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diff --git a/old/64263-0.txt b/old/64263-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 63ff53e..0000000 --- a/old/64263-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8204 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Practicable Socialism, by Samuel Augustus -Barnett and Henrietta Octavia Barnett - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Practicable Socialism - Essays on Social Reform - -Author: Samuel Augustus Barnett - Henrietta Octavia Barnett - -Release Date: January 11, 2021 [eBook #64263] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Fay Dunn, Neil Mercer and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRACTICABLE SOCIALISM *** - - - - -[Transcriber's note: Italic font is indicated by _underscores_.] - - - - - ESSAYS - - ON - - SOCIAL REFORM - - - - - +--------------------------------------------------------------+ - | | - | _Crown 8vo, price 5s._ | - | | - | AN INQUIRY INTO SOCIALISM. | - | | - | By THOMAS KIRKUP, | - | _Author of the Article on ‘Socialism’ in the | - | ‘Encyclopædia Britannica.’_ | - | | - | -------------------- | - | | - | ‘A very thoughtful and sympathetic study of the modern | - | socialistic movement, with the history of which the author | - | has a very thorough acquaintance.’--Contemporary Review. | - | | - | ‘We have no hesitation in describing this as the clearest | - | statement we have read of the aims and methods of | - | Socialism.’--Westminster Review. | - | | - | ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ | - | | - | London: LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. | - | | - +--------------------------------------------------------------+ - - - - - PRACTICABLE SOCIALISM - - _ESSAYS ON SOCIAL REFORM_ - - - BY THE - - REV. and MRS. SAMUEL A. BARNETT - - - LONDON - LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. - AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET - 1888 - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - PRINTED BY - SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE - LONDON - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - INTRODUCTION. - - -The following Essays have been written at different intervals during -our fifteen years’ residence in East London. They were written out of -the fulness of the moment with a view of giving a voice to some need -of which we had become conscious. They do not, therefore, pretend -to set forth any system for dealing with the social problem; they -are simply the voice of the dumb poor, of whose mind it has been -our privilege to get some understanding. They are published now in -response to the requests of many to whom they have been some guide in -the ways of service, and in the hope that the experience they offer -may bring rich and poor together. It will be noticed that two or three -great principles underlie all the reforms for which we ask. The equal -capacity of all to enjoy the best, the superiority of quiet ways over -those of striving and crying, character as the one thing needful are -the truths with which we have become familiar, and on these truths we -take our stand. Although the Essays do not pretend to form a connected -whole, it will be seen that their arrangement is subject to some -order. Those placed first set forth the poverty of the poor. Those -which follow suggest some means by which such poverty may be met (1) -by individual and (2) by united action, with some of the dangers to -which charitable effort seems to be liable. As we look back over the -experience which these Essays recall, we are conscious of shortcomings -and failure, but they are due to our own want of wisdom and of faith, -and we still believe that God’s will may be done on earth as it is in -heaven, and that the doing of His will means at last health and wealth. -Each Essay is signed by the writer, but in either case they represent -our common thought, as all that has been done represents our common -work. - - SAMUEL A. BARNETT AND HENRIETTA O. BARNETT. - - St. Jude’s, Whitechapel: _May 1888_. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - I. THE POVERTY OF THE POOR. By MRS. S. A. BARNETT - (July 1886) 1 - - II. RELIEF FUNDS AND THE POOR. By REV. S. A. - BARNETT (Nov. 1886) 22 - - III. PASSIONLESS REFORMERS. By MRS. S. A. BARNETT - (August 1882) 48 - - IV. TOWN COUNCILS AND SOCIAL REFORM. By REV. S. A. - BARNETT (Nov. 1883) 62 - - V. ‘AT HOME’ TO THE POOR. By MRS. S. A. BARNETT - (May 1881) 76 - - VI. UNIVERSITY SETTLEMENTS. By REV. S. A. BARNETT - (Feb. 1884) 96 - - VII. PICTURES FOR THE PEOPLE. By MRS. S. A. BARNETT - (March 1883) 109 - - VIII. THE YOUNG WOMEN IN OUR WORKHOUSES. By MRS. - S. A. BARNETT (Aug. 1879) 126 - - IX. A PEOPLE’S CHURCH. By REV. S. A. BARNETT (Nov. - 1884) 142 - - X. CHARITABLE EFFORT. By MRS. S. A. BARNETT (Feb. - 1884) 157 - - XI. SENSATIONALISM IN SOCIAL REFORM. By REV. S. A. - BARNETT (Feb. 1886) 173 - - XII. PRACTICABLE SOCIALISM. By REV. S. A. BARNETT - (April 1883) 191 - - XIII. THE WORK OF RIGHTEOUSNESS. By REV. S. A. - BARNETT (Nov. 1887) 204 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PRACTICABLE SOCIALISM. - - - - - I. - - _THE POVERTY OF THE POOR._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _National Review_ of July 1886. - - -It is useless to imagine that the nation is wealthier because in one -column of the newspaper we read an account of a sumptuous ball or of -the luxury of a City dinner if in another column there is the story of -‘death from starvation.’ It is folly, and worse than folly, to say that -our nation is religious because we meet her thousands streaming out of -the fashionable churches, so long as workhouse schools and institutions -are the only homes open to her orphan children and homeless waifs. The -nation does not consist of one class only; the nation is the whole, the -wealthy and the wise, the poor and the ignorant. Statistics, however -flattering, do not tell the whole truth about increased national -prosperity, or about progress in development, if there is a pauper -class constantly increasing, or a criminal class gaining its recruits -from the victims of poverty. - -The nation, like the individual, is set in the midst of many and -great dangers, and, after the need of education and religion has -been allowed, it will be agreed that all other defences are vain if -it be impossible for the men and women and children of our vast city -population to reach the normal standard of robustness. - -The question then arises, Why cannot and does not each man, woman, -and child attain to the normal standard of robustness? The answers to -this question would depend as much on the answerer as they do in the -game of ‘Old Soldier.’ The teetotallers would reply that drink was the -cause, but against this sweeping assertion I should like to give my -testimony, and it has been my privilege to live in close friendship and -neighbourhood of the working classes for nearly half my life. Much has -been said about the drinking habits of the poor, and the rich have too -often sheltered themselves from the recognition of the duties which -their wealth has imposed on them by the declaration that the poor are -unhelpable while they drink as they do. But the working classes, as -a rule, do not drink. There are, undoubtedly, thousands of men, and, -alas! unhappy women too, who seek the pleasure, or the oblivion, to be -obtained by alcohol; but drunkenness is not the rule among the working -classes, and, while honouring the work of the teetotallers, who give -themselves up to the reclamation of the drunken, I cannot agree with -them in their answer to the question. Drink is not the main cause -why the national defence to be found in robust health is in such a -defective condition. - -Land reformers, socialists, co-operators, democrats would, in their -turn, each provide an answer to our question; but, if examined, the -root of each would be the same--in one word, it is Poverty, and this -means scarcity of food. - -Let us now go into the kitchen and try and provide, with such knowledge -as dietetic science has given us, for a healthily hungry family of -eight children and father and mother. We must calculate that the man -requires 20 oz. of solid food per day, i.e. 16 oz. of carbonaceous or -strength-giving food and 4 oz. of nitrogenous or flesh-forming food. -(The army regulations allow 25 oz. a day, and our soldiers are recently -declared on high authority to be underfed.) The woman should eat 12 -oz. of carbonaceous and 3 oz. of nitrogenous food; though if she is -doing much rough, hard work, such as all the cooking, cleaning, washing -of a family of eight children necessitate, she would probably need -another ounce per day of the flesh-repairing foods. For the children, -whose ages may vary from four to thirteen, it would be as well to -estimate that they would each require 8 oz. of carbonaceous and 2 oz. -of nitrogenous food per day: in all, 92 of carbonaceous and 23 oz. of -nitrogenous foods per day.[2] - - [2] To those who have had experience of children’s appetites it may -seem as if their daily food had been under-estimated. A growing lad of -eleven or twelve will often eat more than his mother, but the eight -children, being of various ages, will probably eat together about this -quantity, and it is better, perhaps, to under- than over-state their -requirements. - -For the breakfast of the family we will provide oatmeal porridge with -a pennyworth of treacle and another pennyworth of tinned milk. For -dinner they can have Irish stew, with 1¼ lb. of meat among the ten, a -pennyworth of rice, and an addition of twopennyworth of bread to obtain -the necessary quantity of strength-giving nutriment. For tea we can -manage coffee and bread, but with no butter and not even sugar for -the children; and yet, simple fare as this is, it will have cost 2_s._ -5_d._ to feed the whole family and to obtain for them a sufficient -quantity of strength-giving food, and even at this expenditure they -have not been able to get that amount of nitrogenous food which is -necessary for the maintenance of robust health. - -A little table of exact cost and quantities might not be -uninteresting:-- - - +--------------------------+-----------+--------------+-------------+ - | Quantity of Food | Cost | Carbonaceous | Nitrogenous | - +--------------------------+-----------+--------------+-------------+ - | BREAKFAST--OATMEAL | | | | - | PORRIDGE. | _s._ _d._ | oz. | oz. | - | 1¼ lb. Oatmeal | 2½ | 14 | 3 | - | 1½ pint Tinned Milk | 1½ | 2¼ | 1 | - | ½ lb. Treacle | 1½ | 7 | -- | - | | | | | - | DINNER--IRISH STEW. | | | | - | 1¼ lb. Meat | 8 | 3½ | 3½ | - | 4 lb. Potatoes | 2½ | 14 | 2 | - | 1¼ lb. Onions | 1 | 5½ | 1¼ | - | A few Carrots | 1 | ¼ | -- | - | ½ lb. Rice | 1 | 7 | ½ | - | 1½ lb. Bread | 2¼ | 13½ | 2¼ | - | | | | | - | TEA--BREAD AND COFFEE. | | | | - | 2½ lb. Bread | 3¾ | 22½ | 3¾ | - | 2½ oz. Coffee | 2½ | ¼ | ¼ | - | 1½ pint Tinned Milk | 1½ | 2¼ | 1 | - | +-----------+--------------+-------------+ - | Total | 2 5 | 92 | 18½ | - +--------------------------+-----------+--------------+-------------+ - -But note that the requisite quantities for the whole family are 92 oz. -of carbonaceous and 23 oz. of nitrogenous substances. - -Another day we might provide them with cocoa and bread for breakfast; -lentil soup and toasted cheese for dinner; and rice pudding and bread -for tea; but this fare presupposes a certain knowledge of cooking, -which but few of the poor possess, as well as an acquaintance with the -dietetic properties of food, which, at present, is far removed from -even the most intelligent. This day’s fare compares favourably with -yesterday’s meals in the matter of cost, being 2½_d._ cheaper, but it -does not provide enough carbonaceous food, though it does not fall far -short of the necessary 23 oz. of nitrogenous substances. - - +--------------------------+-----------+--------------+-------------+ - | Quantity of Food | Cost | Carbonaceous | Nitrogenous | - +--------------------------+-----------+--------------+-------------+ - | BREAKFAST--BREAD AND | | | | - | COCOA. | _s._ _d._ | oz. | oz. | - | 2½ lb. Bread | 3¾ | 22½ | 3¾ | - | 1½ oz. Cocoa | 1½ | ¾ | ¼ | - | 1 pint Tinned Milk | 1 | 1¼ | ½ | - | 2 oz. Sugar | ½ | 1½ | -- | - | | | | | - | DINNER--LENTIL SOUP, | | | | - | TOASTED CHEESE. | | | | - | 1½ lb. Lentils | 3 | 15 | 6 | - | 1 lb. Cheese | 8 | 4½ | 5½ | - | 1½ lb. Bread | 2¼ | 13½ | 2¼ | - | | | | | - | TEA--RICE PUDDING AND | | | | - | BREAD. | | | | - | ¾ lb. Rice | 1½ | 10½ | ¾ | - | 1½ pint Tinned Milk | 1½ | 2¼ | 1 | - | 2 oz. Sugar | ¼ | 1½ | -- | - | 1½ lb. Bread | 2¼ | 13½ | 2¼ | - | +-----------+--------------+-------------+ - | Total | 2 1½ | 86½ | 22¼ | - +--------------------------+-----------+--------------+-------------+ - -And how drear and uninteresting is this food compared to that on which -people of another class normally live! No refreshing cups of afternoon -tea; no pleasant fruit to give interest to the meal. Nothing but dull, -keep-me-alive sort of food, and not enough of that to fulfil all -Nature’s requirements. - -But let us take another day’s meals, which can consist of hominy, milk, -and sugar for breakfast; potato soup and apple-and-sago pudding for -dinner; and fish and bread for tea; when fish is plentiful enough to -be obtained at 3_d._ a pound, and when apples are to be got at 1½_d._ -a pound, which economical housekeepers know is not often the case in -London. - - +--------------------------+-----------+--------------+-------------+ - | Quantity of Food | Cost | Carbonaceous | Nitrogenous | - +--------------------------+-----------+--------------+-------------+ - |BREAKFAST--HOMINY, MILK, | | | | - | SUGAR. | _s._ _d._ | oz. | oz. | - |1½ lb. Hominy | ¾ | 17¼ | 3¼ | - |3¼ pints Tinned Milk | 3¼ | 4½ | 2¼ | - |6 oz. Sugar | 1 | 4¼ | -- | - | | | | | - |DINNER--POTATO SOUP AND | | | | - |APPLE-AND-SAGO PUDDING. | | | | - |5 lbs. Potatoes | 3½ | 17½ | 2½ | - |1½ pint Tinned Milk | 1½ | 2¼ | 1 | - |3 oz. Rice | ¾ | 2¼ | ¼ | - |3 oz. Dripping | 1½ | | -- | - |2½ lb. Apples | 3¾ | 5 | 1½ | - |6 oz. Sago | ¾ | 3¼ | ¾ | - |6 oz. Sugar | 1 | 4 | -- | - | | | | | - | TEA--FISH AND BREAD. | | | | - |2½ lb. Fish | 7½ | 1¼ | 7½ | - |2 lb. Bread | 3 | 18 | 3 | - |1½ pint Tinned Milk | 1½ | 2¼ | 1 | - |3 oz. Sugar | ½ | 2 | -- | - | +-----------+--------------+-------------+ - | Total | 2 5 | 86 | 23½ | - +--------------------------+-----------+--------------+-------------+ - -Again, however, we have spent 2_s._ 5_d._ on food, and even now have -not got quite sufficient strength-giving or carbonaceous food. - -An average of 2_s._ 4_d._ spent daily on food makes a total of 16_s._ -4_d._ at the week’s end, leaving the labourer earning his 1_l._ a week -3_s._ 8_d._ with which to pay rent (and decent accommodation of two -rooms in London cannot be had for less than 5_s._ 6_d._ or 6_s._ a -week); to obtain schooling and lighting; to buy coals, clothes, and -boots; to bear the expense of breakages and necessary replacements; to -subscribe to a club against sickness or death; and to meet the doctor’s -bills for the children’s illnesses or the wife’s confinements. How is -it possible? Can 3_s._ 8_d._ do so much? No, it cannot; and so food -is stinted. The children have to put up with less than they need; the -mother ‘goes without sooner than let the children suffer,’ and thus the -new baby is born weakly and but half-nourished; the children develop -greediness in their never-satisfied and but partly fed frames; and -the father, too often insufficiently sustained, seeks alcohol, which, -anyhow, seems to ‘pick him up and hold him together,’ though his -teetotal mates assure him it is only a delusion. - -And this is no fancy picture. I have now in my mind one Wilkins, a -steady, rough, honest, sober labourer, fairly intelligent, and the -father of thirteen children. The two eldest, girls of fourteen and -fifteen, are already out at service; but the eleven younger, being -under age, are still kept at school and supported by their father. He -earns 1_l._ regularly. They rent the whole house at 12_s._ a week, -and, letting off part, stand themselves at a weekly rent of 5_s._ for -three small rooms. Less than that, as the mother says, ‘I could not -nohow do with, what with all the washing for such a heavy family, and -bathing the little ones, and him coming home tired of an evening, and -needing a place to sit down in.’ The wife is a decent body, but rough -and uncultured; and as she is ignorant of the proper proportions of -nitrogenous and carbonaceous substance necessary for the preservation -of healthy life, as well as of the kinds of food in which they can be -best found, she feeds her family even less nutritiously than she could -do if she were better informed. Still the whole wage could only feed -them if it were all expended ever so wisely, leaving no margin for the -requirements already mentioned. - -Take Mrs. Marshall’s family and circumstances. Mrs. Marshall is, to -all intents and purposes, a widow, her husband being in an asylum. -She herself is a superior woman, tall and handsome, and with clean -dapper ways and a slight hardness of manner that comes from bitter -disappointment and hopeless struggling. She has four children, two of -whom have been taken by the Poor Law authorities into their district -schools--a better plan than giving out-door relief, but, at the same -time, one that has the disadvantage of removing the little ones from -the home influence of a very good mother. Mrs. Marshall herself, -after vainly trying to get work, was taken as a scrubber at a public -institution, where she earns 9_s._ a week and her dinner. She works -from six in the morning till five at night, and then returns to her -fireless, cheerless room to find her two children back from school and -ready for their chief meal; for during her absence their breakfast and -dinner can only have consisted of bread and cold scraps. We will not -dwell on the hardship of having to turn to and light the fire, tidy -the room, and prepare the meal after having already done ten hours’ -scrubbing or washing. The financial question is now before us, and -to that we will confine our thoughts. Out of her 9_s._ a week Mrs. -Marshall pays 3_s._ 3_d._ for rent; 2_d._ for schooling; 1_s._ for -light and firing (and this does not allow of the children having a -morning fire before they go to school); 9_d._ she puts by for boots and -clothing; and imagine what it must be to dress, so as to keep warm, -three people on 1_l._ 19_s._ a year! and 6_d._ she pays for her bits -of washing, for she cannot do them herself after all her heavy daily -work. (Pause, though, for a moment to consider how Mrs. Marshall’s -washerwoman must work when she does three changes of linen, aprons, -sheets, and a table-cloth for 6_d._ a week.) - -Deduct from the 9_s._ weekly wage-- - - _s._ _d._ - Rent 3 3 - Schooling 2 - Firing 1 0 - Clothes 9 - Washing 6 - -------- - 5 8 - -and 3_s._ 4_d._ is left with which to provide breakfast and tea for a -hard-working woman for seven days in the week, dinner for Sunday, and -three meals daily for two growing children of ten and eleven. We have -seen how, even with economy, knowledge, strength, and time, proper food -cannot be obtained for less than 1_d._ or 1¼_d._ a meal, and this would -make a weekly total of 5_s._ 11¼_d._ 3_s._ 4_d._, with no time, with -little knowledge, and only the remnants of strength, which has been -used up in earning the 3_s._ 4_d._, is all Mrs. Marshall has with which -to meet these requirements. - -And how do the rich look on these facts? ‘Well! nine shillings a week -is very fair wage for an unskilled working woman,’ was the remark I -heard after I had told these facts to mine host at a country house, -where we were eating the usual regulation dinner--soup, fish, _entrée_, -joint, game, sweets, and hot-house fruits, said with the complacency -of satisfaction which follows a glass of good wine. ‘Yes, about the -cost of your one dinner’s wine!’ replied one of the guests; but then he -was probably one of those ill-balanced people who judge people by what -they are rather than by what they have, and he may have thought that -the sad, lone woman, with her noble virtues of industry, patience, and -self-sacrificing love, had, despite her hard manners, more right to the -good things of this world than the suave old man owning fourteen acres -of lawn on which no children ever played, and stating, without shame, -first, the fact that he used eighty-two tons of coal yearly to warm his -own sitting-rooms, and then the opinion that 9_s._ a week was _fair_ -wage on which to support a good woman and bring up two children. - -While this wage is considered a ‘fair wage,’ the children must remain -half-nourished, and grow up incapable of honest toil and valuable -effort. While this wage is accepted as a right and normal thing, it -is useless to think that the nation will be guided through dangers -by means of heavy subscriptions to schools, to hospitals, and -sick-asylums. Robust health is impossible; so disease easily finds -a home, and teachers vainly try to develop brains ill supplied with -blood. By the doorway of semi-starvation disease is invited to enter -and find a home among the masses of our wage-earning people. - -Before me are the dietary tables of the Whitechapel Workhouse--an -institution which stands (thanks to the self-devotion of its able -Clerk) high on the list for careful management and economical -administration. There are congregated the aged and infirm paupers, -and among them are some of Nature’s gentlefolk, the old and tired, -who, having learnt a few of life’s greatest lessons in their long walk -through life, ought to be giving them to the young and untried, instead -of wearying out their last days in the dull monotony of a useless and -regulated existence. Their dietary table allows them for breakfast and -supper one pint of tea (made of one ounce to a gallon of water) and -five ounces of bread and a tiny bit of butter. For dinner they have -meat three times a week, pea-soup and bread twice, suet pudding once, -and Irish stew on the other day. For the sake of comparison I will make -a food table of this diet, based on the same calculations of food value -as those that have been previously made for the family. - - +----------------------------+-----------------------+--------------+ - | Quantity of Food. | Carbonaceous | Nitrogenous. | - +----------------------------+-----------------------+--------------+ - |BREAKFAST AND SUPPER--TEA, | | | - | BREAD, AND BUTTER. | oz. | oz. | - |10 oz. Bread | 5½ | ¾ | - |½ oz. Butter | ½ | -- | - |½ oz. Sugar | ½ | -- | - |⅛ pint Milk | less than ¼ | -- | - | | | | - |DINNER--MEAT AND POTATOES. | | | - |4 oz. Meat (cooked) | 1 | 1 | - |8 oz. Potatoes | 1¼ | ¼ | - |2 oz. Bread. | 1 | ¼ | - | +-----------------------+--------------+ - | Total | 10½ | 2¼ | - +----------------------------+-----------------------+--------------+ - -Here we see that the total allowance comes only to 10½ oz. of -carbonaceous food and 2¼ oz. of nitrogenous food, against the estimated -quantity of 16 oz. carbonaceous and 4 oz. nitrogenous, which is -the necessary allowance for ordinary people, and against the 25 oz. -carbonaceous and 5 oz. nitrogenous, which is the regulation diet of the -Royal Engineers during peace. It is true that these old folk do not -need so much food, for their bodies have ceased to grow and develop, -and in aged persons the wear of the frame does not require such -replenishment as is the case with young and middle-aged people; but -even with this partial diet we find that the cost of maintaining each -of these old people is, for food alone, 3_s._ 11_d._ per head per week. - -Here, then, we have a fact on which a calculation is easy to make, and -which, when made, forces us to see that the workman cannot keep his -family as well as the pauper is kept. Even on this simple fare it would -cost him close on 8_s._ a week to support himself so as to give him the -strength to earn his daily bread; while, if we imagine his family to -consist of a wife and six children, we find that his weekly food-bills -would amount to 1_l._ 8_s._, calculating his requirements on the same -basis as in the previous instances. - -If we take, therefore, the case of a skilled workman earning his 2_l._ -a week, we still find that, even when adequately fed (and keep in mind -the plainness and unattractiveness of the diet), he has only 12_s._ a -week to supply all other necessaries and out of which to lay by, not -only against old age and sickness, but against that ‘rainy day’ and -‘out of work from slackness’ which so often occur for weeks together in -the weather chart of our artisan population. - -Or take another case, that of Mr. and Mrs. Stoneman, excellent folk: -the wife, a woman of such force and originality of character, such -patience and sweet persistency, as would make her an ornament in any -class; the husband an honest, steady man, not, perhaps, so clever as -his wife, but loving and admiring her none the less for that. They have -six children: the two eldest at work; the youngest a sweet tiny thing, -as spotlessly clean as water and care can keep it in this mud-coloured -atmosphere of Whitechapel. Her husband earns 23_s._ a week, excepting -when bad illness, lasting sometimes six and eight weeks, reduces his -wages to nothing; and then the sick man, his wife, and four children -have to live, pay rent, firing, and ‘doctor’s stuff’ on the club-money -of 14_s._ a week, for the boys’ earnings can only support themselves. - -Which of us would consider that he could supply food and sick-luxuries -for even _one_ person on 14_s._ a week, the sum fixed by the rich as -board wages for an unneeded man-servant? - -On the face of it this family is perhaps exceptionally well-off, for -the two big lads in it earn, the one 5_s._ the other 7_s._ a week, -which brings the united weekly wage up to 35_s._ a week. Mrs. Stoneman -is a friend of mine, and, in response to my request, she weighed all -the food at every meal, and here is the result. - -At the time, however, that this was done Mrs. Stoneman’s children had -been sent by the Children’s Country Holiday Fund into the country for -a fortnight’s holiday. We must therefore suppose the family to consist -only of six, and the necessary quantity of food to sustain them in good -healthy working condition would be 76 oz. of carbonaceous food and 19 -oz. of nitrogenous food. - - SUNDAY MEALS. - - +-----------------------+-----------+---------------+--------------+ - | Quantity of Food | Cost | Strength- | Flesh- | - | | | giving. | repairing | - +-----------------------+-----------+---------------+--------------+ - | BREAKFAST--BREAD AND | | | | - | BUTTER AND FISH. | _s._ _d._ | oz. | oz. | - |1¼ lb. Bread | 2 | 11¼ | 1¾ | - |1½ oz. Butter | 1½ | 1 | -- | - |1 Haddock | 3 | -- | -- | - |½ oz. Tea | ¾ | -- | -- | - |2½ oz. Sugar | ¼ | 2 | ¼ | - |½ pint Tinned Milk | ½ | ¾ | ¼ | - | | | | | - | DINNER--BEEF AND | | | | - | VEGETABLES, APPLE | | | | - | PUDDING. | | | | - |1 lb. 3 oz. Beef | 1 5 | 3¼ | 3¼ | - |3 lb. 10 oz. Potatoes | 2½ | 12¾ | 1¾ | - |1 lb. Beans | 2 | -- | -- | - |3 oz. Bread | ¼ | 1½ | -- | - |⅔ lb. Flour | 3 | 8 | ¾ | - |¼ lb. Lard | 2 | 3 | -- | - |1 lb. Apples | 2 | 2 | 1 | - |1⅓ oz. Sugar | ¼ | 1 | -- | - | | | | | - |TEA--BREAD AND BUTTER. | | | | - |¾ lb. Bread | 1¼ | 6¾ | 2¼ | - |2 oz. Butter | 2 | 1½ | -- | - |½ oz. Tea | ¼ | -- | -- | - |2½ oz. Sugar | ¼ | 2 | -- | - |½ pint Tinned Milk | ½ | ¾ | ¼ | - | | | | | - | SUPPER--BREAD AND | | | | - | CHEESE. | | | | - |1 lb. Bread | 1½ | 9 | 1½ | - |¼ lb. Cheese | 4 | 1 | 1¼ | - | +-----------+---------------+--------------+ - | Total | 3 11½ | 67¾ | 14¼ | - +-----------------------+-----------+---------------+--------------+ - - WEDNESDAY MEALS. - - +-----------------------+-----------+---------------+--------------+ - | Quantity of Food | Cost | Strength- | Flesh- | - | | | giving. | repairing | - +-----------------------+-----------+---------------+--------------+ - | BREAKFAST--BREAD AND | | | | - | BUTTER. | _s._ _d._ | oz. | oz. | - |2 lb. Bread | 3 | 18 | 3 | - |3¼ oz. Butter | 3¼ | 3 | -- | - |¼ oz. Tea | ½ | -- | -- | - |2 oz. Sugar | ½ | 1¾ | -- | - |½ pint Tinned Milk | ½ | ¾ | ¼ | - | | | | | - | DINNER--BACON | | | | - | PUDDING. | | | | - | 1 lb. Bacon | 6 | 3 | 3 | - | 2 lb. Potatoes | 1¾ | 7 | 1 | - | ¾ lb. Flour | 2 | 9 | ¾ | - | 2 oz. Suet | 1 | 1½ | -- | - | | | | | - | TEA--BREAD AND | | | | - | BUTTER. | | | | - | 3 lb. Bread | 4½ | 21 | 4½ | - | 2½ oz. Butter | 2½ | 2 | -- | - | ½ oz. Tea | 1 | -- | -- | - | 2½ oz. Sugar | ¾ | 2 | -- | - | ½ pint Tinned Milk | ½ | ¾ | ¼ | - | | | | | - | SUPPER--BREAD AND | | | | - | CHEESE. | | | | - | ¾ lb. Bread | 1 | 6¾ | 2¼ | - | 3 oz. Cheese | 1½ | ¾ | 1 | - | +-----------+---------------+--------------+ - | Total | 2 6¼ | 77¼ | 16 | - +-----------------------+-----------+---------------+--------------+ - - SATURDAY MEALS. - - +-----------------------+-----------+---------------+--------------+ - | Quantity of Food | Cost | Strength- | Flesh- | - | | | giving. | repairing | - +-----------------------+-----------+---------------+--------------+ - | BREAKFAST--BREAD AND | | | | - | BUTTER. | _s._ _d._ | oz. | oz. | - | 1½ lb. Bread | 2¼ | 13½ | 2¼ | - | 3 oz. Butter | 3 | 2¾ | -- | - | 3½ oz. Sugar | 1 | 3 | -- | - | 1 pint Tinned Milk | 1½ | 1¾ | ¾ | - | | | | | - | DINNER--BREAD AND | | | | - | CHEESE AND COFFEE. | | | | - | ¾ lb. Bread | 1 | 6¾ | 2¼ | - | ½ lb. Cheese | 4 | 2¼ | 2¾ | - | 1 pint Milk, Coffee | 1½ | 1¾ | ¾ | - | | | | | - | TEA--BREAD AND BUTTER | | | | - | AND FISH. | | | | - | 2 lb. 4 oz. Bread | 3¼ | 20½ | 3¾ | - | 2½ oz. Butter | 2½ | 2 | -- | - | 2 Herrings | 2 | -- | -- | - | 2½ oz. Sugar | ¾ | 2 | -- | - | ½ pint Tinned Milk | ½ | 1 | ½ | - | | | | | - | SUPPER--BREAD AND | | | | - | CHEESE. | | | | - | 14 oz. Bread | 1¼ | 8½ | 1 | - | ¼ lb. Cheese | 2 | 1 | 1¼ | - | +-----------+---------------+--------------+ - | Total | 2 2½ | 66¾ | 15¼ | - +-----------------------+-----------+---------------+--------------+ - -This is the food-table of one of the best of managers. It could not -well be simpler, and yet we see that it fails every day, sometimes -to the extent of one-third, in providing sufficient nitrogenous or -flesh-repairing food; but even so the cost for the three days makes a -total of 8_s._ 8½_d._, or, say, on an average, 3_s._ a day. Thus it -took 1_l._ 1_s._ a week to feed this family simply and wholesomely at a -time when two of its hungry members of eight and eleven were away. The -weekly rent to house it in two rooms takes 5_s._ 7_d._; to educate the -school-going members, 7_d._ a week must be paid; to keep the fire and -lights going (and this, of course, is more expensive than if the fuel -could be got in in large quantities) demands 2_s._ 6_d._ a week; and to -provide washing materials another 1_s._ must be deducted. - -When these outgoings are met there remains but 4_s._ 4_d._ with which -to provide the food of the two then absent children, to pay club -subscriptions for three people (because each of the working members is -in a sick-club and burial club), to procure boots, clothes, and to lay -by against the days of illness, slackness, and old age. - -Now these are the facts which, summed up in a sentence, amount to this, -that while wages are at the present rate the large mass of our people -cannot get enough food to maintain them in robust health, and bodily -health is here alone considered. - -No mention has been made of the food a man requires to keep his whole -nature in robust health; of the books, the means of culture, the -opportunities of social intercourse, which are as necessary for his -mental health and development as food and drink are for his bodily. -No account has been taken of all that each human being needs to keep -his spiritual nature alive. The quiet times in the country or by the -sea, the knowledge of Nature’s mysteries, the opportunities for the -cultivation of natural affection. ‘Yes, it is seven years since me -and my daughter met,’ I heard a gentle old lady of sixty-nine say the -other day, one of God’s aristocracy, the upper class in virtue and -unselfishness. ‘You see, she lives a pretty step from here, and moving -about is not to be thought of when money is so scarce.’ - -The body’s needs are the most exacting; they make themselves felt with -daily recurring persistency, and, while they remain unsatisfied, it -is hard to give time or thought to the mental needs or the spiritual -requirements; but if our nation is to be wise and righteous, as well -as healthy and strong, they must be considered. A fair wage must allow -a man, not only to adequately feed himself and his family, but also -to provide the means of mental cultivation and spiritual development. -Indeed, some humanitarians assert that it should be sufficient to -give him a home wherein he may rest from noise, with books, pictures, -and society; and there are those who go so far as to suggest that it -should be sufficient to enable him to learn the larger lessons which -travellers gain from other nations, as well as the teaching which the -great dumb teachers wait to impart to ‘those with ears to hear’ of -fraternity, purity, and eternal hope. - -Why is it that our wage-earners cannot get this? Why is it that, as we -indulge in such dreams, they sound impossible and almost impracticable, -though no reader of this Review will add undesirable? Is it because -our nation has not fought Ignorance, with pointed weapons, and by -its knights of proved prowess and valour? Or is it because our rulers -have not recognised the Greed of certain classes or individuals as a -national evil, and struggled against it with the strength of unity? -It cannot be the want of money in our land which causes so many to be -half-fed and cry silently from want of strength to make a noise. As we -stand at Hyde Park Corner, or wander in among the miles of streets of -‘gentlemen’s residences’ in the West End, our hearts are gladdened at -the sight of the wealth that is in our land; but they would be glad -with a deeper gladness if Wilkins was not getting slowly brutalised -by his struggle, if there were a chance of Alice and Johnnie Marshall -growing up as Nature meant them to grow, or if clever Mrs. Stoneman’s -patient efforts could be crowned with success. Money in plenty is in -our midst, but cruel, blinding Poverty keeps her company, and our -nation cannot boast herself of her wealth while half her people are but -partly fed, and too poor to use their minds or to aspire after holiness. - -By the optimist we may be told that all mention of charitable aid -has been omitted; that in such a case as that of Wilkins, or of Mrs. -Marshall, there would be aid from the philanthropic; that old clothes -would do something to replenish the wardrobe, otherwise to be kept -supplied by 1_l._ 19_s._ a year; and that scraps and broken victuals -find their way from most back-doors into the homes of the poor. But, -though this may be true when the poor are scattered among the rich, -it is not true of that neighbourhood which I know best, where through -miles of streets the income of each resident does not exceed thirty -shillings a week, and where the four-roomed houses (as a rule, let out -to two or three families) are unrelieved by a single house inhabited -by only one family, or where they ‘keeps a servant.’ - -The advocates of children’s penny dinners may take these facts as -a strong argument in favour of their scheme, and feel that in this -simple method is the solution of the difficulty. But those who so think -cannot have considered the question in all its bearings. If feeding -the children enables us to limit the power of disease, it does so by -putting fresh weapons into the hands of the Greed of certain classes or -individuals, which is so ill-curbed and ineffectively conquered as to -be nothing loth to take advantage of every opportunity of working its -cruel will. - -If the children are fed at school it enables the mother to go out -to work. The supply of female labour is thus increased, and married -women can offer their work at lower wages than widows or single ones, -because their labour is only supplementary to that of their husbands. -The consequence is that wages go down, because more women are in the -labour market than are needed, and those get the work who will take it -for the least remuneration. Thus, though Mrs. Harris may get work, her -children being ‘now fed by the ladies round at the school,’ she does -so at the expense of lowering Jane Metcalf’s wages; and, as Jane is -working to help her widowed mother to keep the four younger children -off the parish, the only result is that Tommie and Lizzie and the two -baby Metcalfs get worse food, and Jane finds life harder, and sometimes -sees temptation through magnifying-glasses. - -Besides these economic results which must inevitably follow the plan of -feeding the children on any large scale, there are others which ensue -from the lightening of parental responsibility, and these everyone -who knows the poor can foresee without the gift of prophecy; the idle -father is made more idle, the gossiping mother less controlled, and -from the drunken parent is taken the last feeble bond which binds him -to sobriety and its hopeful consequences. But perhaps as important -as any of these results is the evil which follows the taking the -children from the home influence. In our English love of home is one -of our hopes for the future; and not the least conspicuous as a moral -training-ground is the family dinner-table. There the mother can teach -the little lessons of good manners and neat ways, and the larger truths -of unselfishness and thoughtfulness. There the whole family can meet, -and from the talks over meals, during the time which, as things now -are, is perhaps the only leisure of the busy mechanic, may grow that -sympathy between the older and younger people which must refresh and -gladden both. No; it is not by any charitable effort that this poverty -must be fought. A national want must be met by a national effort, and -the thought of the political economist, which has hitherto been devoted -to the question of production and accumulation of wealth, must now -turn its attention to the problem of its right use and distribution, -recognising that ‘the wise use of wealth in developing a complete human -life is of incomparably the greater moment both to men and nations.’ -While more than half the English people are unable to live their -best life or reach their true standard of humanity, it is useless to -congratulate ourselves on our national supremacy or class our nation as -wealthy. - -Some economists will reply that these sad conditions are but the -result of our freedom; that the boasted ‘liberty’ in our land must -result in the few strong making themselves stronger, and in the many -weak suffering from their weakness. But is this necessarily so? Is this -the only result to be expected from human beings having the power to -act as they please? Are not love, goodwill, and social instincts as -truly parts of human character as greed, selfishness, and sulkiness; -and may we not believe that human nature is great enough to care to use -its freedom for the good of all? Men have done noble things to obtain -this freedom. They have loved her with the ardour of a lover’s love, -with the patience of a silver wedded life; and now that they have her, -is she only to be used to injure the weak, and to make life cruel and -almost impossible to the large majority? ‘What is the right use of -freedom?’ The ancient answer was, ‘To love God.’ And can we love God -whom we have not seen when we love not our brother whom we have seen? - - HENRIETTA O. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II. - - _RELIEF FUNDS AND THE POOR._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Nineteenth Century_ of November -1886. - - -The poverty of the poor and the failure of the Mansion House Relief -Fund are the facts which stand out from the gloom of a winter when dark -weather, dull times, and discontent united to depress both the hopes of -the poor and the energy of their friends. The memory of days full of -unavailing complaint and of aimless pity is one from which all minds -readily turn, quieting their fears with the assumption that the poverty -was exaggerated or that the generosity of the rich is ample for all -occasions. - -The facts, however, remain that the poor are very poor, and that the -fund failed as a means of relief; and these facts must be faced if a -lesson is to be learnt from the past, and a way discovered through the -perils of the future. The policies which occupy the leaders’ minds, -the interests of business, the theologies, the fashions, are but webs -woven in the trees while the storm is rising in the distance. Sounds -of the storm are already in the air, a murmuring among those who have -not enough, puffs of boasting from those who have too much, and a -muttering from those who are angry because while some are drunken -others are starving. The social question is rising for solution, and, -though for a moment it is forgotten, it will sweep to the front and -put aside as cobwebs the ‘deep’ concerns of leaders and teachers. The -danger is lest it be settled by passion and not by reason, lest, that -is, reforms be hurriedly undertaken in answer to some cry, and without -consideration of facts, their weight, their causes, and their relation. - -The study of the condition of the people receives hardly as much -attention as that which Sir J. Lubbock gives to the ants and the wasps. -Bold good men discuss the poor, and cheques are given by irresponsible -benefactors; but there are few students who reverently and patiently -make observations on social conditions, accumulate facts, and watch -cause and effect. Scientific method is supreme everywhere except in -those human affairs which most concern humanity. - -Ten years ago Arnold Toynbee demanded a ‘body of doctrine’ from those -who cared for the poor. He sought an intellectual basis for moral -fervour, and yet to-day what a muck-heap is our social legislation, -what a confusion of opinion there exists about the poor law, education -emigration, and land laws! All reformers are driving on; but what -is each driving at? Sometimes the same driver has aims obviously -incompatible, as when the Lord Mayor one day signs a report which -says that, ‘the spasmodic assistance given by the public in answer to -special appeals is really useless,’ and another day himself inaugurates -a relief fund by a special appeal. - -One of the facts made evident last winter is the poverty of the poor, -and it is a fact about which the public mind is uncertain. - -The working men when they appear at meetings seem to be well dressed in -black cloth, the statistics of trades-unions, friendly, co-operative, -and building societies show the members to be so numerous, and the -accumulated funds to be so far above thousands and so near to millions -sterling, that the necessary conclusion is, ‘There is no poverty among -the poor.’ But then the clergy or missionaries echo some ‘bitter -cry,’ and tell how there are thousands of working folk in danger of -starvation, thousands without warmth or clothing, and the necessary -conclusion is, ‘All the poor are poverty-stricken.’ The public mind -halts between these two conclusions and is uncertain. - -The uncertainty is due partly to the vague use of the term ‘poor,’ -by which is generally meant all those who are not tradespeople or -capitalists, and partly to an inability to appreciate the size of -London. The poor, it is obvious, form only a minority in the community, -and a minority suggests something unimportant, and notwithstanding the -size of London, it is regarded as a small and manageable body. - -Last winter’s experience clears away all uncertainty, and shows that -there is a vast mass of people in London who have neither black coats -nor savings, and whose life is dwarfed and shortened by want of food -and clothing. In Whitechapel there is a population of 70,000: of these -some 20 per cent., exclusive of the Jewish population, applied at the -office of the Mansion House Relief Fund during the three months it -was opened. In St. George’s, East, there is a population of 50,000, -and of these 29 per cent. applied. Among all who applied the number -belonging to any trades-union or friendly society was very few. -In Whitechapel only six out of 1,700 applicants were members of a -benefit club. In St. George’s only 177 out of 3,578 called themselves -artisans. In Stepney 1,000 men applied before one mechanic came, and -only one member of a trades-union came under notice at all. In the -Tower Hamlets division of East London out of a population of 500,000, -17,384 applied, representing 86,920 persons. It may be safely assumed -that all in need did not apply, and that many thousands were assisted -by other agencies. The reports of some of the visitors expressly state -that the numbers they give are exclusive of many referred to the Jewish -Board of Guardians, the clergy, and other agencies, while numbers of -those who did apply either did not wait to have their names entered or -were so manifestly beyond the reach of money help that they were not -recorded among applicants. Especially noteworthy among the remarks of -the visitors is one, that all who applied would at any season of the -year apply in the same way and give the same evidence of poverty. ‘If -a fund was advertised as largely as this fund has been in summer, and -when trade was at its best, precisely the same people would apply.’ The -truth of the remark has been put to the test, and during the summer a -large number of those relieved in the winter have been visited, with -the result that they have been found apparently in like misery and -equally in need of assistance. - -Of the poverty of those who made application there has been no -question. Some may have brought it on themselves by drink or by vice, -some may have been thriftless and without self-control; but all were -poor, so poor as to be without the things necessary for mere existence. -The men and women who crowded the relief offices had haggard and -drawn faces, their worn and thin bodies shivered under their rags of -clothing, and they gave no sign of strength or of hope. Their homes -were squalid, the children ill-fed, ill-clad, and joyless, their record -showed that for months they had received no regular wage, and that -their substance was more often at the pawnbroker’s than in the home. - -Last winter’s experience shows that outside the classes of regular -wage-earning workmen, who are often included among ‘the poor,’ is a -mass of people numbering some tens of thousands who are without the -means of living. These are the poor, and their poverty is the common -concern. - -Statistics prove what has long been known to those whose business lies -in poor places, and to them the reports of the increased prosperity -of the country have been like songs of gladness in a land of sorrow. -They know the streets in which every room is a home, the homes in which -there is no comfort for the sick, no easy-chair for the weary, no bath -for the tired, no fresh air, no means of keeping food, no space for -play, no possibility of quiet, and to them the news of the national -wealth and the sight of fashionable luxury seem but cruel satire. The -little dark rooms may bear traces of the man’s struggle or of the -woman’s patience, but the homes of the poor are sad, like the fields -of lost battles, where heroism has fought in vain. By no struggle and -by no patience can health be won in so few feet of cubic air, and no -parent dares to hope that he can make the time of youth so joyful as -to for ever hold his children to pleasures which are pure. The homes -of the poor are a mockery of the name, but yet how many would think -themselves happy if even such homes were secure, and if they were able -to look to the future without seeing starvation for their children -and the workhouse for themselves! One example will illustrate many. -The Browns are a family of five; they occupy one room. The man is a -labourer, London-born, quick-witted and slow-bodied, and, as many -labourers do, he fills up slack time with hawking; the woman takes -in her neighbours’ washing. Their room, twelve feet by ten feet, is -crowded with two bedsteads, the implements for washing, the coal-bin, a -table, a chest, and a few chairs; on the walls are some pictures, the -human protest against the doctrine that the poor can ‘live by bread -alone.’ The man earns sometimes 3_s._, often nothing, in the day; and -his wife brings in sometimes 6_d._ or 9_d._ a day, but her work fills -the room with damp and discomfort, and almost necessarily keeps the -husband out of doors. Both man and woman are still young, but they look -aged, and the children are thin and delicate. They seldom have enough -to eat and never enough to wear, they are rarely healthy, and are never -so happy as to thank God for their creation. Hard work will make these -children orphans, or bad air, cold, and hunger will make these parents -childless. - -In the case of another family, where the wage is regular--the income -is 1_l._ a week--the outlook is not much brighter. Here there is the -same crowded room, for which 3_s._ a week is paid, the same weary, -half-starved faces, the same want of air and water. Here, too, the -parents dare not look forwards, because even if the income remains -permanent, it cannot secure necessaries for sickness, it cannot educate -or apprentice the children, and it cannot provide for their own old -age. No income, however, does remain permanent, and the regular hand is -always anxious lest a change in trade, or in his employer’s temper, may -send him adrift. - -In the cases where there is drink, carelessness, or idleness everything -of course looks worse. The room is poorer and dirtier, the faces more -shrunken, and the clothes thinner. Indignation against sin does not -settle the matter. The poverty is manifest, and if the cause be in the -weakness of human nature, then the greater and the harder is the duty -of effecting its cure. - -Cases of poverty such as these are common; they who by business, duty, -or affection go among the poor know of their existence; but if those -who hire a servant, employ workpeople, or buy cheap articles would -think about what they talk, they could not longer content themselves -with phrases about thrift as almighty for good, and intemperance as -almighty for evil. Fourteen pounds a year, if a domestic servant -has unfailing health and unbroken work from the age of twenty to -fifty-five, will only enable her to save enough for her old age by -giving up all pleasure, by neglecting her own family duties, and by -impoverishing her life to make a livelihood. Very sad is it to meet -in some back-room the living remains of an old servant. Mrs. Smith is -sixty-five years old; she has been all her life in service, and saved -over 100_l._ She has had but little joy in her youth, and now in her -old age she is lonely. Her fear is lest, spending only 7_s._ a week, -her savings may not last her life. She could hardly have done more, -and what she did was not enough. A wage of 20_s._ or 25_s._ a week is -called good wages, yet it leaves the earners unable to buy sufficient -food or to procure any means of recreation. The following table[2] -represents the necessary weekly expenditure of a family of eight -persons, of whom six are children. It allows for each day no cheering -luxuries, but only the bare amount of carbonaceous and nitrogenous -foods which are absolutely necessary for the maintenance of the body. - - Food, i.e. oatmeal, 1¼ lb. of meat a day among _£_ _s._ _d._ - eight persons, cocoa and bread 0 14 0 - Rent for two small rooms 0 5 0 - Schooling for four children 0 0 4 - Washing 0 1 0 - Firing and light 0 2 6 - ----------- - Total 1 2 10 - - [2] This table is taken from a paper written by my wife in the -_National Review_, July 1886, in which she illustrates by many examples -that the average wage is insufficient to support life. - -If to this 2_s._ a week be added for clothes (and what woman dressing -on 100_l._ or 80_l._ a year could allow less than 5_l._ a year to -clothe a working man, his wife, and six children) then the necessary -weekly expenditure of the family is 1_l._ 4_s._ 10_d._ Few fathers -or mothers are able to resist, or ought to resist, the temptation of -taking or giving some pleasure; so even where work is regular, and paid -at 1_l._ 5_s._ a week, there must be in the home want of food as well -as of the luxuries which gladden life. - -Those dwellers in pleasant places, without experience of the homes of -the poor, who will resolutely set themselves to think about what they -do know must realise that those who make cheap goods are too poor to -do their duty to themselves, their neighbours, and their country. The -mystery, indeed, remains, how many manage to live at all. - -One solution is that there exists among these irregular workers a kind -of communism. They prefer to occupy the same neighbourhood and make -long journeys to work rather than go to live among strangers. They -easily borrow and easily lend. The women spend much time in gossiping, -know intimately one another’s affairs, and in times of trouble help -willingly. One couple, whose united earnings have never reached 15_s._ -a week, whose home has never been more than one small room, has brought -up in succession three orphans. The old man, at seventy years of age, -just earns a living by running messages or by selling wirework; but -even now he spends many a night in hushing a baby whose desertion he -pities, and whom he has taken to his care. - -The poverty of the poor is understood by the poor, and their charity -is according to the measure of Christ’s. The charity of the rich is -according to another measure, because they do not know of poverty, and -they do not know because they do not think. Only the self-satisfied -Pharisee and the proud Roman could pass Calvary unmoved, and only the -self-absorbed can be ignorant that every day the innocent and helpless -are crucified. The selfishness of modern life is shown most clearly in -this absence of thought. Absorbed in their own concerns, kindly people -carelessly hear statements, see prices, and face sights which imply -the ruin of their fellow-creatures. The rich would not be so cruel if -they would think. Thought about the amount of food which ‘good wages’ -can buy, about the hours spent in making matches or coats, about the -sorrows behind the faces of those who serve them in shops or pass them -in the streets; thought would make the rich ready to help; and the -fact that there are among the 500,000 inhabitants of the Tower Hamlets -86,920 too poor to live is enough to make them think. - -The failure of the relief fund is the other fact of the winter to stir -thought. - -Mansion House relief represents the mercies to which the wisdom and the -love of the completest age have committed the needs of the poor. Never -were needs so delicate left to mercies so clumsy; needs intertwined -with the sorrows and sufferings with which no stranger could -intermeddle have been met with the brutal generosity of gifts given -often with little thought or cost. The result has been an increase of -the causes which make poverty and a decrease of good-will among men. - -The fund failed even to relieve distress. In St. George’s-in-the-East -there were nearly 4,000 applicants, representing 20,000 persons. All -of these were in distress--were, that is, cold and hungry. Of these -there were 2,400 applicants, representing some 12,000 persons--whom -the committee considered to be working people unemployed and within -the scope of the fund. For their relief 2,000_l._ was apportioned; -and if it had been equally divided each person would have had 3_s._ -4_d._ on which to support life during three months. Such sums might -have relieved the givers, pleased by the momentary satisfaction of the -recipient, but they would not have relieved the poor, who would still -have had to endure days and weeks of want. - -The fund was thus in the first place inadequate to relieve the -distress. An attempt was made in some districts by discrimination to -make it useful to those who were ‘deserving.’ Forms were given out to -be filled in by applicants; visitors were appointed to visit the homes -and to make inquiries; committees sat daily to consider and decide -on applications. The end of all has been that in one district those -assisted were found to be ‘improvident, unsober, and non-industrious,’ -and in another the almoner can only say, ‘they are a careless, -hard-living, hard-drinking set of people, and are so much what their -circumstances have made them that terms of moral praise or blame are -hardly applicable.’ - -An analysis of the decisions of the committees formed in the various -parts of the Tower Hamlets shows that the decisions were according -to different standards, and with different views of what was meant -by ‘assistance.’ A half-crown a week was voted for the support of -one family in which the man was a notorious drunkard. Twelve pounds -were given to start a costermonger on one day, while at a subsequent -committee meeting 10_s._ was voted for a family in almost identical -circumstances. In one district casual labourers were given 20_s._ or -30_s._, but in the neighbouring district casual labourers were refused -relief. - -Methods of relief were as many as were the districts into which London -was divided. In Whitechapel a labour test was applied. The labourers -were offered street-sweeping; and those who were used only to indoor -work were put to whitewashing, window-cleaning, or tailoring. The -women were given needlework. When it was known to the large crowd -brought to the office by the advertisement of the fund that work was -to be offered to the able-bodied, there was among the ne’er-do-weels -great indignation. ‘Call this charity!’ ‘We will complain to the Lord -Mayor, we will break windows,’ and addressing the almoners, ‘It is -you fellows who are getting 1_l._ a day for your work.’ Many ‘finding -they could not get relief without doing work did not persist in their -application,’ and they were not entered as applicants, but work was -actually offered to 850 men and accepted by only 339. Of these the -foreman writes, ‘The labour test was a sore trial for a great many of -them. I repeatedly had it said to me by them, “The Fund is a charity, -and we ought not to work for it.”’ - -In St. George’s there was no labour test, and there 1,689 men and -682 women received assistance in food or in materials for labour. -In Stepney the conditions under which the Fund was collected were -strictly observed, and only those ‘out of employment through the -present depression’ were assisted. The consequence was that casual -labourers, the sick, the aged, all known to be frequently out of -work, were refused, and much of the Fund was spent in large sums for -the emigration of a few. In this district the committee was largely -composed of members of friendly societies, men who, by experience, -were familiar both with the habits of the poor and with the methods of -relief. Their co-operation was invaluable, both in itself and also for -the confidence which it won for the administration. - -In Mile End the committee had another standard of character and another -method of inquiry. No record was kept of the number of applications, -and those relieved have been differently described as ‘good men’ and -‘loafers’ by different members of the committee. 2,539_l._ were spent -among 2,133 families, an average of 4_s._ 10_d._ a person. The Poplar -Committee has published no report, but one of its members writes: -‘Relief was often given without investigation to old, chronic, sick, -and poor-law cases, without distinction as to character; the rule was, -Give, give! spend, spend!’ and another states the opinion ‘that the -whole neighbourhood was demoralised by the distribution of the Fund.’ -As a result of their experiences, some of those engaged in relief in -this district are now making efforts to unite workmen, and the members -of benefit societies, in the administration of future funds. - -The sort of relief given was as various as the methods of relief. -Sometimes money, sometimes tickets, sometimes food; the variety is -excused by one visitor, who says, ‘We were ten days at work before -instructions came from the Mansion House, and then it was too late to -change our system.’ Discrimination utterly broke down, and with all -the appliances it was chance which ruled the decision. The gifts fell -on the worthy and on the unworthy, but as they fell only in partial -showers, none received enough and many who were worthy went empty away. - -Discrimination of desert is indeed impossible. The poor-law officials, -with ample time and long experience, cannot say who deserves or would -be benefited by out-relief. Amateurs appointed in a hurry, and confused -by numbers, vainly try to settle desert. Systems must adopt rules; -friendship alone can settle merit. - -The Fund failed to relieve distress, and further developed some of the -causes which make poverty. - -Prominent among such causes are (1) faith in chance; (2) dishonesty in -its fullest sense; (3) the unwisdom of so-called charity. - -(1) The big advertisement of ‘70,000_l._ to be given away’ -offered a chance which attracted idlers, and relaxed in many the -energies hitherto so patiently braced to win a living for wife or -children. The effect is frequently noticed in the reports. The St. -George’s-in-the-East visitors emphasise the opinion that it was ‘the -great publicity of the Fund which made its distribution so difficult.’ -A visitor in Poplar thinks ‘the publicity was tempting to bad cases and -deterrent of good ones.’ The chance of a gift out of so big a sum was -too good to be missed for the sake of hard work and small wages. - -Faith in chance was further encouraged by the irregular methods of -administration. Refusals and relief followed no law discoverable by the -poor. In the same street one washerwoman was set up with stock, while -another in equal circumstances was dismissed. In adjoining districts -such various systems were adopted that of three ‘mates’ one would -receive work, another a gift, and the third nothing. ‘The power of -chance’ was the teaching of the Fund, started through the accidental -emotions of a Lord Mayor, and they who believe in chance give up -effort, become wayward, and lose power of mind and body. Chance leads -her followers to poverty, and the increase of the spirit of gambling is -not the least among the causes of distress. - -(2) The remark is sometimes made that ‘the righteous man is never found -begging his bread,’ or, in other words, that there is always work for -the man who can be trusted. Honesty in its fullest sense, implying -absolute truth, thoroughness, and responsibility, has great value in -the labour market, and agencies which increase a trust in honesty -increase wealth. The tendency of the Fund has been to create a trust -in lies. Its organisation of visitors and committees offered a show of -resistance to lies, but over such resistance lies easily triumphed, -and many notorious evil-livers got by a good story the relief denied -to others. Anecdotes are common as to the way in which visitors were -deceived, committees hoodwinked, and money wrongly gained, while the -better sort of poor, failing to understand how so much money could have -had so little effect, hold the officials to have been smart fellows -who took care of themselves. The laughter roused by such talk is the -laughter which demoralises, it is the praise of the power of lies, -and the laughers will not be among those who by honesty do well for -themselves and for others. - -(3) The mischief of foolish charity is a text on which much has been -written, but no doubt exists as to the power of wise charity. The -teaching which fits the young to do better work or to find resource -in a bye-trade, the influence by which the weak are strengthened to -resist temptation, the application of principles which will give -confidence, and the setting up of ideals which will enlarge the limits -of life--this is the charity which conquers poverty. In East London -there are many engaged in such charity, and to their work the action -of the Fund was most prejudicial. Some of them, carried away by the -excitement, relaxed their patient, silent efforts, while they tried -to meet a thousand needs with no other remedy than a gift. Others saw -their work spoiled, their lessons of self-help undone by the offer of -a dole, their teaching of the duty of helping others forgotten in the -greedy scramble for graceless gifts. They devoted themselves to do -their utmost and bore the heavy burden of distributing the Fund, but -most of them speak sadly of their experience. They laboured sometimes -for sixteen hours a day, but their labour was not to do good but to -prevent evil--a labour of pain--and one, speaking the experience of -his fellows, says ‘their labours had the appearance of a hurried and -spasmodic effort.’ The fund of charity, like a torrent, swept away the -tender plants which the stream of charity had nourished. - -In the face of all this experience it is not extravagant to say that -the means of relief used last winter developed the causes of poverty. -It may be that if all the poor were self-controlled and honest, and if -all charity were wise, poverty would still exist; but self-indulgence, -lies, and unwise charity are causes of poverty, and these causes have -been strengthened. One visitor’s report sums up the whole matter when -it says:-- - - They (the applicants) have received their relief, and they are now - in much the same position as they were before, and as they will be - found, it is feared, in future winters, until more effectual and less - spasmodic means of improving their condition can be devised, for the - causes of distress are chronic and permanent. The foundation of such - independence of character as they possessed has been shaken, and some - of them have taken the first step in mendicancy, which is too often - never retraced. - -Examples, of course, may be found where the relief has been helpful, -and some visitors, in the contemplation of the worthy family relieved -from pressure and set free to work, may think that one such result -justifies many failures. It is not, though, expedient that many should -suffer for one, or that a population should be demoralised in order -that two or three might have enough. - -The Fund as a means of relief has failed: it is condemned by the -recipients, who are bitter on account of disappointed hopes; by the -almoners, whose only satisfaction is that they managed to do the least -possible mischief; and by the mechanics, whose name was taken in -vain by the agitators who went to the Lord Mayor, and who feel their -class degraded by a system of relief which assumes improvidence and -imposition among working men. - -The failure of the latest method of relief has been made as manifest -as the poverty, and no prophet is needed to tell that bad times are -coming. The outlook is most gloomy. The August reports of trades -societies characterise trade as ‘dull’ or ‘very slack.’ The pawnbrokers -report in the same month that they are taking in rather than handing -out pledges, and all those who have experience of the poor consider -poverty to be chronic. If not in the coming winter, still in the near -future there must be trouble. - -Poverty in London is increasing both relatively and actually. Relative -poverty may be lightly considered, but it breeds trouble as rapidly as -actual poverty. The family which has an income sufficient to support -life on oatmeal will not grow in good-will when they know that daily -meat and holidays are spoken of as ‘necessaries’ for other workers -and children. Education and the spread of literature have raised the -standard of living, and they who cannot provide boots for their -children, nor sufficient fresh air, nor clean clothes, nor means of -pleasure, feel themselves to be poor, and have the hopelessness which -is the curse of poverty, as selfishness is the curse of wealth. - -Poverty, however, in East London, is increasing actually. It is -increased (1) by the number of incapables: ‘broken men, who by their -misfortunes or their vices have fallen out of regular work,’ and -who are drawn to East London because chance work is more plentiful, -‘company’ more possible, and life more enlivened by excitement. (2) -By the deterioration of the physique of those born in close rooms, -brought up in narrow streets, and early made familiar with vice. It was -noticed that among the crowds who applied for relief there were few -who seemed healthy or were strongly grown. In Whitechapel the foreman -of those employed in the streets reported that ‘the majority had not -the stamina to make even a good scavenger.’ (3) By the disrepute into -which saving is fallen. Partly because happiness (as the majority count -happiness) seems to be beyond their reach, partly because the teaching -of the example of the well-to-do is ‘enjoy yourselves,’ and partly -because ‘the saving man’ seems ‘bad company, unsocial and selfish’; -the fact remains that few take the trouble to save--only units out of -the thousands of applicants had shown any signs of thrift. (4) By the -growing animosity of the poor against the rich. Good-will among men -is a source of prosperity as well as of peace. Those bound together -consider one another’s interests, and put the good of the ‘whole’ -before the good of a class. Among large classes of the poor animosity -is slowly taking the place of good-will, the rich are held to be of -another nation, the theft of a lady’s diamonds is not always condemned -as the theft of a poor man’s money, and the gift of 70,000_l._ is -looked on as ransom and perhaps an inadequate ransom. The bitter -remarks sometimes heard by the almoners are signs of disunion, which -will decrease the resources of all classes. The fault did not begin -with the poor; the rich sin, but the poor, made poorer and more angry, -suffer the most. - -On account of these and other causes it may be expected that poverty -will be increased. The poorer quarters will become still poorer, the -sight of squalor, misery, and hunger more painful, the cry of the -poor more bitter. For their relief no adequate means are proposed. -The last twenty years have been years of progress, but for lack of -care and thought the means of relief for poverty remain unchanged. The -only resource twenty years ago was a Mansion House Fund, and the only -resource available in this enlightened and wealthy year of our Lord is -a similar gift thrown--not brought--from the West to the East. - -The paradise in which a few theorists lived, listening to the talk -at social science congresses, has been rudely broken. Lord Mayors, -merchant princes, prime ministers, and able editors have no better -means for relief of distress than that long ago discredited by failure. -One of the greatest dangers possible to the State has been growing in -the midst, and the leaders have slumbered and slept. The resources -of civilisation, which are said to be ample to suppress disorder and -to evolve new policies, have not provided means by which the chief -commandment may be obeyed, and love shown to the poor neighbour. - -The outlook is gloomy enough, and the cure of the evil is not to be -effected by a simple prescription. The cure must be worked by slow -means which will take account of the whole nature of man, which will -consider the future to be as important as the present, and which will -win by waiting. - -Generally it is assumed that the chief change is that to be effected in -the habits of the poor. All sorts of missions and schemes exist for the -working of this change. Perhaps it is more to the purpose that a change -should be effected in the habits of the rich. Society has settled -itself on a system which it never questions, and it is assumed to be -absolutely within a man’s right to live where he chooses and to get the -most for his money. - -It is this practice of living in pleasant places which impoverishes -the poor. It authorises, as it were, a lower standard of life for the -neighbourhoods in which the poor are left; it encourages a contempt for -a home which is narrow; it leaves large quarters of the town without -the light which comes from knowledge, and large masses of the people -without the friendship of those better taught than themselves. The -precept that ‘every one should live over his shop’ has a very direct -bearing on life, and it is the absence of so many from their shops, be -the shop ‘the land’ or ‘a factory,’ which makes so many others poorer. - -Absenteeism is an acknowledged cause of Irish troubles, and Mr. -Goldwin Smith has pointed out that ‘the greatest evils of absenteeism -are--first, that it withdraws from the community the upper class, who -are the natural channels of civilising influences to the classes below -them; and, secondly, that it cuts off all personal relations between -the individual landlord and his tenant.’ He further adds that it was -‘natural the gentry should avoid the sight of so much wretchedness -... and be drawn to the pleasures of London or Dublin.’ The result in -Ireland was heartbreaking poverty which relief funds did not relieve, -and there is no reason why in East London absenteeism should have other -results. - -In the same way the unquestioned habit by which every one thinks -himself justified in getting the most for his money tends to make -poverty. In the competition which the habit provokes many are trampled -underfoot, and in the search after enjoyment wealth is wasted which -would support thousands in comfort. - -The habits of the people are in the charge of the Church, so that by -its ministers (conformist and nonconformist) God’s Spirit may bend the -most stubborn will. Those ministers have a great responsibility. God’s -Spirit has been imprisoned in phrases about the duty of contentment -and the sin of drink; the stubborn will has been strengthened by the -doctor’s opinion as to the necessity of living apart from the worry of -work, and by the teaching of a political economy which assumes that -a man’s might is a man’s right. The ministers who would change the -habits of the rich will have to preach the prophet’s message about the -duty of giving and the sin of luxury, and to denounce ways of business -now pronounced to be respectable and Christian. Old teaching will -have to be put in new language, giving shown to consist in sharing, -and earning to be sacrifice. For some time it may be the glory of a -preacher to empty rather than to fill his church as he reasons about -the Judgment to come, when ‘twopence a gross to the match-makers will -be laid alongside of the twenty-two per cent. to the shareholders,’ and -penny dinners for the poor compared with the sixteen courses for the -rich--when the ‘seamy’ side of wealth and pleasures will be exposed.[3] -For some time the ministers who would change habits may fail to attract -congregations. It is not until they are able again to lift up the -God whose presence is dimly felt, and whose nature is misunderstood, -that they will succeed. In the knowledge of God is eternal life. When -all know God as the Father who requires rich and poor to be perfect -sharers in His gifts of virtue, forgiveness, and peace, then none will -be satisfied until they are at one with Him, and His habit has become -their habit. - - [3] Prices paid according to the Mansion House report are: Making of -shirts, ¾_d._ each; making soldiers’ leggings, 2_s._ a dozen; making -lawn-tennis aprons, elaborately frilled, 5½_d._ a dozen to the sweater, -the actual worker getting less. - -It may, however, be well here to suggest in a few words what may be -done while habits remain the same by laws or systems for the relief of -poverty. - -It would be wise (1) to promote the organisation of unskilled labour. -The mass of applicants last winter belonged to this class, and in -one report it is distinctly said that the greater number were ‘born -within the demoralising influence of the intermittent and irregular -employment given by the Dock Companies, and who have never been able to -rise above their circumstances.’ It is in evidence that the wages of -these men do not exceed 12_s._ a week on an average in a year. If, by -some encouragement, these men could be induced to form a union, and if -by some pressure the Docks could be induced to employ a regular gang, -much would be gained. The very organisation would be a lesson to these -men in self-restraint and in fellowship. The substitution of regular -hands at the Docks for those who now, by waiting and scrambling, -get a daily ticket would give to a large number of men the help of -settled employment and take away the dependence on chance, which -makes many careless. Such a change might be met by a _non possumus_ -of the directors, but it is forgotten that to the present system a -weightier _non possumus_ would be urged if the labourers could speak as -shareholders now speak. A possible loss of profit is not comparable to -an actual loss of life, and the labourers do lose life and more than -life as they scramble for a living that the dividend or salaries may be -increased. - -(2) The helpers of the poor might be efficiently organised. The ideal -of co-operating charity has long hovered over the mischief and waste -of competing charity. Up to the present, denominational jealousy, or -the belief in crochets, or the self-will which ‘dislikes committees’ -has prevented common work. If all who are serving the poor could meet -and divide--meet to learn one another’s object and divide each to -do his own work--there would be a force applied which might remove -mountains of difficulty. Abuse would be known, wise remedies would -be suggested, and foolish remedies prevented. Indirect means would -be brought to the support of direct, and those concerned to reform -the land laws, to teach the ignorant, and beautify the ugly would be -recognised as fellow-workers with those whose object is the abolition -of poverty. Money would be amply given, and the high motives of faith -and love applied to the reform of character. The ideal is in its -fulness impossible until there be a really national Church, in which -the denominations will each preach their truth, and in which ‘the -entire religious life of the nation will be expressed.’ Such a Church, -extending into every corner of the land and drawing to itself all who -love their neighbours, would realise the ideal of co-operative charity, -and so order things that no one would be in sorrow whom comfort will -relieve, and no one in pain whom help can succour. - -(3) Lastly, the qualification for a seat on a board of guardians might -be removed and the position opened to working men.[4] The action of -the poor-law has a very distinct effect on poverty, and intelligent -experience is on the side of administration by rule rather than by -sentiment. In poor-law unions, where it is known that ‘indoors’ all -that is necessary for life will be provided, but that ‘outdoors’ -nothing will be given, the poor feel they are under a rule which they -can understand. They are able to calculate on what will happen in a way -which is impossible when ‘giving goes by favour or desert,’ and they do -not wait and suffer by trusting to a chance. Public opinion, however, -does not support such administration, and as public opinion is largely -now that of the working men, it is necessary that these men should be -admitted on to boards of guardians, where by experience they would -learn how impossible it is to adjust relief to desert, and how much -less cruel is regular sternness than spasmodic kindness. A carefully -and wisely administered poor-law is the best weapon in hand for the -troubles to come, and such is impossible without the sympathy of all -classes. - - [4] It might be necessary at the same time to abolish ‘the compounder,’ -so that the tenant of every tenement might himself pay the rates and -feel their burden. - -By some such means preparation may be made for dealing with poverty, -but even these would not be sufficient and would not be in order at a -moment of emergency. - -If next winter there be great distress, what, it may be asked, can -possibly be done? The chief strain must undoubtedly be borne by the -poor-law, and the poor-law must follow rules--hard-and-fast lines. -The simplest rule is indoor relief for all applicants, and if for -able-bodied men the relief take the form of work which is educational, -its helpfulness will be obvious. The casual labourer, whose family is -given necessary support on condition that he enters the House, may, -during his residence, learn something of whitewashing, woodwork, and -baking, or, better yet, that habit of regularity which will do much to -keep up the home which has been kept together for him. - -The poor-law can thus help during a time of pressure without any break -in its established system. If more is necessary, perhaps the next best -form of relief would be an extension of that adopted by the Whitechapel -Committee of the Mansion House Fund. By co-operation with other local -authorities the guardians might offer more work at street sweeping, or -cleaning--which in poor London is never adequately done--under such -conditions of residence or providence as would prevent immigration, -but would be free of the degrading associations of the stone-yards. -The staff at the disposal of the guardians would enable them to try -the experiment more effectively than was possible when a voluntary -committee without experience, time, or staff had to do everything. - -By some such plans relief could be afforded to all who belong to what -may be called the lowest class; for the assistance of those who could -be helped by tools, emigration, or money, the great Friendly Societies, -the Society for Relief of Distress, and the Charity Organisation -Society might act in conjunction. These societies are unsectarian, are -already organised, and may be developed in power and tenderness to any -extent by the addition of members and visitors. - -These means and all means which are suggested seem sadly inadequate, -and in their very setting forth provoke criticism. There are no -effectual means but those which grow in a Christian society. The -force which, without striving and crying, without even entering into -collision with it, destroyed slavery will also destroy poverty. When -rich men, knowing God, realise that life is giving, and when poor men, -also knowing God, understand that being is better than having, then -there will be none too rich to enter the kingdom of heaven, and none -too poor to enjoy God’s world. - - SAMUEL A. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III. - - _PASSIONLESS REFORMERS._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Fortnightly Review_ of August -1882. - - -The mention of the poor brings up to most people’s minds scenes of -suffering, want, and misery. The vast number of people who, while -poor in money, are rich in life’s good, who live quiet, thoughtful, -dignified lives, are forgotten, and the word ‘poor’ means to many -the class which we may call degraded. But the first class is by far -the largest, and the wide East End of London (which the indolent -think of only as revolting) contains at a rough calculation, say, -twenty of the worthy poor to one of the degraded poor. It is curious -how widely spread is the reverse idea. Many times have I been asked -if I am not ‘afraid to walk in East London,’ and an article on the -People’s Entertainment Society aroused, not unjustly, the anger of -the East London people at the writer’s descriptions of them and -of her fears for her personal safety while standing in the Mile -End Road! One lady, after a visit to St. George’s-in-the-East and -Stepney, expressed great astonishment to find that the people lived -in _houses_. She had expected that they abode, not exactly in tents, -but in huts, old railway carriages, caravans, or squatted against a -wall. East Londoners will be glad to know that she went back a wiser -and not a sadder woman, having learnt that riches are not necessary to -refinement, that some of the noblest characters are developed under -the enforced self-control of an income of a pound or thirty shillings -a week, that love lived side by side with poverty without thought of -exit by the window though poverty had trodden a beaten path through the -door, and that books and ideas, though not plentiful enough to become -toys, were read, loved, and lived with until they became part of the -being of their possessors. - -But distinct from this class--among whom may be counted some of the -noblest examples of life--there is the class of degraded poor. Here -the want is not so much a want of money (some of the trades, such -as hawking, flower-selling, shoe-blacking, occasionally bringing in -as much as from ten to twenty shillings a day) as the want of the -common virtues of ordinary life. In many of these poor, the mere -intellectual conception of principle, as such, is absent; they have -no moral ideal; spirituality to them is as little understood in idea -as in word. Sinning (sensual low brutal sins) is the most common, the -to-be-expected course. The standard has got reversed, and those who -have turnings towards, and vague aspirations for, better things too -often find it impossible to give these feelings practical expression -in a society where wrong is upheld by public opinion; where the only -test of right is the avoidance of being ‘nabbed’ by the police; and the -highest law is that expressed by the magistrate. - -How can these people be raised to enjoy spiritual life? Too often -the symptoms are mistaken for the disease. In times of illness, bad -weather, or depression of their particular trade, their poverty is the -one apparent fact about them, and tender-hearted people rush eagerly to -relieve it. That poverty was but the natural result of their sinful, -self-indulgent lives; and by it they might have learnt great lessons. -The hands of the charity-giver too often, in such cases, act as a -screen between a man and his Almighty Teacher. The physical suffering -which should have recalled to him his past carelessness or sin is thus -made of no avail. Mistaken love! gifts cannot raise these people. -Better houses, provident clubs, savings banks, &c. are all useful and -do necessary work in forming a good ground in which the seed can grow, -but thought must be given lest such efforts leave the people in the -condition of more comfortable animals. Materialism is already so strong -a force in the world that those who look deeper than the material -part of man should beware lest they accentuate what is, in whatever -form it appears--whether in the low sensuality of the degraded or the -enervating luxury of the æsthete--a circumscribed, ungodly life. - -The stimulus of ‘getting on’ is also used, but it is a dangerous -influence, sapping ofttimes the one virtue which is strong and -beautiful in the lives of these people, their communistic love; and if -adopted by minds empty of principle may become a new source of wrong. -‘Getting on’ regardless of the means is but another way of going back. - -Influences calling themselves religious are tried, and chiefly, all -honour be to them, by the evangelicals who, filled with horror at -what they hold to be the ultimate fate of such masses, go fearlessly -and perseveringly among them, preaching earnestly, if not always -rationally, their special tenets. Heaven, as a material place, they -still paint in the poetic terms which represented to the Oriental mind -the highest spiritual happiness, and is offered as a reward to men -imbued with the materialistic spirit of the age, and living coarse and -sensual lives. Hell, as a place of physical suffering, is so often -threatened that it becomes to many people the most likely thing that -they shall go there. The story is perfectly true of the clergyman -who, preaching to one of these oft-threatened congregations, tried to -show them that sin (according to his explanation removal from God) -was hell, and that the awfulness of hell did not consist in being a -place where the body would be uncomfortable, but in being a state from -which all good and God were absent. Walking behind some of his hearers -afterwards, he overheard, ‘Parson says there be’ant no hell, Dick. -Where be you and I to go then?’ Imagine feeling homeless because there -may be no hell! - -But even if the talk of hell still awakens some fear and dread, it is -again only a material horror--it but exaggerates the importance of the -body, and projects into an after-death sphere the selfish animal life -already being led. This will not cultivate spirituality. No! religion -thus materialised is a dead-letter; it will not feed the spiritual -needs of the people. We have forgotten the words of the Divine Teacher -about casting pearls before the swine, and the swine have turned again -and rent us. As an old Cornish coachman said the other day in answer -to a question about the services of a church which we happened to be -passing, ‘Ay, yes, there’s a great advance in church activity, no -doubt of that, but little in spirituality somehow. The people’s souls -have been preached to death.’ - -The religionists have taught until the people know all and feel -nothing; they have talked about religion till it palls in the hearer’s -ears. They have blasphemed by asking _pity_ for our Lord’s physical -sufferings when His thoughts and being were at _one_ with God; when He -was exulting (as only noble souls can faintly conceive of exultation) -in His finished work. - -Religion has been degraded by these teachers until it is difficult to -gain the people’s ears to hear it. I have often watched congregations -who, keenly interested so long as personal narratives are told, books -discussed, or allegories pictured, relax their attention so soon as -religion is reverted to, with an air which is told in every muscle of -‘knowing all that.’ The story once humorously told by the lamented -Leonard Montefiore of his experience as a Sabbath-school teacher is a -little straw showing withal the way of the stream. Feeling somewhat at -a loss as to what to teach, the class being a strange one, he thought -he would be safe in telling them a Bible story; so he began on Moses’ -history, painting, as only he could paint for children’s minds, the -conditions of the times, making Egypt, with its gorgeous palaces and -age-defying temples, live again, showing the princess as a very fairy -one, and letting them see through his well-cultivated mind the very -age of Rameses. All went well, the children breathless with interest, -until he came to the familiar incident of the little ark and the crying -babe--‘Oh! ’tis only Moses again!’ cried one boy, and their interest -vanished; they half felt they had been ‘taken in,’ and for the -remainder of the lesson they gave him a bad time. - -The experience of many a popular preacher would, if he confessed -honestly, be much the same as Mr. Montefiore’s. One body of -evangelists, in order to attract the people, started a band which, -playing loud, blatant marches or swinging hymn tunes, brought hundreds -of people, who sat and listened with interest to the music. On its -stopping and the preacher rising to speak, the people got up and poured -out through the large open gate. The preacher paused, and on a sign the -music recommenced and the audience sat down again. Three times was the -effort made. No! though the preacher was advertised as the converted -swindler or gipsy, or some such attractive title, it was of no avail. -The people would not listen to the ‘old, old story’--‘Bless you, my -children,’ said he, at last, sitting down in despair, ‘but I wish you’d -mend yer manners.’ It was a larger rent than their manners which wanted -mending. These people’s lives are already too full of excitement. -There is no rest nor repose in them. Dignity has given way to hurry. -To attract them to religion, further excitement is often resorted to, -and sensationalism with all its vulgarity is brought to play upon the -buried soul which we are told we should ‘possess in quietness.’ - -I was once present at a religious meeting where the preacher narrated, -with much gusto, accounts of sudden and unexpected deaths and the -ultimate fate of the dead ones, making the ignorant audience feel -fearful that their every breath might be their last. Finding that even -this did not sufficiently stir the people, he pleaded that God in His -mercy ‘would shut the doors of hell--aye, even with a _bang_!’--for -a few moments until he had saved the souls before him. After the word -‘bang’ he paused in an attitude of attention as if listening to hear -the slamming doors. The excitement was intense; many weak-minded people -went into hysterics and others hastened to be converted and ‘made safe’ -while the hell-doors were shut. To such means have some religionists -reverted to teach the people the Gospel! - -No, alas! the old channels are no longer available for the water of -life; without it the people are dead, live they ever so comfortably. -A spiritual life is the true life; as men become spiritualised, as -the moral ideal becomes the source of action, the old words and forms -may regain meaning. Phrases now to them meaning nothing or only -superstition will then express their very being; but without a belief -in the ideal they are but empty words, like ‘the sounding brass or -tinkling cymbal.’ - -How can these degraded people be given these priceless gifts? The -usual religious means have failed, the unusual must be tried; we must -deal with the people as individuals, being content to speak, not to -the thousands, but to ones and twos; we must become the friend, the -intimate of a few; we must lead them up through the well-known paths -of cleanliness, honesty, industry, until we attain the higher ground -whence glimpses can be caught of the brighter land, the land of -spiritual life. - -Hitherto the large number of the degraded people have appalled the -philanthropist; they have been spoken of as the ‘lapsed masses’; and -efforts to reach them have not been considered successful unless -the results can be counted by hundreds. But there is the higher -authority for the individual teaching; He whom all men now delight -to honour, whose life, words, and actions are held up for imitation; -He chose twelve only to especially influence; He spent long hours in -conversation with single persons; He thought no incident too trivial -to inquire into, no petty quarrel beneath His interference. We must -know and be known, love and be loved, by our less happy brother until -he learn, through the friend whom he has seen, knowledge of God whom -he has not seen. All this must be done, and not one stone of practical -helpfulness left unturned, and - - God’s passionless reformers, influences - That purify and heal and are not seen, - -must be summoned also to give their aid. Among these are flowers, not -given in bundles nor loose, but daintily arranged in bouquets, brought -by the hand of the friend who will stop to carefully dispose them in -the broken jug or cracked basin, so that they should lose none of their -beauty as long as the close atmosphere allows them to live: flowers -(without text-cards) left to speak their own message, allowed to tell -the story of perfect work without speech or language; all the better -preachers because so lacking in self-consciousness. - -Not second among such reformers may be placed high-class music, both -instrumental and vocal, given in schoolrooms, mission-rooms, and, if -possible, in churches where the traditions speak of worship, where -the atmosphere is prayerful, and where the arrangement of the seats -suggests kneeling; just the music without a form of service, nor -necessarily an address, only a hymn sung in unison and a blessing from -the altar at the close. To hear oratorios--_St. Paul_, the _Messiah_, -_Elijah_, Spohr’s _Last Judgment_--I have seen crowds of the lowest -class, some shoeless and bonnetless, and all having the ‘savour of the -great unwashed,’ sit in church for two hours at a time quietly and -reverently, the long lines of seated folk being now and then broken -by a kneeling figure, driven to his knees by the glorious burst of -sound which had awakened strange emotions; while the almost breathless -silence in the solos has been occasionally interrupted by a heart-drawn -sigh. - -To trace the result is impossible and not advisable; but who can doubt -that in those moments, brief as they were, the curtain of the flesh was -raised and the soul became visible, perhaps by the discovery startling -its possessor into new aspirations? - -One man came after such a service for help, not money help, but because -he was a drunkard, saying if ‘I could hear music like that every night -I should not need the drink.’ It was but a feeble echo of St. Paul’s -words, ‘Who can deliver me from the body of this death?’ a cry--a -prayer--which given to music might be borne by the sweet messenger -through heaven’s gate to the very throne beyond. - -Then there are country visits; quiet afternoons in the country, not -‘treats’ where numbers bring wild excitement, and only the place, -not the sort of amusement, is changed; but where a few people spend -an afternoon quietly in the country, perhaps entertained at tea by a -kindly friend; parties at which there is time to _feel_ the quiet; -where the moments are not so full of external and active interests -that there is no opportunity to ‘possess the soul’; parties at which -there is a possibility of ‘hush,’ in which, helped by Nature’s ritual, -perfect in sound, scent, and colour, silent worship can go on. - -For people spending long years in the close courts and streets of ugly -towns, the mere sight of nature is startling, and may awaken longings, -to themselves strange, to others indescribable, but which are the -stirrings of the life within. - -The stories of great lives, and of other religions, very simply told, -as far as possible leaving out the foreign conditions which confuse -the ignorant mind, are sometimes helpful. It is generally considered -wise to hide from children and untutored people the knowledge of other -religions, for fear it should awaken doubts concerning their own; -but in those cases where their own is so very negative, it is often -helpful to learn of faiths held by the large masses of mankind. To hear -that the great fundamental ideas of all worships are similar would -perhaps suggest to the hearer that there might be more in it than ‘just -parson stuff’ and lead him to inquire further; or, if it did not do -this, it would be some gain to remove the ignorance which, more than -familiarity, breeds contempt of the despised foreigner. - -Once, after a talk about Egypt and its old religion, the Osiris -worship, the beautiful story of the virgin Isis, and her son Horus, -who was slain by Set, the King of Evil, and rose again from the bosom -of the Nile, I heard it said, ‘They thought the same then, did they? -only called them different names.’ The largeness of the idea caught -the hearer; its universality bore testimony to its truth. Would it -not be helpful if our religious teachers, instead of spending their -precious time denouncing the errors of other religions, would take the -truths running through the great stories common to them all, and in an -historical attitude of mind show the growth of thought, the development -of spirituality till his hearers are brought face to face with the -Founder of our religion, who set the noblest example; taught the purest -doctrine; lived the highest spiritual life; was in Himself, to use the -Bible words, ‘the way, the truth, and the life’? - -Again, to be quiet, to be alone are among influences that purify. -Every one when abroad has, I suppose, felt the privilege of being able -to go into the churches whenever they wished. In our great towns the -privilege is equally needed, and, where the poor live, doubly so. When -one room has to be shared by the whole family, sometimes including -a lodger, there can be no quiet, and loneliness is impossible. Some -of the clergy are recognising this want, and open their churches at -other than service times, but the practice is still rare. A notice -outside our church tells how those may enter who ‘wish to think or -pray in quietness.’ About ten a day use the permission, some of them -kneeling shyly in the side aisle, as if their attitude were unwonted -and caused shame; others sitting quietly for a long time, as if weary -of the grind and noise outside; while sometimes men come to make their -mid-day prayer. Here again is a means with invisible results; but quiet -and loneliness are possessions to which every one has a right, without -which it is difficult, almost impossible, to ‘commune with God,’ and -the gift of which is still to be given to the poor. - -Then there is the beauty of Art, now almost entirely absent from the -dwellings of the poor, and yet by them so felt as a pleasure; the -beauty of form and colour, which it is possible to show in schoolroom -and church decoration; the beauty of light and brightness, the beauty -of growth to be seen in gardens and churchyards. Outside our church -are planted two Virginia creepers; poor things they are, hardly to -be recognised by their relations in kindlier soil. But once, in a -third-class carriage, I was surprised to hear the church described as -the one ‘where the jennies growed.’ - -It is easier now (thanks to the Kyrle Society and Miss Harrison’s -generous gifts of work) to make school and mission rooms pretty. A -beautiful workroom is a very strong, though invisible, influence. -One girl, who had to leave our school on account of moving from the -neighbourhood, said quite naturally, among her regrets at leaving and -her description of the new school, ‘It is so ugly it makes one not -care.’ - -The pictures in a schoolroom should be various, and, if possible, -often changed. Pictures of action or of historical incidents are the -most generally appreciated, but pictures of flowers, fairy tales, -landscapes, and sea are suggestive. - -Picture galleries have hitherto been thought of chiefly as pleasure -places for the educated, or as schools for the student. They can become -mission-halls for the degraded. It is easy to arrange visits with a -few people to the National Gallery, to the Kensington or Bethnal Green -Museums; it is not an unpleasant afternoon’s work to guide little -groups of people, just pointing out this beautiful picture, or putting -in a few words to explain this or that historical allusion. I once took -a girl--a merry lassie, light-hearted, fond of pleasure, but in danger -of taking it at the expense of her character--to the National Gallery. -The little picture of Raphael’s, where the women acting as the angels -stand over the sleeping knight, offering him the protecting shield, -opened to her a new truth. Here was a fresh possible relation between -man and woman, not the one of rough jokes and doubtful fun, but a new -connection not to be despised, either, where the province of the woman -was to keep the man safe; a large lesson taught by dumb lips and dead -hands. - -When Sir Richard Wallace lent his pictures to the Bethnal Green Museum, -he not only brightened the eyes of many used only to the drear monotony -of East London, but he taught one poor wretched woman with a whining -baby hanging on her thin breast a large lesson. Dirt on child and -mother showed her condition, and was a dreary contrast to the Madonna -with lovely crowing baby before whom the little group paused. ‘Ah, yer -could easy enough “mother” such a baby as that now,’ was her apologetic -remark, showing that the picture had conveyed the rebuke, and that the -reverence born of faith in the painter’s heart had not yet finished -bearing fruit. - -It is but feebly that I have tried to show how such means could be -used to teach spirituality to the lowest classes. It is not necessary -to speak of school-lessons, lending libraries, mothers’ meetings, -night-schools, temperance societies, and clubs; agencies for the good -of the people which are at work in every well-organised parish; neither -has mention been made of the communicants’ meetings, prayer assemblies, -church services, which are food to feed and build up many of those who -already recognise their true life, and strive bravely, amid adverse -circumstances, to live it. We can all work at these in gladness and -thanksgiving. They are not so hard to persevere with, for some result -attends them. In meetings and classes there is encouragement in the -regularity and the appreciation of the attendants. In services and -prayer-meetings there is the knowledge that they help and strengthen -the faint-hearted; but in the indirect means of helping the degraded -there is little encouragement, for there can be no results. The highest -work is often apparently resultless, bringing no personal thanks, no -world’s applause; a failure, worthless labour, if judged by the world’s -standard of work; a success, worth doing, if it open to a few, whom the -usual means have failed to reach, the great secret of true being, their -spiritual life; a buried life, buried but not dead. - - HENRIETTA O. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV. - - _TOWN COUNCILS AND SOCIAL REFORM._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Nineteenth Century_ of November -1883. - - -Mr. Bright has stated that in Glasgow 41,000 families occupy single -rooms. The statement caused no surprise to those familiar with the poor -quarters of our great towns; their surprise has been that the statement -should cause surprise in any section of the community. It is, indeed, -surprising that people should think so little about what they daily -see, and should go on talking as if 20_s._ or 30_s._ a week were enough -to satisfy the needs of a family’s life, and should be surprised that -many persons still occupy one room, endure hardship and die, killed -by the struggle to exist. It is surprising that reflection on such -subjects is not more common because, when facts are stated, no defence -is made for the present condition of the people. - -Alongside of the growth of wealth during this age there has been growth -of the belief in the powers of human nature, of the belief that in all -men, independent of rank and birth, there exist great powers of being. -‘Nothing can breed such awe and fear as fall upon us when we look into -our minds, into the mind of man,’ expresses the experience of many who -do not use the poet’s words. - -Those who are conscious of what men may be and do cannot be satisfied -while the majority of Englishmen live, in the midst of wealthy England, -stinted and joyless lives because they are poor. - -When facts, therefore, such as that referred to by Mr. Bright are -stated, no defence is made; and such facts are common. Here are -some:--(1) The death-rate among the children of the poor is double that -among the children of the rich. Born in some small room, which serves -as the sleeping and living room of the family; hushed to sleep by -discordant noises from neighbouring factories, refreshed by air laden -with smoke and evil odours, forced to find their play in the streets; -without country holiday or adequate medical skill, without sufficient -air, space, or water, the children die, and the mothers among the -poor are always weeping for their children and cannot be comforted. -(2) The occupants of the prisons are mostly of one class--the poor. -The fact for its explanation needs no assumption that ‘the poor in -a lump are bad’; it is the natural result of their condition. It is -because children are ill developed or unhealthily developed by life -in the streets that they become idlers, sharpers, or thieves. It is -because families are crowded together that quarrels begin and end in -fights. It is because they have not the means to hide their vices -under respectable forms that the poor go to prison and not the rich. -(3) The lives of the people are joyless. The slaves of toil, worn by -anxiety lest the slavery should end, they have not leisure nor calm for -thought; they cannot therefore be happy, living in the thought of other -times, as those are happy who, in reading or travel, have gathered -memories to be the bliss of solitude, or as those who, ‘by discerning -intellect,’ have found the best to be ‘the simple product of the common -day.’ When work ceases, the one resource is excitement; and thus their -lives are joyless. Anxiety consumes their powers in pleasure as in -work, the faces of the women lose their beauty, and a woman of thirty -looks old. - -These are facts patent to those who know our great towns--the facts -of life, not among a few of their degraded inhabitants, but facts of -the life of the majority of the people. Let any one who does not know -how his neighbours live set himself the following sum. Given 20_s._ -or 40_s._ a week wages, how to keep a family, pay rent of 2_s._ 6_d._ -a week for each room, and lay up an adequate amount for times of bad -trade, sickness, and old age. As the sum is worked out, as it is seen -how one after another the things which seem to make life worth living -have to be given up, and as it is seen how many ‘necessaries’ are -impossible, how many of the poor must put up with a diet more scanty -than that allowed to paupers, how all must go without the leisure and -the knowledge which transmute existence into life--faith will be shaken -in many theories of social reform. - -Teetotal advocates will preach in vain that drunkenness is the root of -all evil, and that a nation of abstainers will be either a healthy, a -happy, or a thoughtful nation. Thrift will be seen to be powerless to -do more than to create a smug and transient respectability, and even -those who are ‘converted’ will not claim to be raised by their faith -out of the reach of early death and poverty into a life which belongs -to their nature as members in the human family. - -Theories of reform which do not touch the conditions in which -the people live, which do not make possible for them fuller lives -in happier circumstances, are not satisfactory. The conversion of -sinners--at any rate while the sinners are sought chiefly among the -poor--the emigration of children, the spread of thrift and temperance -among the workpeople, will still leave families occupying single rooms -and the sons of men the joyless slaves of work; a state of society for -which no defence can be made. - -It is only a larger share of wealth which can increase comfort and -relieve men from the pressure brought on them by the close atmosphere -of great towns; which can, in a word, give to all the results of -thought and open to all the life which is possible. If it be that the -return for fair land laid waste by mines and engines is wider knowledge -of men and things, it is only the rich who now enjoy this return and it -is only wealth which can make it common. And since any distribution of -wealth in the shape of money relief would be fatal to the independence -of the people, the one satisfactory method of social reform is that -which tends to make more common the good things which wealth has gained -for the few. The nationalisation of luxury must be the object of social -reformers. - -The presence of wealth is so obvious that the attempts to distribute -its benefits both by individuals and by societies have been many. -Individuals have given their money and their time; their failure is -notorious, and societies have been formed to direct their efforts. -The failure of these societies is not equally notorious, but few -thinkers retain the hope that societies will reform Society and make -the conditions of living such that people will be able to grow in -wisdom and in stature to the full height of their manhood. If it were -a sight to make men and angels weep to see one rich man struggling -with the poverty of a street, making himself poor only to make others -discontented paupers, it is as sad a sight to see societies hopelessly -beaten and hardened into machines with no ‘reach beyond their grasp.’ -The deadness of these societies or their ill-directed efforts has -roused in the shape of Charity Organisation workers a most striking -missionary enterprise. The history of the movement as a mission has -yet to be written; the names of its martyrs stand in the list of the -unknown good; but the most earnest member of a Charity Organisation -Society cannot hope that organised almsgiving will be powerful so to -alter conditions as to make the life of the poor a life worth living. - -Societies which absorb much wealth, and which relieve their subscribers -of their responsibility, are failing; it remains only to adopt -the principle of the Education Act, of the Poor Law, and of other -socialistic legislation, and call on Society to do what societies fail -to do. There is much which may be urged in favour of such a course. It -is only Society, or, to use the title by which Society expresses itself -in towns, it is only Town Councils, which can cover all the ground and -see that each locality gets equal treatment. It is by common action -that a healthy spirit becomes common, and the tone of public opinion -may be more healthy when the Town Council engages in good-doing than -when good-doing is the monopoly of individuals or of societies. If -nations have been ennobled by wars undertaken against an enemy, towns -may be ennobled by work undertaken against the evils of poverty. - -Through the centuries the sense of the duties of Society has been -growing. Some earnest men may regret the limit placed on individual -action and the failure of societies, but the change they regret is -more apparent than real. The Town Councils are, indeed, the modern -representatives of the Church and of other societies, through which in -older times individuals expressed their hope and work, and to these -bodies falls the duty of effecting that social reform which will help -the poor to grow to the stature of the life of men. - -The problem before them is one much more of ways than of means. If -poverty is depressing the lives of the people, the wealth by which it -may be relieved is superabundant. On the one side, there is disease -for the want of food and doctors; on the other side there is disease -because of food and doctors. In one part of the town the women cease -to charm for want of finery; in the other they cease to please from -excess of finery. It is for want of money that the streets in which -the poor live are close, ill-swept, and ill-lighted; that the ‘East -Ends’ of towns have no grand meeting-rooms and no beauty. It is -through superfluity of money that the entertainments of the rich are -made tiresome with music, and their picture galleries made ugly with -uninteresting portraits. There is no want of means for making better -the condition of the people; and there has ever been sufficient -good-will to use the means when the way has been clear. To discover the -way is the problem of the times. - -Some way must be found which, without pauperising, without affecting -the spirit of energy and independence, shall give to the inhabitants of -our great towns the surroundings which will increase joy and develop -life. - -The first need is better dwellings. While the people live without -adequate air, space, or light in houses where the arrangements are -such that privacy is impossible, it is hopeless to expect that they -will enjoy the best things. The need has been recognised, and, happily -without going to Parliament, Town Councils may do much to meet the -need. It is in their power to enforce sanitary improvements, to make -every house healthy and clean, and to provide common rooms which will -serve as libraries or drawing-rooms. If it is not in their power to -reduce rents, it is possible for them to pull down unfit buildings, -and sell the ground to builders at a low price, on condition that such -builders shall provide extra appliances for the health and pleasure of -the people. - -Insanitary conditions and high rents are the points to which -consideration must be directed. Builders to-day build houses on the -fiction that each house will be occupied by one family. The fact that -two or three families will at once take possession is kept out of -sight, while the parlour, drawing-room, and single set of offices are -finished off to suit the requirements of an English home. The fiction -ends in the creation of evils on which medical officers write reports, -and of other evils which, like Medusa’s head, are best seen by the -shadow they cast on Society. - -The insanitary conditions constitute one difficulty connected with -the dwellings of the poor; the rent for adequate accommodation which -absorbs one quarter of an irregular income constitutes another. To -cure the insanitary conditions ample power exists; to even suggest a -means for lowering rents is not so easy. Perhaps it might be possible -for the community to sell the ground it acquires at some low price, -on condition that the rents of the newly built houses should never -exceed a certain rate, and that the occupier should always have the -right of purchase. Such a condition is not, however, at present legal, -and is of doubtful expediency. It is now possible for Town Councils to -acquire land under the Artisans’ Dwellings Act, and to sell it cheaply -on condition that the rooms are of a certain size and provided with -certain appliances; that special arrangements are made for washing and -cleaning, and that a common room is at the disposal of a certain number -of families. - -The improvement cannot be made without what is called a loss--that is -to say, the Town Councils cannot sell land for the building of fit -dwellings at the same price for which the land had been acquired. Money -will in one sense be lost; and this phrase has such power that, though -the need is recognised, the Act by which the need could be met has in -most towns remained a dead letter. In Liverpool, where, according to -official reports, the state of the dwellings is productive of fever -and destructive of common decency, the Act has never been applied. -In Manchester, where it is acknowledged to be the object of the Town -Council to protect the health of the people, it is stated in the last -report that the Act involves too great an outlay to be workable. The -London Metropolitan Board of Works, which spends its millions wisely -and unwisely, has striven to show that the application of the Act would -lay too great a burden on the ratepayers. It is impossible, it is said, -to house the poor at such a cost. It would not seem impossible if it -were recognised that to spend money in housing the poor is a way of -making the wealth of the town serve the needs of the town. It would not -seem impossible if Town Councils recognised that on them has come the -care of the people, and that money is not lost which is returned in -longer and better life. - -Other needs exist, hardly second to that of better dwellings, and these -it is in the power of local authorities to meet, in a way of which -few reformers seem to be aware. The Town Councils may provide means -of recreation and instruction--libraries, playgrounds, and public -baths. School Boards may provide, not only elementary instruction, -but give a character to education, and use their buildings as centres -for the meetings, classes, and recreation of the old scholars. Boards -of Guardians may make their relief, not only a means of meeting -destitution, but a means of educating the independence of the strong -and of comforting the sorrows of the weak. We can imagine these boards, -the councils of the town, endowed with greater powers; but with those -they already possess they could change the social conditions and remove -abuses for which Englishmen make no defence. - -Wise Town Councils, conscious of the mission they have inherited, -could destroy every court and crowded alley and put in their places -healthy dwellings; they could make water so cheap and bathing-places -so common that cleanliness should no longer be a hard virtue; they -could open playgrounds, and take away from a city the reproach of -its gutter-children; they could provide gardens, libraries, and -conversation-rooms, and make the pleasures of intercourse a delight -to the poor, as it is a delight to the rich; they could open picture -galleries and concerts, and give to all that pleasure which comes as -surely from a common as from a private possession; they could light and -clean the streets of the poor quarters; they could stamp out disease, -and by enforcing regulations against smoke and all uncleanness limit -the destructiveness of trade and lengthen the span of life; they -could empty the streets of the boys and girls, too big for the narrow -homes, too small for the clubs and public-houses, by opening for them -playrooms and gymnasia; they could help the strong and hopeful to -emigrate; they could give medicine to heal the sick, money to the old -and poor, a training for the neglected, and a home for the friendless. - -With this power in the hands of Town Councils, and with our great towns -in such a state that a fact as to their condition shocks the nation, -there is no need to wait for parliamentary action. The course on which -the authorities are asked to enter is no untried one. - -There are local bodies which have applied the Artisans’ Dwellings Act -and cleared away houses or hovels, of which the medical officers’ -descriptions are not fit for repetition in polite society. There are -those who have built, and more who are ready to build, houses which -shall at any rate give the people healthy surroundings, possibilities -of home life and of common pleasures, even when a family can afford -only a single room. And, although the London School Board’s buildings -and playgrounds are occupied only during a few hours in each week, -there are schools which are used for meetings, for classes in higher -education, and for Art Exhibitions, and there are playgrounds which are -open all day and every day to all comers. The way in which Guardians -have in some unions made the system of relief in the highest sense -educational is now an old tale. It has been shown that out-relief, -with its demoralising results, may be abolished; it is being shown -that a workhouse with trade masters and ‘mental instructors’ may be a -reformatory; and it is not beyond the hope of some Boards that a system -of medical relief may be developed adequate to the needs of the people. -Public bodies here and there are showing what it is in their power to -do, but at present their efforts hardly make any mark; they must become -general. - -The first practical work is to rouse the Town Councils to the sense -of their powers; to make them feel that their reason of being is not -political but social, that their duty is not to protect the pockets of -the rich, but to save the people. It is for reformers in every town -to direct all their force on the Town Councils, to turn aside to no -scheme, and to start no new society, but to urge, in season and out of -season, that the care of the people is the care of the community, and -not of any philanthropic section--is, indeed, the care of Society, and -not of societies. ‘The People, not Politics,’ should be their cry; and -they should see that the power is in the hands of men, irrespective of -party or of class, who care for the people. This is the first practical -work, one in which all can join, whether he serves as elector or -elected. It may be that efficient administration will show that without -an increase of rating a sufficient fund may be found to do all that -needs doing; but, if this is not the case, the social interest which -is aroused will act on Parliament, and that body will be diverted from -its party politics to consider how, by some change in taxation, by -progressive rating, by a land-tax, or by some other means, the money -can be raised to do what must be done. - -The means, I repeat, is a matter for the future; the battle is to be -won at the municipal elections; it is there the cry ‘The People, not -Politics’ must be raised, and it is the councils of the town which -can work the social reform. If it be urged that when Town Councils do -for social reform all which can be done, the condition will still be -unsatisfactory, I agree. Wealth cannot supply the needs of life, and -many who have all that wealth can give are still without the life which -is possible to men. The town in which houses shall be good, health -general, and recreation possible, may be but a whited sepulchre. No -social reform will be adequate which does not touch social relations, -bind classes by friendship, and pass, through the medium of friendship, -the spirit which inspires righteousness and devotion. - -If, therefore, the first practical work of reformers be to rouse Town -Councils, their second is to associate volunteers who will work with -the official bodies. We may here regret the absence of a truly National -Church. If in every parish Church Boards existed representative of -every religious opinion and expressive of every form of philanthropy, -they would be the centres round which such volunteers would gather and -prove themselves to be an agency ready to their hand. While we hope for -such boards there is no need to wait to act. - -As a rule, it may be laid down that the voluntary work is most -effective when it is in connection with official work. The connection -gives a backbone, a dignity to work, which has lost something in the -hands of Sunday-school teachers and district visitors. In every town -volunteers in connection with official work are wanted. It is doubtful, -indeed, if the tenements occupied by the least instructed classes -could be kept in order, or the people made to live up to their better -surroundings, if the rent collecting were not put in the hands of -volunteers with the time to make friends and the will to have patience -with the tenants. At any rate, wherever official work is done there -will be something for volunteers to supply. - -Guardians want those who will consider the poor; men who will visit the -workhouse to rouse those too idle or too depressed to work, and to find -help for those who by sickness or ill-chance have lost their footing in -the rush for living. They want those who, knowing what wages can do and -cannot do, will serve on relief committees, will see the poor in their -distress, and, giving or not giving, will try to make them understand -that care does not cease. They want also women who will be friends to -the sick and, more than that, befriend the girls who drift wretched to -the workhouse, or go out lonely from the pauper schools. School Boards -want those who, visiting the schools, will seek out the children who -are fit for country holidays, visit the homes, and do something to -follow up the education between the years of thirteen and twenty-one. - -Wherever there is an institution, a reading-room, a club, or a -playground there is work for volunteers. It may not be that the -volunteers will seem to do much; they will be certain to do something. -They will be certain to make links between the classes, and lead both -rich and poor to give up habits which keep them apart. They will be -certain to add strength to the public opinion, which by the bye will -relieve those whose higher life is destroyed by excess or by want. They -will be certain to do something, and if they carry into their work a -spirit of devotion, a faith in the high calling of the human race, and -a love for its weakest members, there is no limit which can be placed -on what they will do. They will put into the sound body the sound mind; -into the well-ordered town citizens who ‘feel deep, think clear, and -bear fruit well.’ - - SAMUEL A. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V. - - _‘AT HOME’ TO THE POOR._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Cornhill Magazine_ of May 1881. - - -Few people realise the extreme dulness of the lives of the poor. Cut -off from the many interests which education or the possession of money -gives, they have little left but the ‘trivial round, the common task,’ -which indeed furnishes them with ‘room to deny themselves,’ but is -hardly, in their case at least, ‘the road to bring them daily nearer -God.’ - -‘People must be amuthed,’ is the caricatured statement of a true -human need, and the terrible and often deplored attraction of the -public-house has its root not so much in the love of strong drink as -in the want of interest and desire for amusement felt by the lower -classes of the poor. This is especially true with regard to the women -and to those men who cannot read. Unable to comprehend the ever-living -interest of watching public affairs, prevented by ignorance from -following, even in outline, the actions of the nations, they are thrown -back on the affairs of their neighbours, and centre all their interest -in the sayings and doings of quarrelsome Mr. Jones or much-abused Mrs. -Smith. - -It is difficult for those of us to whom the world seems almost too full -of interests to realise the deadening dulness of some of these lives. -Let us imagine, for an instant, all knowledge of history, geography, -art, science, and language blotted out; all interests in politics, -social movements, and discoveries obliterated; no society pleasures -to anticipate; no trials of skill nor tests of proficiency in work or -play to look forward to; no money at command to enable us to plan some -pleasure for a friend or dependent; no books always at hand, the old -friends waiting silently till their acquaintance is renewed, the new -ones standing ready to be learnt and loved; no opportunities of getting -change of scene and idea; no memories laden with pleasures of travel; -no objects of real beauty to look at. What would our lives become? And -yet this is a true picture of the lives of thousands of the poorer -classes, whose time is passed in hard, monotonous work, or occupied -in the petty cares of many children, and in satisfying the sordid -wants of the body. In some cases precarious labour adds the element of -uncertainty to the other troubles, an element which, by the fact of its -bringing some interest, is enjoyed by the men, but which adds tenfold -to the many cares of the housewife. - -It is not easy to see how the poor themselves can get out of this -atmosphere of dulness. They can hardly give parties, even if the cost -of entertaining were not a sufficient barrier; the extreme smallness -of the rooms entirely prevents social intercourse, not to mention the -hindrance caused by the necessity for putting the children to bed in -the course of the evening, and by all the many discomforts consequent -on the one room being bedroom, parlour, kitchen, and scullery. But -even supposing there are two rooms, or few children, the difficulties -of entertaining are not yet over. With minds so barren, conversation -can hardly be the source of much amusement, and music and dancing are -almost impossible with no instrument to help and no space where even -the little feet can patter. - -But it is possible for the ignorant as well as the cultured to enjoy -Nature. And it is often a subject of wonder why the poor living in such -close streets or alleys, surrounded with such unlovely objects, do not -take more trouble to get out into the country or enjoy the parks. ‘Only -sixpence, you say,’ said a hard-working pale body to me one day when I -was urging her to go on one of her enforced idle afternoons to get air -and see some refreshing beauty at Hampstead. ‘Well, yer see, I could -hardly go without the three children, and that’s 1_s._ 3_d._; besides -they’d be a deal hungrier when they came home than perhaps I could -manage for.’ - -What could be said to the last argument? Just fancy having to consider, -otherwise than pleasurably, the increased appetite of one of our young -ones fresh from a day by the sea or in the country? - -But, apart from the money question, the desire to go into the country -after a time wears off, even among those who have before lived in pure -air and among country sights and scenes; people get used to their dull, -sordid surroundings; the memory of fairer sights grows dim, and the -imagination is not strong enough to conjure them up again. - -‘Shure, I ain’t been in the country this fifteen year,’ an old woman -once startled me by saying at a country party; ‘and if it hadn’t been -for your note ’ere it would ha’ been another fifteen year afore I’d ha’ -seen it.’ - -And she was not so poor, this old lady; 7_s._ a week, perhaps, and -2_s._ 6_d._ to pay for rent. It was not her poverty which prevented her -seeing the fifteen fair springs which had passed since she came from -the Green Isle. No! it was just the want of power to make the effort--a -loss to her far more serious than the loss of the sight of the country. -As the late James Hinton used to say, ‘The worst thing is to be in hell -and not know it is hell’; perhaps the best thing one can do for another -is to give him the glimpse of heaven, which, letting in the light, -shows the blackness of hell. - -‘Don’t you think green is God’s favourite colour?’ asked an old lady, -the thought being suggested as we stood together in a forest of soft -green. ‘Well, I can’t say,’ was the answer; ‘look at the sky; how blue -that is.’ ‘Yes, but that isn’t always blue, and the earth is ’most -always green.’ - -Does it not seem a pity that this old poet soul, so fit to teach God’s -lessons, should live all through the summer days in one room, shared -by four other people, seeing only the mud colours of London, which -certainly are not God’s favourite colours. It was this same old lady -who said on receiving her first invitation, ‘All the years I’ve lived -in London I was never asked to go into the country before you asked me.’ - -But the want of pleasure and change is no newly discovered need of -the poor. School-treats and excursions and bean-feasts have been -organised and carried out almost since Sunday-schools have existed -and congregations had a corporate life. Every summer sees the columns -of the newspapers used to ask for money to give 900, 1,000, 2,000 -children ‘one day in the country,’ and when the money is obtained and -the day arrives, the children are packed into vans or a special train -and turned into the woods or fields to enjoy themselves (and tease the -frogs) until tea, buns, and hymns bring the ‘’appy day’ to an end. Good -days these, full of pleasure and health-giving exercise, but perhaps -mixed with too large an element of excitement to teach the children to -enjoy the country for its own sake, to enable them to learn in Dame -Nature’s lap ‘that we can feed this mind of ours in a wise passiveness.’ - -Neither have the clergy overlooked this need as existing among their -grown people, and most of those working in poor neighbourhoods organise -an annual ‘Treat,’ each person paying, say, 1_s._, to be met by the -6_d._ from the Pastor’s Fund. These treats sometimes assume the -enormous proportions of 2,000 or 3,000 persons. All carry their mid-day -meal to be eaten when and how they like. The assembling for tea and a -few speeches by the rector and those in authority are the only means -taken to bring the people together and to introduce the sense of host -and guest. And with the memory of the 1_s._ paid, this sense is very -difficult either to arouse or maintain. But, good as in many ways these -treats are, they do not do all they might. They do not introduce fresh -experiences, an acquaintance with other lives, the interest of new -knowledge. - - We receive but what we give, - And in our life alone does nature live, - -as Coleridge puts it; and such sadly empty minds want the -interpretation of the friendly eye to make them see what they went out -‘for to see.’ - -Struck with these ideas, we determined to try another method of -entertaining our neighbours; and believing that they had the same need -of social intercourse as that felt by the rich, and taking for granted -that the kind of country entertainment most prevalent among the rich -was that most enjoyed, we based our parties on the same foundation, -remembering always that the minds of the poor being emptier, more -active entertainment was needed, and that the party to which we invited -them was perhaps the one day’s outing in the whole year, the one -glimpse that they had (apart from divorce suits) into the lives and -habits of the richer classes. - -On talking over our plan with friends who, living in the suburbs of -London, had the necessary garden, it was not long before we received -kindly invitations to take thirty, forty, fifty, of our neighbours to -spend the afternoon in the country. The day and hour fixed, it was left -with us to decide which guests should be invited, and to pass on the -invitation. Sometimes our hosts particularly wish to entertain children -as well as grown people; and if so, we include the children in the -invitation; but on the whole, experience has taught that those parties -are most thoroughly enjoyed from which the children are omitted. This -will not be misunderstood when it is remembered that these mothers -and fathers have their children, perhaps seven, all small together, -constantly with them for 365 days in the year, both day and night; -that the children become noisy and excited in the country, and that -each child’s noise, though it may be music in the ear of its mother, -can hardly be anything but what it is, _disagreeable sounds_, in the -ears of its mother’s neighbour. Another objection to the presence of -the children is the extreme difficulty of entertaining them and the -grown people together. To the social gatherings of other classes it is -not the rule to invite children with their parents, and the taste or -feeling which forbids such a rule is common to the poor. - -It is not difficult, knowing many people who would be glad of a day’s -outing, to pass on such invitations; but it is pleasanter, if it can be -so arranged, that the guests should beforehand be acquainted with each -other. For that reason it is better to invite together the members of -a mothers’ meeting and their husbands, the _habitués_ of a club, the -inhabitants of one block of buildings, the denizens of a particular -court, the singing-class, the members of any society who worship, work, -or learn together--in short, those who unite for any purpose. - -There are other advantages in this plan besides the obvious one of the -guests being already acquainted. Those who have hitherto seen each -other’s character from the work point of view only now get another -standpoint, and the day’s pleasure, together with the hearty laugh and -the many-voiced songs, does more than many a pastoral address can do to -teach forgiveness and break down barriers raised by quarrels--quarrels -which more often owe their origin to close neighbourhoods than to bad -tempers. ‘Now she ain’t such a bad ’un as one would think, considering -the way she behaved to my Billy--is she now?’ is a true remark -illustrating what I would say. - -The guests chosen, the invitations go out in the usual form: ‘Mrs. -So-and-So,’ mentioning our hostess’s name, ‘hopes to have the pleasure -of seeing Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So on Monday, 14th, to spend the -afternoon in the country,’ and then follow the time of the train and -the name of the station where the rendezvous is to be held. Added to -these the friends connected in any way with the expected guests, the -district visitor, the superintendent of the mothers’ meeting, the lady -rent-collector are also invited; as well as those who have gifts of -entertaining or those to whom we wish to introduce our neighbours. A -train is generally chosen between one and two o’clock, so as to enable -the man to get a half-day’s work and the woman to see to necessary -household duties and give the children their dinner before she starts. - -On reaching the country station the party rambles through the lanes, -picking grasses and flowers, taking, if possible, a détour before -arriving at the host’s house. ‘Why, the _trees_ smell,’ exclaimed one -town-bred woman in almost awe-struck astonishment, standing under a -lilac-tree. ‘Don’t it make one feel gentle-like!’ was another remark -made more to himself than to anyone else, which came from a rough -one-legged board-man, as he stood overlooking a quiet, far-stretching -scene near Wimbledon. - -Unless one has lived in close streets and amid noise and grinding -hurry, it is difficult to understand the pleasures of these walks. The -sweetness of the air, the quiet which can be felt, the very fact of -strolling in the road without looking out to avoid being run over, are -a relief, and the absence of the ever-present anxiety of the care of -the children is a great addition to the irresponsible enjoyment of the -day. - -The destination reached, it is a great help if the host and hostess -will come out to meet and welcome the party, as is customary towards -guests of other classes. By this simple courtesy the tone is at once -given, and the people feel themselves not brought out to a ‘treat’ -but invited and welcomed as guests. I have seen men, among whom we -were told when we first went to Whitechapel it was not ‘safe’ to go -alone, entirely changed by the bearing of their hosts to them, and the -determination with which they set out, to have a ‘lark,’ at whatever -inconvenience to others, gradually melt away under the influence of -being treated as gentlemen. ‘Why, she said she was glad to see me,’ -said a low, coarse fellow, taking as a personal compliment to himself -the conventional form of expression. - -The duty of introducing and welcoming over, we are glad if we find -tables on a shady lawn or under a tent ready spread and waiting for us. -In the excitement of getting off, the midday meal taken hurriedly has -probably been a slight one, and the walk and unwonted fresh air have -given good appetites. Sometimes our hostess has made arrangements that -all the party should take their food together, and this is the better -plan if it can be managed. ‘Why, the gentry is sitting down with us. -Now I do call _that_ comfortable like,’ was overheard on one occasion -when this arrangement had been followed. If the one class waits on -the other it but emphasises the painful class distinctions so sadly -prominent in the ordinary affairs of life, and the feeling aroused in -the minds of the people as they see the richer members of the party -taken by the hostess to the house to have ‘something to eat’ is not -always amiable, the ‘something’ being interpreted as better, anyhow -other than that provided for them, or why should it not have been taken -together? - -The repast given by our many kindly hosts during these eight summers -of parties has been various. Some add eggs and bacon to the tea and -cakes; others give a large joint, which is even more enjoyed, a cut -off a good 14 lb. sirloin of beef being a rare luxury in the ordinary -dietary of the working classes, while others again offer tea, differing -only in quantity from the ordinary afternoon meal which is commonly -taken between lunch and dinner. Some of our hosts give every variety of -cake, such as Scotch housewives delight in making, though I remember -one lady who, while most kind and anxious to give pleasure, told me, -as if it were an additional advantage, that she had ‘had all the cakes -made very plain, and that they were all baked the day before yesterday.’ - -The meal over, the real pleasure of the day begins, and this must -entirely depend on the capabilities of the hostess for entertaining -and on the possibilities of the garden. If it is large, there is -nothing townpeople like better than to saunter about, to wander in -the shrubberies, to see the hothouses, conservatories, ferneries, -especially if some one will be the guide and point out what is -interesting, this spot where the best view is to be obtained, that -curious flower, and tell the story hanging on this queerly shaped -tree. ‘Aye, aye, ma’am, it’s all very beautiful, but to my mind you’re -the beautifullest flower of the lot,’ was the spontaneous compliment -elicited from a weather-beaten costermonger to the stately old lady -who had taken pains to show him her garden, and though the remark was -greeted with shouts of laughter from the surrounding group, the ‘Well, -he ain’t far wrong, I’m sure,’ showed that the words had only spoken -out the thoughts of many. - -Sometimes the men go off to play cricket or bowls, to see the puppies -or horses, or some other beasts particularly interesting to the -masculine mind; or perhaps the interminable game of rounders occupies -all the time. Sometimes swings, see-saws, or a row on the pond are -great amusements. ‘Oh dear, I think I’ve only just learnt to enjoy -myself,’ gasped one buxom woman of fifty, breathless with swinging -her neighbour, whose face told that her life’s holidays could without -difficulty be counted; while, to a few, the fact of sitting still and -looking out and feeling the quiet is pleasure enough. ‘I seem to see -further than ever I saw before,’ murmured a pale young mother, sitting -on the Upper Terrace at Hampstead, and as she said it she looked as if -the sight of the country just then, when her eyes were reopened by her -new motherhood, might, in another sense, make her see farther than she -had ever seen before. - -If the garden is small and its resources soon ended, games must be -resorted to, and such games as ‘tersa,’ where running and motion -are enjoyed; the ‘ring and the string,’ when eyes and ears must be -on the alert; or ‘blow the candle blindfold’; all cause hearty fun, -especially when the unconscious blindfold, having walked crookedly, -energetically blows, as he thinks, at the candle, which is still -burning steadily a yard or two from him. On some of these occasions -the hostess has had her carriage out, and by taking four or five of -the guests at a time all have been able to have a short drive, and -see from a higher elevation something more of the country, ‘Well, I -don’t know that I was ever in a carriage before,’ said one woman, who -could hardly be said to have been _in_ one then, as she dismounted -from the box. ‘Except at funerals,’ corrected her neighbour. Might not -some of the extraordinary liking, which is so common among the poor, -for attending funerals be partly for the sake of the rare event of a -drive? Occasionally it is possible to get up a dance, with the help of -a fiddle or piano, and many a pale, worn face has lost, for the time -at least, its stamp of weariness as it grew interested in the ups and -downs of ‘Sir Roger de Coverley.’ ‘Bless me, if I ever thought to do -any dancing, except the dancing of babbies,’ was an unexpected comment -from my partner on one occasion; and many times have I since been -referred to to confirm the fact that ‘You did see me dancing, didn’t -you, ma’am?’ - -Besides these active pleasures, there is the enjoyment of music, the -love and appreciation of which is so deep and warm in these uncultured -minds; music which more than anything else helps to smooth away -class as well as other inequalities. I have seen rough low-class men -and women leave their active games or the swing for which they had -been waiting and cluster round the singer or musician begging for -another and yet ‘another bit.’ What they like best is a song with a -chorus, or historical songs where they can hear the words, and next -to these solemn music on a harmonium or organ; but any music charms -them, and the hostess who is either musical herself or who invites -her musical friends to help her finds the task of entertaining much -easier. An oft-repeated mistake is that the poor like comic songs -about themselves, and ‘Betsy Waring’ has been suggested and sung at -our parties more often than I like to remember. A moment’s sympathetic -thought will show, however, that the poor want other and wider -interests, and it can hardly be the kindliest method of amusing -them to sing them a song, the joke of which lies in imitations and -‘take-offs’ of their mispronunciation. It is, too, generally thought -that the uneducated cannot appreciate what is commonly understood as -‘good music,’ but this, too, is a mistake. Long years ago I remember -Mrs. Nassau Senior coming to a night-school of rough girls, held in a -rough court. That evening some street row was more attractive than A B -C, and our scholars were clustered around the heroine of the fight. I -can still see the picture made by Mrs. Senior as she stood and sang in -the doorway of the schoolroom, which opened directly on to the court, -and among such surroundings it was a deep-sighted sympathy which led -her to choose ‘Angels ever bright and fair.’ For long afterwards she -was remembered as ‘the lady who came and sang about the angels, and -looked like one herself.’ - -It is well if the hostess can bring her instrument to the window, so -that the people can hear as they sit on the lawn outside and enjoy -the air; perhaps she may find it possible to ask two or three of her -guests who can sing, with strong, sweet, though untrained voices, to -join her in a duet or glee, and helping, they enjoy the pleasure with -the helper’s joy. Occasionally one of the party may have brought an -accordion with which to aid the impromptu concert, or some one will -recall the piece of poetry committed to memory long years ago, and then -we have a recitation, which pleases none the less because it is ‘Jim -Straw’s one bit,’ and has been heard a few times before. If it be wet -or windy the hostess may ask her guests into the drawing-room. ‘You -did not see the drawing-room, did you, mum?’ asked one of the guests -after a party which I had been obliged to leave early; ‘it was lovely, -and we all sat there quite friendly-like and listened to the music. I -_did_ like the look of that room.’ Very pregnant of influence are these -introductions into a house scrupulously clean and tastily furnished--a -house kept as the dwelling of every human being should be kept. Do we -not know ourselves, if we go to visit a friend with a higher standard -of art, morals, or culture, how subtle is the influence; how from -such visits (albeit unconsciously, or at least hardly with deliberate -resolve) is dated the turning towards the new light, the intention to -be more perfect? - -One lady, with the real feeling of hostess-ship, took her Whitechapel -guests, as she would any others, into a bedroom to take their outdoor -things off. Touching, if amusing, was the remark of a girl of fifteen -or thereabouts who, turning to her mother, said, ‘Look, mother, here’s -a bed with a room all to itself!’ ‘Has any one really slept in this -white bed?’ was asked by another of that same party. While to others -of a rather higher class, who have been servants before marriage, the -reintroduction to such a house is a great pleasure, though to them not -such a revelation as it is to those who have passed all their lives in -factories or workshops. It is a welcome reminder of their past, and -often suggests little improvements in the arrangement of their homes. -It is a means also of diffusing a love of beauty, a sense of harmony, -and an artistic taste, not to be despised among those who feel that the -‘Beauty of Holiness’ constitutes its attraction to the right living -which leads to Righteousness. - -In various ways, too many to describe, but which every hostess can -devise, the hours between half-past four and eight can be pleasantly -filled, until the drawing in of the long summer evening brings the -party to a close. The announcement of supper is generally greeted with, -‘What, go home already?’ or, ‘The time don’t go so fast working days,’ -but garden parties must necessarily end with daylight, and for folk up -at six in the morning ten or eleven o’clock is a late enough bed hour. -Supper is generally a small meal--cake, buns, or pastry, with lemonade, -fruit, or cold coffee--simply a light refreshment taken standing; but -some of the friends who entertain us like better to give the light -meal on the arrival of the guests, and the more substantial one later. -The first plan, though, is perhaps better, as the people leave their -homes early, and many of them miss their dinner altogether, amid the -necessary preparation for the long absence. - -‘Good-night, sir, and God bless you for this day!’ was the farewell -of one of his guests to his silver-haired host, words which struck -him deeply. ‘Dear me, dear me! why did I never think of it before?’ -he exclaimed; and really this means of doing good seems so simple and -self-evident that it is to be wondered at that those working among -the poor should often not know where to take their people for a day’s -outing. London suburbs abound with families hardly one of whom does not -give a garden party in the course of the summer, and yet how few of -these parties are to guests ‘who cannot bid again!’ The expense of such -a party is certainly not the reason of its rarity. An entertainment -such as I have told about, even when meat is given, does not cost more -than a shilling or eighteenpence a head. The trouble cannot be the -deterrent motive, for that is nothing to be compared to the trouble -of a dinner-party, nor even of any ordinary ‘at home.’ ‘The servants -would not like it’ is sometimes urged as a reason, but it is certainly -not the experience of those who, having overcome the objections of -their servants, have tried it, and found that they entered thoroughly -into the spirit of a party at which they had the pleasant duty of -entertaining joined to their usual one of serving, and on more than one -occasion the hearty welcome given by the servants has added much to the -success of our day. - -Perhaps, amid the many difficulties to which modern civilisation has -brought us, one of the saddest is the mutual ignorance of the lives -and minds of members of the same household--an ignorance often leading -to division. It may not, I think, be the least important good of these -parties that they afford a subject regarding which master and servants -can be, anyhow for one day, of one mind and purpose. - -Neither does it require the possession of a mansion or park before such -an invitation can be sent; in fact, some of the pleasantest parties -have been given in the smallest gardens, where kindliness and genial -welcome have made up for want of space. One lady, indeed, who was -staying for the summer in lodgings in the country gave happy afternoons -and pleasant memories to more than eighty people. She asked them in -little groups of twelve or fourteen, took them long country rambles, or -obtained permission to saunter in a neighbour’s garden, and when the -evenings drew in (it was in August) brought them back to her rooms, -where a good tea-supper and a few songs brought the entertainment to a -close. - -The guests need not always be grown people. It is, perhaps, even -more important to give the growing girl or the boy just entering -into manhood a taste for simple pleasures. Very delightful is the -interest and enjoyment of these young things in the country life and -wonders. The evening sewing-class, consisting of big girls at work -every day in factories; the Bible class of young men; the discussion -club; the children-servants (so numerous and so joyless in our great -cities)--such little groups can be found around every place of worship, -or are known to every one living among or busying himself for the good -of the poor. All are open to invitations, and these can be entertained -even more easily than their elders. ‘Don’t you remember this or -that?’ my young friends often ask about some trivial incident long -since vanished from my memory, and when, demurring, I ask ‘When?’ the -unfailing answer, varying in form but monotonous in substance, is ‘Why, -that day when you took us into the country. You _can’t_ forget. It was -grand.’ - -Strangely ignorant are some of these town-bred folk of things which -seem to us always to have been known and never to have been taught. -They call every flower a rose, and express wonder at the commonest -object. ‘Law! here’s straw a-growing!’ I once heard in a corn-field, -and emerging into a fir-wood soon after, we all joined in a laugh at -the remark, ‘Why, here’s hundreds of Christmas trees all together.’ -Anything, provided it is joined to active movement, without which young -things never seem quite happy, serves to amuse and to pass the time. -A competition to see which girls shall gather the best nosegays, the -proposal to the boys to search for some animal, queer plant, or odd -stone, have helped to carry the guests over many miles and through -long afternoons. Perhaps one of the nicest things which any young -lady can do, even if she is not able or allowed to attempt the larger -undertaking of a party, is to take some ten or twelve school boys and -girls for a walk on their Saturday afternoon holiday. She need keep -them, perhaps, only three or four hours, when milk or lemonade and -buns, got at any milk-shop, will serve as a substitute for the usual -tea. - -But, besides these country parties which town-dwellers are quite unable -to give, there is still left to us Londoners the possibility (not to -say duty) of inviting the poor to our own houses. Our poor neighbours -have not been asked to many such parties, but the few to which -they have been bidden have been very pleasant. At one our hostess, -but lately returned from the East, had arranged _tableaux-vivants_ -introducing Oriental costumes in her drawing-room, and the guests were -delighted at seeing the people of the one foreign nation of which they -knew anything--the Bible having been the literature which made them -conversant with that--as large as life, and all ‘real men and solid -women.’ Another time a little charade was got up, and proud was the -mother whose baby was pressed into early service as a play-actor. Other -friends have entertained us after a visit to the Kensington Museum or -Zoological Gardens, while some evenings have been passed in much the -same way as by other people who meet for social pleasure; with talk, -music, strange foreign things, portfolios, and puzzles, though games -may, perhaps, have occupied a somewhat longer time than is usual among -guests with more conversational interests. To all of us have these -parties given much pleasure--pleasure which is, in truth, healthful and -refreshing amid the sorrow and pain so liberally mingled in the life’s -cup of the poor. ‘This evening I’ve forgot all the winter’s troubles,’ -followed the ‘Good-night’ from the lips of a pain-broken woman; and -considering the ‘winter’s troubles’ included the death of a child and -the semi-starvation resulting from the almost constant out-of-work -condition of the husband, the party seemed a strangely inadequate means -of producing even temporarily so large a result. - -The efforts made to attend are one of the signs of how much these and -the country parties are enjoyed. One woman came, with her puling, pink -ten-days-old baby, and both men and women constantly get up from a -sick-bed to return to it again as soon as the pleasure is over. ‘We -can’t afford to lose it, yer see; they don’t come too often,’ is the -sort of answer one usually receives in reply to remonstrance. - -But this paper will accomplish its object if ‘they do come oftener,’ -and if not only the poor of our big London, to whom we owe special -duties, but if the poor of all great cities are more thought of in the -light of guests. - -The duty once recognised, the method becomes plain. Every one, even -those whose work does not take them among the poor, can manage to -be introduced to some who are leading pleasure-barren lives, and to -employers of labour in factories or trades it is especially easy. The -introduction made, the rest follows naturally, and though pleasure is -in itself so great a good that I would hold the thing worth doing if -this alone were obtained, yet I think a prophet’s eye is not needed -to see the other possible good resulting from such gatherings. The -wider interests, the seeds of culture, the introduction to simple -recreations, the suggestion of ideal beauty, the possession of happy -memories, the class relationships, are the advantages one can rapidly -count off as accruing to the entertained, and as important are the -gains of the entertainers. The rich, coming face to face with the poor, -have seen patience which puts their restlessness to shame; endurance -about which poems have yet to be written; hope which is deep and -springing from the roots of their being; charity which never faileth, -including, as it often does, the adoption of the orphan child or the -sharing of the room with a lone woman, compared to which the biggest -subscription is as nothing; kindliness which, though unthinking, -spareth not itself. Each class has its virtues, but, as yet, they -are unknown to each other. It is for the rich to take the first step -towards knowing and being known; it is for them to say if the class -hatreds, which like other ‘warfare comes from misunderstanding,’ shall -exist in our midst. It is for them to make the way of friendship -through the wall of gold now dividing the rich from the poor. It is for -them to give fellowship which, crushing envy, takes the sting out of -poverty. And all this can be done, by spending some thought, a little -money, and some afternoons in being ‘At Home’ to the poor. - -Great ends these to follow the small trouble and expense of a garden -party. It will not, though, be the first time in history that good has -been done by means which seemed contemptible, and it will not seem -strange to those who have learnt that it is a Life and not a law, -friendships and not organisations, which have taught the world its -greatest lessons. - - HENRIETTA O. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI. - - _UNIVERSITY SETTLEMENTS._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Nineteenth Century_ of February -1884. - - -Once more, as happens in crises of history, rich and poor have -met. ‘Scientific charity,’ or the system which aims at creating -respectability by methods of relief, has come to the judgment, and -has been found wanting. Societies which helped the poor by gifts -made paupers, churches which would have saved them by preaching made -hypocrites, and the outcome of scientific charity is the working man -too thrifty to pet his children and too respectable to be happy. - -Those who have tried hardest at planning relief and at bringing to a -focus the forces of charity, those who have sacrificed themselves to -stop the demoralising out-relief and restore to the people the spirit -of self-reliance, will be the first to confess dissatisfaction if -they are told that the earthly paradise of the majority of the people -must be to belong to a club, to pay for a doctor through a provident -dispensary, and to keep themselves unspotted from charity or pauperism. -There is not enough in such hope to call out efforts of sacrifice, and -a steady look into such an earthly paradise discloses that the life of -the thrifty is a sad life, limited both by the pressure of continuous -toil and by the fear lest this pressure should cease and starvation -ensue. - -The poor need more than food: they need also the knowledge, the -character, the happiness which are the gift of God to this age. The age -has received His best gifts, but hitherto they have fallen mostly to -the rich. - -It is a moment of Peace. To-day there are no battles, but the returns -of the dead and wounded from accidents with machinery and from diseases -resulting from injurious trades show that there are countless homes in -which there must still be daily uncertainty as to the father’s return, -and many children and wives who become orphans and widows for their -country’s good. - -It is an age of Knowledge. But if returns were made either of the -increased health due to the skill of doctors and sanitarians, or of the -increased pleasures due to the greater knowledge of the thoughts and -acts of other men in other times and countries, it would be shown that -neither length of days nor pleasure falls to the lot of the poor. Few -are the poor families where the mother will not say, ‘I have buried -many of mine.’ Few are the homes where the talk has any subject beyond -the day’s doings and the morrow’s fears. - -It is an age of Travel, but the mass of the poor know little beyond -the radius of their own homes. It is no unusual thing to find people -within ten miles of a famous sight which they have never seen, and it -is the usual thing to find complete ignorance of other modes of life, -a thorough contempt for the foreigner and all his ways. The improved -means of communication which is the boast of the age, and which has -done so much to widen thought, tends to the enjoyment of the rich more -than of the poor. - -It is an age of the Higher Life. Higher conceptions of virtue, a higher -ideal of what is possible for man, are the best gift to our day, but it -is received only by those who have time and power to study. ‘They who -want the necessaries of life want also a virtuous and an equal mind,’ -says the Chinese sage; and so the poor, being without those things -necessary to the growth of mind and feeling, jeopardise Salvation--the -possession, that is, of a life at one with the Good and the True, at -one with God. - -Those who care for the poor see that the best things are missed, and -they are not content with the hope offered by ‘scientific charity.’ -They see that the best things might be shared by all, and they cannot -stand aside and do nothing. ‘The cruellest man living,’ it has been -said, ‘could not sit at his feast unless he sat blindfold,’ and those -who see must do something. They may be weary of revolutionary schemes, -which turn the world upside down to produce after anarchy another -unequal division; they may be weary, too, of philanthropic schemes -which touch but the edge of the question. They may hear of dynamite, -and they may watch the failure of an Education Act, as the prophets -watched the failure of teachers without knowledge. They may criticise -all that philanthropists and Governments do, but still they themselves -would do something. No theory of progress, no proof that many -individuals among the poor have become rich, will make them satisfied -with the doctrine of _laissez faire_; they simply face the fact that in -the richest country of the world the great mass of their countrymen -live without the knowledge, the character, and the fulness of life -which are the best gift to this age, and that some thousands either -beg for their daily bread or live in anxious misery about a wretched -existence. What can they do which revolutions, which missions, and -which money have not done? - -It is in answer to such a question that I make the suggestion of -this paper. I make it especially as a development of the idea which -underlies a College Mission. These Missions are generally inaugurated -by a visit to a college from some well-known clergyman working in the -East End of London or in some such working-class quarter. He speaks -to the undergraduates of the condition of the poor, and he rouses -their sympathy. A committee is appointed, subscriptions are promised, -and after some negotiations a young clergyman, a former member of the -college, is appointed as a Mission curate of a district. He at once -sets in motion the usual parochial machinery of district visiting, -mothers’ meetings, clubs, &c. He invites the assistance of those of -his old mates who will help; at regular intervals he makes a report of -his progress, and if all goes well he is at last able to tell how the -district has become a parish. - -The Mission, good as its influence may be, is not, it seems to me, an -adequate expression of the idea which moved the promoters. The hope -in the College when the first sympathy was roused was that all should -join in good work, and the Mission is necessarily a Churchman’s effort. -The desire was that as University men they should themselves bear the -burdens of the poor--and the Mission requires of them little more than -an annual guinea subscription. The grand idea which moved the College, -the idea which, like a new creative spirit, is brooding over the face -of Society, and is making men conscious of their brotherhood, finds no -adequate expression in the district church machinery with which, in -East London, I am familiar. There is little in that machinery which -helps the people to conceive of religion apart from sectarianism, or of -a Church which is ‘the nation bent on righteousness.’ There is little, -too, in the ordinary parochial mechanism which will carry to the homes -of the poor a share of the best gifts now enjoyed in the University. - -Imagine a man’s visit to the Mission District of his college. He has -thought of the needs of the poor, and of the way in which those needs -are being met. He has formed in his mind a picture of a district where -loving supervision has made impossible the wretchedness of ‘horrible -London’; he expects to find well-ordered houses, people interested in -the thoughts of the day, gathering round their pastor to learn of men -and of God. He finds instead an Ireland in England, people paying 3_s._ -or 4_s._ a week for rooms smaller than Irish cabins, without the pure -air of the Irish hill-side, and with vice which makes squalor hopeless. -He finds a population dwarfed in stature, smugly content with their -own existence, ignorant of their high vocation to be partners of the -highest, where even the children are not joyful. He measures the force -which the Mission curate is bringing to bear against all this evil. -He finds a church which is used only for a few hours in the week, and -which is kept up at a cost of 150_l._ a year. He finds the clergyman -absorbed in holding together his congregation by means of meetings and -treats, and almost broken down by the strain put upon him to keep his -parochial organisation going. The clergyman is alone, his church work -absorbs his power and attracts little outside help. What can he do to -improve the dwellings and widen the lives of 4,000 persons? What can -he do to spread knowledge and culture? What can he do to teach the -religion which is more than church-going? What wonder if, when he is -asked what help he needs, he answers, ‘Money for my church,’ ‘Teachers -for my Sunday school,’ ‘Managers for my clothing club’? What wonder, -too, if the visitor, seeing such things and hearing such demands, goes -away somewhat discontented, somewhat inclined to give up faith in the -Mission, and, what is worse, ready to believe that there is no way by -which the best can be given to the poor? - -It is to members of the Universities anxious to unite in a common -purpose of improving the lives of the people that I make the suggestion -that University Settlements will better express their idea. College -Missions have done some of the work on which they have been sent, but -in their very nature their field is limited. It is in no opposition to -these Missions, but rather with a view to more fully cover their idea, -that I propose the new scheme. The details of the plan may be shortly -stated. - -The place of settlement must of course first be fixed. It will be -in some such poor quarter as that of East London, where a house -can be taken in which there shall be both habitable chambers and -large reception-rooms. A man must be chosen to be the chief of the -Settlement; he must receive a salary which, like that of the Mission -curate, will be guaranteed by the College, and he must make his home in -the house. He must have taken a good degree, be qualified to teach, -and be endowed with the enthusiasm of humanity. Such men are not hard -to find; under a wiser Church government they would be clergymen, -and serve the people as the nation’s ministers; but, under a Church -government which in an age of reform has remained unreformed, they are -kept outside, and often fret in other service. One of these, qualified -by training to teach, qualified by character to organise and command, -qualified by disposition to make friends with all sorts of men, would -gladly accept a position in which he could both earn a livelihood -and fulfil his calling. He would be the centre of the University -Settlement. Men fresh from college or old University men would come -to occupy the chambers as residents. Lecturers in connection with the -University Extension Society would be his fellow-lecturers in the -reception-rooms, and as the head of such a Settlement he would extend a -welcome to all classes in his new neighbourhood. - -The old Universities exercise a strange charm: the Oxford or Cambridge -man is still held to possess some peculiar knowledge, and the fact that -three of the most democratic boroughs are represented by University -professors has its explanation. ‘He speaks beautiful German, but of -course those University gentlemen ought to,’ was a man’s reflection -to me after a talk with a Cambridge professor. Those, too, who may be -supposed to know what draws in an advertising poster, are always glad -to print after the name of a speaker his degree and college. - -Thus it would be that the head of the Settlement would find himself -as closely related to his new surroundings as to his old. The same -reputation, which would draw to him fellow-scholars or old pupils, -would put him in a position to discover the work and thought going -on around him. He would become familiar with the teachers in the -elementary and middle-class schools, he would measure the work done -by clergy and missionaries, he would be in touch with the details of -local politics; and, what is most important of all, he would come into -sympathy with the hope, the unnamed hope, which is moving in the masses. - -The Settlement would be common ground for all classes. In the -lecture-room the knowledge gathered at the highest sources would, night -after night, be freely given. In the conversation rooms the students -would exchange ideas and form friendships. At the weekly receptions of -‘all sorts and conditions of men’ the residents would mingle freely in -the crowd. - -The internal arrangements would be simple enough. The Head would -undertake the domestic details and fix the price which residents -would pay for board and lodging. He would admit new members and judge -if the intentions of those who offered were honest. Some would come -for their vacations; others occupied during the daytime would come -to make the place their home. University men, barristers, Government -clerks, curates, medical students, or business men each would have -opportunity both for solitary and for associated life, and the expense -would be various to suit their various means. The one uniting bond -would be the common purpose, ‘not without action to die fruitless,’ -but to do something to improve the condition of the people. It would -be the duty of the Head to keep alive among his fellows the freshness -of their purpose, ‘to recall the stragglers, refresh the outworn, -praise and reinspire the brave.’ He would have, therefore, to judge -of the powers of each to fill the places to which he could introduce -them. To some he would recommend official positions, to some teaching, -to some the organisation of relief, to some the visiting of the sick, -and thus new life would be infused into existing churches, chapels, -and institutions. Others he would introduce as members of Co-operative -Societies, Friendly Societies, or Political and Social Clubs. He would -so arrange that all should occupy positions in which they would become -friends of his neighbours, and discover, perhaps as none have yet -discovered, how to meet their needs. - -In such an institution it is easy to see that development might be -immeasurable. A born leader of men surrounded by a group of intelligent -and earnest friends, pledged not ‘to go round in an eddy of purposeless -dust,’ and placed face to face with the misery and apathy they know to -be wrong, would of necessity discover means beyond our present vision. -They would bind themselves by sympathy and service to the lives of the -people; they would bring the light and strength of intelligence to bear -on their government, and they would give a voice both to their needs -and their wrongs. It is easy to imagine what such settlers in a great -town might do, but it will be more to the point to consider how they -may express the idea which underlies the College Mission--the interest, -that is, of centres of education in the centres of industry, and the -will of University men to acknowledge their brotherhood with the people. - -If it be that the Missionary’s account of his Mission district fails at -last to rouse the interest of his hearers, and if his work seems to -be absorbed in the effort to keep going his parochial machinery amid a -host of like machines, the same cannot be the fate of the Settlement. - -Some of the settlers will settle themselves for longer periods, and -those who are occupied during the daytime will find it as possible to -live among the poor as among the rich; but there must also be room for -those who can spend only a few weeks or months in the Settlement, so -that men may come, as some already have come, to East London to spend -part of a vacation in serving the people. This interchange of life -between the University and the Settlement will keep up between the two -a living tie. Each term will bring, not a set speech about the work -of the Mission, but the many chats on the wonders of human life. The -condition of the English people will come to be a fact more familiar -than that of the Grecian or Roman, and the history of the College -Settlement will be better known than that of the boat or the eleven. On -the other side, thoughts and feelings which are now often spent in vain -talks at debating societies will go up to town to refresh those who are -spent by labour, or to find an outlet in action. - -There is no fear that the College Settlement will fail to rouse -interest. Its life will be the life of the College. As long as both -draw their strength from the common source, from the same body of -members, the sympathy of the College will be with the people. Nor is -there any fear lest the work of the settlers become stereotyped, as is -often the case with the work of Missions and Societies. Each year, each -term, would alter the constitution of the Settlement as other settlers -brought in other characters and the results of other knowledge, or as -their ideas became modified by common work with the various religious -and secular organisations of the neighbourhood. The danger, indeed, -would not be from uniformity of method or narrowness of aim; rather -would it be the endeavour of the Head to limit the diversity which many -minds would introduce, and restrain a liberality willing to see good in -every form of earnestness. The variety of work which would embrace the -most varied effort, and enlist its members in every movement for the -common good, would keep about the Settlement the beauty of a perpetual -promise. - -If we go further, and ask how this plan reaches deeper than others -which have gone before, the question is not so easily answered, because -it is impossible to prophesy that a University Settlement will make -the poor rich or give them the necessaries of true life. Inasmuch, -though, as poverty--poverty in its true sense, including poverty of the -knowledge of God and man--is largely due to the division of classes, a -University Settlement does provide a remedy which goes deeper than that -provided by popular philanthropy. - -The poor man of modern days has to live in a quarter of the town where -he cannot even try to live with those superior to himself. Around -him are thousands educated as he has been educated, with taste and -with knowledge on a level with his own. The demand for low things has -created a supply of low satisfactions. Thus it is that the amusements -are unrecreative, the lectures uninstructive, and the religion -uninspiring. It is not possible for the inhabitant of the poor quarter -to come into casual intercourse with the higher manners of life and -thought except at a cost which would constitute a large percentage of -his income. - -I am afraid that it is long before we can expect the rich and poor -again to live as neighbours: for good or evil they have been divided, -and other means must, for the present, be found for making common the -property of knowledge. One such means is the University Settlement. -Men who have knowledge may become friends of the poor and share that -knowledge and its fruits as, day by day, they meet in their common -rooms for talk or for instruction, for music or for play. - -The settlers will be able to join in that which is done by other -societies, while they share all their best with the poor, and in the -highest sense make their property common. They may be some of the best -charity agents, for they will have an experience out of the reach -of others, which they will have accumulated through their different -agencies. As members of various secular and religious organisations, -they may be able to compare notes after the day’s work, and offer -evidence as to how the poor live which, in days to come, might be -invaluable. They may be some of the best educators, for, bringing -ever-fresh stores of thought, they will see the weak spots in a -routine which daily tires a child because it does so little to teach -him, and they will have an opinion on national education better worth -considering than the grumbles of those wearied with most things, or the -congratulations of officials who judge by examinations. They may be -the best Church reformers, for they will make more and more manifest -how it is not institutions but righteousness which exalts a nation; -how, one after another, all reforms fail because men tell lies and -love themselves; and how, therefore, the first of all reforms is the -reform of the Church, whose mission for the nation is that it create -righteousness. - -There is, then, for the settler of a University Settlement an ideal -worthy of his sacrifice. He looks not to a Church buttressed by party -spirit, nor to a community founded on self-helped respectability. He -looks rather to a community where the best is most common, where there -is no more hunger and misery, because there is no more ignorance and -sin--a community in which the poor have all that gives value to wealth, -in which beauty, knowledge, and righteousness are nationalised. - - SAMUEL A. BARNETT. - - - [This paper was read at a meeting at St. John’s College, Oxford, - in November 1883, and resulted in the foundation of Toynbee Hall, - Whitechapel, and other University Settlements in poor districts of - large towns.] - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII. - - _PICTURES FOR THE PEOPLE._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Cornhill Magazine_, March 1883. - - -‘It is folly, if nothing worse, to attempt it. What do the people -want with fine art? They will neither understand nor appreciate it. -Show them an oleograph of “Little Red Riding Hood,” or a coloured -illustration of “Daniel in the Lions’ Den,” and they will like it just -as much as Mr. Millais’s “Chill October” or Mr. Watts’s “Love and -Death.”’ - -Such opinions met us at every turn when we first began to think of -having an Art Exhibition in Whitechapel. But we knew that it is not -only indifference which keeps the people living in the far East -away from the West End Art Treasures. The expense of transit; the -ignorance of ways of getting about; the shortness of daylight beyond -working hours during the greater part of the year; the impression -that the day when they could go is sure to be the day when the Museum -is ‘closed to the public’--all these little discouragements become -difficulties, especially to the large number who have not yet had -enough opportunities of knowing the joy which Art gives. - -‘Well, I should not have believed I could have enjoyed myself so much, -and yet been so quiet,’ describes a lesson learnt from an hour spent in -Mr. Watts’s Gallery at Little Holland House; and once, after showing -a party of mechanics a large photograph of the Dresden Madonna, I was -asked, ‘Where now can we see such things often?’ while further talk on -the picture elicited from another of the same group, ‘But that’s more -the philosophy of pictures; one wants to see a great many to learn how -to see them so.’ - -Such remarks, by no means isolated, and the proposal that we should -‘get up a Loan Exhibition’ from one of our active working-men friends, -turned inclination into determination. - -The resources at command were hardly enough to promise success in the -undertaking. They were but three schoolrooms, thirty feet by sixty, -behind the church, not on a central thoroughfare, and approached by a -passage yard; the light was much obscured by surrounding buildings; -the doorways were narrow and the staircase crooked. But friends came -forward to help, and there was soon formed a large committee, which, -after meeting two or three times to discuss general principles and -plans, divided itself into sub-committees to carry out special branches -of a work which, though to a large extent one of detail, was by no -means slight. - -The hanging committee undertook to measure space, obtain the sizes -of pictures, and see to the strength of rods and thickness of -walls, but to the general committee was left the duty of refusing -undesirable-sized or inappropriate pictures. This last was by no -means the least difficult labour, so extraordinary were some of the -loans offered to us; a dreadful portrait of an uncomely old lady was -sent because ‘she was the maternal grandmother of a man who used to -keep a shop in the High Street,’ this recommendation being considered -sufficient to obtain for the picture a place in an Art Collection; a -pencil drawing ‘done by John when he was only fifteen, and now he’s -doing well in the pawnbroking line,’ was held worthy by a proud mother. - -But if, on the one side, we were somewhat overwhelmed with offers of -loans of doubtful description, on the other we were not unfrequently -surprised at the unwillingness of art owners to lend their treasures. -Vain were promises of safety and insurance. ‘I don’t fear for the -pictures, but I don’t like to have my walls bare,’ was the too common -answer; and the argument, ‘Not for a fortnight, to enable thousands of -people to see them?’ rarely penetrated the coat of selfishness which -incases such owners. - -By no means had the hanging committee a monopoly of work. The -decorative committee made it its duty to provide hangings, flags, -bunting; to hide the usual schoolroom suggestions, and to make the -place attractive to the passing crowd. The advertising committee -undertook the difficult and expensive work of making the undertaking -known, always difficult, but especially so when many of the people -among whom the information has to be spread can neither read nor write. -The finance committee did the dull but necessary work connected with -money. - -At the first Exhibition 3_d._ was charged for admission during seven -days, and free admittance granted for two days. On the threepenny -days 4,000 people paid or were paid for; on the free days, including -Sunday, 5,000 came to see the show. The box for donations contained on -the seven paying days 4_l._ 16_s._ 1_d._; on the two free days 6_l._ -2_s._ 3_d._ The second Exhibition was opened free. In the thirteen days -26,492 people came to see it. The boxes contained 21_l._ 8_s._ 9_d._, -and 4,600 catalogues were sold at 1_d._,[2] realising 20_l._ 17_s._ -1_d._, the cost of printing of which was 17_l._ 16_s._ - - [2] First edition was sold at 3_d._; and some on the first day at -6_d._, while a few were given away. - -Not the least weighted with responsibility was the watch committee, -whose work was the safeguarding of the loans, both by night and day. -Policemen, firemen, and caretakers had to be engaged, not to mention -the organisation required to arrange for the eighteen or twenty -gentlemen who came down daily to ‘take a watch’ of four hours in -the rooms; where their presence not only served to prevent unseemly -conduct, but their descriptions of pictures and homely chats with the -people made often all the difference between an intelligent visit and -a listless ten minutes’ stare. The work of borrowing was everybody’s -work; and, on the whole, the response met with has been generous, -particularly from the artists and those owners whose possessions were -few. - -The first Exhibition included--besides pictures--pottery, needlework, -and curiosities; but, interesting as these were, the expense of -getting them together, providing cases for them, and showing them -thoroughly under glass, was so great that in the second Exhibition -it was determined to exhibit only pictures and such works of art and -curiosities as the Kensington Museum would lend us, the latter already -in cases, and with their own special caretaker to boot. - -The cataloguing and describing committee comes last; and its work, -though done in a hurry, bore no slight relation to the success of the -undertaking. - -It is impossible for the ignorant to even look at a picture with any -interest unless they are acquainted with the subject; but when once -the story is told to them their plain, direct method of looking at -things enables them to go straight to the point, and perhaps to reach -the artist’s meaning more clearly than some of those art critics whose -vision is obscured by thoughts of ‘tone, harmony, and construction.’ - -Mr. Richmond’s fine picture of ‘Ariadne’ elicited many remarks. ‘Why, -it is crazy Jane!’ exclaimed one woman, following up the declaration -in a few moments by, ‘and it’s finely done, too;’ but the story once -explained, either by catalogue or talk, the interest increased. ‘Poor -soul! she’s seen her day,’ came from a genuine sympathiser. ‘Oh, no! -she’ll get another lover; rest sure of that.’ ‘’Tain’t quite likely, -seeing that it’s a desert island!’ was the practical retort, which -rather dumbfounded the hopeful commentator; but she would have the last -word: ‘Well, I would, if it were myself, and she’ll find a way, sure -enough, somehow.’ ‘The light is all behind her,’ showed a delicate -perception of what, perhaps, the artist himself had put in with the -truth of unconsciousness. - -Mr. Briton Rivière’s representation of the ‘Dying Gladiator’ was the -subject of much conversation. It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to -remind any one of the picture, which was in the Academy but a year or -two ago. The splendid painting of the tigers, both dead and living, -with the vividly depicted physical agony of the martyr, in spite of -which he feels triumph, as, faithful even in death, he makes the sign -of the cross in the sand, would probably make an impression on and be -remembered by those who saw it. - -‘There, my boy, there’s your ancestor in the lions’ den!’ was the -paternal explanation of one of Abraham’s descendants to his small son; -but a reference to the catalogue changed his opinion on the subject, -if not on the goodness of the cause for which the gladiator suffered. -The description in the catalogue for this picture was: ‘The Romans, for -their holiday amusement, made their prisoners fight with wild beasts. -The young Christian has killed one of the tigers; but is himself -mortally wounded. His last act is to trace in the sand the form of -a cross, the sign of the faith for which he dies. The shouts of the -excited crowd, the roar of the baulked tiger, are fading in his ears. -God has kissed him, and he will sleep.’ Somewhat fanciful, perhaps, but -reaching, maybe, the spirit of the picture more truly than a plainer -statement of facts would have done. ‘“God kissed him,” it says; I -should have said the tiger clawed him,’ was the one adverse criticism -overheard on the description. As a rule, the subject of the picture -once understood, the people stood before it in thoughtful consideration. - -Mr. Richmond’s ‘Sleep and Death,’ as well as Mr. Watts’s ‘Time, Death, -and Judgment,’ both ideal rather than historical or domestic pictures, -were greatly enjoyed, and this by a class of people whose external -lives are drearily barren of ideals. - -An interpretation offered by any one who had studied the parable -pictures was eagerly accepted, and further thoughts suggested. ‘You -can’t see Judgment’s face for his arm,’ perhaps had, perhaps had not, -more meaning in it than the speaker meant; while in reference to the -woman’s listless dropping of her flowers from her lap in ‘Time, Death, -and Judgment,’ the remark, ‘Death does not want the flowers now she’s -got ’em,’ told of thoughtful suffering at the apparent wastefulness of -death. ‘Time is young yet, then,’ made one feel that the speaker had -caught a glimpse of life’s possibilities with which probably any number -of homilies had failed to impress him. - -‘Sleep and Death,’ depicting the strong, pale warrior borne on the -shoulders of Sleep, while being gently lifted into the arms of -Death--so simple in colour, pure in idea, rich in suggestion--was good -for the poor to see, among whom Death is robbed of none of its terrors -by the coarse familiarity with which it is treated. With them funerals -are too often a time of great rowdiness, and ‘a beautiful corpse’ a -fit spectacle for all the neighbours--even the youngest child--to be -invited to see. Death treated as a tender mother-woman, hidden in the -cold grey vastness surrounding her, was a bright idea, producing, -perhaps, greater modesty about the great mystery. ‘That’s the best -of the whole lot, to my mind,’ came, after a long gaze, from a pale, -trouble-stricken man, whose sorrows Sleep had not always helped to -bear, whose loveless life had made Death’s enfolding arms seem wondrous -kind. - -Sometimes there were discussions as to which was Sleep and which Death, -ended once summarily by the loudly expressed opinion, ‘It don’t much -matter which. I don’t call it proper, _anyhow_, to see a man pickaback -of an angel!’--a hypercritical sense of propriety which was hardly to -be expected from the appearance of the critic. - -Munkacsy’s picture of the ‘Lint Pickers,’ lent by Mr. J. S. Forbes, -aroused much interest. In the catalogue, after a short account of the -artist’s life and works, it was described thus: ‘A soldier, with a -bandaged leg, is telling the story of the war to the women and children -who are picking lint to dress wounds. The different feelings with which -the news is received are shown with wonderful skill in the different -faces. Some are waiting to hear the worst; another has already heard -it, and can only bury her face in her hands. To others it is but an -interesting story; while the little child is only intent on his basket -of lint. - - Man’s inhumanity to man - Makes countless thousands mourn.’ - -The gloom of the picture, the utter dejection of the workers, relieved -nowhere by a gleam of light--even the child (around whom Hope might -have hovered) finding a grim plaything in the lint--all combine to tell -the tale of what the artist evidently felt--the cruelty of war. Much -interest was taken in finding out, amid the darkness, the different -figures in their various attitudes of active or crushed woe. It spoke, -though, a little sadly for the want of joyousness in East London -entertainments that more than one sightseer, _before_ reading the -catalogue or being helped by a verbal explanation, thought ‘it was a -lot of poor people at tea.’ - -The frames of all the pictures excited wonder, sometimes admiration not -accorded to the pictures themselves; and the oft-reiterated questions, -‘What, now, is it all worth? How much would it fetch?’ became a little -wearisome, not the less so because expressive of one of the signs of -the times. - -‘All beautiful! and most of them [the pictures] done by machinery, I -suppose,’ showed greater mechanical than artistic appreciation; while -the cross-examination to which we were put as to why the Exhibition -was held was sometimes interesting rather than edifying. ‘Oh, yes, -it’ll pay, sure enough, if you only go on long enough,’ was one -woman’s comforting assurance; and the answer, ‘I hardly see how, -considering that it is open free,’ carried so little force to her mind -that its only effect was to make her repeat her belief in a still -more confidently cheery tone. But many and hearty were the thanks -that were given at the end of some such chats; and the gentlemen who -explained the pictures and talked to the little groups which quickly -gathered round ‘some one who would tell about it all’ were more than -once offered reward-money--a flattering tribute to their powers, and -illustrative of the living sense of justice in the workman’s mind and -the conviction that ‘the labourer is worthy of his hire.’ - -The pathetic pictures were, perhaps, the most generally appreciated. -Israels’ ‘Day before the Departure,’ lent by Mr. J. S. Forbes, was -described thus: ‘The widow, utterly sad, has shut her Bible and seems -heartbroken and hopeless. The child does not understand everything, -but she knows her mother is sorry; the toy is forgotten, while she -nestles close in her desire to comfort. Her love may be the light which -will brighten the future,’ often reduced the beholders to sympathetic -silence; while warm was the praise given to Salentin’s ‘Foundling,’ -a pretty picture of an old yeoman giving the forsaken babe into the -arms of his kindly daughters. The bright evening sky, the tender -spring-time, the interest of the farm-boy, and the curiosity of the -sheep, all hopefully express that the little one’s short, troublous day -is over, and that its happier spring-time has dawned. - -‘Our Father’s House,’ by Wilfrid Lawson: the little, ragged girl -peeping wistfully round the church pillar at the fashionably dressed -congregation, who too often monopolise ‘Our Father’s House,’ had always -around it some quiet and earnest students. It aroused in them, perhaps, -the sleeping sense, now so often forgotten that it is almost ignored, -that the church is the people’s possession, and, maybe, it awakened the -hope, deep down (if sometimes visionary) in every breast, of the coming -of the ‘good time’ when all class and unworthy distinctions will be -lost in the Father’s presence. - -Israels’ works, of which in the last Exhibition there were five, were -duly appreciated, not perhaps by the mass, but by the more thoughtful -of the spectators. ‘The Canal Boat, a picture full of sadness; the man -and woman look weary and worked. Nature is in tune with their hard -life; still there is progress,’ said the catalogue. I overheard one man -say, ‘Ah! poor chap, he’s got into a wrong current, but he’ll get out -all right. Pull away.’ The picture, sketchy as it was, had taught in -Israels’ style the lesson he loves to give--the pain and dreariness of -life interlaced with the bright thread of hope-- - - Which is out of sight: - That thread of all-sustaining beauty, - Which runs through all and doth all unite. - -Mr. Walter Crane’s picture of ‘Ormuzd and Ahriman,’ which he kindly -lent, awoke much interest. The people read, or had read to them, the -description which told that the Persians believed in two gods--the -god of good, Ormuzd; the god of evil, Ahriman--and how the picture -expressed the fight between the two; a fight going on in every nation -and every heart, all nature being represented as standing still -during the conflict; while the river of time wound gently on past the -ruins of the Memnons, the Acropolis, the Grove, the Altar, and the -Abbey--the symbols of the world’s great religions. ‘I expect that’s -true, but we don’t seem to see much of the _fight_ about here,’ was one -cogent remark. Most frequently, though, a picture will draw forth no -expression--for with the unlettered all expression is difficult, and we -know how, in the presence of death, of a grand sunset, or of anything -deeply moving, silence seems most fitting. - -Sometimes, though, one overhears talks which reveal much. Mr. Schmalz’s -picture of ‘Forever’ had one evening been beautifully explained, the -room being crowded by some of the humblest people, who received the -explanation with interest, but in silence. The picture represented a -dying girl to whom her lover has been playing his lute, until, dropping -it, he seemed to be telling her with impassioned words that his love is -stronger than death, and that, in spite of the grave and separation, -he will love her _forever_. I was standing outside the Exhibition in -the half-darkness, when two girls, hatless, with one shawl between them -thrown round both their shoulders, came out. They might not be living -the worst life; but, if not, they were low down enough to be familiar -with it and to see in that only the relation between men and women. -The idea of love lasting beyond this life, making eternity real, a -spiritual bond between man and woman, had not occurred to them until -the picture with the simple story was shown them. ‘Real beautiful, -ain’t it all?’ said one. ‘Ay, fine, but that “Forever,” I did take on -with that,’ was the answer. Could anything be more touching? What work -is there nobler than that of the artist who, by his art, shows the -degraded the lesson that Christ Himself lived to teach? - -The landscapes were, perhaps, the pictures least cared for; and this -is not to be wondered at, considering how little the poorer denizens -of our large towns can know of the country, or of nature’s varied and -peculiar garbs, which artists delight to illustrate. ‘How far is it -to that place?’ was eagerly asked before a picture of Venice, by R. -M. Chevalier, a picture of which the description told how the Grand -Canal was the ‘Whitechapel Road’ of Venice, and further explained the -relationship of gondolas to omnibuses and cabs--a relationship not -understood at once by the untravelled world. ‘Would it cost much money -to go and see that?’ was often provoked by such pictures as Elijah -Walton’s picture of ‘Crevasses in the Mer de Glace,’ kindly lent by Mr. -H. Evill, or Mr. Croft’s ‘Matterhorn,’ lent by Mr. T. L. Devitt, and -described: ‘A peak in the Alps too steep for snow, and until lately -too steep for mountaineers. Chains have now been placed at the most -difficult places, and several English ladies have reached the top. The -artist shows the loneliness of greatness:-- - - The solemn peaks but to the stars are known, - But to the stars, and to the cold lunar beams; - Alone the sun rises, and alone - Spring the great streams.--MATTHEW ARNOLD.’ - -With the knowledge of the indifference, because of the unhelped and -inevitable ignorance of the town poor in respect to landscape art, -special pains were taken with the descriptions, endeavours being -made to connect the landscape with some idea with which they were -already familiar, or to connect it with some moral association which -would attract notice to its qualities; for instance, Mr. John Brett’s -‘Philory, King of the Cliffs,’ was brought nearer to the spectators by -the suggestion that ‘the coast of England was, like its people, cool -and strong, and not to be hurt by a storm’; and Mr. W. Luker’s picture -of ‘Burnham Beeches,’ lent by Mr. S. Winkworth, gained in interest -because the catalogue said it was ‘A forest near Slough, about eighteen -miles from London, bought by the City of London, and made the property -of the people.’ - -Mr. W. S. Wyllie’s ‘Antwerp,’ a grey, flat picture, had its idea partly -embodied in ‘Sea and land seemed to end in the cathedral spire’; while -the familiar proverb, ‘It is an ill wind that blows nobody good,’ drew -attention to Mr. W. C. Nakkens’s ‘Harvesting in Holland’; and the -suggestion that ‘the horses are enjoying the wind which is blowing up -the rain, the farmer’s enemy in harvest,’ showed the standpoint from -which the picture could be looked at. - -Not that the catalogue was intended to contain exhaustive explanations -of the pictures, but only indications of the lines along which the -people could make their own discoveries. Full, however, as some of the -descriptions were, they were not full enough to prevent misconceptions. -A little copy of Tintoretto, lent by Mr. E. Bale, depicting the visit -and embrace of the Virgin Mary and Elisabeth, simply entered in the -catalogue as the ‘Meeting of Mary and Elisabeth,’ was mistaken for -an interview between Mary, Queen of Scots, and Queen Elizabeth, and -produced the reflection, ‘I suppose that was before they quarrelled, -then’--a sign that historical had, in this instance, made more mark -than Bible instruction. - -Information about Darwin, concerning whose work the catalogue was -silent, was finally volunteered by one of a little group who pronounced -him to be ‘the Monkey Man’; and another knew no more about Gladstone -than that ‘he was the chap that followed Lord Beaconsfield.’ - -‘Lesbia,’ by Mr. J. Bertrand, explained as ‘A Roman girl musing over -the loss of her pet bird,’ was commented on by, ‘Sorrow for her bird, -is it? I was thinking it was drink that was in her’--a grim indication -of the opinion of the working classes of their ‘betters’; though -another remark on the same picture, ‘Well, I hope she will never -have a worse trouble,’ showed a kindlier spirit and perhaps a sadder -experience. - -But the catalogue once studied, it was clung to with almost comical -persistency. A picture by Jacob Maris, lent by Mr. J. S. Forbes, of -a ‘Street in Amsterdam,’ was next in the catalogue, though not in -the room, to one of Mr. F. F. Dicksee’s of ‘Christ walking on the -Water.’ The Amsterdam picture was one in Maris’s best style--a row of -quaint, irregular houses, boats by the wharf, still cold water from -the midst of which a post protruded, catching the light. ‘No doubt -a fine picture,’ commented a spectator, ‘but it requires a deal of -imagination.’ ‘Why? I don’t see that; it’s plain enough: there are the -ships, houses, wharf,’ explained a friendly neighbour. ‘Yes, I see all -them; but it’s the rest of it that wants the imagination.’ Further -pause, and then, ‘Oh! I see; I’ve got the wrong number; I thought it -was “Christ walking on the Water”--that’s what I was looking for.’ - -The historical or domestic pictures, such as J. B. Burgess’s -‘Presentation,’ the English ladies visiting the house of a Moor -who is presenting his children to them; or Edwin Long’s ‘Question -of Propriety,’ the priests watching the dancing-girl to decide if -the dance was proper or not, perhaps attracted the most immediate -attention, just in proportion as they told their own tale; but, aided -by catalogue or talk, the pictures embodying the highest spiritual -truths became the most popular. - -The sentiment pervading J. F. Millet’s ‘Angelus’ which makes -prayer--the communion with the ‘Besetting God’--at evening time, -‘Earth’s natural vesper hour,’ seem right and fitting was an unspoken -sermon beyond their comprehension as art critics, but within their -reach as men and women capable of communion with the highest. And, -at present, when ordinary religious influences appear to make so -sadly little impression, shall we not use such pictures also as -stepping-stones towards the truer life? - -Some amount of fine art is now lost to the world because the -construction of most modern houses puts narrow limits to the size of -pictures. ‘We are often unable to express our best ideas for want -of room,’ I was told by a living artist whom this or any age would, -I think, call great; and another painter has had what he considers -his finest picture left on his hands because it is too big for any -drawing-room and most galleries. - -Is there not a double work here for the rich to do? Might they not, -by buying such pictures, encourage the artists to paint their best -thoughts, whatever size they require, thus making the world richer by -enabling it to possess a little more of the knowledge gained by those -who ‘hang on to the sunskirts of the Most High’? Might they not put -them as gifts or loans on the walls of churches or hospitals, making -bare walls speak great truths, not the less audible because of the -murmur of the people’s thanks, real, if unheard by the donors? - -Pictures will not do everything. They will not save souls, for ‘it -takes a life to save a life’; but shall such works be kept only for -the amusement or passing interest of the rich? Shall not we, who care -that the people should have life and fuller life, press them into the -service of teaching? Words, mere words, fall flat on the ears of those -whose imaginations are withered and dead; but art, in itself beautiful, -in ideas rich, they cannot choose but understand, if it be brought -within their reach. - -Art may do much to keep alive a nation’s fading higher life when other -influences fail adequately to nourish it; and how shall we neglect it -in these hard times of spiritual starvation? In Mrs. Browning’s words - - ‘The artist keeps up open roads between the seen and the unseen. - Art is the witness of what _is_ behind the show.’ - - HENRIETTA O. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VIII. - - _THE YOUNG WOMEN IN OUR WORKHOUSES._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from _Macmillan’s Magazine_, August 1879. - - -Those of us who have ever entered a workhouse will not easily forget -some of the sad impressions then made upon the mind. We remember the -large, dreary wards-- - - The walls so blank, - That my shadow I thank - For sometimes falling there-- - -the cleanliness which is oppressive, the order which tells of control -in every detail. But, gloomy as these things are, they are but the -necessary surroundings of many of the people who come to end their -days amid them. On their faces is written failure; having been proved -useless to the world, they are cast away out of sight, and too often -out of mind, on to this sad rubbish-heap of humanity. - -A closer inspection of this rubbish-heap, however, shows that it is not -all worthless. Besides the many whom dissolute, improvident, or vicious -courses bring to the workhouse, there are some who are more sinned -against than sinful; some who are merely unfortunate, and who by a -little wise help, wisely given, may become useful members of society. - -It is of the young, single women that I would specially speak. Those -whom one finds in the workhouse are usually there for one of three -reasons. First, in order to seek shelter when about to become mothers; -secondly, because they are driven thither by the evil results of -profligacy; thirdly, because having failed in life they choose to enter -there rather than to sin or to starve. It is of the first and third -classes that I now write, for the second class is being dealt with, if -not efficiently, at least earnestly, by many societies founded for that -purpose. - -From June 1877 to June 1878 in the seven unions of East London alone -there have been no less than 253 young girl-mothers who have entered -the infirmaries. - -Some enter a few months before their confinement, driven to that -inhospitable shelter from the sense of the value of their remaining -character. And here a word is required as to the neglect of any proper -method of classification. There should be in all our workhouses -accommodation which would allow of the separation of characters among -classes; and power and encouragement should be given to the master and -matron to carry this plan into effectual working. The more respectable -of the young women might be placed under the supervision of one of the -staff, so that the time which necessarily elapses before they can be -again sent out should be to them a time of instruction in what is good -and desirable, instead of, as it now too often is, a time when they are -corrupted by the evil influence of others worse than themselves. - -But these 253--what becomes of them? On their recovery they cannot -remain in the infirmary, and must be sent to the able-bodied house, -there to live on prison fare and to associate with the criminal and -wilfully idle. Rather than do this many a young woman prefers to go -out, taking her three-weeks-old babe with her, resolved to ‘get on’ -as best she can. That ‘best’ is often the ‘worst.’ With her character -gone, with two mouths to feed instead of one, and with the loss of -self-respect rapidly following the loss of the respect of others, the -unfortunate mother too often falls into hopeless vice; or, perhaps, the -giant temptation presents itself of sacrificing the little wailing life -which stands between her and respectability. Unhelped, unencouraged as -they are, who can wonder that such mothers, so sorely tried, sometimes -fall, and that the crime of infanticide is horribly rife? - -But, frequent as such results are, the end is not always thus tragic; -the ruined girl often returns to her father’s house and to the same -conditions of life as before she fell. But this course, though not so -apparently bad, is yet often very harmful. Her presence familiarises -the younger members with vice, an unadvisable familiarity; for vice, -while it gains much attractive power, gains also more deterrent force -by its mystery in the minds of the young. - -Sometimes the unwedded mother, on leaving the workhouse, honestly -tries to get work at sack-making, factory-work, anything which will -enable her to keep her little one near her; but it is a hard, an almost -impossible task. The care of the child impedes the work, and thus it -has to be put out to daily nurse. The ignorance, if not the apathy, -of its badly paid nurse and the unsuitability of its food too often -combine to extinguish the little flame which was burning to guide its -mother back to virtue by the paths of love and self-control. - -These, briefly, are some of the present evils which beset the lives of -the young women who become mothers in our workhouses. - -It was to cure some of such evils that a few ladies associated -themselves together in the spring of 1876. We bound ourselves by -no rules or bye-laws, for the work is one which is entirely of an -individual nature. Strong personal influence has to be brought to -bear on each applicant, with a distinct and definite object in view, -suggested by the character of the woman and the circumstances of the -case. There have been, unfortunately, changes in our workers, but we -have continued to visit, with fair regularity, both the infirmary -and able-bodied house of our Union. When work is necessarily left -so largely to individual initiative, depending on the character of -the worker, each lady must, naturally, adopt her own method of doing -it. Some feel that they can do more _for_ the girls by changing the -circumstances of their lives, while others can do more _with_ them by -arousing their dormant moral natures and filling them with enthusiasm -for good. But all ways of doing the work are needed, the more diverse -the means the larger the number of women likely to be reached. The very -diversity of the means makes it difficult, however, to write about the -work as it is done by all the co-operators. It is, therefore, well that -I should speak only of my own plan and experiences. - -I visit about once a week, and see alone in a room, which the matron -kindly lends for the purpose, each girl who has expressed a wish to -lead a good life. After talking to her and learning of her antecedents, -her statements are sent to the Charity Organisation Society to be -verified. I try to learn something of her character, of the ideal she -has of her own life, of the plans she has made for the future, of -the kind and manner of good which appears to her most attractive and -desirable. On receipt of the Report of the Charity Organisation Society -each girl is dealt with in accordance with her past life; she who has -suffered from the allurements and excitements of the town is sent into -the country, being placed where the monotony and peace will protect her -from herself; she who has for long lived a lawless and undisciplined -life is induced to enter a Home or Refuge, where order and control will -teach her the unlearnt lessons; while sometimes it is possible to get -for her for whom drink has been too strong a situation with a teetotal -family, who will help her by example as well as principle. For the -woman whose maternal feeling wants frequent contact with her child to -invigorate it a place is got where the mistress, knowing all the facts, -will allow her servant often to see the little one; while the mother, -whose sense of shame is stronger than her love for the child, is sent -to a place far removed from the caretaker of her baby, trusting that -the money which she weekly sends for it will keep in remembrance the -sin of which she has been guilty and the innocent result of it. - -It is a common idea that the only way of helping women sunk so low as -these is to send them to Homes. This idea I would like to modify. Homes -are very valuable in giving girls the opportunities of re-earning a -character when, as they themselves say, they have ‘no one to speak for -them.’ Still, in all these cases where the fault which brought them -to the workhouse (serious as it may be) has not undermined the whole -character, it is, perhaps, better to send them at once to service. In -their mistresses’ houses they are, unconsciously, guarded from the -grosser temptations which lone girls have to meet, being guided by -influence rather than rule. The regular, if at times too hard, work of -service demanded by the varying interests and needs of a family is the -greatest help to a healthy tone of mind. In a good home they see family -life in all its beauty, they see the commonplace virtues in a beautiful -and attractive setting, and the kindliness which is engendered between -the served and the server helps the poor stumbling soul along the path -of duty over many a rough and difficult place. ‘Oh! ma’am,’ a girl said -the other day, ‘the missus’s baby is such a dear; he do make me forget -such a lot;’ a forgetfulness which was in her case the first necessary -step towards a fairer future. - -It is a good rule to tell every circumstance, however trivial, to -the mistress, so that she can become in her turn the guardian of her -servant against the besetting sin; and all honour be to those many -ladies who have so generously come forward to take these girls into -their own homes, sometimes giving them more wages than their services -warranted, often helping them with clothes both for themselves and -their children, and giving them too that priceless sympathy which -outweighs every other gift. Such help saves more pain and makes more -righteousness than big, barren subscriptions to far-off institutions; -for - - The gift without the giver is bare. - -If the girl has been a servant before, she can obtain 15_l._ or 16_l._ -a year; out of this she can pay 4_s._ or 4_s._ 6_d._ a week, and her -lady friend can assist her by paying 1_s._ or 6_d._ a week towards her -baby’s support. If the girl has never been a servant, it is necessary -that she should enter service at a much lower wage. She must then get -more money assistance, the sum being decided by the rough estimate that -she should pay two-thirds of her money, whatever it is. - -The small payment has many advantages; it enables the mother to -disassociate herself from her past corrupting association; it assists -her lady friend to keep up constant communication with her, whereby -she is enabled to advise about her future, her change of place, her -friends; and it also enables a watchful eye to be kept on the little -one. Its nurse coming weekly to receive the money can tell of its -progress, the lady can see if it is well cared for, and can by her -interest encourage the nurse to do her best. As a rule the caretakers -become very fond of their little charges. In one instance the mother -having, alas! again returned to evil ways, the nurse continued to keep -the baby without payment, jealously guarding him against his mother, -‘who might harm him when in drink.’ Another woman came to ask for a -nurse-child because, she said, she had had fourteen children of her -own, and now that they were all out in the world, ‘her old man said -it was so lonesome-like.’ It is important, too, to choose the nurse -carefully, for she has frequently a great influence on the mother, who -will naturally be more inclined to listen to the wise words of one -who is ‘good to her baby’ than to any mere well-wisher. The mother -by this means gains a respectable friend of her own class, in many -cases the first she has ever known. In one instance the nurse did what -others had failed to do. The mother was one of those people to whom -pleasure is as necessary as food and air. Among happier surroundings -her sense of fun and capacity for enjoyment would have been a source -of brightness, and rendered her a general favourite. For those in her -sphere of life joy is an element considered unnecessary, and thus is -a dangerous luxury. She had no desire to do wrong nor to offend, but -pleasure she must have, and not being able to obtain it innocently, she -took it lawlessly. Such conduct mistresses rightly would not allow, -and she reached the workhouse when her boy was about three years old. -There seemed to be no trace of affection for the child, nor any feeling -beyond a sense of irritation at its helplessness and a desire to get it -‘into a home,’ and to be rid of the attendant responsibility. This last -idea it was impossible to entertain, for responsibility might become -her schoolmaster, and lead her up ‘the difficult blue heights.’ - -She was a thorough general servant; hence there was little difficulty -in getting her into a place. A home for the boy was found, with a most -demonstrative and affectionate nurse, who rarely spoke of him except as -a ‘pretty lamb,’ and who loudly and frequently called on all to admire -him. Little by little this influenced the young mother, who began to be -interested in the much-talked-of and cared-for baby. The deducted wages -were more cheerfully rendered for its support, and as love obtained -admittance to her heart, and all the many cares which accompanied a -child brought interest into her life, there became less need for the -outside pleasures. The craving for enjoyment found satisfaction in -giving joys to the baby boy. - -It would be easy to give many instances of the success of this work, -but one or two will suffice. Jane, a motherless girl of sixteen, -brought up in a rough, low-class home, and sent to earn her bread -before she could well distinguish good from evil--what wonder that she -came into the only asylum open to her, harmed by the first man who had -ever shown her a kindness? She appeared indifferent to her fate, but -she showed such passionate and self-giving devotion to the child that -it seemed possible that the mother’s character would be awakened by her -feelings. They were accordingly placed in a house where they could be -together; the child soon died, and Jane having greatly improved, she -was sent to a situation, where she is doing well, and has got again -some of the brightness of youth. - -Emma, a woman of twenty-six, had for some years lived abroad with a -man who promised her ‘English marriage,’ but who, on reaching England, -basely deserted her. Characterless and unknown as she was, she tried -in vain to get work to support herself and child; and at last, half -dead with privation, she entered the ‘House.’ She had not a reference -to give, nor a friend to apply to, but she did so thoroughly and well -the work which the Matron gave her, and so earnestly pleaded to have -a trial, that, trusting in my opinion of her sincerity, a good woman -in the country took her as servant, who now, after two years of trial, -writes to ask that other servants may be sent to her ‘as good as Emma.’ -Her boy is placed in a village a few miles off, and all the holidays, -most of the money, and many of the spare moments are given to him, in -whom is treasured the one bright memory of her dreary past. - -But of each girl that is helped such pleasant stories cannot be told. -There are many failures: women whose resolution deserts them before -the old temptations, whose promises are as lightly broken as they were -earnestly made; girls whose ill companions offer them bright if lawless -lives, and who leave the new hard ways for the well-known aimless, -careless life. - -But, in spite of many failures, the work is hopefully continued in the -belief, founded on experience, that the idle can be induced to work -and learn through daily labour the gospel which work teaches; that the -coarse-minded can yet see the beauty of holiness if it is shown greatly -and plainly; that the ignorant can yet be taught if patience be given; -that the careless may yet be circumspect if cared for. Failures and -disappointments are inevitable when the aim is not to make a temporary -improvement, but to raise the ideas and radically change the habits of -a class, to help whom there has hitherto been so little effort made. - -But there is yet the third class of girls who have been cast by the -wave of misfortune into the workhouse. These are not touched by the -societies for befriending young servants, for many have never been -servants, and some have started on their career before the societies -were formed. Some come in because their parents break up their homes -and altogether ‘enter the House.’ In such a plight was poor Martha, a -sickly girl of eighteen, too crippled to be fit for manual work. Her -father was dead; her mother was so drunken that the workhouse was for -her the only resort; and thither she came bringing her children with -her, and among them the poor weak Martha. The other children were sent -to the district schools, but the cripple was too old to go there. There -was nothing for her but to drag on a loveless, cheerless life and make -her home in that unhomely place. She was a bright willing lassie, but -her labour, such as it was, was not needed there, where she was but -one of the many useless ones who help to give trouble and swell the -rates. She was deft with her fingers and capable, if not of entirely -supporting herself, still of adding wealth to the world by her work. -A home was soon found for her where she could be taught straw-basket -work, and on drawing the attention of the Guardians to her case, they -at once consented to pay for the training. We occasionally see her. -She has been taught to read and write, and to make bonnets and baskets -quickly and well. She is very happy, and, though sighing when speaking -of the workhouse, she adds in the same breath, ‘The Matron was real -good to me there.’ - -Some seek the workhouse because, having lost their places and being -alone in the world, they know not where else to go. Some having -drifted there more than once arouse the contempt and antagonism of -the officers; and these, unloving and indifferent because unloved, -lose all hope and interest, and grow stubborn and hard. To these girls -the lady must show herself their friend, and awaken their interest -in life. One girl was sent to me, not yet twenty-one, who had passed -through innumerable situations, who had been for six years in and out -of the House continually, and who had once been sent to prison for a -breach of the necessary discipline. She was pronounced ‘incorrigible’ -by the authorities. I confess to having felt powerless to work her -reformation when I saw her. Her stubborn set face, her downcast dull -eyes, her stolid refusal to speak in reply to whatever was said, -her apathy on all subjects made me feel that I had not a chance of -touching her. I tried all ways, but at last aroused her by asking -her to do something for me. The God-born sense of helpfulness in her -awoke her sleeping soul. She felt she cared for the one person in all -the world whom she had ever helped, and that affection has been her -‘saving grace.’ She is now earning 12_l._ a year, more, as she says, -than she had ‘earned in two years afore,’ and her face, manners, and -character are rapidly improving. She comes to me to help her to choose -her new clothes, and I could not but be satisfactorily amused when the -‘incorrigible’ pauper insisted on having a ‘high art’ coloured dress, -declaring that none of the others suggested were ‘half so pretty.’ Many -such stories could be told, many beginning brightly and ending sadly, -some turning out better than their commencement would have justified us -in hoping. One poor child, motherless and worse than fatherless, after -a short training in a Home, is now in service, and paying towards the -support of her younger sister; another has a conscience so awakened as -to make her hesitate for long as to her right to be confirmed because -of the sin ignorantly committed which brought her to the rates, while -tales could be told of women, rough and untutored, who have joyfully -taken the hard, self-restraining path which leads to righteousness, and -who, having once been given great ideals, receive them as new truths, -and patiently (pathetically so among their rude surroundings) endeavour -to live up to them. - -Enough may have been said to induce other ladies to adopt the work. -Taking the figures of the last two years’ work at one workhouse, we -have seen 141 women. Of these we have sent out, to service or to work, -ninety-five; and out of these only five have again returned to the -workhouse. Of many we have lost sight, which is not to be wondered -at when the ignorance of the women of this class is considered. A -letter is to them a thing to be much pondered, but rarely attempted. -Some, after long silences, reappear to ask advice in some temporary -difficulty or to tell of progress made. Many remain close friends, -coming to call on every holiday or writing long and affectionate -letters. One wrote the other day a stilted letter of thanks ‘for having -altered her position in the world for one of more sterling worth.’ Her -future did look gloomy when first we became acquainted. She was the -daughter of a seaside lodging-house keeper, brought up in a cheap (and -nasty!) boarding-school, and sent to London, with many false ideas -about work, and some true ones about wickedness, to earn her living -in any ‘genteel’ employment. Her superficial education did not help -her, and she came down lower and lower, till at last, finding herself -in a lodging-house of doubtful reputation, she rightly chose the -workhouse in preference to remaining there. Her widowed mother, unable -to keep her, and fearful that her frivolities would influence badly -her younger sisters, refused to receive her home. Her fine-ladyism and -ignorance of any sort of household work were an effectual barrier to -her taking service, while her sorry education prevented her even trying -to teach. Service seemed to be the best opening for her, and the life -best calculated to keep her straight. With some difficulty she was -persuaded to look at it in this light, and then induced to enter a -servants’ training home. She has earned good testimonials there, and is -now a happy and useful servant. - -The work is in itself simple, and yet has issues important, not only -to the individuals helped, but to the community at large, for it tends -to lessen pauperism, prostitution, and infanticide. It would be well -if every lady of England were to consider how she can take part in it. -If she is not herself able to visit the workhouse, she can, perhaps, -open her house and heart to one of these girls who so sadly need such -protection and care. Or, if that be impossible, she might undertake to -befriend one of them. - -Around every workhouse a committee of ladies might be formed. The -meetings need not, perhaps, be formal nor frequent, but merely friendly -gatherings to compare experience and to discuss reports of the work -done. The visiting of the workhouse is, perhaps, for reasons which will -be appreciated by those who are familiar with official establishment, -better left to two or three of the members who, after seeing the girls -and learning their histories, should pass one or more to each member -of the committee to provide for. Every lady might be a member of such -a committee. Every woman can befriend another, and perhaps may be the -more moved to do so when she who needs the help is a girl no older than -her own daughter in the schoolroom. There are few who cannot help the -work of such committees by contributing 1_s._ a week for the helping -of one little baby. Every one can spare a little of that loving care, -can give a little of that all-saving friendship which so lavishly -surrounds the life of most of us. - -The work, too, is one which married ladies with homes, families, and -social duties can easily take up. Women in this position are debarred -from much work for the poor, because their natural and more sacred -duties forbid them to run risks of infection or to take up work which -would necessitate the devoting of a regular fixed day. But from both -these disadvantages the work now under consideration is quite free. In -the workhouse the visitor is safe from infection; the visits can be -made at any time, for the women are always there, and there is always -somebody waiting to be helped whenever one can go. It is, of course, -better to fix a regular day for visiting if possible, so that those -girls who have been seen once should be able to anticipate the second -visit; but this is not at all essential, and frequently the duties of a -mother or mistress do not permit of long absences from home. This work, -excepting the periodical visit to the workhouse, can be done almost -entirely from the writing-table in one’s own house. It necessitates -a good deal of correspondence in order to insure obtaining suitable -situations and respectable nurses; but it requires comparatively little -absence from home, for when the girl is once placed, the friendly -connection can best be established and kept up in the lady’s own house. -There she can receive her otherwise friendless visitor; there she can -strengthen the gentle bonds already begun in the House; there she can -show to the homeless one some of the possibilities of home, and by -such simple natural acts sow seed which will bring forth much good and -happiness. - -It is entirely a homely and personal work done in the home and in the -interests of the individual and of the family; one full of elements of -difficulty and frequently of disappointment and failure. It requires -no costly machinery: wherever there is one woman who cares for other -women; wherever there is a home full of the joys of family life; -wherever two or three can meet together in common work, there is all -the force that is required. If in every union and all its parishes, or -even in many unions and some of their parishes, those who think that -the work which has been done by a few working together is a useful one -will take up their part of the burden as it lies near their door, the -work may grow. If it grow naturally and by no enforced development, its -results may be larger than can yet be foreseen. New thought may develop -new plans, wider interest may bring wider change. Our workhouses may -become the means of restoring to joy and self-respect many who now -leave their walls sad and degraded. Society may be strengthened by the -new link between the envied rich and the unknown pauper, a link of -unassailable strength being formed of love and service. And if none -of these things come to pass, the effort must still be good which -rouses into action a part of that family life which in its rest is so -beautiful. - - HENRIETTA O. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IX. - - _A PEOPLE’S CHURCH._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Contemporary Review_ of -November 1884. - - -‘The object of the British Constitution is to get twelve honest men -into a jury box,’ is an old-fashioned saying, which puts shortly -enough the far-off end of our laws and institutions. The jury box may -not itself survive, but whatever takes its place must in the same -way depend on an honest public opinion. The object of the British -Constitution is to secure freedom for thought and honesty among men. -When its laws are enforced by the service of the citizens, and when the -citizens are honest, politicians may cease to think of the need of a -reform. - -Reforms in the Constitution are now urged because they will make -possibilities for greater honesty and greater devotion, but if the -possibilities are not used the reforms will make little change -for the better. A man who has a vote may be put within reach of a -higher virtue, but if he gives his vote dishonestly the reform which -enfranchised him will not tend to progress. A tenant who is secured -from eviction, and the landlord out of whose hands the power to evict -has been taken, may thank the land-law reformers, who have made -honesty more easy; but if the tenant uses his power to make slaves -of his labourers or his children, and the landlord his freedom from -responsibility to do what he likes, the last state will be little -better than the first. A population which is educated, through the -efforts of the educational reformers, may have new capacities for -virtue; but if they who are educated use their powers only to take care -of themselves, there may at last be a difficulty in getting any to -serve as jurymen. - -The self-devotion which makes men willingly leave business to do some -public duty, and the honesty which makes them subject interest to -justice, are essential to the greatness and happiness of the people. - -No Constitution can, therefore, neglect the means which are to develop -these qualities. Neglect of duty is punished by fines, performance of -duty is rewarded by the honours of title; dishonesty is prevented by a -system of checks, which is ever being elaborated by new laws. All such -means fail, and it has become a proverb that virtue cannot be made by -Act of Parliament. - -The Church is a part of the British Constitution, and is the means by -which in old days honesty was promoted; and if in these modern days -the Church fails, its failure, at any rate, has given no ground for -a corresponding proverb, that virtue cannot be made by a religious -agency. The majority still believe that if men were spiritually-minded -they would care for things that are honest, and give themselves to duty -in the spirit of the saints and puritans. There may be a morality which -is independent of religion; but there is still confidence in the power -of the Spirit to carry men over the rough road of duty. There is still -a willingness to trust in spiritual agencies to promote morality. - -Stated widely, the Church exists to spiritualise life. The ritual -and the doctrine, which are often regarded as ends, are the means to -this further end. A National Church exists to connect the life of -individuals and the life of the nation with the life of God, in Whom -all fulness is, to fill men with grace and truth, to make them to -respond to high emotions and settle them on eternal calm. Its object -is to make men friends, to unite all classes in common aims, to give -them open minds, willing to learn, and to introduce them to whatever is -honest and of good report. The Church aims to develop the sense of duty -through the sense of God. - -That the Church of England should fail to reach this object is not -surprising. In an age of free trade, as a ‘protected’ society, it -starts at a disadvantage. In an age of self-government, as a system -which is not under popular control, it is suspected. In a democratic -age, as an aristocratic organisation, it is not understood. - -Chivalry worked well in its own day. The times changed, and there was -no room in the new age for knights errant. Many were sorry to see it -pass away, with its swift remedies for wrong, its attractive dress, and -its power for good. They tried to revive its force, and ‘Don Quixote’ -is a satire on the effort. The good man, with all his devotion, was -out of place; the knight of the old age was the butt of the new age. -Such a satire might be made on a Church which tries by old forms and -through an old constitution to spiritualise life. A few followers may -be attracted by sentiment, clinging to memories of good old times, and -by striking forms of devotion; but the many will be bound to feel that -the effort with all its beauty is out of place, that the realities of -the old age have become the pictures of the new age. - -The Church of England is not therefore effective to spiritualise the -life of the nation and to develop honesty of living. Its present -position is indeed indefensible. As a ‘Reformed’ Church, it offers the -example of the greatest abuses. As a ‘Catholic’ Church, it promotes the -principle of schism. As a ‘National’ Church, it is out of touch with -the nation. - -There is no other department in the State which can match the abuses -connected with the sale of livings, with the common talk about -‘preferment’ and ‘promotion,’ with the irremovability of indolent, -incapable, and unworthy incumbents, with the restriction of worship to -words which expressed the wants of another age, and with the use of -tests to exclude from the ranks of ministers those called by God to -teach in fresh forms the newest revelations to mankind. There are no -greater supporters of the schism from which they pray to be delivered -than the bishops and clergymen who talk of ‘the Church’ as if it were -a sect to promote ‘Church of England’ societies, and strive to cut off -from the body of the people a section of its members. There is nothing -national which so little concerns the nation as its Church. By the vast -majority of those who are the coming rulers, namely, by the working -class, the Church and its services are unused. The parson may here and -there be popular as a man; he may even be regarded as of some use to -take the chair at meetings to get up charitable societies and promote -the education or the amusement of the people. He is not, though, -looked to for the help he can give to life, and it is not through him -that the people hope to get vice put down, virtue promoted, and life -spiritualised. - -The place of the Church in the Constitution is forgotten; so when there -is a complaint that impurity is sapping the strength of the nation, or -that cheating is ruining trade, or that selfishness is making men scamp -work, it is not the clergy who are called on to do their duty and make -a cure, but a new society is formed or a new law is demanded, and the -clergy are not even rebuked for neglect. No one seems to expect that a -Church, nominally co-extensive with the nation, which is established to -spiritualise life, should do its work. The position is indefensible. -Those politicians who are moved only by agitation may say, ‘The -condition of the Church is not one of practical politics,’ and pass -on. The greater number realising that the ultimate conflict is between -those who would govern with God and those who would govern without God, -and anxious that the Church should be effective for its purpose, are -quietly making up their minds to one of two solutions--Disestablishment -or Reform. - -The present means for making the people virtuous or honest fail. -‘Disestablish,’ urge the Liberationists. ‘Let the clergy of the Church -be stirred by competition and roused by interest, and we shall have -better results.’ ‘Let the connection with the State continue,’ say -the Reformers; ‘let the abuses be eradicated, but leave the teachers -of the nation to be moved by duty and not by bigotry or sectarian -rivalry.’ These two solutions for making effective the means of -developing honesty offer themselves for examination. It is worthy of -remark that the common arguments for Disestablishment, except those -urged by the opponents of all religion, hardly touch the principle -of Establishment. Secularists urge that religion being useless and -spirituality a fancy, it is no business of the State to do anything to -spiritualise the life of its members as a means to increase virtue. -Their position is unassailable, and the day on which the nation decides -that God has no relation to life, the Church as a spiritualising agency -must be disestablished, its buildings turned into lecture-halls, and -its endowments devoted to the reduction of the national debt or to the -teaching of art and science. - -The position of the Secularists is occupied by few. The ordinary -advocate of Disestablishment is anxious that the life of the nation -may be spiritualised, but he sees that the Church is ineffective, he -marks its abuses, its rivalry with the sects, and its assumption of -superiority. He argues that its ineffectiveness and its assumption are -due to its connection with the State, and urges that Disestablishment -alone will sweep out the abuses. He condemns abuses but he cannot -condemn a principle which affirms the duty of the State to teach the -higher life, because he himself has probably approved the principle as -a supporter of Education Acts, liquor laws, and other legislation of a -like aim. - -It is allowed by the majority of the people that the State should -teach the life of prudence, and schools are established under local -School Boards to teach every child, so that he may earn his living. -Further, it is allowed that the State should control the forces which, -for good or evil, may rouse the people, and thus licensing boards are -established to limit the sale of strong drink. - -The same principle is involved in an Established Church. If the State -educates the citizens, and admits its responsibility for the formation -of their characters, a line can hardly be drawn at a point which would -exclude it from giving the people the means which are the best security -for happiness and for morality. - -The principle of Establishment does not--as its opponents often -think--assert that a sect has truth; it asserts that the nation has -truth, or is seeking it. The truth abides in the best thought of the -whole nation, and the Church is established to express that truth. The -clergy have no special rights, they are servants appointed to do the -will of the nation. Truth abides not in ‘the Church’ of the bishops -and clergy nor in a book, it abides in the people. Once when it was -proposed in the House of Commons to refer a matter of doctrine to the -bishops, ‘No, by the faith I bear to God,’ said Mr. Wentworth, with the -approval of the House, ‘we will pass nothing before we understand what -it is, for that were to make you Popes.’ It is the people, therefore, -which by its Parliament has settled, and may again settle, the limits -of teaching and ritual. The clergy are its servants paid out of funds -set apart for this special purpose. Lord Palmerston put it shortly when -he said, ‘The property of the Church belongs to the State.’ - -The nation, in old language, is holy. The body of people called English -is set apart for a special service, its laws are laws of God, its -work is worship, and every one of its members owes a duty to God. The -memory of such a fact was kept alive in Israel where every town’s -meeting was a congregation, every parliament a solemn assembly, every -law the Word of God, and every workman was inspired by the Spirit -of God. The Jewish nation has been preserved in the Jewish Church. -That the English nation is holy must also be kept alive. The nation, -that is, must be a Church and its citizens organised for worship. -‘The spirit of nationality,’ says Burke, ‘is at once the bond and the -safeguard of nations; it is something above laws and beyond thrones, -the impalpable element, the inner life of states.’ In his own language -Burke asserts the holiness of nations, and it is to protect this -impalpable element that it becomes so important for nations to identify -their secular and religious aspects, to be at once nations and churches -with duties to men and to God. - -Disestablishment denies this holiness, and so lets escape the strongest -element in nationality. Disestablishment is, moreover, a short-sighted -policy, because, however great be the measure of Disendowment, it would -make the Church of England the strongest of the sects. In a short time -one of the parties now held in union within the Establishment would -obtain the supremacy, and that party would inherit all the power and -prestige of the position. This party--being only a section of the -religious body--would pose as the representative of religion, and its -clergy would identify their interests with the interest of God. Again, -there would be some Becket to oppose the will of Parliament, and to -call some law affecting his order ‘irreligious,’ and a clericalism -would be let loose to assume, and perhaps make hateful, the name of -religion. ‘Clericalism is the enemy of men,’ is a saying which has -much truth in it. The pity is if clericalism and religion are enabled -to seem to be the same thing. - -Disestablishment, finally, would intensify the competition of sects. To -make one proselyte, the supporters of various forms would compass sea -and land. The standard of morality would be lowered and the flags of -doctrine, invented out of will-worship, would be waved to bring in rich -adherents, and get the use of their money. Even, as it is, there is no -need to go far to find work, which would fall to pieces if the preacher -spoke the truth to the subscribers about their private life or their -tempers. It is urged that the congregations in American non-established -Churches are large; it is not urged that the people in America are -above bribery in politics or above cheating in trade. It is not urged -that American social life is spiritualised, and that is the only fact -which would be evidence of the good of the system. - -To sum up the case against those who offer Disestablishment of the -Church as an answer to the question, ‘How is the nation to be brought -into union with the spirit of goodness?’ it may be urged that-- - -1. Disestablishment is a destructive and wasteful method of getting rid -of abuses, and would destroy the power of the State to teach what the -State holds to be truth. - -2. Disestablishment would establish clericalism, a force which more -than once in history has made religion hateful, and roused for its -repression the God-fearing men of the nation. - -3. Disestablishment, trusting to competition, would leave poor -neighbourhoods unhelped. A poor congregation could not hope for a -church in which worship should be stirred by the beauty of sight and -sound. An ignorant population would not exert itself to get either a -church or a teacher. The most needy would thus be the most neglected. -It is only the State which can give with equal hand to all its members, -and which thus can either educate or spiritualise the masses. - -The solution offered by those who say, ‘Reform the Church,’ remains for -examination. - -These, like the religious liberationists, are anxious that the -instrument for spiritualising life should be effective. The Reformers, -though, recognise that this, the highest object of any organisation -is also the object of the State, and can only be attained by means of -the Constitution. Individuals may be left to provide for the wants -they have recognised. The State must provide for the wants of the -higher life and send out teachers to tell individuals of things beyond -their ken. The Church reformers urge, therefore, that the principle of -Establishment should be retained, but that abuses should be eradicated -and old-fashioned methods reformed. - -The practical difficulties of reform are doubtless many, but they are -not insuperable. Inasmuch as Burke has said, ‘What is taught by a State -Church must be decided by the State, and not by the clergy,’ it is -possible to conceive that the nation, and not a sect, might determine -how truth should be sought and taught. Inasmuch as now it is the people -who directly or indirectly appoint their rulers, it is easy to conceive -how the people, and not a patron, might have a voice in the choice of -the parson, and how the parishioners, and not the parson, might govern -the Church and the parish. There need be no ill-paid, no over-paid, -no unworthy incumbent. There need be no neglected parish, and a State -Church might be as effective an organisation for promoting spirituality -as the State Post-office is for promoting intercourse. - -Institutions have survived a greater reform than that which is required -in the Church, and those who have seen the changes which the law-making -department of the State has endured may without fear submit the -right-making department to like changes. - -It is no new principle to reform the Reformed Church. By a law of -Henry VIII. the king has authority to ‘reform, correct all errors, -heresies and abuses,’ and the people’s Parliament now takes the place -of the king. ‘The particular form of Divine worship,’ says the preface -to Edward VI.’s second Prayer Book, ‘and the rites and ceremonies -appointed to be used therein, being in their own nature indifferent -and _alterable_, and so acknowledged, it is but reasonable, &c. &c.’ -The Long Parliament changed the whole Constitution and Ritual of the -Church. The Restoration Parliament undid that work. Throughout the -seventeenth century the Teaching, the Ritual, and the Organisation -were discussed as open questions, and the present system is the result -purely of a Parliamentary decision. - -Three hundred years ago, to suit the new age, the new birth of -learning, the Church was reformed. The present times are marked by -changes as great as those of the Renaissance, and the Church remains -unchanged. As was the Church of the sixteenth century, so is the Church -of the nineteenth century. - -The government of England has become popular, and the people elect -the Parliament which makes the laws; the Church of England is still -exclusive, and the clergy in ‘their’ churches and ‘their’ parishes are -still supreme. - -Freedom has destroyed monopolies; and, according to a rough scale, -justice is equally administered. In the Church, monopolies still exist, -justice is defied in arrangements which are for the benefit of the -strong, and the clergy are a ‘protected’ class. - -The language and the fashion of Englishmen have changed, but the Church -still addresses men with the language and the ritual of the Middle Ages. - -The Church, once reformed to suit new needs, the rites of which are -‘alterable,’ has not been made to suit the needs of modern times. -The Church must be again reformed. If details be asked as to the -Constitution of the Church of the future, if questions rise to men’s -lips, ‘What will be done about Bishops?’ ‘Who will fix the limits of -doctrine?’ ‘How will the rights of minorities be considered?’ the -simple answer is that all can be settled by the people. The Reformers -of 1832 did not map out the details of the new government of England; -they simply gave the power to the people, and the people rooted out -abuses and reformed the administration of law. It will be sufficient -to-day if the people are admitted to that place in Church government -which is now usurped by the clergy or their nominees. The State is -democratic, the Church must also be democratic. As the State is -governed by the people for the people, the Church must be governed by -the people for the people. - -It is waste of time to make a paper constitution, which often binds -the hopes of its makers to one plan. Church boards, a popular veto on -patronage, or a general synod, may be the best means of introducing -the people’s power, but it is not wise to proceed as if the means -were ends. Church reformers need not advocate any means as essential, -the one thing essential is to give the people power to form their own -Church; to see, in a word, that the Church is the people’s Church. - -The obstacle to Church reform is not the doubt as to its possibility -or difference of opinion as to its method. The real obstacle is -the general indifference to religion. The zeal or enthusiasm which -passes as religious is most often roused by opinions, and, as Wesley -said, ‘Zeal for opinions is not zeal for religion.’ In the noise of -controversy and in the hurry of trade the very nature of religion seems -forgotten. The arguments of theologians and the sensationalism of -revivalists are discussed as religious problems, in which it is well -to show an intelligent interest, but men do not feel that their daily -lives, the lives of the poor, and the hope of England depend on their -relation with God. If it were really seen that it is on religion, that -is, on keeping up the communication between the little good within -and the great good without, between man’s broken light and God’s full -light, that trade, happiness, and life depend; if it were seen that -England cannot be virtuous till Englishmen drink of the Fountain of -virtue, then Church reform would be undertaken without delay. No -difficulty would seem too great to prevent the vast resources of the -Church being brought to the service of religion, and the highest -intelligence of statesmen would be devoted to making perfect the -organisation for spiritualising life. - -It may not be in the power of those of less intelligence to tell the -method of reform, but all who are weary at the thought of the present -condition of the people may refresh themselves with hopes. Those who -reflect on the cheerless faces so common to East London, the dull, -weary round of the workers, their deathful life and their hopeless -death, are borne down by the thought that each lives in the parish of -some Church minister. They weary themselves wondering how the servant -provided by the State might better serve the needs of the poor, how the -great Church organisation might eradicate unfit houses, bring wealth -to the relief of poverty, and make the means of joy more equal. They -ask themselves in vain how the house of God might be a house for God’s -children. Unable to answer, they may at any rate gladden themselves -with an ideal. - -The People’s Church then may be so close to the best thought of the -nation that it will reflect that thought in every parish, as the -ministers who have gathered light from the greatest teachers of science -and history direct that light on to the lives of the hardest workers. -It may be so near to every individual that its buildings will be the -meeting-place of all, the scene of the Holy Communion, where men will -learn to know and love God and man. It may so bring together rich and -poor, the cultured and the ignorant, that the efforts and the money -now fitfully wasted by rival philanthropists will be directed to -the effectual remedy of ignorance and poverty. The ministers of the -People’s Church may be near to God and near to men, a means by which -the avenues to the highest are kept open, the spiritual teachers who, -by their lives and doctrines, touch the divine within the human, and -make all men respond to the call of right and duty, and settle life on -eternal calm. - -The conception of such a Church is possible, though it is not possible -to say how it may be accomplished; or how these competing claims of -creeds and rituals to be religion may be satisfied; or how the rights -of men and the rights of their little systems may be sunk in the -thought of duty. The organisation of the Church of the future is not -now to be sketched. The first step which it is for this generation to -take has been made clear. All progress has been through the people, and -the Church must be in fact, as in name, the people’s Church. There must -be a parish parliament and not a parish despot, and the government of -the Church must be by the people as well as for the people. - -This is the first step, and what will follow is in God’s counsels. -It is the people who govern the nation and decide on peace or war. -They have moulded the machinery by which justice is administered and -freedom secured; the people must also mould the machinery by which -right will be taught and life spiritualised. If they are excluded from -exercising their will upon the Establishment, nothing can hinder them -from destroying it. God speaks in every age; He has not forgotten to be -gracious, and the people are now His instruments, as in old days were -kings. It is by them His will is being done, and in that belief the -people may be trusted so to order the Church that by its means the Holy -Spirit will once more show among men the fruit of virtue and honesty. - - SAMUEL A. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - X. - -_WHAT HAS THE CHARITY ORGANISATION SOCIETY TO DO WITH SOCIAL REFORM?_[1] - - [1] A Paper read at a meeting of members of the Charity Organisation -Society, held at the Kensington Vestry Hall on February 28, 1884. - - -I feel not a little shy at speaking to so large and thoughtful a body -of workers; and I should not have ventured to accede to Mr. Loch’s -proposal had I not felt myself to be an old friend of the Charity -Organisation Society. I cannot say that I have ever seen its founder, -neither was I present at its birth, but I was at its christening, when -some long names were given; and later, at its confirmation, I heard the -duty undertaken, and indeed the declaration made, that the main object -of its existence was ‘to improve the condition of the poor.’ - -I am very proud of our friend; but, being a Charity Organiser, I can -see his faults, of which, to my mind, one of the chief is that he has -forgotten his baptism! I do not mean his name, but some of the promises -then made for him. Far from forgetting his name, he thinks rather too -much of it, having fallen into the aristocratic fault of believing a -name more important than a character; and inasmuch as ‘on what we dwell -that we become,’ he has run the danger--and we will not say wholly -escaped it--of sacrificing the one to the other. He has, in short, -unkindly ignored the thoughts and wishes of some of his god-parents. -Have not his friends a right to be aggrieved? - -We hear nowadays much about Social Reform, which, being interpreted, -means, I suppose, the removal of certain conditions in and around -society which stand in the way of man’s progress towards perfection. - -Every human being, surely, ought to be able to make a free choice for -good or evil. It is, no doubt, possible for each of us to choose the -higher or the lower life ‘in that state of life in which it has pleased -God to call us’; but the condition of some states keeps the higher life -very low. - -The moralists may tell about the educating influence of resistance -to temptations; but are not temptations strong enough in themselves -without being buttressed by conditions? Even the most ingenious of -Eve’s apologists has never ventured to advance the view that she was -hungry. - -It should be a matter of man’s free will alone that determines which -life he lives. Social conditions, over which as an individual he has -no power, now too often determine for him, for there are forces in and -around society which crush down the individual will of man and which -bind his limbs so tightly that not only his course, but too often his -gait, has been determined for him. - -1. Great Wealth.--Can a man live the highest life whose abundance -puts out of daily practice the priceless privilege of personal -sacrifice--from whom effort is undemanded--whose floors are padded -should he chance to fall--whose walls, golden though they be, are -dividing barriers, high and strong, between him and his fellow-men? - -2. Great Poverty.--Can a man live the highest life when the -preservation of his stunted, unlovely body occupies all his -thoughts--from whose life pleasure is crushed out by ever-wearying -work--to whom thought is impossible (the brain needs food and leisure -to set it going)--to whom knowledge, one of the prophets of the -nineteenth century and a revealer of the Most High, is denied? - -3. Unequal Laws.--Is a man wholly unfettered in his choice of life when -his country’s laws have allowed him to become a victim to unsanitary -dwellings--when they permit him to sin, by providing that his wrong -should (on himself) be resultless--when its ministers of justice, -interpreting its laws, declare in the strong tones of action that -bread-stealing is more wicked than wife-beating? Or is the highest -life made more possible by laws that allow so much of our great mother -earth--God-blessed for the use of mankind--to be reserved for the -exclusive benefit and enjoyment of the upper classes? - -4. Division of Classes.--Love is the strongest force in the universe. -At least the ancient teachers thought so when they renamed God, and -left Him with the Christian name of Love. But love, a certain kind -of love for which no other makes up, becomes impossible by the great -division between classes. We cannot love what we do not know; it is as -the American said, ‘Oh, Jones! I hate that fellow.’ ‘Hate him?’ asked -his friend; ‘why, I did not think you knew him.’ ‘No, I don’t,’ was the -reply; ‘if I did, I guess I shouldn’t hate him.’ The division between -classes is a wrong to both classes. The poor lose something by their -ignorance of the grace, the culture, and the wider interests of the -rich; the rich lose far more by their ignorance of the patience, the -meekness, the unself-consciousness, the self-sacrifice, and the great -strong hopefulness of the poor. - -5. Besides these conditions, others exist, forming barriers and -hindering a man from leading his true life, such as want of light, -space, and beauty. The sun-rising is to a large number of town livers -only an intimation--and rarely an agreeable one--that they must get out -of bed. It is but the lighting of a lamp, and not, as Blake said, the -rising of an innumerable company of the heavenly host consecrating the -day to duty by crying, ‘Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty.’ And even -if there is the space to see the sky, there is still the absence of -leisure to watch its unhurried changes. We all haste and rush, we hurry -and drive. The very parlance of the day adopts new words to express -dispatch, and one dear old body whom I know, who is sixty years old -and of appropriate proportions, constantly informs me that she ‘flew’ -hither and thither--a method of locomotion which, in earlier years, I -remember, she reserved strictly for future and more heavenly purposes. - -But enough has been said of the ills of society. We all know them. The -hearts of some of us have been very sick for many a weary year. The -hands of those who have sat on the height and watched the progress of -the battle have become tired, and have been upheld only by faith and -prayer. But reinforcements have arrived; friends for the poor have -arisen; from all sides press forward willing volunteers, who say, ‘Put -us in our place. Let us do something. How can we break down these -barriers--unloose the golden fetters of these imprisoned souls--or -relieve the burdened shoulders of those pale dungeoned creatures? How -are we to make strength out of union--to right wrongs, and give to -every man the light by which to see to make his choice?’ - -If one is to carry heavy weights one must have trained muscles. If -one is to reply one must know. The Charity Organisation Society is -the watchman set on a hill, who by his very constitution has special -facilities for giving an answer--and a wise one--to these questions. -He has exceptional opportunities for knowing both the classes in which -social reform is most needed, and knows them under the best conditions. -The rich come to him with ‘minds on helpfulness bent’; the poor come at -a time when their hearts are sore, when their lives are troubled, when -their sorrows have made them ‘unmanfully meek,’ and they are willing to -lay their lives and circumstances bare to inquiring eyes. For fifteen -years the one class has been meeting the other in the thirty-nine -district offices provided by the Society, and some 230,000 families -have asked for succour when they have been either morally, physically, -or circumstantially sick. Last year alone 14,132_l._ passed through -the hands of this Director of Charity, and at this moment there are -more than 2,000 men and women actively engaged in his work, while he -records the names of nearly 3,000 subscribers whose money is an earnest -of sympathy and potential working power. - -But magnificent as this sounds, and _is_ (for there can be no doubt -about it that our friend is a very fine fellow), still there are -flaws both in his past and present constitution and character which -make his work less effective than it otherwise might be. Briefly, his -heart is not large enough for his body--his circulation is slow--his -movements are ponderous--and, being slightly hard of hearing, he does -not take in things until some little time after other people have done -so. Then, too, he is somewhat a creature of habit; his mind does not -readily assimilate new ideas, and he does rather an unusual number of -things because ‘he always has done so.’ His _raison d’être_, his whole -work, is founded on the first word of his name--Charity--(which the -new translators tell us we may call love, if we like), and yet he is -sometimes curiously persistent in ‘thinking evil,’ and he hardly, I -fear, ‘hopeth all things,’ nor yet lives up to his standard of ‘never -failing’; or what does 463 cases thrown aside as ‘undeserving and -ineligible’ mean in this last month’s returns of work? - -Then he has an odd way of talking about his work. I have often seen -ordinary, commonplace, every-day sort of people begin to listen to him -with keen interest, but gradually drop eyelids and lose sympathy as he -threads his way through investigations, organisations, registrations, -co-operations, applications, administrations, each and all done by -multiplication! - -This is a pity, for of course the every-day sort of people are most -wanted to help him. He cannot only work with people who have been -cradled in blue-books and nourished with statistics, nor yet with those -who are like the man who ‘did not care to look unless he could see the -future.’ - -Some people dislike this faulty creature very much. They see no good -in him, and call him all sorts of hard names; but then one is apt to -find faults in large people more unbearable than in little ones. Clumsy -people, if big, are so very clumsy; they tumble over the furniture, and -kick the pet dog, and if they do chance to tread on toes it hurts so -very much! and that is partly the case with him. But he has virtues, -and plenty of them; he is not afraid of work, and he really cares for -the poor; he is exceedingly honourable about money; he is methodical -and business-like; he is thorough in all he does, thinking no detail -beneath his notice; he is accurate about his facts and moderate in his -statements; he is most even in his temper (though personally I should -like him better if I could once see him in a rage), and he is patient -and painstaking; he is humble, though conceited, too; that is, with -the sort of conceit that one sometimes meets with in swimmers who know -that they do the stroke ‘quite perfectly’ but yet are somewhat afraid -of deep water; fearful, not of their breath or strength failing, but of -the cramp, or jelly-fish, or other unknown dangers of the deep. - -But that he is a fine being we shall all agree, with a full, rich -nature; and if he could or would add to his many virtues that of -adaptability; if he would become a little more elastic in his fingers -as well as in his body; if he would take digitalis, in the shape of -hearty hand-shaking, to improve his circulation; if he would determine -every week to do some new thing, ‘just for a change’; if he would, -having been awakened by all his baptismal names, remind himself--just -while he was dressing--of the main object of his existence; if he would -not be above using an ear-trumpet, particularly on those occasions -when he leaves his papers and goes to ‘sup sorrow with the poor’--if -he would do some or all of these things we might yet see his strong -arm foremost among those who remove barriers to let in light; we might -yet hear his strong voice giving out with no uncertain sound the -charitable--the loving--answer to some of these soul-stirring questions. - -For instance (and you will perhaps pardon me for carrying you into -Committee for a few minutes), here is the case of Williamson, a man of -forty, with his wife, three living children, and the recollections of -the funerals of two. He is a casual dock-labourer, working when he can -get work, and then only if his bad leg allows him. His wife asks for a -loan to enable her to stock more fully her street-hawking basket. The -father is described as a ‘quiet, steady man.’ The mother is a ‘decent -woman.’ The decision of the Committee is ‘ineligible,’ and Williamson -goes away a sadder and no wiser man. - -And why is the case ineligible? Because the Committee think that -money will do the family no good. The people are below the stage when -money help can be useful. They have drifted till they are, in fact, -ineligible for what the Society, materialistic as the age which counts -money the greatest good, feels itself alone able to give, and by the -decision of the Committee they are allowed to drift still. And yet -not one of us could say that this family did not need help. On the -case-paper, in the very middle of the first page, stand two _helpable_ -facts. Williamson is only casually employed by a great permanent -company. Williamson is in no club. - -Charitable _effort_ needs organising even more than charitable -_relief_. Some people fear the devil more than they love God; or, in -other words, they fear to do harm more than they love to do good. -Seeing that money unwisely bestowed does great harm, they have hastened -to organise it, neglecting meanwhile to organise effort, which for the -creation of good is stronger than money for the creation of evil. - -Williamson, with his rough, decent wife and his three unkempt children, -is, let us grant, ineligible for charitable relief, but not for -charitable effort. That might be directed to induce him to belong to -a club, to take intelligent interest in the actions of his country, -to realise, helped by Sir Walter Scott or Tourgénief, the thoughts -of other nations, the character of other centuries or classes. Let -effort be used to help him to accept the strength which union gives to -resistance, be it to personal temptation or to public wrong. - -And could not charitable effort undertake that Mrs. Williamson’s -tiring day be less degradingly tiring? Could it not provide a cosy -parlour-club, or a chair more tempting than an upright Windsor, in -which darning and mending would be possible? And perhaps that dull task -would not be so wholly distasteful if enlivened by a sweet voice, who -would read ideas into the stitches, or sing patches into rhythmical -relations. Such effort would soon make a difference in the unkempt -appearance of the little Williamsons, and maybe evenings given up to -those who cannot ‘ask us again’ or Sunday-planned walks would not be -entirely wasted efforts, and if multiplied to any extent might have -a perceptible influence on our country’s conscience, though it might -perhaps reduce our country’s revenue from excise and customs. - -Charitable effort, too, might make gutter-mud and street-fights -less attractive to John, Sarah, and Jane by providing them with -playgrounds as well as something--and perhaps young philanthropists -will add somebody--to play with. And could not charitable effort take -the children for a few weeks out of the one room to learn ideals of -cleanliness and to have some fun which is not naughty in the cottage -homes of our country villages? - -And wisely directed effort might, too, aim at abolishing the system of -casual labour at the docks--a system which keeps thousands of half-fed -men hanging each morning about the dock gates because on one day in -ten all may be wanted--a system which degrades men by forcing them to -scramble for their work and almost enjoy the chance on which homes and -existence depend. Such a system is not to be justified on the plea of -profit or on the fear of strikes. But, granted that even my friend’s -great strength is powerless before Giant Dock Companies, yet is not -this an occasion when, if he could do nothing else, he might use -strong language, to which it is often noticed that neither animals nor -companies are wholly indifferent? - -So much for Williamson. But Committee is not over yet, and here are the -papers of Mrs. Canty--56 years of age--a poor shrivelled old woman, -ugly and uninteresting in appearance, unable to work from a dreadful -complaint in her face, living with her two children, the only survivors -out of a goodly family of six. The children, a boy of 20 and a girl of -16, are earning 24_s._ between them, and the Committee decide that the -case is one ‘not requiring relief.’ Perhaps not--in money, but is cold, -hard money the only relief that the Charity Organisation Society has to -offer? Surely charitable effort could be organised for the benefit of -this family. Some one could be sent with time and tact who would help -the poor widow to other pleasures than those of regretful memories; for -we read she was ‘well-to-do in her husband’s lifetime.’ Some one who -would make bright half-hours for her and take her mind from dwelling on -her poor painful face, guiding her to draw strength from the thought of -other lives and hope out of greater interests. - -Is not some one’s carriage at the Society’s disposal in which she may -be taken--she is too weak to walk and has not been out for two and a -half years--to catch a glimpse of the bright spring flowers and the -new-budding trees? - -For the boy too. He may be in a good place and earn enough for -bare necessities; but he has not the means of getting books, the -opportunities for joining a gymnasium, nor the knowledge of the club, -where he could be re-created and form friendships. These may all be -within reach, and would certainly be for the relief of such a lad’s -hard and monotonous life; but the Charity Organisation Society, -declaring that he does ‘not require relief,’ lets him go without an -effort to give him what would influence his life far more radically -than the asked for half-a-crown a week. - -And for the girl also. She may be training for good work, but she -must often be tired of the drudgery of her five years’ nursing done -without the help of a competent doctor--for the old lady ‘doctors of -herself’--and done, too, between the intervals allowed by her business -of widow-cap making. Does she require no relief which the Charity -Organisation Society can give--the relief which comes through books and -patience-preaching pictures, the relief which follows the introduction -to the singing class leading to the choir, or which comes through the -hand-grasp of the wiser friend when the road is unusually drear? - -Relief through such agencies would often make later relief -unnecessary--relief which we _dare_ not withhold, and yet ache as we -silently give it to lock hospitals, reformatories, and penitentiaries. -Might not--may not charitable effort be organised to remove some of -the social conditions which stand as barriers to prevent, or anyhow -make it painfully difficult for these eight people to live the highest, -fullest, richest life? - -And the hindering barriers to the rich man’s life. I have hardly said a -word about him, yet I am quite sorry for him, more sorry than for his -poor neighbour; but there is not so much need for anyone to look after -him, because he himself already does it. He had better be forgotten -for a bit, so that he may be helped to forget himself. ‘He that loseth -his life shall find it,’ and the good, if unsought, will come to him. -When he, with ‘all he is and has,’ goes to reform his neighbour’s -conditions, he will find them wondrously interwoven with his own. He -will find, if he digs deep enough, that the foundations of both palace -and court are of the same material, and also that he both sees further -and breathes easier after having melted down his golden walls to frame -his neighbour’s pictures. - -But the Charity Organisation Society could help him. It must help -both the rich and the poor. It must make of itself a bridge by which -the one set of condition-hindered people can cross to reach the other -condition-hindered people; and, as is sometimes the case in fairy -tales, the hindrance will in individual cases disappear in the very act -of crossing the bridge. - -I do not mean that the mere meeting will in itself be a social reform, -but it will tend to it, and that in the best way. Which of us having -once been in a court disgraceful to our civilisation, and yet all that -forty or fifty families have to call ‘home,’ would lose a chance of -promoting a Sanitary Aid Committee or of getting the law enforced or -amended? Which of us, having once seen a Whitechapel alley at five -o’clock on an August afternoon, and realising all it means, besides -physical discomfort, could go and enjoy our afternoon tea, daintily -spread on the shady lawn, and not ask himself difficult questions -about his own responsibility--while one man has so much and another -so little? The answer would, maybe, have legal results. Which of us, -having sat by the sick-bed of the work-worn man (not having relieved -ourselves by giving him a shilling), can return and drink for our -pleasure the wine which might be his health? Which of us, having become -acquainted with the low ideas, the coarse thoughts, the unholy hopes of -(pardon the expression) the ‘outcast poor,’ can reject the privilege of -self-sacrifice for their help; can neglect, at the cost of any personal -trouble, a single effort which will aid their ‘growth in grace’? - -Evil is wrought from ignorance as well as want of thought; and the rich -suffer from not knowing, as much as the poor from not being known. Both -classes want help. They cannot alone break down their barriers, and -alone they cannot live their best life. Our Society must help them--our -Society, guided by wise rules as to what not to do, can introduce, -as the children say, Mr. Too-Much to Miss Too-Little; it can be the -‘Helpful Society,’ helping the man stifled with too much; helping the -man starving with too little; helping the idler whose true nature is -literally ‘dying for something to do’; helping the worker who seeks the -grave gladly from fatigue; helping the lonely man to find his place -in the crowd, and the crowd-tired man to opportunities of solitude; -helping the owner of knowledge to outpour his treasures, and the -ignorant to receive the same; helping the merry-maker to make merry, -and the sorrowful to teach the lessons of pain; helping those who have -found the true meaning of life to ring out their news to those of us -who are still groping and restless for assurance; helping, in short, -all who will give effort to wise uses. - -Practically the thirty-nine district offices might each be the centre -of all those forces which, under any name, are directed against the -evils and hardships of life. Their rooms might be the places in which -the members of charitable societies would hold their meetings. And, -instead of dreading association with the Charity Organisation Society, -all honest workers might hope to find in connection with it associates -the most helpful. One day the committee-room would be occupied by a -Relief Society, which would make its grants; another day would find -ladies gathered to consult on some Befriending Society. Each day the -office would have its charitable use, and people of all sorts would -meet, thinkers and workers; the clergy and the laymen; the man with the -new scheme and the well-worn worker in the old paths; the practical -reformer and the enthusiast. A kind of registry might be kept by -which those wanting to help might be introduced into empty posts of -helpfulness. It would no longer happen that a man should be kept years -at case-writing when he had within him a divine gift for managing boys. -Clergymen, members of societies, by advertising their vacant posts, -could then find among other societies able helpers. - -Practically it seems a small thing to say, let the offices be more -generously used; let the secretaries make it their business to find -out the vacant posts of usefulness in clubs, night schools, &c. Such -a simple practical reform might have great issues. Frequent meetings -would result in action, weak local boards be strengthened, pressure -brought to bear on neglectful officials, vacancies in the ranks of -teachers and visitors filled, and a public opinion formed strong enough -to condemn both luxury and suffering--both over and under work. If such -a scope of action frightens those who are conscious of thin ranks and -limited resources, let them remember that it is the thought of wider -action which will tempt in recruits. Many who have no taste for ‘case -work’ and Committee forms will be glad co-operators when, in any way, -they can be brought face to face with the poor; when they can feel -that, by their organised effort, some steps are being made in social -reform. - -I do not for a moment mean to imply that I believe society will be -reformed if the Charity Organisation Society were to decide to adopt a -larger policy or a more embracing area of work. Even those of us who -most believe in it must acknowledge that it is but one among many -influencing forces; but it is possible to hope that all such influences -working together may make a community where conditions (as mountains -in landscapes) will only make variety in the level of humanity. A flat -country is dull. Mountains and valleys are much more beautiful; but -then the hills lend their beauty to the dales--their torrents fertilise -the low-lying lands, and the lofty mountain crag which first gains -the light, and is the last to lingeringly let it go, gives back its -reflected glory to gladden the shadowed valley. - -A sameness of circumstances might not mean social reform (indeed, -personally, I doubt if anything but love for God will mean social -reform), but reform is necessary, and with that we all agree. ‘Effort -is bootless, toil is fruitless’; with that we do not agree--our very -presence here denies it. There only remains then that organised effort -should be directed towards reform, noticing, by the way, that, having -swept the room, we do not leave the broom about! If those who make -the effort will, not neglecting statistics, returns, and order, keep -their eye on the far-away issue, which is the life of man raised to its -perfect fulness, our children may, ‘with pulses stirred to generosity,’ -rejoice to tell the tale of what the Charity Organisation Society did -for social reform. - - HENRIETTA O. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XI. - - _SENSATIONALISM IN SOCIAL REFORM._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Nineteenth Century_ of February -1886. - - -Theudas and Jesus were alike moved by the suffering of the Jews. -Theudas, ‘boasting himself to be somebody, drew away much people’; -Jesus, who did not ‘strive nor cry,’ had only a few disciples, and died -deserted by these. - -The present method of reform is by striving and crying. The voice of -those who see the evils of society is heard in the streets, and much -people is drawn to meetings and demonstrations. Many, moved by what -they hear, profess themselves to be ‘frantic,’ and the country seems -ready for a moral revolt. - -What shall the end be? Will the evil cease because the bitter cry of -those who suffer is heard in the land? Will the ‘frantic’ striving of -many people relieve society from the slavery of selfishness and lead -to a moral reform, or will it be that after a few months some one like -Browning’s Cardinal will be found saying, ‘I have known four-and-twenty -leaders of revolt’? - -This is a question to be considered, if possible, with calmness of -mind, without prejudice for or against sensationalism. It may be that -what seems sensational is but the bigger cry suited to a bigger world, -and therefore the only means of making known the facts which must -afterwards be weighed and considered. It may be that some must be made -frantic before any will act. It may be, on the other hand, that this -trumpeting of sorrow and sin is the vengeance of the crime of sense, -itself a sense to be worn with time; that men trumpet sorrows for mere -love of noise and size, and become frantic over tales of sin to wring -from each tale a new pleasure. Sensationalism in social reform is -either the outcome of self-indulgence or it is the divine voice making -itself heard in language which he that runs may read. - -Not lightly at any rate are Midlothian speeches, ‘bitter cries,’ and -religious revivals to be passed over. They, by striving and crying, by -forcible statements and strong language, have caused public opinion -to stop its course of easy satisfaction, and to express itself in new -legislation. For the sake of the Bulgarians a Ministry was overturned; -because of the cry of the poor an Act of Parliament has been passed; -and the success of the Salvation Army has modified the services in -our churches. In face, though, of these results on legislation, and -of other results represented by various societies and leagues, the -question still is, Will the same causes result in raising character? -Professor Clifford, in one of his essays, speaks with religious fervour -on the importance of character in society:-- - - Our words, our phrases, our forms and processes and modes of - thought are common property fashioned and perfected from age to - age.... Into this, for good or ill, is woven every belief of every - man who has speech of his fellows. An awful privilege and an awful - responsibility, that we should help to create the world in which - posterity will live! - -Further, he goes on to point out that a bad method is bad, whatever -good results may follow, because it weakens the character of the doer -and so weakens society. - - If (he says) I steal money from any person, there may be no harm - done by the mere transfer of possession; he may not feel the loss, - or it may prevent him from using the money badly. But I cannot help - doing this great wrong towards Man, that I make myself dishonest. - What hurts society is not that it should lose its property, but that - it should become a den of thieves; for then it must cease to be - society. This is why we ought not to do evil that good may come; for - at any rate this great evil has come, that we have done evil and are - made wicked thereby. - -In judging, therefore, of methods of reform it is not enough to show -that laws have been passed and leagues formed; it must also be shown -that the character of all concerned is raised. Jesus drew few people -after Him and died alone, but He so raised the character of man that -His death inaugurated a permanent reformation of society. It is as the -character of men is raised that all reforms become permanent. - -Oppressed nationalities depend for effectual help on the widely spread -growth of sympathy with freedom; the poor will have starvation wages -till the rich learn what justice requires; and religion will fail to -be a power till men are honest enough to ask themselves in what they -do really believe. Methods of reform are valuable just in so far as -they tend to increase sympathy, justice, honesty, reverence, and all -the virtues of high character. The answer, therefore, as to the end of -this striving and crying of modern philanthropy is to be found in the -effects which such methods have on character. - -On the side of sensationalism it is urged (1) that laws and -institutions are great educators. By the many laws against theft -thieving has come to be regarded as the great crime, and by societies -like that for the prevention of cruelty to animals kindness has -come to be a common virtue. If, therefore, it is argued, by some -rough awakening of the public conscience, laws have been passed and -institutions started, something is done to develop the higher part of -character. ‘Principles,’ it has been said, ‘are no more than moral -habits,’ and if agitation leads to laws which enforce moral habits, -sensationalism may thus have the credit of forming principles which -make character. - -It is further urged (2) that, if association be the watchword of the -future and the educational force of the new age, it is by noisy means -that associations must be formed, because the trumpet note which is to -draw men together from parties and classes between whom great gulfs are -fixed must be one loud enough to strike the senses. - -Lastly, it is said (3) that many whose imagination has been made dull -by the modern systems of education could never know the truth unless -it were shown to them under the strongest light. They have been so -rarely taught in school to take pleasure in knowledge or to stretch -their minds, they have so little accustomed themselves to think over -what is absent or to trace effects to causes, that it is more often by -ignorance than by selfishness that they are cruel. They have been so -eager in managing their inheritance of wealth that they have failed -to use their other inheritance--the power of putting questions. Such -people, it is argued, hearing of atrocities, learning the cost at -which wealth is made, and seeing the brutal side of vice, get such -development of character that they question habits, customs, conditions -which they before accepted, and become more just and generous. - -On the other hand, against this use of sensationalism, keeping still in -view the effects on character, it is urged (1) that actions caused by -the excitement of the emotions before they can be supported by reason -are followed by apathy. The people who became ‘frantic’ at the tale -of the Bulgarian atrocities have since heard almost with equanimity -of suffering as terrible. The many who wrote and spoke of the bitter -lot of the poor hardly give the few pounds a year required to keep -alive the Sanitary Aid Society which was started to deal with what was -allowed to lie nearest the root of the bitterness--the ill-administered -laws of health. The leaders of the Salvation Army, pursued by this fear -of apathy, have continually to seek new forms of excitement, just as -politicians have to seek new cries. - -Such examples seem to show that the wave which is raised by the -emotions must fall back unless it is followed by the rising tide of -reason, and that the effect on character of neglecting the reason is to -make it unfeeling and apathetic. According to Rossetti’s allegory, they -who are stirred by the sight of vice become, like those who look on the -Gorgon’s head, hardened to stone. - - Let not thine eyes know - Any forbidden thing itself, although - It once should save as well as kill; but be - Its shadow upon life enough for thee. - -The emotions, certainly, cannot be strained without loss. Of the -greatest English actress it is told that she paid in old age the price -of early strain on her feelings ‘by weariness, vacuity, and deadness of -spirit.’ - -It is urged further on the same side, (2) that the advertisement -which is said to be necessary to promote association promotes only -organisation, or that if it does promote association it fills it also -with the party spirit, which is a corrupting influence. - -Organisations, we have been lately told, are weakening real charitable -effort. They have at once the strength and the weakness of the standing -army system, they produce a body of officials keen to carry out their -objects and careless of other issues, and they release individuals -from the duty of serving the need they have recognised. That the -sensational method of rousing the charitable activities has resulted -in organisation rather than in association may be seen by reference -to the Charities Register, with its long record of new societies and -institutions. That it also inspires with party spirit the associations -which it forms is more difficult of proof. Strong statements which are -necessary to advertisement can hardly, though, be fair statements, and -loud statements can rarely be exhaustively accurate. Where there is in -the beginning neither fairness of feeling nor accuracy of thought there -will be afterwards a repetition of the old theological hatred. - -‘Ye know not what spirit ye are of,’ said Christ to His disciples, who, -ignorant of His purpose, would have used force in His service against -the Samaritans. The same party spirit still sometimes inspires those -who hold grand beliefs and support great causes, the height and depth -and breadth of which they have had neither time nor will to measure; -and such a spirit degrades their character. It is not a gain to a man -to be a Christian or a Liberal if by so doing he becomes certain that -there is no right nor truth on the side of a Mohammedan or of a Tory. -He has not, that is, risen to the height of his character: rather, as -Mr. Coleridge says, ‘He who begins by loving Christianity better than -the truth will proceed by loving his own sect or Church better than -Christianity, and end in loving himself better than all.’ A teetotaller -will not add so much to society by his temperance as he will take away -from society if his character becomes proud or narrow. - -Party spirit--the spirit, that is, which is roused and limited by -some hasty view of truth or right--is likely to make men unjust and -cruel, and so a method of reform which produces this spirit cannot be -approved. In the name of the grandest causes, missionaries were in old -times cruel, and philanthropists are in modern times unjust. - -Lastly, (3) those who have claimed for sensationalism the parentage of -some law have been met by the paradox that laws and institutions rarely -exist till they have ceased to be wanted. In England public opinion -condemns cruelty to animals, and so a society has been created. In -Egypt, where the need is greater, but where there is no public opinion -to condemn the cruelty, there is no society. Certain it is, at any -rate, that the statute-book is cumbered with laws passed in a moment of -moral excitement which remain without influence because they have never -represented the true level of public opinion. - -Where arguments are so urged for and against sensationalism it may be -useful if, out of thirteen years’ experience of East London life, -I shortly collect what seem to be some of the effects on character -developed during this period. - -The first effect which is manifest is the great increase of humanity -in the richer classes. This is shown not only by talk, by drawing-room -meetings, and by newspaper articles, but by actual service among the -poor. The number of those who go about East London to do good is -largely increased. The increase is, though, I believe, greatest among -those philanthropists who aim to apply principles rather than to -provide relief. There have always been people of good-will ready to -give and to teach; there is now an increase in their numbers, but the -marked increase is among those who, following Mrs. Nassau Senior, work -registry offices, on the principle that friends are the best avenues -by which young girls can find places; or, following Miss Octavia Hill, -become rent collectors, on the principle that the relation of landlord -and tenant may be made conducive to the best good; or, following -Miss Nightingale, take up the work of nursing, on the principle that -the service of the sick is the highest service; or, following the -founders of the Charity Organisation Society, examine into the causes -of poverty, on the principle that it is better to prevent than to cure -evil; or, following Miss Miranda Hill, give their talents to making -beauty common, on the principle that rich and poor have equal powers of -enjoying what is good; or, following Edmund Denison, come to live in -East London and do the duties of citizens, on the principle that only -they who share the neighbourhood really share the life of the poor. -In all these cases the increase began more than thirteen years ago, -and it must be allowed that the development of humanity which they -represent is not of that form which can as a rule be traced to the use -of sensationalism. - -Another effect I notice as generally present is increase of impatience. - -The richer classes seeing things that have been hidden, and ignorant -that any improvement has been going on, have taken up with ready-made -schemes. Irritated that the poor should find obstacles to relief in -times of sickness, they, in their hurry, give the pauper a vote, but -leave him to get his relief under degrading conditions. Angry that -children should be hungry, but too anxious to consider other things -than hunger, they start an inadequate system of penny dinners which -keeps starvation alive. Stirred by the news of uninhabitable houses, -and insanitary areas, and brutal offences, they pass stringent laws and -take no steps to see that the laws are administered. Affected by the -thought that the majority of the people have neither pleasure-ground, -nor space for play, nor water for cleanliness, they raise a chorus of -abuse against London government, but do not deny themselves every day -the bottle of wine or the useless luxury which would give to Kilburn a -park or to East London a People’s Palace. Hearing that the masses are -irreligious, means are supported without regard as to what must be the -influence on thoughtful men of associating religion with things which -are not true, nor honourable, nor lovely, nor of good report. - -On all sides among persons of good-will there seems to be the belief -that things done _for_ people are more effective than things done -_with_ people. There is an absence of the patience--the passionate -patience--which is content to examine, to serve, to wait, and even to -fail, so long as what is done shall be well done. - -The same impatience which takes this shape among the richer classes is, -I think, to be seen among the poorer classes in a growing animosity -against the rich for being rich. Strong words and angry threats have -become common. All suffering and much sin are laid at the doors of the -rich, and speakers are approved who say that if by any means property -could be more equally shared, more happiness and virtue would follow. -Schemes, therefore, which offer such means are welcomed almost without -inquiry. Artisans, roused by what they hear of the state in which their -poorer neighbours live, misled often by what they see, do not inquire -into causes of sin and sorrow. Scamps and idlers come forward with -cries which get popular support, and the mass of the poor now cherish -such a jealous disposition that, were they suddenly to inherit the -place of the richer classes, they would inherit their vices also and -make a state of society in no way better than the present. - -There may be such a thing as a noble impatience, but the impatience -which has lately been added to character of both rich and poor is not -such as to make observers sanguine of the social reform which it may -accomplish. The old saying is still true, ‘He that believeth shall not -make haste.’ - -The other effect on character which has become manifest is one at which -I have already hinted. It is a growing disposition among all classes to -trust in ‘societies,’ whose rules become the authority of the workers -and whose extension becomes the aim of their work. Men give all their -energies to get recruits for their ‘army,’ recognition for their -clubs, and more room for their operations. ‘Societies’ seem thus to -be very fountains of strength, and the only method of action. Bishops -aim to strengthen the Church by speaking of it as a ‘society,’ and -individual ministers try to keep their parishes distinct with a name, -an organisation, and an aim which are independent of other parishes. -The lovers of emigration have for the same reason grouped themselves in -no less than fourteen societies, and it has seemed that even to give -music to the people has required the creation of three large societies. - -A ‘society’ has indeed taken in many minds the place of a priest, its -authority has given the impetus and the aim to action, but it has -tended to make those whom it rules weak and bigoted. I see, therefore, -in the members of these societies much energy, but less of the spirit -which is willing to break old bonds and to go on, if need be, in the -loneliness of originality, trusting in God. I see much self-devotion, -but more also of the spirit of competition, more of the self-assertion -which yields nothing for the sake of co-operation. - -If now I had to sum up what seems to me to be the effect on character -of the method of striving and crying, I should say that the possible -increase of humanity is balanced by increase of impatience, by -sacrifice of originality, and by narrowness. Whether there is loss or -gain it is impossible to say, but it will be useful, considering the -end in view, to see how the most may be made of the gain and the least -of the loss. - -The end to be aimed at is one to be stated in the language either of -Isaiah or of the modern politician. We all look for a time when there -shall be no more hunger nor thirst, when love will share the strength -of the few among the many, and when God shall take away tears from -every eye. Or, putting the same end in other words, we all look for a -time when the conditions of existence shall be such that it will be -possible for every man and woman not only to live decently, but also -to enjoy the fulness of life which comes from friendships and from -knowledge. - -For such an end all are concerned to work. Comparing the things that -are with the things that ought to be, some may strive and cry, others -may work silently, but none can be careless. - -None can approve a condition of society where the mass of the people -remain ignorant even of the language through which come thought, -comfort, and inspiration. Let it be remembered that now the majority -are, as it were, deaf and dumb, for the mass of the nation cannot ask -for what their higher nature needs, and cannot hear the Word of God -without which man is not able to live. None can approve a condition -of society where, while one is starving, another is drunken; where in -one part of a town a man works without pleasure to end his days in the -workhouse, while in the other part of the town a man idles his days -away and is always ‘as one that is served.’ None can look on and think -that it always must be that the hardest workers shall not earn enough -to secure themselves by cleanliness and by knowledge against those -temptations which enter by dirt and ignorance, while many have wealth -which makes it almost impossible for them to enter the kingdom of God. -A time must come when men shall hunger no more, nor thirst any more, -when there shall be no tears which love cannot wipe away, and no pain -which knowledge cannot remove. For this end everyone who knows ‘the -mission of man’ must by some means work. - -That all may avoid the loss and secure the gain which belongs to their -various methods, it seems to me that they would be wise to remember two -things--(1) that national organisations deserve support rather than -party organisations, and (2) that the only test of real progress is to -be found in the development of character. - -A national organisation is not only more effective on account of its -strength and extent, but also on account of its freedom from party -spirit. Its members are bound to sit down by the side of those who -differ from themselves, and are thus bound to take a wider view of -their work. They are all under the control of the same body which -controls the nation, and they thus serve only one master. A public -library, for instance, which is worked by the municipality will be more -useful than one worked by a society or a company. The books will not -be chosen to promulgate the doctrines of a sect so much as to extend -knowledge, and its management will not be so arranged as to please any -large subscriber so much as to please the people. Instead, therefore, -of starting societies, it would be wise for social reformers to throw -their strength into national organisations. - -The Board of Guardians might thus be made efficient in giving relief. -From its funds and with the help of its organisation a much more -perfect scheme of emigration could be worked than by private societies -whose funds are limited and whose inquiries are incomplete. The -workhouse might provide such a system of industrial training as would -fit the inmates on their discharge both to take and to enjoy labour. -It is as much by others’ neglect as by their own fault that so many -strong men and women drift to the relieving officer, unable to earn -a living because they have never been taught to work. The poor-law -infirmary, too, properly organised under doctors and nurses and visited -by ladies, might be the school of purity and the home of discipline in -which the fallen might be helped to find strength. The pauper schools -in which, by the service of devoted officers, education could be -perfected might do better work than the schools and orphanages which -depend on voluntary offerings and often aim at narrow issues. The -Guardians, moreover, having the power over out-relief, have in their -hands a great instrument for good or evil. Rightly used, the power -gives to many who are weak a new strength, as they realise that refusal -implies respect, and that a system of relief which encourages one to -bluster and another to cringe cannot be good. - -The School Board might, in the same way, be made to cover the aims of -the educationalists. As managers of individual schools these reformers -could bring themselves into close connection with teachers and -children. They could show the teachers what is implied in knowledge, -introduce books of wider views, and they could visit the children’s -homes, arrange for their holidays, and see to their pleasures. Much -more important is it that the schools under the nation’s control should -be good than that special schools should be started to achieve certain -results. In connection, too, with the Board it is possible to have -night classes, which should be in reality classes in higher education, -and means both of promoting friendship and gaining knowledge. - -Then there are the municipal bodies, the Vestries and Boards of Works, -who largely control the conditions which people of goodwill strive -to improve. It rests with these bodies to build habitable houses and -to see that those built are habitable, and they are responsible for -the lighting and cleaning of the streets. It is in their power to -open libraries and reading-rooms, to make for every neighbourhood a -common drawing-room, to build baths so that cleanliness is no longer -impossible, and perhaps even to supply music in open spaces. It is by -their will, or rather by their want of will, that the houses exist in -which the young are tempted to their ruin, and it only needs their -energy to work a reform at which purity societies vainly strive. - -Lastly, there is the national organisation which is the greatest of -all, the Church, the society of societies, the body whose object it is -to carry out the aim of all societies, to be the centre of charitable -effort, to spread among high and low the knowledge of the Highest, -to enforce on all the supremacy of duty over pleasure, and to tell -everywhere the Gospel which is joy and peace. If the Church fulfilled -its object, there would be no need of societies or of sects. If the -Church fails, it is because it is allowed to remain under the control -of a clerical body; its charity tends thus to become limited, its ideas -of duty are affected by its organisation, and it preaches not what is -taught by the Holy Spirit, who is ‘the Giver of life’ now as in the -past, but it teaches only what its governing body remembers of the past -teaching of that Spirit. All this would be changed if the people were -put in the place of this clerical body. The Church would then be the -expression of the national will to do good, to distribute the best and -to please God. - -Because the national organisations are so vast, and because association -with them is the most adequate check on the growth of party spirit, it -is by their means that the best work can be done. The cost involved -may at times be great. It may be hard to endure the slow movement of a -public body while the majority of that body is being educated; it may -be bitter work for the ardent Christian to endure the officialism of a -public institution; it may seem wrong that profane hands should mould -the Church organisation; but the cost is well endured. The national -organisations do exist, and will exist, if not for good, then for evil. -They are vast, a part of the life of the nation, and the cost which is -paid for association with them is often the cost of the self-assertion -which, if it sometimes is the cause of success, is also the cause of -shame. - -Further, at this moment when many methods of social reform offer -themselves, it seems to me that all would be wise to remember that the -only test of progress is in the development of character. Institutions, -societies, laws, count for nothing unless they tend to make people -stronger to choose the good and refuse the evil. Redistribution of -wealth would be of little service if in the process many became -dishonest. A revolution would be no progress which put one selfish -class in the place of another. The test, then, which all must apply -to what they are doing is its effect on character, and this test -rigorously applied will make safe all methods both new and old. When it -is applied there will be a strange shifting of epithets. Things called -‘great’ will seem to be small, and efforts passed by in contempt will -be seen to be greatest. - -The man in East London who, judged by this test, stands among the -highest is, I think, one who, belonging to no society, committed to -no scheme of reform, has worked out plan after plan till all have -been lost in greater plans. Years before the evils lately advertised -were known, he had discovered them, and had begun to apply remedies -unthought of by the impatient. He has won no name, made no appeal, -started no institution, and founded no society, but by him characters -have been formed which are the strength of homes in which force is -daily gathering for right. The women, too, whose work has borne best -fruit are those who, having the enthusiasm of humanity, have had -patience to wait while they work. After ten years such women now -see families who have been raised from squalor to comfort, and are -surrounded by girls to whom their friendship has given the best armour -against temptation. - -That work of these has been great because it has strengthened -character, and there are other fields in which like work may be done. -Conditions have a large influence on character, and the hardships of -life may be as prejudicial to the growth of character as the luxuries. -They, therefore, who work to get good houses and good schools, who -provide means of intercourse and high teaching, who increase the -comforts of the poor, may also claim to be strengthening character. -One I know who by patient service on boards has greatly changed some -of the conditions under which 70,000 people have to live. He has -never advertised his methods nor collected money for his system; he -has simply given up pleasure and holidays to be regular at meetings; -he has at the meetings, by patience and good temper, won the ear of -his fellows, while by his inquiries into details and by his thorough -mastery of his subject he has won their respect. A change has thus been -made on account of which many have more energy, many more comfort, and -many more hope. - -One other I can remember who, even more unknown and unnoticed, came -to live in East London. He gathered a few neighbours together, and -gradually in talk opened to them a new pleasure for idle hours. They -found such delight in seeing and hearing new things that they told -others, and now there are many spending their evenings in ways that -increase knowledge, who do so because one man aimed at providing means -of intercourse and high teaching. - -Those whose aim it is to reform the material conditions in which life -is spent may, as well as those who teach, claim to be strengthening -character, but the admission of their claims must depend on the way -in which they have worked. They themselves can alone tell how far in -pursuit of their aims they have forgotten the effect of their means -upon character, and how those means are now represented by people whose -growth they have helped or hindered. Teachers are not above reformers, -and reformers are not above teachers. The people must be taught, and -conditions must be changed. It is for those who teach as well as for -those who try to change conditions to judge themselves by the effect -their methods have on character. If striving and crying they have -avoided impatience and allowed time for the growth of originality, if -working silently they have indeed done something else than find faults -in others’ methods, they may be said to have secured the good and -avoided the loss. - - SAMUEL A. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XII. - - _PRACTICABLE SOCIALISM._[1] - - [1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Nineteenth Century_ of April -1883. - - -Some time ago I met in a tramcar a well-known American clergyman. ‘Ah!’ -said he, ‘ten years’ work in New York as a minister at large made me a -Christian socialist.’ The remark illustrates my own experience. - -Ten years ago my wife and I came to live in East London. The study of -political economy and some familiarity with the condition of the poor -had shown us the harm of doles given in the shape either of charity -or of out-relief. We found that gifts so given did not make the poor -any richer, but served rather to perpetuate poverty. We came therefore -to East London determined to war against a system of relief which, -ignorantly cherished by the poor, meant ruin to their possibilities of -living an independent and satisfying life. The work of some devoted -men on the Board of Guardians, helped by the members of the Charity -Organisation Society, has enabled us to see the victory won. - -In this Whitechapel Union there is no out-relief, and ‘charity’ is -given only to those who, by their forethought or their self-sacrifice, -awaken those feelings of respect and gratitude which find a natural -expression in giving and receiving presents. The result has not -disappointed our hope. The poor have learnt to help themselves, and -have found self-help a stronger bond by which to keep the home together -than the dole of the relieving officer or of the district visitor. The -rates have been saved 6,000_l._ a year, and that sum remains in the -pockets of ratepayers to be spent as wages for work, and by the new -system of relief the poor are not only more independent but distinctly -richer. The old system of relief has been conquered, and the result we -desired has been won. What is that result? With what a state of things -does the new system leave us face to face? - -We find ourselves face to face with the labourer earning 20_s._ a week. -He has but one room for himself, his wife, and their family of three or -four children. By self-denial, by abstinence from drink, by daily toil, -he and his wife are able to feed and clothe the children. Pleasure for -him and for them is impossible; he cannot afford to spend a sixpence on -a visit to the park, nor a penny on a newspaper or a book. Holidays are -out of the question, and he must see those he loves languish without -fresh air, and sometimes without the doctor’s care, though air and -care are necessities of life. The future does not attract his gaze and -give him restful hours; as he thinks of ‘the years that are before’ he -cannot think of a time when work will be done, and he will be free to -go and come and rest as he will. In the labourer’s future there are -only the workhouse and the grave. He hardly dares to think at all, for -thought suggests that to-morrow a change in trade or a master’s whim -may throw him out of work and leave him unable to pay for rent or for -food. The labourers--and it is to be remembered that they form the -largest class in the nation--have few thoughts of joy and little hope -of rest; they are well off if in a day they can obtain ten hours of the -dreariest labour, if they can return to a weather-proof room, if they -can eat a meal in silence while the children sleep around, and then -turn into bed to save coal and light; they are well off indeed, only -because they are stolid and indifferent. Their lives all through the -days and years slope into a darkness which is not ‘quieted by hope.’ - -If the wages be 40_s._ a week the condition is still one to depress -those who on Sunday bless God for their creation. The skilled artisan, -having paid rent and club money and provided household necessaries, has -no margin out of which to provide for pleasure, for old age, or even -for the best medical skill. There can be for him no quiet hours with -books or pictures, while his children or friends make music for his -solace. He can invite no friends for a Christmas dance; he can wander -in the thought of no future of pleasure or of rest. England is the land -of sad monuments. The saddest monument is, perhaps, ‘the respectable -working man,’ who has been erected in honour of Thrift. His brains, -which might have shown the world how to save men, have been spent in -saving pennies; his life, which might have been happy and full, has -been dulled and saddened by taking ‘thought for the morrow.’ - -This ought not so to be, and this will not always be. The question -therefore naturally occurs, ‘Why should not the State provide what -is needed?’ This is the question to which the Socialist is ready -with many a response. Some of his suggestions, even if good, are -impracticable. It may be urged, for instance, that relief works should -be started, that State workshops should be opened, and starvation made -impossible. Or it may be urged that the land should be nationalised and -large incomes divided. To such suggestions, and to many like them, it -is a sufficient answer that they are impracticable. Their attainment, -even were it desirable, is not within measurable distance, and to press -them is likely to distract attention from what is possible. If a boy -who goes out ‘in the interest of the fox’ can spoil a hunt by dragging -a herring across the scent, a well-meaning socialist may hinder reform -by drawing a fair fancy across the line of men’s imagination. All real -progress must be by growth; the new must be a development of the old, -and not a branch added on from another root. A change which does not -fit into and grow out of things that already exist is not a practicable -change, and such are some of the changes now advocated by socialists -upon platforms. The condition of the people is one not to be long -endured, but the answer to the question, ‘What can the State do?’ must -be a practicable one, or we shall waste time, make mistakes, rouse up -anarchy, and destroy much that is good. - -Facing, then, the whole position, we see that among the majority -of Englishmen life is poor; that among the few life is made rich. -The thoughts stored in books, the beauty rescued from nature and -preserved in pictures, the intercourse made possible by means of steam -locomotion, stir powers in the few which lie asleep in the many. If it -be true, as the poet says, that men ‘live by admiration,’ it is the -few who live, for it is they who know that which is worth admiration. - -It seems a hard thing--but I believe that it is on the line of -truth--to say that the dock labourer cannot live the life of Christ; he -may, by loving and trusting, live a higher life than that lived by many -rich men, but he cannot live the highest life possible to men of this -time. To live the life of Christ is to make manifest the truth and to -enjoy the beauty of God. The labourer who knows nothing of the law of -life which has been revealed by the discoveries of science, who knows -nothing which, by admiration, can lift him out of himself, cannot live -the highest life of his day, as Christ lived the highest life of His -day. The social reformer must go alongside the Christian missionary, if -he be not himself the Christian missionary. - -Facing, then, the whole position, we see first the poverty of life -which besets the majority of the people, and further we recognise that -the remedy must be one which shall be practicable, and shall not affect -the sense of independence. It is difficult to state any principle which -such remedy should follow. If it be said that men’s _needs_, not their -_wants_, may be supplied by others’ help, then it is necessary to set -up an arbitrary definition and to define _wants_ as those good things -which a man recognises to be necessary for his life, and _needs_ as -those good things the good of which is unseen by the individual to -whose well-being, in the interests of the whole, they are necessary. -Food and clothing would thus be an example of a man’s _wants_, -education of his _needs_; and it might, according to this definition, -be a statement of a principle to say that the remedy for the sadness -of English labour is to be sought in letting the State provide for -a man’s needs while he is left to provide for his own wants. It is, -however, a statement which, depending on an arbitrary and shifting -definition, would not be understood. If, as another statement of a -principle, it be said that means of life may be provided, while for -means of livelihood a man must work, then it becomes difficult to draw -a distinction, for some means of life are also means of livelihood. -There is no principle as yet stated according to which limits of State -interference may be defined. - -The better plan is to consider the laws which are accepted as laws of -England, and to study how, by their development, a remedy may be found. -On the statute book there are many socialistic laws. The Poor Law, the -Education Act, the Established Church, the Land Act, the Artisans’ -Dwellings Act, and the Libraries Act are socialistic. - -The Poor Law provides relief for the destitute and medical care for -the poor. By a system of outdoor relief it has won the condemnation of -many who care for the poor, and see that outdoor relief robs them of -their energy, their self-respect, and their homes. There is no reason, -however, why the Poor Law should not be developed in more healthy ways. -Pensions of 8_s._ or 10_s._ a week might be given to every citizen who -had kept himself until the age of 60 without workhouse aid. If such -pensions were the right of all, none would be tempted to lie to get -them, nor would any be tempted to spy and bully in order to show the -undesert of applicants. So long as relief is a matter of desert, and so -long as the most conscientious relieving officers are liable to err, -there must be mistakes both on the side of indulgence and of neglect. -The one objection to out-relief, which is at present recognised by the -poor, is that the system puts it in the power of the relieving officer -to act as judge in matters of which he must be ignorant, so that he -gives relief to the careless or crafty and passes over those who in -self-respect hide their trouble. Pensions, too, it may be added, would -be no more corrupting to the labourer who works for his country in the -workshop than for the civil servant who works for his country at the -desk, and the cost of pensions would be no greater than is the cost of -infirmaries and almshouses. In one way or another the old and the poor -are now kept by those who are richer, and the present method is not a -cheap one. - -Many men and women fail because they do not know how to work. The -workhouses might be made schools of industry. If the ignorant could be -detained in workhouses until they had learnt the use of a tool and the -pleasure of work, these establishments would become technical schools -of the kind most needed, and yearly add a large sum to the wealth of -the nation. - -Lastly, the whole system of medical relief might be so organised as to -provide for every citizen the skill and care necessary for his cure in -sickness. As it is, no labourer nor artisan is expected to make such -provision, as there are hospitals, infirmaries, and dispensaries to -supply his wants. By application or by letter he can gain admission to -any of these, and he is expected to be grateful. Medical relief is thus -supplied; to organise the relief is merely to take another step along -a path already entered, and properly organised the relief need not -pauperise. The necessity of begging for a letter, the obligation of -humbly waiting at hospital or dispensary doors, the chance that real -needs may be unskilfully treated--these are the things which degrade a -man. If all the dispensaries, hospitals, and infirmaries were properly -ordered, controlled by the State, and open as a matter of right to -all comers, it would be possible for every citizen at the dispensary -to get the necessary advice and medicine, and thence, if he would, to -enter a hospital without any sense of degradation. The national health -is the nation’s interest, and without additional outlay it could be -brought about that every man, woman, and child should have the medical -treatment necessary to their condition. The rich would still get -sufficient advantage, but it would no longer happen that the lives most -useful to the nation would be left to the care of practitioners who, -however kind and devoted, cannot provide either adequate drugs or spare -the time for necessary study when for visit and drugs the charge cannot -be more than 1_s._ or 1_s._ 6_d._ - -By some such development as these suggested, without any break with old -traditions, without any fear of pauperising the people, the Poor Law -might help to make the life of England healthier and more restful. - -In the same way the Education Act might be developed in conjunction -with the Church and the Universities to make the life of England -wiser and fuller. A complete system of national education ought to -take the child from the nursery, pass him through high schools to the -University, and then provide him with means to develop the higher life -of which all are capable. Some steps have already been made in this -direction, but secondary schools or high schools are still needed, -and the Church organisation will have to be made popular, so as to -represent, not the opinions of a mediæval sect, but the opinions of -nineteenth-century Englishmen. Schools in which it would be possible -to learn the facts and thoughts new to this age, Churches in which, by -ministers in sympathy with their hearers and by the use of forms native -of the times, men could be lightened with light upon their souls, would -add an untold quantity to the sum of national life. - -Alongside of such development much might be done with the Libraries -Act and with the powers which local bodies have to keep up parks and -gardens. It would be as easy to find in every neighbourhood a site for -the people’s playground as it is for the workhouse, and all might have, -what is now the privilege of the rich, a place for quiet, the sight of -green grass and fair flowers. It would be as easy to build a library as -an infirmary. In every parish there might be rooms lighted and warmed, -where cosy chairs and well-filled shelves might invite the weary man to -wander in other times and climes with other mates and minds. In every -locality there might be a hall where music, or pictures, or the talk -of friends would call into action sleeping powers, and by admiration -arouse the deadened to life. The best things gain nothing by being -made private property; a fine picture possessed by the State will give -the individual who looks at it as much pleasure as if he possessed it. -It is no idle dream that the Crystal Palace might become a national -institution, open free for the enjoyment of all, dedicated to the -service of the people, for the recreation of their lives, by means of -music, knowledge, and beauty. - -If still it be said that none of these good things touch the want -most recognised, the need of better dwellings, then we have in the -Artisans’ Dwellings Act a law which only requires wise handling to be -made to serve this purpose. A local board has now the power to pull -down rookeries and to let the ground at a price which will enable -honest builders to erect decent dwellings at low rents. Unwisely -handled, the law may only destroy existing dwellings and put heavy -compensation into the pockets of unworthy landlords and fees into those -of active officials; wisely handled, the same law might at no very -great expense replace the houses which now ruin the life of the poor -and disgrace the English name. - -Thus it is--and other laws, such as the Irish Land Act, are open to -the same process of development--that without revolution reform could -be wrought. I can conceive a great change in the condition of the -people, worked out in our own generation, without any revolution or -break with the past. With wages at their present rate I can yet imagine -the houses made strong and healthy, education and public baths made -free, and the possibility of investing in land made easy. I can imagine -that, without increase of their private wealth, the poor might have -in libraries, music-halls, and flower gardens that on which wealth is -spent. I can imagine the youth of the nation made strong by means of -fresh air and the doctor’s care, the aged made restful by means of -honourable pensions. I can imagine the Church as the people’s Church, -its buildings the halls where they are taught by their chosen teachers, -the meeting-places where they learn the secret of union and brotherly -love, the houses of prayer where in the presence of the Best they lift -themselves into the higher life of duty and devotion to right--all this -I can imagine, because it is practicable. I cannot imagine that which -must be reached by new departures and so-called Continental practices. -Any scheme, whatever it may promise in the future, which involves -revolution in the present is impracticable, and any flirting with it is -likely to hinder the progress of reform. - -But now there rises the obvious objection, ‘All this will cost much -money;’ ‘Free education means 1_d._ in the pound; libraries and museums -mean 2_d._;’ ‘The suggested changes would absorb more than 1_s._; the -ratepayers could not stand it.’ - -I agree; the present ratepayers could not pay heavier rates. There must -be other means of raising the money. Some scheme for graduated taxing -might be possible; but perhaps I may be told that such a scheme means -the introduction of a new principle, and is as much outside my present -scope as the scheme for nationalisation of the land. Well, there -remains the wealth locked up in the endowed charities, the increase -which would be brought to the revenue by a new assessment of the -land-tax, and the sum which might be saved by abolishing sinecures and -waste in every public office. - -The wealth of the endowed charities has never been realised, and if -that amount be not reduced in paying for elementary education, it might -do much to make life happier. If men saw to what uses this money could -be put, they would not be so ready to back up an agitation raised on -the School Board to get hold of this money for School Board work. They -would say, ‘No; the schools are safe; in some way they must be provided -and paid for. We won’t shield the Board from attacks of ratepayers by -giving them our money to spend; we want that for things which the -board cannot provide.’ There is also a vast sum which might be got by -a new assessment--which in some cases would be a re-imposition--of the -land-tax, and by a closer scrutiny into the ways of public offices. -The land-tax returns the same amount as it returned more than two -hundred years ago, while rents have gone on increasing. The abuses of -sinecures and of useless officials are patent to all who know anything -of public work in small areas; and it is possible that what is done -in the vestry, on a small scale, is developed by the atmosphere of -grander surroundings into grander proportions. The parish reformer can -put his finger on one or two officials who are not wanted, but whose -salary of a few hundreds seems hardly worth the saving; perchance the -parliamentary reformer might put his finger on unnecessary officials -whose salaries amount to thousands. Out of the sums thus gained or -saved a great fund could be entrusted to the governing body of London, -and the responsibility would then lie with the electors to choose men -capable of administering vast wealth, so as to give to all the means of -developing their highest possibilities. - -Perhaps, though, it is unwise to go into these details and attempt to -show how the necessary money may be raised. In England poverty and -wealth have met together. It is the fellow-citizens of the poor who see -them in East London without joy and without hope. The money which is -wasted on fruitless pleasures and fruitless effort would be sufficient -to do all, and more than has been suggested in this paper. There is no -want of the necessary money, and much is yearly spent--some of it in -vain--on efforts on societies or on armies, which promise to save the -people. When it is clearly seen that wealth may provide some of the -means by which their fellow-countrymen may be saved from dreariness and -sickness if not from sin, then the difficulty as to the way in which -the money may be raised will not long hinder action. - -The ways and means of improving the condition of the people are at -hand. It is time we gave up the game of party politics and took to -real work. It is time we gave up speculation and did what waits the -doing. Here are men and women. Are they what they might be? Are they -like the Son of Man? How can they be helped to reach the standard of -their manhood? That is the question of the day; before that of Ireland, -Egypt, or the Game Laws. The answer to that question will divide, by -other than by party lines, the leaders of men. He who answers it so as -to weld old and new together will be the statesman of the future. - - SAMUEL A. BARNETT. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XIII. - - _THE WORK OF RIGHTEOUSNESS._[1] - - [1] A sermon preached on Advent Sunday, November 27, 1887, at St. -Jude’s Church, Whitechapel, before a body of men and women engaged in -the work of social reform. - - - ‘If I find ... fifty righteous within the city, then I will spare - all the place for their sakes.’--_Genesis_ xviii. 26. - -My first thought, as I face you this evening, is of your variety--of -your different classes and creeds, of your various communities, and -your various views. My second thought is of your common object, of the -one longing--the voice of your real selves--which converts variety -into unity. You would save the city. Like Abraham, you have seen doom -impending; like Buddha, you have seen sights in your daily walk which -make the life of ease impossible. You have met poverty, ignorance, and -sin. - -You have met Poverty. You know families whose weekly income is under -the price of a bottle of good wine; men dwarfed in stature, crippled in -body, the inmates of a hospital for want of sufficient food; women aged -and hardened, broken in spirit because their homes are too narrow for -cleanliness or for comfort; children who die because they cannot have -the care which preserves the children of the rich. - -You have met Ignorance. You know men and women gifted with divine -powers, powers of clear sight and deep feeling, you have seen such -people taking shallow rhetoric for reason, delighting in exaggeration, -clamouring for force as a remedy, adopting swindlers as leaders, making -a game--a Sunday afternoon’s excitement--of matters which should tear -their hearts, killing time which might have been fruitful in thought -and joy and love. ‘The future belongs to the man who refuses to take -himself seriously,’ says the mocking philosopher. The ignorance which -accepts the teaching, and which goes with a light heart to agitate or -to repress agitation, is a sight to destroy anyone’s ease of mind. - -You have met Sin, the degradation which comes of selfishness. In West -London it often hides under fine trappings. Culture covers a multitude -of sins. In the exquisitively ordered banquet intemperance and -self-indulgence are unnoticed; in the phraseology of the office greed -and selfishness pass as political economy; and in the polished talk of -books and of society impurity loses its true colour. You, though, are -familiar with East London, and here you see sin without its trappings; -you know that intemperance--over-eating and over-drinking--means a -brutalised nature; you know that greed is cruelty, and that impurity is -destructive both of reason and of feeling. You have seen the victims of -sin, that drunkard’s home, the gambler’s hell, and the sweater’s shop. -You know that the wages of sin is death, and that no culture can give -to Mammon any nobility or warm his heart with any spark of unselfish -joy. - -Poverty, Ignorance, Sin--these threaten the city. Your common longing -is to avert its doom. Our fathers nourished a like longing. They hoped -in Free Trade, the Suffrage, the National Education, and they have been -disappointed. - -Free Trade has, indeed, greatly increased wealth; the number of the -comfortable has been multiplied, but it is a question whether, in the -same proportion, the number of the uncomfortable has not also been -multiplied. Our England is larger than the England of fifty years ago, -but a larger body--like a giraffe’s throat--may only provide a larger -space for pain! At any rate, Free Trade, which has given us cheap -bread, has _not_ solved the problem of the unemployed. - -The extension of the Suffrage, again, for which our fathers strove, has -had good results; but the example of later parliaments and the growing -tendency to legislate by demonstration hardly justifies their hopes. -Our fathers held that the possession of the Suffrage would be effective -to destroy Ignorance; they thought that responsibility would develop -the seriousness which is necessary to knowledge. They--like other good -men who need God’s forgiveness--fed Ignorance with abuse of opponents; -with exaggerations, with party cries, they bribed Ignorance to -establish its own executioner; and now Ignorance is too much puffed up -by flattery, too much enriched by bribes, to yield to the voice which -from the register and polling booth says, ‘England expects every man’ -to vote according to his conscience, and then to submit to the common -will. - -Lastly, the passing of the Education Act seemed to many to be the -beginning of a new age. Schools were rapidly built, money was freely -voted, and the children were compelled to attend. The Education Act -has not, however, taught the people what is due to themselves or to -others. Greed is not eradicated because its form is changed, and, -though criminals may be fewer, gambling is as degrading as thieving, -and oppression legally exerted over the weak is as cruel as the illegal -blow. The children do not leave school with the self-respect born of -consciousness of powers of heart and brain and hand, nor with the -humanity born of knowledge of others’ burdens. It seems, indeed, as if -their chief belief was in the value of competition, and their chief -aptitude a skill in satisfying an inspector with the least possible -amount of work. At any rate, at the end of twenty years, when a -generation has been through the schools, our streets are filled with -a mob of careless youths, and our labour market is overstocked with -workers whose work is not worth 4_d._ an hour. - -Poverty, Ignorance and Sin threaten the city. Free Trade, the Suffrage, -the Education Act have been tried, and the doom still impends. What -is to be done? The principle of true action lies, I think, imbedded -in the old Jewish tale. It is not laws and institutions which save a -city--it is persons. Institutions are good, just in so far as they are -vivified by personal action; laws are good just in so far as they allow -for the free play of person on person. There may be need of reform -in institutions and in laws, so as to give to all an open career and -equality of opportunity, but it is persons who save; and if to-day -fifty--a company of righteous--men could be found in London, the city -might be spared and saved. - -In support of this position I would offer two considerations. (1) The -common mind is now scientific. Professor Huxley, in summing up the -results of fifty years of science, claims the creation of a new habit -of thought as a greater achievement than any material invention. The -common man in the street no longer expects a miracle or worships a -theory as men once worshipped the theory of social contract; he asks -for a fact. The fact, therefore, that a neighbour is righteous does -most to extend righteousness. He who knows a just man is likely to give -a fair day’s wage and do a fair day’s work, to live simply and tell the -truth, and it is bad pay and bad work, luxury and lying, which do most -to make poverty. He who knows a wise man is likely to search after what -is hidden in thought and things, and it is carelessness of what is out -of sight which makes ignorance. He who knows a good man is likely to -have a passion for honour, for purity, for humanity, and it is the want -of higher passion which makes sin. - -The righteous man is in a real sense the master of the city. He, as -Browning says, who ‘walked about and took account of all thought, said -and acted’ was ‘the town’s true master.’ Were there in London a company -of such righteous men, the power of Poverty, Ignorance, and Sin would -be broken. - -(2) I am often led to observe that taste is more powerful than -interest. People remain on in situations, hold opinions, and adopt -habits which are against their interests, because they are more in -accordance with their tastes. They _like_ the surroundings, they _like_ -the life, and liking is an armour which resists the strong lance of the -economist. Now why is it that taste overpowers interest, and that habit -is stronger than law? It is because taste comes through persons and is -spread by contact. The habits or tastes, therefore, which lie at the -root of Poverty, Ignorance, and Sin may best be met by the formation -of other habits, which come through the example of persons, by the -contact of man with man. Righteous men are therefore necessary--men -who would live simply and share their luxury, whose gain would not -mean another’s loss, who would work for their bread, who would do -justice on wrong-doers, show mercy to the weak, and walk humbly before -God. The habits of respectable people, the waste, the idleness, the -sensuousness are writ large in the poverty, ignorance, and sin of the -disreputable. Fifty--a company of righteous men, rich or poor, setting -an example of generosity and honesty, living Christ’s life in contact -with others--might create habits in them which would take the place of -the old bad habits. - -The question is sometimes asked, What has been the secret of the -success of Christianity? Its basis is not a system but a life. Jesus, -the Righteous One, drew to Himself the righteous. They that loved the -light came to the light and found the universe instinct with life. Like -leaven, the disciples leavened the mass. Christianity, in distinction -from other systems, gives no scheme of belief and promises no paradise -of plenty--it says instead, ‘The kingdom is within you.’ ‘When you -do right you have all that God can give.’ ‘The joy of Christ’s is -the highest joy, and His is the joy of the righteous.’ Christianity -spreads, if it spreads at all, by pointing to a life. - -To you, then, desiring to save the city, I take up the lesson as old as -Abraham and illumined in Christ. I say, ‘Be righteous.’ - - Follow the light and do the right, - For man can half control his doom, - Till you find the deathless angel - Seated in the vacant tomb. - -Now, as once more I look at you, I am conscious of you not only as -fellow-workers seeking a common end, but as our friends. I remember how -one has sorrow, another joy, and another pain; I know the anxiety which -besets those whose dear ones are in danger, and the failing of heart -which comes with age. I go farther, I remind you that I know some of -your shortcomings, the impatience and the indolence, the will worship -and the weakness, the too great speech and the too great silence. I -think I know the difficulties of some as I am sure I know the goodwill -of all of you. Remembering, then, that some are sad and some are -tried, I say again, ‘Let everyone do that which he knows to be right.’ -This implies self-examination, the deliberate questioning, ‘What do I -think?’ ‘What am I doing?’ This means that everyone must settle what is -the law he ought to obey, and then see how, in word, and thought, and -deed, he keeps that law. Before the bar of conscience all must plead -guilty, and by its judgment some will have to give up pleasures and -some take up burdens. - -‘Thy kingdom come,’ we pray. A sudden answer to that prayer would, it -has been said, be like an earthquake’s shock. - -‘Thy kingdom come.’ Let it come. At once rich men would be seen -hurrying from their luxurious homes to restore profits wrongly and -hardly taken, and poor men would busy themselves to put good work in -the place of bad work. The conventional lie on the lady’s lip would -become a bracing truth, and the political orator would stop his abuse -to do justice to opponents. The idler would become busy, the frivolous -serious, and the Church bountiful. For the pretence of work, the -business about trifles, the everlasting money changing, the service -of fashion, the gathering and squandering, the ‘aimless round in an -eddy of purposeless dust’--for these there would be work which would -leave men wiser and the world cleaner. Instead of scandal there would -be interchange of thought, and instead of ‘bold print posters,’ calm -statement of fact. The drunkards would give up drink, the indolent -their ease, and no one again ‘would beat a horse or curse a woman.’ Men -would become honest and quiet, they would give up envying and strife. -Time spent on foolish books and in foolish talk would be devoted to -study, and all obeying the call of duty would serve the common good. -Such a change in character would bring about a change in things, and -could, indeed, turn the world upside down. If the rich were as generous -and just as Christ, if the poor were as honest and brave as Christ, -there would not be much left which Socialism could add to the world’s -comfort. Personal righteousness must lead to peace and plenty, and -without personal righteousness peace and plenty are impossible. It -is, then, for us, with our high hopes, with our common longing for -the time when none shall hurt or destroy, when none shall be sad or -sorrowing--it is for us to be righteous. We all know a right we do not -do; whatever we do, whatever we give, whatever we are, there is more we -ought to do, more we ought to give, and more we ought to be. - -To-night, then, seeing the doom discernible amid the undoubted -blessings of this Jubilee year; to-night, conscious that the progress -(for which we thank God) has threatenings as well as promises, I -preach, ‘Be righteous.’ No, it is not I who preach. It is Poverty, -Ignorance, Sin. It is God Himself speaking through the pity and anger -raised by the sight of these things. It is God Himself speaking -through the reason raised by the thought of these things. It is God, -the Almighty, the ‘I am,’ ‘Who is, and was, and will be,’ who says -to-night, ‘Be righteous.’ If fifty righteous men, with Jesus as their -Master, ‘feeding on Him by faith,’ would form a Holy Communion, the -city might be spared for their sakes. - - SAMUEL A. 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Page 6: Omit full stop after '1½d. a pound,'. - 4. Page 6: 'Beakfast' changed to 'Breakfast'. - 5. Page 6 (head of third column of table): full stop inserted - after 'oz'. - 6. Page 11: 'walk through live' changed to 'walk through life'. - 7. Page 14: full stop inserted after 'Wednesday meals'. - 8. Page 15, Wednesday Meals - Tea: '3 lbs. Bread' changed to - '3 lb. Bread'. - 9. Page 30: 'they no not think' changed to 'they do not think'. - 10. Page 37: 'comtemplation' changed to 'contemplation'. - 11. Page 73: 'philanthrophy' changed to 'philanthropy'. - 12. Page 117, page 118 (twice): 'Israel’s' changed to 'Israels’' - (Jozef Israels, Dutch painter, 1824-1911). - 13. Page 118: 'the tender springtime' changed to 'spring-time' - (hyphenation was inconsistent within a single sentence). - 14. Page 176: 'develope' changed to 'develop'. - 15. Page 219: comma inserted in heading after 'Chemistry'. - -The following anomalies in the printed text are noted, but no change has -been made: - - 1. Inconsistent hyphenations, spellings and punctuation have been - retained as printed, except as noted above. [These are - discrete essays, written at different times by two hands and - reprinted from a range of publications.] - 2. On Page 6, third column of the table: one of the values in the - row labelled '3 oz. Dripping' is blank in the original work. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRACTICABLE SOCIALISM *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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