, this game, so +child-like in appearance, is not always innocent. It may +happen two players, gifted by nature with conveniently elastic +consciences, <!-- page 140--><a name="page140"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 140</span>and a very confused notion of right +and wrong, may arrange when they play upon each other to +purposely avoid putting the ball in. Of course, each time +this omission is made it is equal to the owner of the ball having +an extra life, and of course makes the division of the pool +almost a certainty. Perhaps at the end of the evening the +two gentlemen, “who merely play for their amusement,” +may be seen under a lamppost dividing the spoil. The other +games are pyramids and billiards, which it is unnecessary to +describe. I will simply remark that the best player should +win the game; but this is not always the case. Alas! for +human nature! Sharps lose to win; muffs win to lose (the +term “muff” is applied to an indifferent +player). After this not very flattering description the +reader would doubtless like to know who frequent these +places. A very large majority are gentlemen—men who +are perfectly incapable of doing anything but what is strictly +honest; the minority are billiard sharks. The gentlemen +play because it is a source of excitement; the sharks, because it +is a source of profit. There are also some who play only +for amusement with gentlemen like themselves, and never risk +beyond <!-- page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 141</span>a shilling or so; and others, mere +lookers-on, who, fatigued by their daily labours, prefer a +<i>dolce far niente</i> to the trouble of theatres, &c., and +who read the paper, drink their brandy and water, and smoke their +cigar, without either playing or making a bet.</p> +<p>It is not easier to distinguish a gentleman in a billiard-room +than elsewhere, but without wishing to be personal, it is +desirable the stranger should keep at a distance those +individuals who are so very familiar and friendly with every one, +and who keep a piece of chalk in their waistcoat pocket. +These people cannot be insulted; they carefully avoid squabbles, +which may bring about disagreeable insinuations; they prefer +pursuing the even tenor of their way, “picking up” as +many people as they can. See yonder old man who totters +across the room; his trade is swindling, his goods are lies, his +recreation is obscenity and blasphemy; his palsied hand can +scarcely grasp a cue, and yet there are few who can excel him; by +concealing his game carefully he has won, and can win hundreds, +from his victims, who, thinking nothing of his skill, are +astonished, as he pretends to be himself, at his +<i>luck</i>. The young wife tossing restlessly in her <!-- +page 142--><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>bed, and wondering what can keep her lord so long at +<i>business</i>, little knows, when he returns home flushed and +excited, that he has been fleeced of money he can ill afford to +lose; whilst the sharer of the domestic joys of the billiard +shark basks in the sunshine of his momentary good humour, as he +displays with a sardonic smile the gold which perhaps never +belonged to the dupe who lost it. But the night is closing +on us; we have seen enough for once. Come away.</p> +<h2><!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 143</span>THE RESPECTABLE PUBLIC-HOUSE</h2> +<p>Is situated in one of the leading thoroughfares, and is +decorated in an exceedingly handsome manner. The furniture +is all new and beautifully polished, the seats are generally +exquisitely soft and covered with crimson velvet, the walls are +ornamented with pictures and pier-glasses, and the ceiling is +adorned in a manner costly and rare. Such places as +Simpson’s or Campbell’s in Beak-street, or Nell +Gwynn’s, almost rival the clubs, and, indeed, are much +smarter than anything they can show at the Milton. Time was +when men were partial to the sanded floor, the plain furniture, +the homely style of such places as Dolly’s, the London +Coffee-house, or the Cock, to which Tennyson has lent the glory +of his name. Now the love of show is cultivated to an +alarming extent. “Let us be genteel or die,” +said Mrs Nickleby, and her spirit surrounds us everywhere. +Hence the splendour of the drinking-rooms of the metropolis, <!-- +page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>and the studied deportment of the waiters, and the +subdued awe with which Young Norvals fresh from the Grampian +Hills and their fathers’ flocks tread the costly carpets or +sprawl their long legs beneath glittering mahogany.</p> +<p>Let us suppose it is about nine or ten in the evening, and we +step into one of the numerous establishments which are to the +respectable classes what the gin-palace and the beer-house is +supposed to be to the class who are not. The reader must +pardon my use of the word respectable. It is a word which, +from my heart, I abhor, and, as it is commonly employed, merely +denotes that a man has an account at a bank. There are but +two ways in which human actions can be contemplated—the +worldly and the philosophical or Christian. I use the term +respectable merely in its worldly acceptation, but I skip this +digression and pass on. Undoubtedly at the first blush it +is a cheerful scene that first meets our eye. In this box +are two or three old friends discussing a bottle of claret, who +have not met perhaps since bright and boisterous boyhood, and who +may never meet again. Of what manly struggle, of what +sorrow that can never die, of what calm pleasures and chastened +hopes, have <!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 145</span>they to tell! No wonder that +you see the tear glistening in the eye, though there is laughter +on the lip. Pass on; here are some bagsmen red with port, +and redolent of slang. In the next box are three or four +young fellows drinking whisky and smoking cigars, and of course +their talk is of wine and women; but there is hope, nevertheless, +for woman is still to them a something divine, and the evil days +have not come when they see in her nothing but common clay. +Look at this retired old gentleman of the old school sitting by +himself alone; yet is he not alone, for as he sips his port +memories thicken in his brain, of ancient cronies now sleeping in +churchyards far away, of a sainted wife no longer a denizen of +this dark world of sin, of daughters with laughing children round +their knees, all rosy and chubby and flaxen-haired, of sons with +Anglo-Saxon energy and faith planting the old race on a new +soil. Cross to this other side and look at these reckless, +dissipated fellows, whom the waiter has just respectfully +requested not to make so much noise, as it disturbs the other +gentlemen in the room. Possibly they are Joint Stock Bank +directors or railway officials, and after a few years it will be +found that for their revelry to-night <!-- page 146--><a +name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>a deluded +public will have to pay. Here are a host of city merchants +discussing politics, and it is wonderful how common-place is +their conversation under the influence of alcohol.</p> +<p>“Palmerston is a great man, by ---, he is a great man, +sir,” says one. “Yes, and no mistake,” is +the reply. “There is no humbug about +Palmerston,” says another. And so they ring the +changes, originating nothing, gaining nothing, only getting +redder in the face and more indistinct in their +pronunciation. At length they button over their great +coats, pay their bills, and generally very good-naturedly, but +very unsteadily, steer towards the door. It may be that a +noisy discussion takes place. One man a little more gone +than the rest disturbs the harmony of the evening by his flat +contradictions, uttered somewhat too rudely, and backed by a blow +from the fist on the table, which breaks a couple of +glasses. But next morning he apologizes; “It was only +my wine contradicting your wine,” he says, without any +sense of shame. But this rarely happens. The +respectable classes have more command of their temper, and do not +get so idiotically drunk as the frequenters of low public-houses, +and so the <i>habitués</i> are in no <!-- page 147--><a +name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>hurry to +move and leave the light and luxurious room for the muddy streets +and the winter night. But they must do so, and young men +with their passions unnaturally stimulated, and the conscience +proportionately deadened, are left to the temptations which await +men who are out in the small hours; and old fogies, believing +that if they go to bed mellow, they live as they ought to live, +and die jolly fellows, find their way to their respective +dwelling-places in a state as lamentable as it is +degrading. Yet next Sunday you will see these men at +church, and hear them joining in solemn and contrite +prayer. Do they think these purple faces tell no +tales? Do they think it is only the wife knows how they +drink—in respectable company—in respectable +hotels? Do they forget that in the midst of their revelry, +under the flaming chandeliers, peering over the shoulders of +courteous waiters, listening to their vinous laughter and ancient +jokes, Death, with his dart, is there? Ay, and one night he +will ride home with his victim in the Hansom, and will see him +placed, all smelling with drink and under its influence, in the +bed, side by side with his wife, and next morning she will as +usual give her husband the seidlitz powder or soda <!-- page +148--><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>water, and leave him to sleep for a short while longer, +and when she comes back will find that his is the sleep which +knows no waking. And then the inquest will be +held—and a medical man will perplex a plain case with +useless show of knowledge, and a jury will return a verdict of +“Death from natural causes.” You and I know +better—you and I know that if the man had not gone into the +respectable public-house he might have lived another ten +years—that it was because he went there night after night, +and sat soaking there night after night, that the blood-vessels +became gorged and clotted, and that the wonderful machine stood +still. “Poisoned by alcohol” is the true +verdict—by alcohol sold and consumed in the respectable +public-house. How long will society sanction such +places? How long will they retard the progress of the +nation by wasting energies, and time, and cash, and opportunities +that might have been devoted to nobler ends? How long with +their splendour—with their gilding and glass—with +their air of respectability and comfort, will they attract the +unwary, ruin the weak, and slay the strong man in his strength +and pride?</p> +<h2><!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 149</span>NIGHT-HOUSES.</h2> +<p>Plutarch begins one of those biographies which in all times +have been the charm of childhood and age, by remarking that, +“If things are implicated in a dependence upon definite +numbers, it is a necessity that the same things must often +happen, being effected by the same means.” Thus is +it, life in all its broad aspects is everywhere the same. +All over the globe there is a wonderful uniformity in human +habits. Men who work hard—as a rule—rise early, +and go to bed early. Night is the time for rest. So +far at least there is harmony between God’s law and +man’s. The men and women who transgress are for the +most part waifs and strays. Such are the denizens of our +streets by night—such are they who crowd, not alone the +night public-houses, but night coffee-houses of our +metropolis.</p> +<p>Here in London these houses are of all kinds. For +instance, let us enter one in the Haymarket. <!-- page +150--><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>The rooms are as smart as gilding and ornamented paper +and plate-glass can make them. The waiters are got up +regardless of expense. The coffee is good, but dear. +The men and women are of the kind usually met with in this +locality during the small hours. The greater part are fools +enough to think it worth while to buy a little worldly wisdom at +a price—it may be at the loss of their bodies and +souls—none but madmen would think of paying. In such +places as these you are as sure to be injured as if you sat all +night carousing in a public-house. These women with forced +smiles on their painted cheeks are the veritable Harpies. +Theirs is the true sardonic laugh. Do you remember one way +in which that ancient phrase is accounted for? Sardinia, it +was said, was noted for a bitter herb which contracted the +features of those who tasted it. Pausanias says it is a +plant like parsley, which grows near springs, and causes people +who eat it to laugh till they die; and these women, have they not +eaten a bitter plant, and do they not laugh and die? Beware +of the women. Beware of the men. See how their +cunning eyes glisten if you change a sovereign. If they can +get you into a neighbouring <!-- page 151--><a +name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>public-house and rob you, they will be rather pleased +than otherwise. Look at that tall dark fellow watching +us. It was only the other day he met a man here, as he +might you or I, and decoyed him into a public-house close by, +where his confederates were waiting, and robbed him of forty +pounds when they thought their victim was sufficiently +“fuddled” with champagne. He and such as he are +not particular who they rob. They do not spare the women, I +assure you.</p> +<p>Let us now turn towards Covent-garden. The debauchery of +Covent-garden is not what it was. Obscenity is banished +from the Cave of Harmony, and better hours are kept; but there +are night coffee-houses about here, dirty, shabby places, +patronised by dirty, shabby people. How weary and wayworn +are the women! They have been walking the streets for +hours—they have been dancing in neighbouring +saloons—they have paraded their meretricious charms, and +here they sit, hungry, tired, sleepy, and ’t is three +o’clock in the morning. No home have they to go to +but some wretched room for which they pay a sum equal to the +entire rent of the house. There is little gaiety here; the +<!-- page 152--><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>poor comic nigger, with his banjo and his double +entendre playing with all his might, in the hope that some gent +will stand a cup of coffee and a muffin, can scarce raise a +laugh. Timidly one asks, “Will you treat me to a cup +of coffee, sir?” Yes, forlorn one. If your sin +is great, so is your punishment; once you might have been a +dainty little wife, and now what are you? I say it +sorrowfully, the scum of the streets, garbage for drunken +lust.</p> +<p>Let us go a little further on, not into that house, there are +only thieves and pickpockets there, and we might be bullied, +which is not pleasant. Ah, here’s the house we are +looking for; it has done a good trade this many a year, for is +there not a cab-stand opposite, and cabby knows the value of a +cup of coffee on a cold winter’s night. Never mind +the smell; as business is carried on uninterruptedly during the +twenty-four hours, and as the company belongs to that part of the +population not guilty of an inordinate attachment to soap and +water, and to whom cheap baths are a myth, it cannot be matter of +surprise if there be about the place “an ancient and +fish-like smell.” But here comes the landlord. +“Good morning, gents;” <!-- page 153--><a +name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>in an under +voice, “you had better mind your pocket; there are some +strange characters here. A cup of coffee? Yes, +sir. Now then, sir, you had better wake up, it is time for +you to be off. You’ve had a good hour’s +sleep.” “Why not let him sleep?” +“Why, you see, sir, such fellows would stay here all night +and fill up the house, and not spend a penny; and business is +business.” A curious medley is here of sleepy, +half-tipsy, sickly unfortunates. Yet even here the line is +drawn; the door opens, and we dimly discern a mass of rags; so +does our landlord, as he rushes to exclude the would-be +customer. “What, you are trying it on again, are you? +you know you can’t come here. Why, you see, sir, if +we let such fellows in, the place would swarm with—,” +(the reader must supply the blank). But we take the hint, +and not unreluctantly depart.</p> +<p>The night public-house has, I confess,—and I am glad to +do so,—lost somewhat of its popularity in latter +years. At one time it was common everywhere; now it is in +only a few streets that it exists and pollutes the +atmosphere. In the Strand, in the Haymarket, in +Oxford-street, night-houses were numerous; but the one to which I +more immediately refer was situated in <!-- page 154--><a +name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>the +neighbourhood of Tottenham-court-road. Since then, Mr +Spurgeon has been preaching in that locality, but I dare say the +night-house exists nevertheless.</p> +<p>Let us suppose it is about two in the morning, and with the +exception of one or two amiable garotters, a few sleepy police, +and some three or four women, the regular population of the +neighbourhood may be safely considered to have been long in +bed. The gas-lamps shine almost exclusively on +yourself. You look up at the windows and you see no lights +save where, perhaps, poverty may be stitching for bread, or where +Death may have come an unbidden guest and borne away the fairest +and the best beloved. At this hour the young bride in all +her beauty may be struck down in mortal agony, or the wee pet +lamb, whose little silver laugh had so often dispelled the dark +cloud that gathered round the home, or the grey-haired man, +having just reached the goal, and achieved an independence, may +find himself left in this bleak, dark, wide world alone.</p> +<blockquote><p>Leaves have their time to fall,<br /> + And flowers to wither at the north wind’s +breath,<br /> +And stars to set; but all—<br /> + Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 155--><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>And now let us forget all this, and knock at this door, +above which streams a mellow light, and from which we hear sounds +of boisterous gaiety. Is it not open yet? Then give +another rap. Ah, it is all right now. “Take +care of your pockets,” says Cerberus, in a low +voice,—“there are some rum blokes here.” +We will, my friend.</p> +<p>Yes, they must be rum blokes who come here into this filthy, +stinking shop, and amongst this filthy, ragged, swearing crew of +reprobates. If you wish to see a set of fellows whose mere +looks would hang them, I think they are about us now. Even +the landlord seems uncomfortable in their presence, and wisely +allows as little as possible of temptation in his house or on his +person. He knows, I believe, they would as soon rob him as +any one else, and his small ferrety eyes are evidently wide +awake. Indeed, none of the party look as if they had much +honest sleep, and in the daylight, I imagine, would present a +somewhat seedy appearance. We generally think cabmen not +scrupulously honest, but perhaps these cabmen, with ancient great +coats and well muffled up, are the honestest fellows here. +Then of course there is an Irish “widder,” with <!-- +page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +156</span>melancholy face and a string of ballads, such as +“Mary Blane,” “The Red, White, and Blue,” +“Cheer, boys, cheer,” all of which she is willing to +dispose of on the most reasonable terms. A decayed swell, +probably a railway director in the great year of bubbles, with +extraordinary sponges—an article I should have thought +quite as unsaleable as soap to the +<i>habitués</i>,—and a jockey-like looking person +with knives with most wonderful and unaccountable blades, or with +some fancy work-boxes or other articles equally ingenious and +useless. Women are here, of course, in the last stage of +their profligate career, driven out of decent houses, unfit to +associate with the well-dressed and the young—wrinkled, +repulsive, red. As you see them drink, quarrelling, +screaming, and cursing, as they always do till turned out to go +God knows where, can you imagine that the difference between them +and your own mother is merely that of circumstance, and +education, and habit?—perhaps merely the difference +produced by drink. I can tell you that little hag was once +a rich man’s leman, and robed herself in silk and satin, +and quaffed her costly wine; and now hark how piteously she begs +a drop of gin, ere she staggers <!-- page 157--><a +name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>to her +wretched garret and straw to dream of a youth and gaiety now no +longer hers. Here she has warmth, light, and society, and +the night-house exists for such as she; and if, as is quite as +likely as not, she is in league with some of the men around us, +here she brings her victim, and then, stupified by drink, she has +only to decoy him down some dark passage, and he becomes an easy +prey to the sneaking thief who comes skulking up behind. +But let us listen—</p> +<p>“Me and my pal we was a-going along the Hedgware-road, +and we sor”—</p> +<p>“Hold your tongue,” is the courteous reply.</p> +<p>“What do you mean by making all this row?” cries +the landlord, with a horrid oath.</p> +<p>“Now, then, old buffer, another quartern of +gin.”</p> +<p>“And a screw of tobacco, master, if you +please.”</p> +<p>“Well, old gal, what’ll you drink?”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t mind, what’ll you +stand?”</p> +<p>“Suppose we has arf and arf.”</p> +<p>“Ay, to be sure.”</p> +<p>And so the hours pass, and the place gets hotter, and stinks +more and more every hour, for the men and women have not a very +pleasant <!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 158</span>effluvium, and the hubbub becomes +more intense. You tell me you would rather not stay here +long. Well, I am quite of your opinion, for a couple of +gentlemen with pale faces have been eyeing us most attentively +ever since we have been here, and I confess their appearance is +not prepossessing. Their short hair seems to indicate an +acquaintance with one of the public establishments of the +metropolis, with whose inmates it is not well to be too +familiar. They are dressed in fustian, with thick boots +well studded with nails, a kick from which on the head when a man +is down would soon settle his business; and with their +close-fitting caps, Belcher handkerchiefs, and heavy animal +faces, are certainly not very pleasant-looking young men. I +should be sorry to intimate my suspicions to them, as they may be +noblemen in disguise, and might feel hurt at my want of +charity. In the mean while, as the door is being opened and +the coast is clear, I avail myself of the opportunity, and +leaving the night-house, am soon dreaming in my feverish slumber +that I have just been garotted and left for dead at the door of +my domestic establishment, to the intense agony of my wife and +children,—of course, by the two amiable young <!-- page +159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>people aforesaid,—and I feel for some days after +as if I had suffered terribly from a species of night-mare. +So hideous is the life, so degraded the company, so revolting are +the scenes, at these night-houses, I know not why the law permits +them to be open. I am sure they can answer no good or moral +end. Mr Norton, a few days since, said, in deciding a case +at the Lambeth police-office, he hoped a law would soon be passed +to close night-houses. On this head the police magistrates +are unanimous.</p> +<h2><!-- page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 160</span>HIGHBURY BARN.</h2> +<p>A writer<span class="smcap"> </span>in <i>Chambers’s +Journal</i> some time since called attention to the peculiar +attractions of Highbury Barn. What are these +attractions? I confess that the place has connected it with +the eating and drinking associations of years; that here +generations of cockneys have dined; that here, Sunday after +Sunday, they have come to drink bottled stout and smoke; that it +is extensively patronized by shopmen and milliners; that the +society is not of the most refined order; and that the love made +in it is not of the noblest and purest character. I cannot +understand how <i>Chambers</i> could have been got to puff up +such a place to the public. I am sure the decent public +will not thank <i>Chambers</i> for the puff.</p> +<p>Highbury Barn is an admirable illustration of the way in which +Acts of Parliament are evaded. In 1852 Mr Hinton applied +for and obtained a license for music, and he stated in his +petition on that occasion, that his object was to have the <!-- +page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>license as an adjunct to dinner-parties, a great number +of which were held there; and at that time he had no idea +whatever of having dancing in the place. In 1854, however, +a different state of things arose, and, from a combination of +causes, the parties and festivals at Highbury Barn fell off, and +competition was so great, that Mr Hinton, having a large +establishment, in which a great deal of capital was invested, was +compelled to do something to meet the public taste, as he says, +or, as I might say, to create it. Accordingly, on Whit +Monday of that year, he opened his establishment for musical +entertainments with the band of the Grenadier Guards. This +was considered by the magistrates as an infraction of his +agreement with them, and his license was refused. But Mr +Hinton was not beaten; he had his large capital invested, and +somehow or other the public must be got into his house. An +ingenious plan was devised, by which Mr Hinton was enabled to +carry on his music and dancing without a license, and yet be +secure from the penalties incurred by the breakers of law. +There is an assembly called Almack’s, frequented by the +<i>élite</i> of the land, held in Willis’s +Rooms. Those rooms are not <!-- page 162--><a +name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>licensed +according to Act of Parliament, yet all the leaders of <i>bon +ton</i> there congregate, and they would be liable to be taken up +as rogues and vagabonds under the Act. But the dancing is +carried on there by an association, under the auspices of which +tickets are sold. Well, Mr Hinton adopted a similar +plan. The Highbury Club was formed, and the club kindly +provided the youthful votaries of pleasure with the desired +amusement. If we are to believe Mr Hinton, the result has +not been very advantageous, as his receipts on the sale of +alcoholic liquors fell off £600—a statement rather +difficult to reconcile with his former one, that he found his +customers had left him, and that he must do something to call +them back. Be that as it may, Mr Hinton has now his +license, though three clergymen connected with the district +concurred in stating that parties on leaving the Barn were +disorderly and riotous, and disturbed the quiet of the locality, +and that the licensing of that establishment would have a very +demoralizing effect.</p> +<p>And now let us go to Highbury Barn. As we walk alone +Highbury-place, we pass by many a father of a family grumbling at +the idea of having <!-- page 163--><a name="page163"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 163</span>his quiet invaded by parties coming +home from the Barn; and yet there was a time, probably, when he +heard the chimes at midnight; and the chances are, so wretchedly +are our lads educated, that while the father is at home reading +his religious magazine, the son is being initiated into fast life +at the Barn. But on we go through a dark passage, admirably +adapted for a garotte walk, till we come to the place of +rendezvous. We pay sixpence and walk in. The first +thing that strikes us is the Master of the Ceremonies. We +are amazed,—in the distant West never have we met a more +distinguished swell. His attitude is faultless; his raven +hair is parted in the middle; his dark eye is turned in a +languishing manner upward to the orchestra. In the +intervals between the dances he walks up and down the room in an +abstract and poetic manner, and Melancholy marks him for her +own. You believe in the doctrine of metamorphoses as you +look at him. He is a star fallen upon evil days. +Beneath that faultless black dress-coat there lies the soul of a +Beau Brummel or a Nash. Well, then, may there be a tinge of +sadness on his cheek, and a cloud upon his brow. But let us +leave him awhile and look about us. What <!-- page 164--><a +name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>a noble +room! we shall not see a finer one in London. At one end is +a gallery; at the other a raised platform with very comfortable +seats and tables. All round the room are illustrations of +oriental scenery, and over the bar is the orchestra. But +the place is not so crowded as we might expect, and the visitors +are quieter than in the casinos of the West; the men and women +are most of them much younger,—the men, many of them, have +an exceedingly juvenile appearance, and think it fine to dance +with young ladies of uncertain occupations, and to drink +brandy-and-water and smoke cigars; but they have yet to cut their +wisdom-teeth. As Thackeray says,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Pretty page with the dimpled chin,<br /> + That never has known the barber’s shear,<br /> +All your wish is woman to win;<br /> +This is the way that boys begin,—<br /> + Wait till you come to forty year.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Come here in the summer-time, and the attendance is then +numerous; and of a Sunday evening, on the lawn before the Barn, +or in the bowers and alcoves by its side, what vows have been +uttered only to be broken; and what snares have been set for +youth, and beauty, and innocence; and how many have come here +with gay <!-- page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 165</span>hearts who have left with them +bruised beyond the power of man to heal! Even in this room +itself, what changes have been wrought by the magic hand of +time! Where are the Finsbury radicals—all beery and +Chartist, who here dined; the demagogues who duped them, the +hopes they cherished, the promises they made? One after +another have the bubbles burst, have the leaders palpably become +shams, have the people woke up to disappointment and despair; and +yet the nation has yet to learn that it is only by individual +righteousness its salvation can be wrought. The dancing, +instead of speech-making, is a sign of the times. +Accompanied as it is by less drinking, let us hope it is a +favourable sign. Let us judge in the spirit of charity and +hope. But let us not be too sanguine,—it was during +the terrors of the French Directory, when the</p> +<blockquote><p>“Streets ran so red with the blood of the +dead,<br /> +That they blush’d like the waves of hell,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>that Paris became a city of dancers, and that the art reached +a climax unknown before or since.</p> +<h2><!-- page 166--><a name="page166"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 166</span>BOXING NIGHT.</h2> +<p>I am rather out of conceit with Christmas boxes. I have +been wished the compliments of the season by no less than six +individuals this very morning, and for those good wishes I, poor +man though I be, with family of my own to work for, have had to +pay half-a-crown each. I grow suspicious of every smiling +face I meet. I walk with my hands in my pocket, and my eyes +cast down. I wonder how it fares with my strong-minded wife +at home. I know she will have had a rare battle to +fight. She will have had the Postman—and the +Dustman—and the Waits—and the Sweep—and the +Turncock—and the Lamplighter—and the Grocer’s +lad—and the Butcher’s boy; and if she compounds with +them at the rate of a shilling a-piece, she may bless her +stars. I feel that I cannot stand much of this kind of +work, and that for a merry Christmas and a happy New Year I shall +have to pay rather handsomely. Stop at home—tie up +your <!-- page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 167</span>knockers—say you are sick or +dead, or a shareholder in the Royal British Bank, still you +cannot escape the tender mercies of a London Boxing day. +Mind, I have not one word to say of the various good wishes and +gifts offered by friends and relatives to each other as pledges +of esteem and goodwill. I would be the last to find fault +with the customs originating in the warm heart of love, and +honoured by the sanction of the whole civilized world. By +all means let us reverence them ten-fold. But I have a +right to complain that I am compelled to pay for mercenary +goodwill, and that on me, or such as me, a tax is levied which +does no good in most cases, and frequently does an immense amount +of harm. When I read, as I am sure to do, in the police +reports of the next day, that, “yesterday, being the day +after Boxing day, the time of the magistrates was chiefly +occupied with cases of drunkenness,” am I not right in +wishing that I had kept the money in my own pocket? Some of +my friends would do that, but then for the next twelve months +they are hampered and inconvenienced in a thousand ways. As +a wise man, I choose the least of two evils, but I am an +unwilling victim nevertheless. But <!-- page 168--><a +name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>a truce to +my meditations; let us look at London on a Boxing night. By +daylight you would scarce know London. A new race seems to +have invaded the streets, filled the omnibuses, swarmed in the +bazaars and the Arcade, choked up the eating-houses and the +beer-shops. Smith with his Balmoral boots, Brown with his +all-round collar, Jones with his Noah’s Ark coat, Robinson +with the straight tile, which young England deems the cheese, +delight us no more with their snobby appearance and gentish airs; +to-day this is the poor man’s holiday. You can tell +him by the awkwardness with which he wears his Sunday clothes, by +the startling colour of his ties, by the audacious appearance of +his waistcoat. If he would only dress as a gentleman +dresses, he would look as well, but he must be fine. Well, +it matters little so long as he be happy, whether he is so or +not; and let him pass with his wife and children, all full of +wonder and delight as they stare in at the shop windows and think +everything—how happy are they in the delusion!—that +all that glitter is gold. Let us wish them a merry +Christmas and a happy New Year.</p> +<p>And now the dull, dark day, by the magic power of gas, has +been transformed into gay and <!-- page 169--><a +name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>brilliant +night. The thousands who have spent the day sight-seeing +are not satiated, and are flocking round the entrances of the +various theatres. Let us stand on the stage of the +Victoria, and see them to the number of fifteen hundred mounted +upon the gallery benches. Through the small door near the +ceiling they come down like a Niagara, and you expect to see them +hurled by hundreds into the pit. What a Babel of +sounds! It is in vain one cries “Horder!” +“’Ats off!” “Down in +front!” “Silence!” Boys in the +gallery are throwing orange peel all over the pit; Smith halloos +to Brown, and Brown to Smith; a sailor in a private box +recognises some comrades beneath, and immediately a conversation +ensues; rivals meet and quarrel; women treat each other to the +contents of their baskets—full of undigestible articles, +you may be sure, with a bottle of gin in the corner. The +play—it is that refreshing drama, the “Battersea +Brigand”—proceeds in dumb-show; but the pantomime, +the subject of which is, “Wine, War, and Love, and Queen +Virtue in the Vistas of Light or Glitter,”—with what +a breathless calm, that is ushered in. It is an old silly +affair. Harlequin, clown, and <!-- page 170--><a +name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>pantaloon, +are they not all very dreary in their mirth? Yet the +audience is in a roar of laughter, and little babes clap their +tiny hands, and tears of laughter chase each other down the +withered cheeks of age. This night in every theatre of +London is a similar scene witnessed. The British public is +supposed to be unusually weak at Christmas, and tricks that were +childish and stale when George the Third was king, and jokes +venerable even in Joe Miller’s time, are still supposed to +afford the most uproarious amusement to a people boasting its +Christianity, its civilisation, and enlightenment. Of all +conventionalisms those of the stage are the most rigid, +antiquated, and absurd.</p> +<p>But the thousands outside who did not get in—what are +they about? Look at that respectable mechanic; you saw him +in the morning as happy as a prince, and almost as fine; he +stands leaning against the lamp-post, apparently an idiot. +His hat is broken—his coat is torn—his face is +bloody—his pockets are empty; not a friend is near, and he +is far away from home. It is clear too what he has been +about. Come on a few steps further—three policemen +are carrying a woman to Bow-street. A hooting <!-- page +171--><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>crowd follow; she heeds them not, nor cares she that +she has lost her bonnet—that her hair streams loosely in +the wind—that her gown (it is her Sunday one) is all torn +to tatters—or that her person is rudely exposed. The +further we go, and the later it grows, the more of these sad +pictures shall we see. Of course we do not look for such in +Regent-street, or Belgravia, or Oxford-street, or the +Strand. Probably in them we shall meet respectable people +staggering along under the influence of drink—but they are +not noisy or obstreperous—they do not curse and +swear—they do not require the aid of the police. We +must go into the low neighbourhoods—into St Giles’, +or Drury-lane, or Ratcliffe-highway, or the New-cut, or +Whitechapel—if we would see the miseries of London on +Boxing night. We must take our stand by some +gin-palace. We must stay there till the crowds it has +absorbed and poisoned are turned loose and maddened into the +streets. Then what horrible scenes are realized. Here +an Irish faction meet, and men, women, and children engage in a +general <i>mêlée</i>, and cries of murder rend the +air, and piercing shrieks vex the dull ear of night. There +two mates are stripped and <!-- page 172--><a +name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>fighting, +who but this morning were bosom friends, and who to-morrow would +not harm a hair of each other’s heads. Here a +mechanic with a bloody head is being borne to the neighbouring +hospital, to lie there a few months at the public expense, while +his family are maintained by the parish. Again, we meet two +wives nursing young babes scared into unnatural silence, +clenching their fists in each other’s faces, and with +difficulty restrained from acts of more savage violence by their +drunken husbands. Their day’s holiday has come to +this. In the metropolis in 1853, the number of +public-houses was 5729—the number of beer-shops 3613. +These figures give a total of 9342. If on this night we +suppose on an average one fight in the course of the evening +takes place in each of these drinking shops, we can get some idea +of what goes on in London on a Boxing night. In passing at +midnight down Drury-lane, I see three fights in a five +minutes’ walk. Enlightened native of Timbuctoo, will +you not pity our London heathens and send a few missionaries +here!</p> +<h2><!-- page 173--><a name="page173"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 173</span>THE MOGUL,</h2> +<p>Not the Great Mogul in Thibet, but the Mogul in Drury-lane, is +an increasingly popular place of public amusement. I was +there a few years since, and it was not more than half +full. The other night I could hardly get standing room, +though I paid sixpence and went with the operative swells into +the gallery. In these days the test of everything is +success. We speak well of the tradesman who does the +largest business—of the writer whose books sell the +most—of the actor or preacher that draws the largest +crowd. We do not stop to criticise the manner in which that +business is done, the influence of the writer, the doctrine +taught by the preacher, or the character of the acting. On +the ordinary principle, then, the Mogul is a creditable +establishment, for it is a successful one. Indeed, in the +present state of society, it is hardly possible to conceive how a +place that combines entertainment and drinking together can well +be <!-- page 174--><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +174</span>otherwise. In the course of last summer Vauxhall +was open a few nights; I was credibly informed that on each night +it was supposed not more than half the company paid for +admission, the other half having been admitted by means of +orders. It is calculated the sale of drink and refreshment +to the crowd thus collected will yield a profit sufficient to +cover all expenses. Thus it is such places as the Mogul +pay. The entrance fee and the sale of intoxicating drinks +must amount to a sum out of which a proprietor can extract a +handsome profit.</p> +<p>Thus at the Mogul you have a double attraction. Are you +a gin-drinker, you can go and get your quartern or half-quartern +over the bar—or you can lounge into the concert-room and +quietly sit soaking the whole evening; for, as the performance +does not close till midnight, the time admits of a man getting +“fou” between the commencement and the close of the +entertainment. Drury-lane is what may be called a low +neighbourhood, devoted principally to butchers’ and +bakers’ shops, pawnbrokers’ establishments, and +gin-palaces. Pass these latter any hour of the day you +will, and you will find <!-- page 175--><a +name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>them +crowded by laundresses, and charwomen, and haggard old crones +from the sister isle, and young wives whose husbands, it may be, +are hard at work. There they stand in the streets, with +babies in their arms and dirty children in rags by their side, +gossiping with women as ill-conditioned as themselves; and as +gossiping makes them thirsty, and as drinking makes people drunk, +it is not difficult to imagine the state in which many of these +women are. In the middle of the day it is very obvious that +many of them have had more than enough. How they can afford +it always puzzles me—I cannot, I know, and I believe my +weekly earnings equal theirs. The pawnbrokers may help +them—but their material guarantees cannot be perpetually +forthcoming. These gin-drinkers live cheap, I grant. +They herd in the horrid slums of Drury-lane—and people say +sometimes, Can you wonder that such poor wretches drink? but they +forget that it is the drink that makes them such poor +wretches. The money these women spend in drink would pay +for decent apartments and clothes that would be clean and +comfortable, not ragged and filthy, and stinking with every +abomination. It is not poverty that creates <!-- page +176--><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span>drunkenness, but drunkenness that creates poverty, and +the poverty thus created—the dreariest kind of all +poverty—abounds in Drury-lane. Well, then, exclaims +one of the new school, who believes mankind are to be regenerated +by fiddling, does not such a place as the Mogul have a beneficial +influence? I will answer this by describing the kind of +amusement afforded at the Mogul. You are pent up in a room +where the air is ten times worse than in any theatre—any +crowded chapel—or worse than in the late Reading Room of +the British Museum or the House of Commons. You see a +little of the worst acting in London—broad farce, chiefly +by artists, if I may term them such, who are more remarkable for +their weakness than their strength. “Speak the +speech, I pray you, as I pronounce it to you, trippingly on the +tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as +lief the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air +too much with your hands,” says Hamlet; but actors of the +class you meet in the Mogul never seem to have heard of the +Prince of Denmark. There are some people who doubt whether +good acting has a beneficial effect, but there are none who doubt +that the effect of bad <!-- page 177--><a +name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>acting is +altogether bad. But the dramatical part of the +entertainment constitutes but a small part of the evening’s +amusement. There is a lady who sings sentimental songs, and +a gentleman who sings comic ones, and another gent, with dismal +voice and weary mien, who declares—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The <i>gurls</i> of dear Old England<br /> +Are the <i>gurls</i> of <i>gurls</i> for me-e-eh.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I am not aware that any of these performers sing songs of an +objectionable character; and if a sneer is now and then +introduced at what common decent people believe to be good, and +true, and righteous, and of beneficial tendency, it is only, +perhaps, such as would be approved of by the patrons of the +Haymarket. You tell me that this is better than sitting all +night at a bar drinking; but, I ask, is not this entertainment +itself an excuse for drinking? You see the room is full of +men and women evidently belonging to the working classes; now of +all men working men can least afford to waste time in such +places. All their future emphatically depends upon +themselves. More than most men are they called upon to +exercise self-denial and to cultivate their powers, if they would +achieve independence. <!-- page 178--><a +name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>But how can +the working men who sit night after night in such places as the +Mogul ever hope to rise? yet any night there must be a couple of +hundred of such present, for they swarm like bees. They +come professedly for the entertainment, but all the while it +lasts they are doing a good deal in the drinking line. It +is not one glass or two that will satisfy them; and the worst of +it is, that many very clever fellows when once they begin +drinking do not know when to leave off. In this respect +they are like Dr Johnson, who could either feast or fast, but +could never be a moderate drinker. They come to the +Mogul—perhaps they would never think of sitting all night +in a public-house—but they come to the Mogul for the +entertainment, and they finish by drinking as if they had come +for the drink alone. The Mogul is indeed an educational +establishment, but unfortunately it educes the wrong set of +faculties. In Drury-lane, of all lanes in the world, there +is the least occasion to associate intoxicating drink with +happiness. Everywhere the idea is a mischievous delusion +and a remnant of barbarism, but there it is a positive +curse. At the Mogul you will see the sweetheart with her +lover, the mother with <!-- page 179--><a +name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>her +child,—it may be the sucking babe,—till midnight, +breathing an air of tobacco smoke, the husband and the wife, all +you say enjoying themselves in a social way, but all, I say, +encouraging an appetite which, if it gets the mastery,—and +in the majority of cases it does,—will destroy them without +mercy. Were the Mogul simply a gin-palace, it would have +far less patronage, it would merely have its share of the general +trade; but the fact that it provides musical and dramatic +entertainments—that it gives decent people an excuse for +drinking—that it attracts those whom a common gin-shop +would repel—is that precisely which gives it its power for +danger. Such places are decoy shops, the more dangerous as +drinking in Drury-lane is really disgusting, and enough to make a +man a teetotaller for life. The neighbourhood is rich in +warnings, but the <i>habitué</i> of the Mogul soon learns +to heed them not.</p> +<h2><!-- page 180--><a name="page180"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 180</span>CALDWELL’S.</h2> +<p>A stranger, ignorant of our inner life, and unacquainted with +our social system, knowing only that we call ourselves a +Christian people, and that we boast that Christianity places +woman in a peculiarly favoured position, might dwell among us for +awhile, and, seeing how woman is flattered and followed, might +imagine that our condition was perfect, and that here, at least, +woman, the weak, was sheltered by man, the strong. In the +dazzling ball-room—on the glittering promenade—he +might meet the lovely and the fair, and deem that they were no +brilliant exception, but as they were sheltered and loved, so +were sheltered and loved all of their common sex. Grieved +would he be to find out his mistake; yet more grieved would he be +to know that the graceful drapery that added to the beauty that +everywhere flashed upon his eye was wrought by tender and +delicate women, who, pale and wan, slave at the needle from <!-- +page 181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>morn till eve, and from eve till again the dim grey of +morn gleamed in the east—by women withered before their +prime—by women who, for no crime, but from their simple +desire to live by the honest and honourable labour of their +hands, are shut up in heated and unhealthy rooms, debarred from +social duties and joys, and who know nothing of life but its +wants and woes—by women who can find in slavery itself +nothing more forlorn than their melancholy fate—by women to +the majority of whom there is no honest way of escape from the +lingering death that besets them, but the grave.</p> +<p>We would guard our readers against giving way to mawkish +sentimentalism; <i>that</i> it is not our aim to excite. +There are employers who are all they should be; there are +milliners’ and dressmakers’ assistants who find their +labour what all healthy labour is, a blessing, and not a +curse. Nor is every dressmaker shut up in these hot-houses +of disease beautiful, nor the daughter of one who has seen better +days. It is true that some of these unfortunate girls are +the daughters of “clergymen, medical men, and +officers;” but it is because they partake of our common +humanity—because they have human <!-- page 182--><a +name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>blood and +human hearts—because life was given them that in it they +might bless and be blessed—because, in their injuries and +wrong, the human family and its Father above are injured and +wronged—that we claim for them from society sympathy and +redress. We say nothing of the moral danger to which, in a +metropolis like this, they are peculiarly exposed. When sin +offers so golden a bait, it shows that those who yet continue at +their work deserve respect and aid. If some of them have +fallen—if some of them, driven by despair, have walked our +streets to gain their bread, let us blame the system which has +made so infamous and wretched a mode of life seem a change to be +desired. Let the cure be adopted; let the work now done be +distributed among a larger number of hands; and in this country, +at least, there is no lack of persons eager to be employed. +In many of the fashionable establishments increased cost of +production can be of but little moment. Let employers learn +to practise humanity, and let our high-born and influential +ladies see to it, that it is no thoughtlessness of theirs that +compels their poorer sisters to toil with a sinking frame and a +heavy heart. As a nation, we have worked out <!-- page +183--><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>one problem in civilization; we have shown that the +utmost wealth can exist side by side with the deepest +poverty—the grossest ignorance with the most cultivated +knowledge—the most elevating piety with the most debasing +fetichism—the fairest virtue with the most revolting +vice. Be it our nobler work to show to the nations of the +earth how, while our higher classes live in refinement and +wealth, there is no class, however humble, but can joy in the +possession of social happiness and rights.</p> +<p>But what, you ask, has this to do with Caldwell’s? +Only this, that of the class to which I have referred, I believe +more may be found of an evening at Caldwell’s, than +anywhere else in London. It is not all dressmakers who toil +thus severely and unnaturally; and few of them are there who do +not in the course of the year find time to pay Caldwell’s a +visit. Who has not heard of Caldwell’s +<i>Soirées Dansantes</i>? Are they not advertised in +every paper? Are they not posted in gigantic bills in every +street? In quiet country lanes, miles and miles away from +town, do we not come across the coloured letters by which Mr +Caldwell announces his entertainment to the world? Who is +Mr John Caldwell? <!-- page 184--><a +name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 184</span>We will let +him speak for himself. He has an establishment in +Dean-street, Soho. The building cost him nearly four +thousand pounds. On boxing-night he had as many as 600 +customers, “and on average nights,” he tells us, +“I have about 200.” The charge for admission is +eight-pence. Mr Caldwell has a public-house just by, and +from that supplies wine, and ale, and spirits. “I +have never had a case of drunkenness in my place for years; I am +very particular—I never let a drunken man +remain.” On an average about thirty glasses of +spirits are drunk in the dancing room in the course of an +evening, and about forty glasses of beer. “I believe +my place is carried on in as respectable a manner as can +be. Some of the first noblemen come; there are some very +respectable tradesmen round the neighbourhood, and a great many +young people from the neighbourhood. The rooms are +principally supported by the working classes.” The +dancing saloon opens at eight, and is closed at a quarter to +twelve. Such is the evidence given by Mr Caldwell himself +before the select committee of the House of Commons on +public-houses. As is perfectly natural, it is all <i>coleur +de rose</i>. The union of the first noblemen <!-- page +185--><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>and the <i>élite</i> of the working classes over +spirits-and-water, or in the mazy dance, is a beautiful specimen +of fraternisation, and the small quantity of beer and spirits +drunk by 200 persons indicates an amount of sobriety rare in +places of public amusement. I think Mr Caldwell has a +little understated the case. I fear he forgot to tell the +committee that the drinking at his place was in the +refreshment-room down-stairs, not in the dancing-room above; +while in the latter the small quantity he asserts is consumed, I +am inclined to think, much more may be disposed of +down-stairs. In the course of his own examination some +disagreeable truths oozed out. We give a couple of +questions and answers in proof of this.—Sir George Grey: +“Do you mean to say that the dancing-saloon would have no +sufficient attraction for the people unless there were connected +with it the facility of obtaining spirituous +liquors?” “<i>I think not</i>; <i>the people +want a glass of wine</i>, <i>or negus</i>, <i>or +brandy-and-water</i>”. Again, Mr Caldwell has been +unable to procure a license on account of the opposition of the +publicans in the neighbourhood. The Chairman asks, +“Do you think the publicans would withdraw their +opposition?” “<i>Yes</i>, <!-- page 186--><a +name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span><i>they +begin to find my house an advantage</i>; <i>when parties leave my +rooms</i>, <i>they stand together at the corner of the +streets</i>, <i>and say</i>, <i>We will have a parting +glass</i>. <i>They do not all have it at my +rooms</i>.”</p> +<p>Now this answer does not well coincide with Mr +Caldwell’s former evidence. It is quite as much the +drink as the dancing that is the attraction, and as to his +respectable tradesmen, and the fact of persons not being tipsy, +and that of some of the first noblemen coming there, all these +assertions are fairly open to criticism. It was only the +other day I heard a London magistrate declare that publicans +never could tell when a person was tipsy; and as to +respectability, your Robsons, and Camerons, and Sadleirs are +always considered highly respectable. Ask the first person +you meet about your neighbours. What is the answer? +Oh, they are a highly respectable family; they are immensely +rich. And as to noblemen coming into such places, I imagine +that would be precisely the reason why the judicious father of a +pretty girl would prefer her dancing anywhere rather than in Mr +Caldwell’s establishment in Dean-street. I have not +much faith in the benefits of that species <!-- page 187--><a +name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>of the +mixture of all ranks. Like the Irishman’s +reciprocity, it is all on one side. Tennyson makes his hero +tell Lady Clara Vere de Vere—</p> +<blockquote><p>“At me you smiled, but unbeguiled<br /> + I saw the snare and I retired,—<br /> +The daughter of a hundred earls,<br /> + You are not one to be desired.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But perchance a young maiden, led away by the excitement of +the hour, could not find it in her heart to address similar +language to Lady Clara Vere de Vere’s brother. The +last victim always believes that she is to be the exception to +all general rules; she may transgress, but not pay the +penalty—pluck the forbidden fruit, and for doing so not +forfeit Eden—plunge wildly into sin, and sorrow, and shame, +and yet find peace in her heart and the light of heaven lying on +her path; but cause and effect are eternal, and, youth gone, and +pleasure gone, and the power to attract gone, and the inward +sense of right succeeded by the stings of conscience and the +gnawing of remorse, what is left but to weep madly and in vain +for</p> +<blockquote><p>“The tender grace of a day that is +dead”?</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 188--><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>But we are in Caldwell’s,—let us go into +the gallery and look down. I know not the name of the new +dances, but how the women swim round the room, as the music now +hurriedly hastens, now softly dies away. The girl that +dances here so modestly to-night in twelve months will have lost +her maiden shame, will be dressed in silks and satins, will be +dancing at the Argyll, and supping at Scott’s or +Quin’s. That girl they call Rose—and a rose she +is, for she might shine in a Belgravian drawing-room, and walks +in beauty as a fairy queen—might have lit up a home with +her love, and made a brave heart proud; but here she comes, night +after night, and domestic life is to her tame after music and +dancing such as she has here. Beauty you will not find much +of, nor that overdress which stamps the character of the women at +the Casino or the Argyll in unmistakeable terms; and the men are +the class you usually meet in these places. They may be +pickpockets, or they may be peers; you can scared tell the +difference in these levelling days. If I had not Mr +Caldwell’s express assertion to the contrary, I should +certainly say that that young fellow with a pint bottle of +champagne in his hand was decidedly drunk,—at any rate, +<!-- page 189--><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +189</span>he has very much the appearance of a tipsy person; but +the waiters seem to be of Mr Caldwell’s opinion, and are +still offering him more drink, and the women around seem to think +it is rather fun than otherwise. Ah! little do they reflect +how such as he, under the influences of drink, forget the +decencies of life, the claims of duty, forget even the common +instincts of common humanity; so that the wife, whom he has vowed +to love, honour, and protect, is abandoned, and the home +forsaken, for the orgies of the public-house. Do the women +around us ever expect to be the wives and mothers of such, or +have they, young and fair as many of them seem, learnt already +that recklessness as to the future which robs life of all its +glory, and incarcerates the soul in a living grave? I can +see, even here, a gaiety more sad than tears. But I need +not continue my description; dancing in public rooms in the +metropolis is much the same everywhere. Of course the place +is all that Mr Caldwell says it is. I believe with him that +it is as respectably conducted as establishments of the kind can +be; but at the same time Mr Caldwell confesses it leads to +drinking, and that is quite <!-- page 190--><a +name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>reason +enough, independently of other obvious considerations, why I come +away thankful that no wife or sister of mine is amongst the +parties nightly to be met at Mr Caldwell’s +<i>soirées dansantes</i>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 191--><a name="page191"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 191</span>CREMORNE.</h2> +<p>“In<span class="smcap"> </span>a set of pictures +illustrative of Greek customs, it was quite impossible to leave +out the <i>hetæræ</i> who gave such a peculiar +colouring to Grecian levity, and exercised so potent a sway over +the life of the younger members of the community. Abundant +materials for such a sketch exist, for the Greeks made no secret +of matters of this kind; the difficulty has been not to sacrifice +the vividness of the picture of the ordinary intercourse with +these women to the demands of our modern sense of +propriety,” says Professor Becker, in his truly admirable +work on the Private Life of the Ancient Greeks. In the same +manner, and for the same reason, the modern sense of propriety is +supposed to be in the way of any very graphic description of +Cremorne; yet we have hetæræ almost as bewitching as +Aspasia or the Corinthian Lais; and if our students, and learned +clergy, and holy bishops write long articles about the Athenian +Dionysia <!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 192</span>only held once a year, why should we +not speak of ours which last all the summer, and the scene of +which is Cremorne? At the Dionysia the most unbridled +merriment and drunkenness were the order of the day, and were +held quite blameless. For a while the most sober-minded +bade adieu to the stringency of habit, following the well-known +Greek maxim—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ne’er blush with drink to spice the +feast’s gay hour,<br /> +And, reeling, own the mighty wine-god’s power.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So it is in Cremorne. If Corinth had her groves sacred +to Aphrodite, so has Cremorne. It offends our modern sense +of propriety to speak of such matters. English people only +see what they wish to see. If you are true—if you +look at real life and say what you think of it, you shock our +modern sense of propriety. We may talk about drainage and +ventilation, and the advantages of soap, but there we must +stop. Keep the outside clean, but don’t look +within. Thus is it our writers make such blunders. +For instance, good-meaning Mrs Stowe, after she had written Uncle +Tom, came here to be lionized, and to write a book about +us. She did so, and a very poor book it was. But I +must quote one passage <!-- page 193--><a +name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 193</span>from +“Sunny Memories.” In writing of a visit she +paid to the Jardin Mobile in Paris, she writes, “Entrance +to this Paradise can be had, for gentlemen a dollar, ladies +<i>free</i>; this tells the whole story. Nevertheless, do +not infer that there are not respectable ladies there; it is a +place so remarkable that very few strangers stay long in Paris +without taking a look at it. And though young ladies +residing in Paris never go, and matrons very seldom, yet +occasionally it is the case that some ladies of respectability +look in. Nevertheless, aside from the impropriety inherent +in the very nature of the waltzing, there was not a word, look, +or gesture of immorality or impropriety. The dresses were +all decent, and, if there was vice, it was vice masked under the +guise of polite propriety. How different, I could not but +reflect, is all this from the gin-palaces of London! There, +there is indeed a dazzling splendour of gas-lights, but there is +nothing artistic, nothing refined, nothing appealing to the +imagination. There are only hogsheads and barrels, and the +appliances for serving out strong drink; and there for one sole +end—the swallowing of the fiery stimulant—come the +nightly thousands, from the gay and <!-- page 194--><a +name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>well-dressed to the haggard and tattered, in the last +stage of debasement. The end is the same, by how different +paths! Here they dance along the path to ruin with flowers +and music—there they cast themselves bodily, as it were, +into the lake of fire.” A more unfair comparison, I +think, was never drawn; a drinking-shop is much the same +everywhere, and in Paris as well as in London, people, to use Mrs +Stowe’s own words, cast themselves bodily into the lake of +fire. We have our Jardin Mobile, but of course Mrs Stowe +never went there—as we have known good people confessing to +entering theatres in Germany or France who on no account would +have gone near one at home. If Mrs Stowe had confessed to +going to Cremorne, she would have been cut, and so she went to +the Paris Cremorne instead; but to write a true book on England, +she should have gone to Cremorne. Look at Cremorne; is it +not one, as Disraeli is reported to have said, of the +institutions of the country? <a name="citation194"></a><a +href="#footnote194" class="citation">[194]</a> <!-- page +195--><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>The gardens are beautiful, are kept in fine order, are +adorned with really fine trees, and are watered by the Thames, +here almost a silver stream. Though near London, on a +summer evening the air is fresh and balmy, the amusements are +varied, the company are genteel in appearance, and here, as in +Paris, they dance along the path to ruin with flowers and +music. If Mrs Stowe gives the preference to the Parisians, +she may be right, but I am inclined to dispute the grounds of +that preference. The gin-palaces are filled with our sots, +with our utter wrecks, with all that is loathsome and low in man +or woman. Your son, fresh from home and its sacred +influences, is shy of entering a gin-palace at first. He +goes there with a blush upon his cheek, and a sense of shame at +his heart. He shrinks from its foul companionship, and when +he has come out he resolves never to be what he has seen under +those accursed roofs. But you take him to Cremorne, or you +send him to the Lowther Arcade, or the Holborn Casino, and he is +surrounded by temptation that speaks to him with almost +irresistible power. The women are well-dressed and +well-behaved. The drink does not repel but merely +stimulates the <!-- page 196--><a name="page196"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 196</span>hot passions of youth, and lulls the +conscience. For one man that is ruined in a gin-shop there +are twenty that are ruined at Cremorne.</p> +<p>As to the morality of such places, that is not to be settled +dogmatically by me or by any one else. Tennyson talks of +men fighting their doubts, and gathering strength; in the same +manner, men may fight temptation and gather strength, and one man +may merely spend a pleasant evening where another may in the same +interval of time ruin himself for life. The tares and the +wheat, in this confused world of ours, grow side by side. +Unnaturally, we bring up our sons only to pluck what we deem the +wheat; and immediately they are left to themselves, they begin +gathering the tares, which we have not taught them are such, and +have for them at least the charm of novelty. It does not do +to say there is no pleasure in the world; there is a great +deal. The grass is green, though, it may be, sad sinners +tread it. The sun shines as sweetly on carrion as on the +Koh-i-noor. The lark high up at heaven’s gate sings +as loud a song of praise, whether villains or lovers listen to +its lays. Places are what we make them. I fear there +are many blackguards at Cremorne; <!-- page 197--><a +name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>the women +most of them are undoubtedly hetæræ, and yet what a +place it is for fun! How jolly are all you meet! How +innocent are all the amusements,—the ascent of the +balloon—the dancing—the equestrian +performances—the comic song—the +illuminations—the fire-works—the promenade on the +grass lawn or in the gas-lit paths; the impulses that come to us +in the warm breath of the summer eve, how grateful are they all, +and what a change from Cheap-side or from noisy manufactories +still more confined! By this light the scene is almost a +fairy one. Can there be danger here? Is there here +nothing artistic—nothing refined—nothing appealing to +the imagination? Come here, Mrs Stowe, and judge. You +will scandalize, I know, that portion of the religious public +that never yet has looked at man and society honestly in the +face, but you will better understand the frightful hypocrisies of +our domestic life; you will better understand how it is that a +religion which we pay so much for, and to which we render so much +outward homage, has so little hold upon the heart and life. +There is no harm in Cremorne, if man is born merely to enjoy +himself—to eat, drink, be merry, and die. I grant, it +<!-- page 198--><a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +198</span>is rather inconvenient for a young man who has his way +to fight in life to indulge a taste for pleasure, to launch out +into expenses beyond his means, to mix with company that is more +amusing than moral, and to keep late hours; and young fellows who +go to Cremorne must run all these risks. It may do you, my +good sir, no harm to go there. You have arrived at an age +when the gaieties of life have ceased to be dangerous. You +come up by one of the Citizen boats to Chelsea after business +hours, and stroll into the garden and view the balloon, or sit +out the ballet, or gaze with a leaden eye upon the riders, and +the clowns, and the dancing, or the fireworks, and return home in +decent time to bed; and if you waste a pound or two, you can +afford it. But it is otherwise with inflammable +youth—a clerk, it may be, in a merchant’s warehouse +on 30<i>s.</i> a-week, and it is really alarming to think what +excitements are thus held out to the passions, at all times so +difficult to control. There are the North Woolwich +Gardens—there is Highbury Barn—all rivalling +Cremorne, and all capable of containing some thousands of idle +pleasure-seekers. Vauxhall, with its drunken orgies, is +gone never to return—the place that <!-- page 199--><a +name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>knows it +now will know it no more for ever—but such places are what +thoughtless people call respectable, are frequented by +respectable people; and amidst mirth and music, foaming up in the +sparkling wine, looking out of dark blue eyes, reddening the +freshest cheeks, and nestling in the richest curls, there lurks +the great enemy of God and man. Young man, such an enemy +you cannot resist; your only refuge is in flight. Ah, you +think that face fair as you ask its owner to drink with you; it +would have been fairer had it never gone to Cremorne. A +father loved her as the apple of his eye; she was the sole +daughter of his home and heart, and here she comes night after +night to drink and dance; a few years hence and you shall meet +her drinking and cursing in the lowest gin-palaces of St +Giles’s, and the gay fast fellows around you now will be +digging gold in Australia, or it may be walking the streets in +rags, or it may be dying in London hospitals of lingering +disease, or, which is worse than all, it may be living on year +after year with all that is divine in man utterly blotted out and +destroyed. The path that leads to life is strait and +narrow, and few there be who find it.</p> +<h2><!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 200</span>THE COSTERMONGERS’ +FREE-AND-EASY.</h2> +<p>Every<span class="smcap"> </span>class in London has its +particular pleasures. The gay have their theatres—the +philanthropic their Exeter Hall—the wealthy their +“ancient concerts”—the costermongers what they +term their sing-song.</p> +<p>I once penetrated into one of these dens. It was +situated in a very low neighbourhood, not far from a gigantic +brewery, where you could not walk a yard scarcely without coming +to a public house. The costermongers are a numerous +race. Walk the poor neighbourhoods on a Saturday night, and +hear the cries,—“Chestnuts all ’ot a penny a +score,” “Three a penny, Yarmouth bloaters,” +“Penny a lot fine russets, a penny a lot,” +“Now’s your time, fine whelks, a penny a +lot.” Well, the itinerant vendors of these delicacies +are costermongers. Or in the daytime see the long carts +drawn by donkies loaded with greens and other vegetables, all +announced to the public in stentorian lungs—these men are +costermongers. <!-- page 201--><a name="page201"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 201</span>Listen to those boys calling, +“Ho, ho, hi, hi,—what do you think of this here? a +penny a bunch, a penny a bunch. Here’s your +turnips!” Those boys are costermongers’ +lads. It is seldom they last long as men. They soon +lose their voice, and how they pick up a living then no one can +tell. Their talk is peculiar. Mr Mayhew tells us +their slang consists merely in pronouncing each word as if spelt +backwards. “I say, Curly, will you do a <i>top</i> of +<i>reeb</i> (pot of beer)?” one costermonger may say to +another. “It’s <i>on doog</i>, Whelkey, <i>on +doog</i>” (no good, no good), the second may reply; +“I’ve had a regular <i>troseno</i> (bad sort) to-day; +I’ve been doing <i>dab</i> (bad) with my <i>tol</i> +(lot)—han’t made a <i>yennep</i> (penny), s’ +elp me—.” “Why, I’ve cleared a +<i>flatchenorc</i> (half a crown) a’ ready.” +Master Whelkey will answer perhaps, “But <i>kool</i> the +<i>esilop</i> (look at the police), <i>kool him</i> (look at +him). Curly: <i>Nommus</i> (be off), I am going <i>to do +the tightner</i>” (have my dinner). Would you know +more of them, come with me.</p> +<p>Just look at the people in this public-house. A more +drunken, dissipated, wretched lot you never saw. There are +one or two little tables in front of the bar and benches, and on +these <!-- page 202--><a name="page202"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 202</span>benches are the most wretched men +and women possible to imagine. They are drinking gin and +smoking, and all have the appearance of confirmed sots. +They are shoemakers in the neighbourhood, and these women with +them are their wives. “Lor’ bless you, +sir,” exclaims the landlord, “they spend all they has +in drink. They live on a penny roll and a ha’porth of +sprats or mussels, and they never buy any clothes, except once in +three or four years, and then they get some second-hand +rubbish.” And here, when they are not at work, they +sit spending their money. Are there none to save +them?—none to come here and pluck these brands from the +burning? I know they are short-lived; I see in their pale, +haggard, blotched, and bloated faces premature death. The +first touch of illness will carry them off as rotten leaves fall +in November; but ere this be the case, can you not reveal to them +one glimpse of a truer and diviner life? But come up-stairs +into this concert-room, where about a hundred costermongers and +shoemakers are listening to the charms of song. Talk about +the refining influence of music! it is not here you will find +such to be the case. The men and women and lads sitting +round these shabby <!-- page 203--><a name="page203"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 203</span>looking tables have come here to +drink, for that is their idea of enjoyment; and whilst we would +not grudge them one particle of mirth, we cannot but regret that +their standard of enjoyment should be so low. The landlord +is in the chair, and a professional man presides at the +piano. As to the songs, they are partly professional and +partly by volunteers. I cannot say much for their +character. The costermongers have not very strict notions +of <i>meum</i> and <i>tuum</i>; they are not remarkable for +keeping all the commandments; their reverence for the +conventional ideas of decency and propriety is not very profound; +their notions are not peculiarly polished or refined, nor is the +language in which they are clothed, nor the mode in which they +are uttered, such as would be recognised in Belgravia. +Dickens makes Mrs General in “Little Dorrit” remark, +“Society never forms opinions, and is never +demonstrative.” Well, the costermongers are the +reverse of all this, and as the pots of heavy and the quarterns +of juniper are freely quaffed, and the world and its cares are +forgotten, and the company becomes hourly more noisy and +hilarious, you will perceive the truth of my remarks. +Anybody sings who likes; sometimes a <!-- page 204--><a +name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>man, +sometimes a female, volunteers a performance, and I am sorry to +say it is not the girls who sing the most delicate songs. +The burdens of these songs are what you might expect. In +one you were recommended not to go courting in the kitchen when +the master was at home, but, instead, to choose the +“airey.” One song, with a chorus, was devoted +to the deeds of “those handsome men, the French +Grenadiers.” Another recommended beer as a remedy for +low spirits; and thus the harmony of the evening is continued +till twelve, when the landlord closes his establishment, to the +great grief of the few who have any money left, who would only be +too happy to keep it up all night. Let me say a word about +costermonger literature. I see Mr Manby Smith calculates +its pecuniary value at twelve thousand a year. It is +wretched in every way,—in composition, in printing, in +cuts, and paper. These street ballads—we are all +familiar with them—are sold by a class of men called +patterers, and are written so as to bear on the events of the +day. Thus, at the last Lord Mayor’s day we had a song +sung in the streets, of which the following is a +specimen:—</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 205--><a name="page205"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 205</span>“Away they go, the high and +low,<br /> + Such glorious sights was never seen,<br /> +But still the London Lord Mayor’s show<br /> + Is not as it has former been,<br /> +When old Dick Whittington was mayor,<br /> + And our forefathers had to go;<br /> +They had not got no Peelers there,<br /> + To guard great London’s Lord Mayor’s +show.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And we are told in another verse that—</p> +<blockquote><p>“They will talk of Russia, France, and +that,<br /> + And mention how the money goes;<br /> +Each man will eat a pect of sprats,<br /> + That’s the fashion at the Lord Mayor’s +show.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Some of these songs are indecent; almost all of them have a +morbid sympathy with criminals. Thus Redpath in the +following lines is almost made a martyr to his benevolence and +Christian life.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Alas! I am convicted, there’s +no one to blame—<br /> +I suppose you all know Leopold Redpath is my name;<br /> +I have one consolation, perhaps I’ve more,<br /> +All the days of my life <i>I ne’er injured the +poor</i>.</p> +<p>“I procured for the widow and orphan their bread,<br /> +The naked I clothed, and the hungry I fed;<br /> +But still I am sentenced, you must understand,<br /> +Because I had broken the laws of the land.</p> +<p>“A last fond adieu to my heart-broken wife—<br /> +Leopold Redpath, your husband, ’s transported for life;<br +/> +Providence will protect you, love, do not deplore,<br /> +<i>Since your husband never hurted or injured the poor</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p><!-- page 206--><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>“In London and Weybridge <i>I in splendour did +dwell</i>,<br /> +<i>By the rich and the poor was respected right well</i>;<br /> +But now I’m going—oh! where shall I say—<br /> +A convict from England, oh! far, far away.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>“I might have lived happy with my virtuous wife,<br /> +Kept away from temptation, from tumult and strife,<br /> +I’d enough to support me in happiness to live,<br /> +<i>But I wanted something more poor people for to +give</i>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The street singers of the metropolis seized upon the Waterloo +Bridge Tragedy as a fit subject for the exercise of their dismal +strains. The following is printed verbatim, from an +illustrated broadsheet vended “at the charge of one +halfpenny:”—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Oh such a year for dreadful murders<br /> + As this before was never seen;<br /> +In England, Ireland, Britain over,<br /> + Such horrid crimes has never been.<br /> +But this which now has been discovered<br /> + Very far exceeds the whole,<br /> +The very thought makes men to shudder,<br /> + How horrible for to unfold.</p> +<p>“See and read in every paper<br /> + This dreadful crime, this mystery,<br /> +Worse, far worse, than James Greenacre’s<br /> + Is the London mystery.</p> +<p>“His body it was cut to pieces—<br /> + Oh how dreadful was his fate!<br /> +Then placed in brine and hid in secret—<br /> + Horrible for to relate.<br /> +The head and limbs had been divided—<br /> + Where parts was taken no one knows;<br /> +In a carpet bag they packed the body,<br /> + Over Waterloo bridge they did it throw.</p> +<p><!-- page 207--><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>“It is supposed that a female monster<br /> + Her victim’s body onward dragged,<br /> +With no companion to assist her,<br /> + All packed within a carpet bag.<br /> +Justice determined is to take her,<br /> + When without doubt she’ll punished be,<br /> +The atrocious female Greenacre<br /> + Of the Waterloo Bridge Tragedy.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The reader will see from these specimens how alien the +costermonger race is in sympathy and life from the respectable +and the well-to-do. Their songs are not ours, nor their +aims nor conventional observances. What wonder is it that +they leave their wretched cellars all dirt and darkness, and +crowd round the public-house; or that at the costermongers’ +house of call—in the midst of an atmosphere of gin and +tobacco-smoke, and under the influence of songs of very +questionable merit—the poor lads receive the education +which is to stamp their character and to teach them to grow up +Ishmaelites, with their hands against every one, and every +one’s hand against them. Society will not educate its +poor; wonder not then that they educate themselves, and that +after a fashion not very desirable in the eyes of the friends of +morality, of order, and of law.</p> +<h2><!-- page 208--><a name="page208"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 208</span>THE POLICE-COURT</h2> +<p>Is an attractive lounge to the seedy, the disreputable, the +unwashed. Evidently it is a grand and refreshing and +popular sight to see justice doled out in small parcels—to +see the righteous flourish, and the wicked put to shame. I +fear, however, it is a feeling of a more personal nature that is +the chief attraction, after all. Jones goes to see what a +mess Davis gets into; Smithes to see if Scroggins keeps +“mum” like a brick; the many, to retail a little +scandal at the expense of their neighbours,—if at the +expense of a friend, of course so much the better. A little +before ten a crowd is ranged round the police-office, waiting to +see the prisoners, who have been locked up all night, marched +into the court, which generally commences its operations at +ten. The court itself offers very little accommodation to +the most thinking public. At one end of the room is the +presiding magistrate; below him is the clerk; on the right of the +magistrate is the <!-- page 209--><a name="page209"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 209</span>box for complainant and +witnesses. Opposite him is the dock in which the defendant +is placed; behind some boards, over which only tall people can +see, is the public; and on the magistrate’s right are the +reporters—or, rather, the penny-a-liners—who write on +“flimsy,” and leave “copy” on spec. at +all the daily paper offices. Let me say a word about these +exceedingly seedy-looking individuals connected with the fourth +estate. That they are not better dressed is, I take it, +their own fault, and arises from that daring defiance of +conventionalism which is so great a characteristic of the lower +orders of gentlemen connected with the press. Let me say, +<i>en passant</i>, the public owe these men much. It is +they who labour with a perseverance worthy of a better cause, and +that deserves to be successful, to describe the cases heard in +the police-courts in the most racy and tempting terms. In +their peculiar phraseology, every bachelor who gets into a scrape +is a gay Lothario, and every young woman that appeals to justice +is lady-like in manners and interesting in appearance. The +poor wretch that crawls along the street, all rouged and decked +out in finery not her own, is “a dashing +Cyprian.” <!-- page 210--><a name="page210"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 210</span>Every Irishman is described as +“a native of the Green Isle;” every man in a red +coat, “a brave son of Mars;” every sailor, “a +jolly tar;” and a man with a little hair on his chin, or +under it, is invariably “bearded like the pard;” and +if anything causing a smile occurs,—and sometimes on the +gravest occasions justice will even grin,—the court +is—so they always put it—convulsed with +laughter. Knights of the pen, a police-case loving-to-read +public should be grateful to you! By the side of the +reporters often sit some three or four of those mischief-makers, +pettifogging attorneys; men who, in their own opinion, only +require a clear stage and no favour, and the mere formality of a +call to the bar, to rival, if not surpass, the fame of a +Scarlett, or a Brougham, or a Lyndhurst, or an Erskine, or even +of a Coke himself; and truly if to bully, to suppress what is +true, and insinuate what is false—if to gloss over the +injustice done by a client, and to proclaim aloud that of the +opposite party—if to speak in an emphatic manner and at a +most unmerciful length—if to browbeat witnesses, mislead +the court, and astonish the weak nerves of their hearers, +constitute a fitness for legal greatness, these gentlemen <!-- +page 211--><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +211</span>have only to enter their names at any of the Inns of +Court, and eat the requisite number of dinners, to win at once +undying reputation. At the dock appears the trembling +culprit, guarded sedulously by the police, who quietly assume his +or her guilt, and do all they can in endeavouring to make out a +case,—occasionally going so far in their zeal as to state +things not exactly true, the <i>esprit de corps</i> of course +leading them to aid each other whenever they have a chance.</p> +<p>In a low neighbourhood the principal cases heard are those +arising from intoxication. On this particular morning we +will suppose the court opens with what is very common, an assault +case between two Irish families who were hereditary foes, and +who, emigrating, or rather, like Eneas, “driven by +fate,” from the mother country at the same time, locate, +unfortunately for themselves, in the same +neighbourhood,—and who, in accordance with the well-known +remark of Horace, continue in St Giles’s the amicable +quarrels of Tipperary, to the amusement of a congenial +neighbourhood, which likes a good fight rather than not, but to +the intense terror and annoyance of all such of her +Majesty’s lieges as <!-- page 212--><a +name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 212</span>are well +disposed. As generally happens, the case, after a +considerable amount of hard swearing on both sides, is dismissed, +leaving to each party the inestimable privilege of paying +costs. This case creates great interest; complainants and +defendants are well-known performers, and the mob comes to see +them as people go to see Wright at the Adelphi. When it +terminates, the Guelphs and Ghibelines leave the court to discuss +the oft-told tale in the nearest public-house. The +remaining cases are those of sailors and navvies, charged with +being drunk and disorderly, of robberies committed by prostitutes +when their victims were stupified by beer, and of ragged urchins +with precocious developments, the head and front of whose +offending was that they “heaved” stones, or that they +declined to “move on” when particularly requested to +do so by the police. Poor little outcasts, they are better +off in jail than on the streets; and they know it, and own to an +astonishing number of convictions, and gladly look forward to the +time when they shall be able to achieve greater enormities and +manlier offences against law. These cases are soon disposed +of; in the majority the magistrate hears the complaint, and +simply tells <!-- page 213--><a name="page213"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 213</span>the little urchin he “may go +down.” But let us not leave yet. That is a +publican, and he has a charge against this decent-looking +woman,—she is not a drunkard;—let us listen.</p> +<p>“Call Phil. Bird,” says the superintendent.</p> +<p>As Phil. Bird is in court, there is no need to call him, but +he is called in stentorian tones nevertheless. Policemen, +like other men, love to hear the sound of their own voices. +Phil. immediately steps into the witness-box. That he is a +favourite with the beer-drinking public around is clear as soon +as he kisses the Bible, and promises—a promise lightly +made, and lightly broken—to speak the truth, the whole +truth, and nothing but the truth, “So help me +God.”</p> +<p>“Well, Bird,” says the magistrate, “will you +state your complaint?”</p> +<p>“Certainly, your honour,” is the reply. +“I was in my shop on Saturday, when that woman (pointing to +the trembling female in the dock) came in kicking up a row, and +asking for her husband; well, she spoke to her husband, and +wanted to get him away, but her husband did not choose to go; and +as she would not leave quietly, I was obliged to go and speak to +her, <!-- page 214--><a name="page214"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 214</span>upon which she turned round, abusing +me, saying I had robbed her of her husband, that I had got his +money, and kept making a great many remarks which I was not going +to submit to, especially as she had got quite a crowd of people +together, and it was interfering with my business; so I called in +policeman Brown, and gave her in charge.”</p> +<p>Policeman Brown corroborates the testimony. He has yet +to win his spurs, and is glad of an opportunity of distinguishing +himself; besides, he has drunk too much of Phil. Bird’s +fine sparkling ales to refuse to do him a little friendly turn +when he has a chance.</p> +<p>“Mr Bird’s house is a well-conducted house, I +believe, Mr Superintendent?” says the magistrate, more from +habit than with any view of eliciting information.</p> +<p>“Good, your worship,” is the +answer,—“impossible to be better.” The +superintendent, perhaps, has received a small cask of Devonshire +cyder, as a mark of private friendship and personal esteem, from +the complainant, and this might, though I would fain hope +not—but flesh is grass, and a superintendent of police is +but flesh after all—have influenced the nature of <!-- page +215--><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>his reply. This is the more probable, as one +bystander whispers to another, that he believes Phil. +Bird’s is the worst house in the street, a remark which +seems to excite the cordial approbation of the party to whom it +is addressed—a remark also which the superintendent hears, +and which leads him to cry “silence” in his loudest +voice and sternest manner. The whisperer is cowed at +once.</p> +<p>Phil. Bird looks gratefully at the superintendent; the latter +is grateful in O’Connell’s sense, and has a lively +sense of favours to come.</p> +<p>“And the woman, what about her?” asks the +magistrate.</p> +<p>“I believe generally she’s very well +behaved,” says policeman Brown, as if on the present +occasion she had been guilty of an enormous offence.</p> +<p>“Do you know anything against her?”</p> +<p>“Not as I know of, yer worship.”</p> +<p>“Well,” says the magistrate, addressing the poor +washerwoman, nervous and “all of a tremble,” as she +afterwards confidentially informs a friend, looking as if she +expected immediate sentence of death passed upon her, “what +do you say to the charge? Mr Bird says you went and <!-- +page 216--><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>created a disturbance in his shop; now you had no +business to do that, you know.”</p> +<p>“I know I hadn’t, sir,” said the poor woman; +but here she burst into tears.</p> +<p>Had she been alone with the magistrate, who is a kind-hearted +man, and wishes to do what is right, she would soon have found +her tongue, and her warm appeal, told with natural eloquence, +because told out of a full heart, would soon have reached his +own; but she is frightened—her energies are +paralysed,—she cannot speak at all.</p> +<p>“Oh, Brown,” says the magistrate, as if a bright +thought struck him, “was the woman sober?”</p> +<p>“Well, I can’t swear that she was drunk,” +said Brown, reluctantly.</p> +<p>This by no means helps to soothe the poor woman’s +nerves, but it drives her to speak in her own behalf.</p> +<p>“Your worship,” she exclaims, “I was as +sober as you are now”—she might have added, but she +did not, “and a good deal more sober than policeman +Brown.” “I did go to Phil. Bird’s, but it +was to fetch my husband out, who had been inveigled in there, and +had been led <!-- page 217--><a name="page217"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 217</span>into spending all the money he had, +and getting drunk.”</p> +<p>“Well, my good woman, the publican must be +protected. You should not have created a disturbance. +I shan’t inflict a fine, but you must pay the costs. +You may go down.”</p> +<p>And so the time of the magistrate is taken up; not one case +out of ten comes to anything; but the officiousness of the police +is shown; the lazy and good-for-nothing part of the public have a +gratuitous entertainment provided for them, and the criminal +class get an initiation into the secrets of the law, which robs +it of its terrors, as in such matters it is especially true +familiarity breeds contempt. Most of the lads and +girls—especially the latter—placed at the bar, rather +seem to like the excitement, and go before the bench in their +best clothes and with their best looks, as they go to the gallery +of the Victoria or the Sunday tea-garden.</p> +<h2><!-- page 218--><a name="page218"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 218</span>THE EAGLE TAVERN</h2> +<p>Is situated in an appropriate locality in the City-road, not +far from a lunatic asylum, and contiguous to a workhouse. +From time immemorial the Cockneys have hastened thither to enjoy +themselves. Children are taught to say—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Up and down the City-road,<br /> + In and out the Eagle,<br /> +That’s the way the money goes,<br /> + Pop goes the weasel.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And the apprentice or clerk, fresh from the country, and +anxious to see life, generally commences with a visit to the +Grecian Saloon—Eagle Tavern. As a rule, I do not +think what are termed fast men go much to theatres. To sit +out a five-act tragedy and then a farce is a bore which only +quiet old fogies and people of a domestic turn can endure; and +even where, as in the Grecian Saloon, you have dancing, and +singing, and drinking added, it is not the fast men, but the +family parties, that make it pay. <!-- page 219--><a +name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>There you +see Smith, Brown, Jones, and Robinson, with their respective +partners and the dear pledges of their well-regulated +loves. They come early, sit out <i>Jack Shepherd</i> with a +resolution worthy of a better cause, listen to the singing from +the Music Hall, return again to witness the closing theatrical +performances, and enjoy all the old stage tricks as if they had +not heard them for the last fifty years. These worthy +creatures see a splendour in the Grecian Saloon which I do +not. Then there are the juvenile swells. Anxious +mothers in the country, fearing the contaminations of London and +the ruin it has brought on other sons, lodge them in remote +Islington, or Hoxton, still more remote. It is in vain they +do so. The Haymarket may be far off, but the Grecian Saloon +is near; and the young hopefuls come in at half-price, for +sixpence, and smoke their cigars, and do their pale ale, and +adopt the slang and the vices of their betters with too much +ease. And then there are the unfortunates from the +City-road, with painted faces, brazen looks, and gorgeous silks; +mercenary in every thought and feeling, and with hearts hard as +adamant. God help the lad that gets entangled with such as +they! <!-- page 220--><a name="page220"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 220</span>It requires no prophet to foretell +his career. Embezzlement—first with a view to replace +the sum appropriated to guilty pleasures,—then, +embezzlement hopelessly continued because once begun,—then +discovery, and punishment, and shame, and despair. Youth +must have its pleasures, I know. Young blood is not torpid +like that of age; and song and woman will ever be dear till time +furrows the brow and silvers the hair. But why need we seek +them where the air is contaminated—where the +evening’s amusement will not bear the morning’s +reflection—where, though pleasure lead the way, scattering +sweet flowers, vice and shame and premature old age bring up the +rear? Look at those lads; they cannot have been long +emancipated from school. The erect collar, the straight +hat, the long coat, indicate the fact that they belong to the +Young England party; and here, listening to indifferent songs, +and witnessing inferior dramatic performances, and associating +with the refuse of the other sex, they are learning to be +men. What a manhood to look forward to! And if there +be no excuse for them, there is still less for what I may call +the domestic part of the audience,—the fat old women with +their baskets <!-- page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 221</span>filled with prog, the pursy old +tradesmen that drop in to smoke a pipe, and the various tribes of +gents and bagsmen on their way home from the city.</p> +<p>Let me say a word on our domestic life. When there is so +little difference between the majority of men and women, why +should the line of demarcation be so severely drawn? We +talk very prettily about home, sweet home, and poets sing its +love and purity and charms; and a popular picture is that which +the artist draws when he groups together the gray-haired +grandfather and grandmother, seated by the fire, and father and +mother by their side, and brave lads and graceful girls around +listening, by the warm light of the lamp, to some tale of manly +struggle or Christian chivalry, or lifting up together the glad +voice of song. But why should your son or mine, immediately +he goes out into the world and leaves the parental roof, become a +stranger to all this? If the Englishman’s home be his +castle, why should we cast out into the ditch, to lie down and +die in its mire, all who are not of the family? Think of +the thousands and thousands of young men who yearly come up to +town, strangers to every one, <!-- page 222--><a +name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span>and with no +chance of getting into female society, except such as they find +at such places as the Eagle. These women are not lovelier +than you meet with in respectable houses—not better +educated nor more correct in their principles; yet, as by natural +instinct one sex seeks the society of the other, we condemn our +youth to the company of such. Paterfamilias is afraid the +young men will pay attention to his daughters. Perhaps the +young lady-daughters fancy it to be beneath them to be civil to +their father’s young men. Perhaps the young men +themselves believe that an honourable connexion is beyond their +means, and deliberately pursue a career of vice. In all +these cases, in my humble opinion, very serious blunders are +involved. The life of a bachelor under the circumstances I +here allude to is quite as costly as that of a married man, +without the stimulus to exertion which the latter has. +Paterfamilias forgets that the young man he fears may be the +suitor for his daughter’s hand, though he is poor to-day, +may be comparatively rich to-morrow; and the young ladies should +remember that it is rather too much to expect that a young man +just entering upon life will be able to launch out in the same +style as those who for thirty or <!-- page 223--><a +name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>forty years +have been pursuing a successful commercial career. It is +our false pride that eats us up,—that makes us sneer at +love in a cottage,—that turns our women into cross old +maids, and our men into gay Lotharios, very disreputable and, to +a certain extent, deliriously gay. I admit that we have +much more outside respectability, but is society the +better? Have we more true happiness? If Wordsworth is +correct, “plain living and high thinking” go +together. But our aim is high living, and I fear the +thinking is very, very plain in consequence. We nurse up in +our midst, and reverently worship—and denounce as worse +than an infidel every one who utters the truth respecting +it—an aristocracy the richest and most luxurious in the +world,—an aristocracy which would long ere this have become +intellectually effete, did it not recruit its ranks from +successful adventurers in the shape of lawyers; and the +commercial classes vying with this aristocracy in outward show, +the effects are manifest all over the land, in the general +attempts to live beyond one’s means, and to get into a +circle supposed to be superior to that in which originally we +moved. In Germany they manage better; the noble and the +trading classes never <!-- page 224--><a name="page224"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 224</span>have a rivalry, the gulf is +impassable, and hence the home life is less pretentious and +happier than ours. In England “the toe of the peasant +comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his +kibe.” What we want is a return to the plain living +and high thinking of an age gone by; less show and more reality; +the destruction of the wall of partition, either of poverty or of +false pride, and the widening and enhancing the charms of the +domestic circle. If now and then the result is a marriage +not very intelligible on pecuniary principles, let us consider +even that as a lesser evil than that resulting from the +companionship, on the part of our youths, with the women who +infest such places as the Eagle, and without which it is clear +such places could not pay.</p> +<p>I will call evidence as to the character of the amusements at +the Eagle Tavern. In the parliamentary report on +public-houses, I find Mr Balfour is examined respecting it. +He says, “The most detrimental place of which I know, as +far as women are concerned, is the Eagle Tavern in the +City-road. There are gardens, and statues round the +gardens, and everything to attract. There is a large +theatre, and there <!-- page 225--><a name="page225"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 225</span>are theatrical representations +during the week. I have seen women there whom I have +recognised next day as common street-walkers. The gardens +are open, with alcoves and boxes on each side, and lads and young +persons are taken in there and plied with drink. The house +is opened on Sunday evening, but on Sunday evening there is no +dramatic representation nor music. I have seen gentlemen +come out drunk.” On a Sunday night when Mr Balfour +visited the place, he said, “There were various +rooms. There is what is called the Chinese-room, the +ball-room, and the concert-room. They were all filled with +persons drinking, and I saw a great number of female servants, +and females of a certain description; there is no doubt upon that +subject at all.” Now, Mr Conquest, the present +proprietor, must have read all this evidence, yet I do not see +that he has taken any steps to reform the evil complained +of. It pays, I suppose, and that is enough. Much +money has been made by it. The late proprietor retired a +wealthy man. The present proprietor, we presume, trusts to +do the same, and if the establishment panders to vice, if women +date their ruin to Sunday evenings there, if mothers see <!-- +page 226--><a name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +226</span>their sons robbed of all that would make them decent +men owing to their visits there, what’s the odds? cries the +dram-seller, who, like another Cain, asks if he be his +brother’s keeper.</p> +<p>The regular attendants see this not. “It’s a +beautiful place,” says Mrs Smith to Mrs Robinson, +“a’nt it, my dear?” as they sit eating +questionable sausage rolls, and indulging in bottled beer. +They see the pictures in the balcony, and think the gas jets +quite miraculous, and admire the weak fountains and ambitious +grottoes—and they laugh even at the comic singer, a feat I +cannot achieve anyhow. Evidently the Eagle Tavern audience +is of the same genus as an Adelphi audience, a people easily +moved to laughter, and much given to taking their meals with +them,—a people not prone to look before or after,—who +would be drowned rather than get up and walk into the Ark, and +who see no chance of their own house being burnt down in the fact +that their neighbour’s house is in flames. I +don’t believe naturally men or women are these dull clods, +but custom makes them such, and they see no danger, nor perhaps +is there where they are concerned.</p> +<h2><!-- page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 227</span>THE LUNATIC ASYLUM.</h2> +<p>A few<span class="smcap"> </span>miles from the terminus of +one of our metropolitan railways is an immense plot of buildings, +looking more like a town than a single house. It is a +stately pile, beautifully situated, and I doubt not many a +care-worn Cockney, as he has been hurried past it by the rail, +has often wished that he had a little niche in it where he could +come of a night after the day’s toil was over, and smell +the sweet flowers and the fresh grass; yet the place is a lunatic +asylum, and whilst I write there are in it fourteen hundred men +and women bereft of reason, unaccountable for their actions, and +shut up away from their fellows. Very often the number is +much greater, and yet this does not contain all the pauper +lunatics of the metropolitan county. There is another +equally large on another line of railway, and there are +Wandsworth, Bedlam, and others in London itself.</p> +<p>It would do some of the noisy poor, who waste <!-- page +228--><a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +228</span>their time in low pot-houses talking of their +rights—when all that a man has a right to is what he can +get—good to look over such a place as Colney Hatch. +There are pauper lunatics lodged in a palace, waited on by +skilful male and female attendants, living in light and airy +galleries, as clean as wax-work, with four meals a day, and with +every want supplied. I am sure every Englishman must +confess that our asylums and hospitals are the glory of our +land. None can deny the active and practical character of +the philanthropy of our days. You may depend upon it, +nine-tenths of the men and women here were never so well fed, +lodged, and cared for before. Their day commences at six, +and terminates at eight. Such of them as can be usefully +employed are, in cleaning the wards, and in various domestic +duties; but they have plenty of spare time—the women for +sewing or knitting, and the men for out-door exercise or +reading. In one ward I found some good books on the table, +such as Boswell’s Johnson, Gibbon’s Life, popular +works on science, and <i>Punch</i> and several magazines. +The only woman I saw reading was an old one, with a Bible before +her. The women are by far more troublesome <!-- page +229--><a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +229</span>than the men. Directly I went into one ward, a +middle-aged woman advanced towards me, with one arm uplifted, +exclaiming, “Here comes my husband, King John.” +Another female, still plainer and more elderly, seemed inclined +to address to me endearments of a still tenderer character. +It was clear that they retained the instincts of their sex +without its clearness. Yet there were some to whom the +novelty of a stranger offered no excitement—who sat huddled +up by the window, with scowling eyes and dishevelled hair, +flesh-and-blood pictures of despair. This one had led a gay +life—what a termination for a votary of pleasure! +That one had become what she was by drinking; this one again by +the grand passion, which underlies all history, past and +present—all philosophy, objective or subjective—all +religion, true or false. But, hark! it is a quarter to one, +and that is the dinner bell. We enter the hall, a room +capable of holding seven or eight hundred persons. Some +enormous Yorkshire puddings, with some excellent beef, are borne +by several eager assistants (patients) on to the tables in the +middle of the room; they are immediately cut up, and each portion +is enough for one person’s dinner. When <!-- page +230--><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span>the tables set apart for the women are served, the door +opens, and in rush the poor creatures in a manner that shows they +have not lost their relish for food. On the men’s +side similar preparations are made, and then in they rush; and +when all are seated, a blessing is asked, and dinner commences: +it does not last long. As soon as the patients have cut up +their pudding, the knives and forks are carefully +removed—and in a very few minutes a signal is made; they +all rise—thanks are returned, and the meal is +over—such as have not had enough generally managing to +collar a bit of pudding as they march out. This is very +short work, you say, but it is quite long enough. You will +hear a woman screaming now and then, short as it is, and an +attempt will be sure to be made to get over to the men’s +side before the meal is over. You see enough to sadden you, +but the worst cases you do not see—they are wisely +concealed from the curious eye; it is enough to know that they +are humanely tended. Why should we care to look on +such? Going down a stair-case, I saw through a glass door a +poor creature suffering from suicidal monomania; night and day +she had to be watched, and such had been the case for +years. In her sad <!-- page 231--><a +name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>face there +was visible to the most superficial observer</p> + +<blockquote><p> “The +settled gloom<br /> +The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Well might she wish to lay down her life, that her crazed +brain had rendered insupportable.</p> +<p>It is a sad sight that of an assembly of insane men and +women. At the asylum to which I refer they are very humane +people, and very successful in their treatment of the distressing +cases constantly occurring, and twice a year—at Christmas +and Midsummer—they give an entertainment, at which the +better-behaved lunatics attend, and seemingly enjoy themselves +very much. I was recently at one, and when I arrived, found +that a field adjoining the asylum had been set apart for the +purpose. There were about five hundred lunatics, male and +female, present, and besides there were several gentlemen and +ladies present, spectators like myself. It was a lovely +afternoon, and there was music and dancing, and playing cricket, +and battledore and shuttlecock, and all the various enjoyments of +out-door life; but in all these matters I found the attendants +appeared to take the initiative; still the poor creatures seemed +to <!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +232</span>enjoy themselves much, and were happy in their +way. Yet the pleasure-seeker will not go to such a +spectacle again. I do not say the vulgar idea of the maniac +was realized; on the contrary, the poor creatures seemed decent +and very well behaved—but there was a pitiable want of fine +physical development, there were in abundance crooked forms and +stunted figures. You do not like to see what a poor thing +is man when his reason is dethroned. Of course the +refractory patients we do not see on such occasions, but, looking +up at a window, I saw one woman’s face—as she viewed +the scene in which she might not participate—so wild in its +anger and hopeless in its despair, that that face haunts me +yet. It set me thinking how a woman could get into that +state. Perhaps her father and mother, ignorant of +physiological laws, had married, and she had been the result; or +the ignorance of her friends, or her own ignorance—or the +competition of modern life—or the wrongdoing of +others—had precipitated a catastrophe which otherwise might +never have occurred, and thus society pays indirectly for its +ignorance far more than it would have to do for a genuine useful +education. Think of what desolated homes <!-- page 233--><a +name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 233</span>these poor +creatures form a portion. Remember what a fearful cost it +is to the respectable hard-working amongst us, who can barely +manage to make two ends meet, to have to rear such palatial +residences for our pauper lunatics. The asylum of which I +write in its erection cost the county an enormous sum—in +its maintenance it does ditto—and I hear it is now in an +insecure state, firm as it looks, and that the county of +Middlesex will have to spend upon it some tens of thousands of +pounds more.</p> +<p>I once visited this place in the winter-time; a large hall was +lighted up, and there were some very pretty dissolving views +exhibited, and there was dancing and music and eating and +drinking going on. The room was covered with laurels and +flowers and banners, and, of course, there were many ladies and +gentlemen present, and the place had a cheerful air; and all +confessed it was a good thing to give the poor creatures a little +innocent amusement. But only think of dancing with +lunatics—and such ugly ones too—and being held by the +buttonhole by some wild-eyed ancient mariner. Coleridge +might have come here and written:</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 234--><a name="page234"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 234</span>“He held him with his +glistening eye,<br /> + The wedding guest stood still,<br /> +And listen’d like a child—<br /> + The mariner has his will.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But if the wedding guest stays here long, he would not be in a +fit state for the wedding—and still less would he be so if +he goes over the building. What a contrast the present +treatment of lunatics is to that which prevailed till +lately! The exposure of the wretched system pursued at +Bethlem, which took place in 1814, in consequence of the +investigation of a parliamentary committee, appears to have been +productive of great good. The visitors thus describe one of +the women’s galleries:—“One of the side-rooms +contained about ten patients, each chained by one arm or leg to +the wall, the chain allowing them merely to stand up by the bench +or form fixed to the wall, or sit down again. The nakedness +of each patient was covered by a blanket gown only. The +blanket gown is a blanket formed something like a dressing gown, +with nothing to fasten it in parts. The feet even were +naked.” Many women were locked up in cells, naked and +chained, on straw, with only one blanket for a covering; and the +windows <!-- page 235--><a name="page235"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 235</span>being unglazed, the light in winter +was shut out for the sake of warmth. In the men’s +rooms, their nakedness and their mode of confinement, continues +the report from which we have already quoted, gave this room the +appearance of a dog-kennel. At this period the committee +for months together made no inspection of the inmates. The +house surgeon was in an insane state himself, and still oftener +drunk; and the keepers were often in the latter state; yet at +this very time the governors spent £600 in opposing a bill +for regulating mad-houses, and I dare say they cried out lustily, +No centralization!—no interference with vested interests! +as enlightened Englishmen and parochial dignitaries are wont to +do in our days.</p> +<p>Could we not do without lunatic asylums, if society gave up +its drinking customs? Not exactly; but their number might +be very much decreased. Two-thirds of our lunatics become +so through drink. “They are very bad at first, +sir,” said one of my informants to me, “but after a +little while they get quieter, and perhaps they are cured in two +or three months.” And yet I find all these lunatics +are supplied with beer. “They has two half-pints a +day, sir, and <!-- page 236--><a name="page236"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 236</span>when they work they gets two +half-pints more, and very good beer it is, sir,” continued +my informant, “as strong as any man need +drink.” Now is not this preposterous? Men who +drink till they become lunatics should be taught to do without +it; but they are allowed their beer even in the asylum, and when +they go out they begin drinking again, and of course +relapse. Thus we keep feeding our lunatic asylums, at the +very time we profess to cure lunatics. I admit these places +are in many respects well managed—that the buildings are +commodious—that the attention is good—that the +governors are humane, and the medical officers vigilant; but +which is the truer humanity, to take care of the man when in a +lunatic asylum, or to keep him out of it altogether?</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the +end</span>.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">john childs and +son</span>, <span class="smcap">printers</span>.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><!-- page 237--><a name="page237"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 237</span>JUST PUBLISHED,</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Price</i> 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>, +<i>bound in cloth</i>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">second edition</span>, <span +class="smcap">revised and enlarged</span>,</p> +<h3>THE LONDON PULPIT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">JAMES EWING RITCHIE.</p> +<p>Contents: The Religious Denominations of London—Sketches +of the Rev. J. M. +Bellew—Dale—Liddell—Maurice—Melville—Villiers—Baldwin +Brown—Binney—Dr +Campbell—Lynch—Morris—Martin—Brock—Howard +Hinton—Sheridan Knowles—Baptist +Noel—Spurgeon—Dr Cumming—Dr James +Hamilton—W. Forster—H. Ierson—Cardinal +Wiseman—Miall—Dr Wolf, &c. &c.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.</p> +<p>The subject is an interesting one, and it is treated with very +considerable ability. Mr Ritchie has the valuable art of +saying many things in few words; he is never diffuse, never dull, +and succeeds in being graphic without becoming flippant. +Occasionally his strength of thought and style borders rather too +closely on coarseness; but this fault of vigorous natures is +counterbalanced by compensatory merits—by an utter absence +of cant, a manly grasp of thought, and a wise and genial +human-heartedness. The book is a sincere book; the writer +says what he means, and means what he says. In these +half-earnest days it is a comfort to meet with any one who has +“the courage of his opinions,” especially on such a +subject as the “London Pulpit.”—<i>Daily +News</i>.</p> +<p>“One of the cleverest productions of the present +day.”—<i>Morning Herald</i>.</p> +<p><!-- page 238--><a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +238</span>“Mr Ritchie is just the man to dash off a series +of portraits, bold in outline, strikingly like the originals in +feature and expression, and characterized by bright and effectual +colouring. We have here photographed a group of the most +distinguished pulpit orators of the metropolis, of all religious +denominations and sects.”—<i>Civil Service +Gazette</i>.</p> +<p>“The style of Mr Ritchie is always lively and fluent, +and oftentimes eloquent. It comes the nearest to +Hazlitt’s of any modern writer we know. His views and +opinions are always clear, manly, and unobjectionable as regards +the manner in which they are set forth. Many, no doubt, +will not agree with them, but none can be offended at them. +As we have already remarked, Mr Ritchie does not write as a +sectarian, and it is impossible to collect from the treatise to +what sect he belongs. The tendency of these sketches is to +introduce into the pulpit a better style of preaching than what +we have been accustomed to.”—<i>Critic</i>.</p> +<p>“Mr Ritchie has written in a graphic, nervous, and most +just spirit.”—<i>Court Circular</i>.</p> +<p>“Written in a fluent and easy +style.”—<i>Weekly Times</i>.</p> +<p>“The personal sketches will engage attention; for the +author has evidently been a close and attentive +observer.”—<i>News of the World</i>.</p> +<p>“Mr Ritchie’s pen-and-ink sketches of the popular +preachers of London are as life-like as they are brilliant and +delightful. The thought of producing them was a happy one, +and has been carried out in the volume before us with much +agreeable animation. The collection of silhouettes herein +presented to our contemplation will be especially acceptable, we +conjecture, to our country cousins, as a guide among the more +generally known of the metropolitan ecclesiastics. It will +be perceived at a glance that the writer has familiarized himself +with the subject, before undertaking its treatment. Chapter +after chapter brings the popular preachers of the Capital before +our mind’s eye in a sort of stately clerical +procession.”—<i>The Sun</i>.</p> +<p>“Without going so far as the late Sir Robert Peel, and +saying that there are three ways of viewing this as well as <!-- +page 239--><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +239</span>every other subject, it will be allowed that the +clerical body may be contemplated either from within one of their +special folds, and under the influence of peculiar religious +views, or in a purely lay historical manner, and, so we suppose +we ought to say, from the ‘platform of humanity’ at +large. The latter is the idea developed in Mr +Ritchie’s volume, and cleverly and amusingly it is +done. One great merit is, that his characters are not +unnecessarily spun out. We have a few rapid dashes of the +pencil, and then the mind is relieved by a change of scene and +person . . . He displays considerable discrimination of judgment, +and a good deal of humour.”—<i>The Inquirer</i>.</p> +<p>“There is considerable verisimilitude in these sketches, +though they are much too brief to be regarded as more than mere +outlines. It is possible, however, to throw character even +into an outline, and this is done with good effect in several of +these smart and off-hand +compositions.”—<i>Tait</i>.</p> +<p>“It is lively, freshly written, at times powerful, and +its facts carefully put together. It bears the stamp of an +earnest spirit, eager in its search after truth, and strongly set +against affectation and pretence of every +sort.”—<i>Globe</i>.</p> +<p>“Some of the sketches are very +good.”—<i>Literary Gazette</i>.</p> +<p>“They are penned in a just spirit, and are of a +character to afford all the information that may be needed on the +subjects to which they refer. The author’s criticisms +on preachers and preaching are candid, and for the most part +truthful. This book ought therefore to be +popular.”—<i>Observer</i>.</p> +<p>“They are written with vigour and freedom, and are +marked by a spirit of fairness and justice—an admirable +trait, if we recollect how much the spirit of partisanship +governs such strictures as a rule.”—<i>Weekly +Dispatch</i>.</p> +<p>“A sketch of the comparative force of the religious +denominations in London, and notes upon the chief popular +preachers, orthodox or dissentient, republished from a +newspaper—we think the Weekly News and Chronicle. The +book, which is written in a sufficiently impartial spirit, will +interest many people, and offend +few.”—<i>Examiner</i>.</p> +<p><!-- page 240--><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>“In this volume we have within a moderate space +pen-and-ink sketches of most of the popular preachers of the +metropolis. We are bound to say that they are drawn with +fidelity, and that the admirers of each Sabbath orator whose +mental lineaments are placed before us will easily recognise the +prominent features of the original. Although brief, they +evince discrimination and talent; a fluent style being one of +their chief recommendations, not much space is devoted to +each. The writer only reviews the most striking +characteristics, and his sympathies are manifestly with those who +display most liberal and manly tendencies in their religious +expositions.”—<i>Sunday Times</i>.</p> +<p>“What Mr Francis did some few years since for the +parliamentary orators of the age, Mr Ritchie has in the volume +before us effected for the pulpit orators of the day. In +brief but graphic delineations, he gives daguerreotypes, as it +were, of the living manners of the chief popular preachers of +various Christian denominations.”—<i>The Church and +State Gazette</i>.</p> +<p>“This is a second edition of Mr Ritchie’s smart +little sketches taken from the life of the most noted +metropolitan preachers. The outline is bold, rather than +minute and diffuse; now and then character is seized with +remarkable fidelity; whilst the genial spirit which generally +pervades the volume takes from occasional passages approaching +censure anything like the sting of bitterness. There is +scarcely a page that does not give the reader faith in the +sincerity of the writer.”—<i>Manchester Examiner and +Times</i>.</p> +<p>“His sketches are characterized by a boldness, freedom, +and vigour, which are rarely to be met with in works of that +class. He is no hero-worshipper, but he shows that he has a +keen appreciation of the higher forms of pulpit +eloquence.” <i>The People</i>.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON: WILLIAM TWEEDIE, 337, +STRAND.</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote194"></a><a href="#citation194" +class="footnote">[194]</a> The Chelsea vestry complained of +Cremorne, because it injured the property in the +neighbourhood;—the defence was, that Mr Simpson had spent +£30,000 or £40,000 upon it; that he had given +£1200 to the Wellington fund, and £300—the +profits of one night’s entertainment—to the fund for +the relief of the victims of the Indian mutiny.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NIGHT SIDE OF LONDON***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 32774-h.htm or 32774-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/2/7/7/32774 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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