University of Virginia Library

OF THE PROBABLE MEANS OF REFORMATION.

I shall now conclude this account of the pat-
terers, lurkers, and screevers, with some obser-
vations from the pen of one who has had ample
means of judging as to the effect of the several
plans now in operation for the reformation or
improvement of the class.

"In looking over the number of institutions,"
writes the person alluded to, "designed to reform
and improve the classes under review, we are, as
it were, overwhelmed with their numerous
branches; and though it is highly gratifying to
see so much good being done, it is necessary to
confine this notice to the examination of only the
most prominent, with their general character-
istics.

"The churches, on many considerations —
personal feelings being the smallest, but not
unknown — demand attention first. I must treat
this subject (for your work is not a theolo-
gical magazine) without respect to doctrine,
principle, or legislation.

"The object of erecting churches in poor
neighbourhoods is to benefit the poor; why is it,
then, that the instruction communicated should
exercise so little influence upon the vicious, the
destitute, and the outcast? Is it that Christian
ordinances are less adapted to them than to
others? Or, rather, is it not that the public
institutions of the clergy are not made interest-
ing to the wretched community in question?
The great hindrance (in my opinion) to the pro-
gress of religion among the unsettled classes
is, that having been occasionally to church or
chapel, and heard nothing but doctrinal lectures
or feverish mental effusions, they cannot see the
application of these to every-day trade and prac-
tice; and so they arrive at the conclusion, that
they can get as much or more good at home.

"Our preachers seem to be afraid of ascer-
taining the sentiments, feelings, and habits of
the more wretched part of the population; and,
without this, their words will die away upon the
wind, and no practical echo answer their ad-
dresses.

"It will, perhaps, relieve the monotony of
this statement if I give an illustration commu-
nicated to me by a person well qualified to de-
termine the merits of the question.

"Your readers will probably recollect the
opposition experienced by Dr. Hampden on
his promotion to the bishopric of Hereford.
Shortly after the affair was settled, his lord-
ship accepted an invitation to preach on behalf
of the schools connected with the `ten new
churches' of Bethnal-green. The church se-
lected for the purpose was the one on Friar's-
mount. It was one July Sunday in 1849, and,
as I well remember, the morning was very wet;
but, supposing the curiosity, or better motives,
of the public would induce a large congregation,
I went to the church at half-past ten. The free-
seats occupying the middle aisle were all filled,
and chiefly with persons of the lowest and worst
classes, many of whom I personally knew, and
was agreeably surprised to find them in such
a place.

"I sat in the midst of the group, and at the
elbow of a tall attenuated beggar, known by the
name of `Lath and Plaster,' of whom it is but
justice to say that he repeated the responsive
parts of the service very correctly. It is true
he could not read; but having `larned a few
prayers' in the `Downs' (Tothill-fields prison),
`he always sed 'em, night and morning, if he
wasn't drunk, and then he sed 'em twice next
day, 'cos,' reasoned he, `I likes to rub off as I
goes on.'

"In course of time, the bishop made his
appearance in the pulpit. His subject was

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neglected education, and he illustrated it from
the history of Eli.

"I thought proper to hang back, and observe
the group as they passed out of church. There
was Tailor Tom, and Brummagem Dick, and
Keate-street Nancy, and Davy the Duke, and
Stationer George, and at least two dozen more,
most of whom were miserably clad, and several
apparently without a shirt. They were not,
however, without halfpence; and as I was well
known to several of the party, and flattered as
being `a very knowledgeable man,' I was in-
vited to the Cat and Bagpipes afterwards, to
`have share of what was going.'

"I was anxious," continues my informant,
"to learn from my companions their opinion of
the right reverend prelate. They thought, to
use their own words, `he was a jolly old brick.'
But did they think he was sound in opinion
about the Trinity, or was he (as alleged) a
Unitarian? They did not even understand
the meaning of these words. All they did understand was, that `a top-sawyer parson at
Oxford, called Dr. Pussy,' had `made himself
disagreeable,' and that some of the bishops
and nobility had `jined him;' that these had
persecuted Dr. Hampden, because he was
`more eleverer' than themselves; and that Lord
John Russell, who, generally speaking, was `a
regular muff,' had `acted like a man' in this
instance, and `he ought to be commended for
it; and,' added the man who pronounced the
above sentiment, `it's just a picture of ourselves.'
To other ears than mine, the closing remark
would have appeared impertinent, but I `tum-
bled to' it immediately. It was a case of oppres-
sion; and whether the oppressors belonged to
Oxford University or to Scotland-yard militated
nothing against the aphorism: `it's just a pic-
ture of ourselves!'

"It seems to me that these poor creatures un-
derstood the circumstances better than they did
the sermon; and my inference is, that whether
from the parochial pulpit, or the missionary ex-
hortation, or in the printed form of a tract, those
who wish to produce a practical effect must
themselves be practical men. I, who have
been in the Christian ministry, and am familiar,
unhappily, with the sufferings of men of every
grade among the outcast, would say: `If you
wish to do these poor outcasts real good, you
must mould your language to their ideas, get
hold of their common phrases — those which tell
so powerfully when they are speaking to each
other — let them have their own fashion of
things, and, where it does not interfere with
order and decency, use yourselves language
which their unpolished minds will appreciate;
and then, having gained their entire confi-
dence, and, perhaps, their esteem, you may
safely strike home, though it be as with a
sledge-hammer, and they will even `love you
for the smart.'

"The temperance movement next claims at-
tention, and I doubt not that much crime and
degradation has been prevented by total absti-
nence from all intoxicating drinks; but I would
rather raise the tone of moral feeling by intelli-
gent and ennobling means than by those spas-
modic efforts, which are without deliberation,
and often without permanency. The object
sought to be obtained, however, is good, — so is
the motive, — and I leave to others to judge what
means are most likely to secure it.

"I may also allude, as another means of
reformation, to the Ragged-schools which are
now studding the localities of the poorest
neighbourhoods. The object of these schools
is, one would hope, to take care of the un-
cared for, and to give instruction to those who
would be otherwise running wild and growing
up as a pest to society. A few instances of real
reform stand, however, in juxtaposition with
many of increased hardihood. I, as a man,
seeing those who resort to ragged-schools, can-
not understand the propriety of insulting an
honest though ragged boy by classing him with
a young thief; or the hope of improving the
juvenile female character where the sexes are
brought in promiscuous contact, and left unre-
strained on their way home to say and do every-
thing subversive of the good instruction they
have received." [It is right I should here
state, that these are my informant's own un-
biassed sentiments, delivered without communi-
cation with myself on the subject. I say thus
much, because, my own opinions being known,
it might perhaps appear as if I had exerted
some influence over the judgment of my corre-
spondent.]

"The most efficient means of moral re-
form among the street-folk, appear to have
been consulted by those who, in Westminster
and other places, have opened institutions
cheaper, but equally efficient, as the mecha-
nics' institutes of the metropolis. In these, for
one farthing per night, three-halfpence a week,
or sixpence a month, lectures, exhibitions, news-
papers, &c., are available to the very poor.
These, and such as these, I humbly but earn-
estly would commend to public sympathy and
support, believing that, under the auspices of
heaven, they may `deliver the outcast and poor'
from their own mistaken views and practices,
and make them ornamental to that society to
which they have long been expensive and dan-
gerous."

Another laudable attempt to improve the con-
dition of the poorer class is by the erection of
model lodging-houses. The plan which induced
this measure was good, and the success has been
tolerable; but I am inclined to think the ma-
nagement of these houses, as well as their in-
ternal regulation, is scarcely what their well-
meaning founders designed. The principal of
these buildings is in George-street, St. Giles's;
the building is spacious and well ventilated,
there is a good library, and the class of lodgers
very superior to what might be expected This
latter circumstance makes the house in question
scarcely admissible to the catalogue of reformed
lodging-houses for the very poor.

"The next `model lodging-house' in im-
portance is the one in Charles-street, Drury-
lane. This, from personal observation (having
lodged in it more than four months)," says my
informant, "I can safely say (so far as social re-
form is concerned), is a miserable failure. The
bed-rooms are clean, but the sitting-room, though
large, is the scene of dirt and disorder. Noise,
confusion, and intemperance abound from morn-
ing till night.

"There is a model lodging-house in West-
minster, the private property of Lord Kinnaird.
It is generally well conducted. His lordship's
agent visits the place once a week. There is
an almost profuse supply of cooking utensils and
other similar comforts. There are, moreover,
two spacious reading-rooms, abundance of books
and periodicals, and every lodger, on payment
of 6d., is provided with two lockers — one in his
bed-room, and the other below-stairs. The
money is returned when the person leaves the
house. There is divine service every day, con-
ducted by different missionaries, and twice on
Sundays. Attendance on these services is op-
tional; and as there are two ways of ingress and
egress, the devout and undevout need not come
in contact with each other. The kitchen is very
large and detached from the house. The master
of this establishment is a man well fitted for his
situation. He is a native of Saffron Walden in
Essex, where his father farmed his own estate.
He received a superior education, and has twice
had a fortune at his own disposal. He did dispose
of it, however; and `after many roving years,' as
a `traveller,' `lurker,' and `patterer,' he has
settled down in his present situation, and main-
tained it with great credit for a considerable
period. The beds in this house are only 3d. per
night, and no small praise is due to Lord Kin-
naird for the superiority of this `model' over
others of the same denomination.

"Such are a few of the principal of these
establishments. Giving every credit to their
founders, however, for purity and even excel-
lence of motive, I doubt if `model lodging-
houses,' as at present conducted, are likely to
accomplish much real good for those who get
their living in the streets. Ever and anon they
are visited by dukes and bishops, lords and ladies,
who march in procession past every table, scru-
tinise every countenance, make their remarks
upon the quantity and quality of food, and then
go into the lobby, sign their names, jump into
their carriages, and drive away, declaring that
`after all' there is not so much poverty in
London as they supposed.

"The poor inmates of these houses, more-
over," adds my informant, "are kept in bond-
age, and made to feel that bondage, to the almost
annihilation of old English independence. It
is thought by the managers of these establish-
ments, and with some share of propriety, that
persons who get their living by any honest means
may get home and go to bed, according to strict
rule, at a certain prescribed hour — in one house
it is ten o'clock, in the others eleven. But many
of the best-conducted of these poor people, if
they be street-folk, are at those very hours in
the height of their business, and have therefore
to pack up their goods, and carry homeward
their cumbersome and perhaps heavy load a
distance usually varying from two or three to
six or seven miles. If they are a minute beyond
time, they are shut out, and have to seek lodgings
in a strange place. On their return next morning,
they are charged for the bed they were prevented
from occupying, and if they demur they are at once
expelled! Thus the `model' lodgers are kept,
as it were, in leading-strings, and triumphed
over by lords and ladies, masters and matrons,
who, while they pique themselves on the efforts
they are making to `better the condition of the
poor,' are making them their slaves, and driving
them into unreasonable thraldom; while the rich
and noble managers, reckless of their own pro-
fessed benevolence, are making the poor poorer,
by adding insult to wretchedness. If my re-
marks upon these establishments appear," adds
the writer of the above remarks, "to be in-
vidious, it is only in `appearance' that they
are so. I give their promoters credit for the
best intentions, and, as far as sanitary and moral
measures are concerned, I rejoice in the benefit
while suggesting the improvement.

"Everything even moderately valuable has its
counterfeit. We have counterfeit money, coun-
terfeit virtue, counterfeit modesty, counterfeit
religion, and last, but not least, `counterfeit
model lodging-houses.' Many private adven-
turers have thus dignified their domiciles, and
some of them highly merit the distinction, while
with others it is only a cloak for greater un-
cleanliness and grosser immorality.

"There has come to my knowledge the case
of one man, who owns nearly a dozen of these
dens of infamy, in one of which a poor girl
under fifteen was lately ruined by a gray-
headed monster, who, according to the pseudo-
`model' regulations, slept in an adjoining bed.
The sham model-houses to which I more
particularly allude," says my correspondent,
"are in Short's-gardens, Drury-lane; Mill-yard,
Cable-street; Keate-street, Flower and Dean-
street, Thrawl-street, Spitalfields; Plough-court,
Whitechapel; and Union-court, Holborn. All of
these are, without exception, twopenny brothels,
head-quarters of low-lived procuresses, and re-
sorts of young thieves and prostitutes. Each
of the houses is managed by a `deputy,' who
receives an income of 8s. 2d. per week, out of
which he has to provide coke, candles, soap, &c.
Of course it is impossible to do this from such
small resources, and the men consequently
increase their salaries by `taking in couples
for a little while,' purchasing stolen goods, and
other nefarious practices. Worse than all, the
person owning these houses is a member of a
strict Baptist church, and the son of a deceased
minister. He lives in great splendour in one of
the fashionable streets in Pimlico.

"It still remains for me," my correspondent
continues, "to contemplate the best agency for

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promoting the reformation of the poor. The
`City Mission,' if properly conducted, as it
brings many good men in close contact with
the `outcast and poor,' might be made pro-
ductive of real and extensive good. Whether
it has done so, or done so to any extent, is
perhaps an open question. Our town mis-
sionary societies sprang up when our different
Christian denominations were not fully alive
to the apprehension of their own duties to
their poorer brethren, who were lost to prin-
ciple, conscience, and society. That the object
of the London City Mission is most noble, needs
no discussion, and admits of no dispute. The
method of carrying out this great object is by
employing agents, who are required to give
their whole time to the work, without engaging
in any secular concerns of life; and regarding
the operation of the work so done, I must say
that great good has resulted from the enter-
prise. At the commencement of the labours of
the Mission in any particular locality great op-
position was manifested, and a great amount of
prejudice, with habits of the most immoral kind
— openly carried on without any public cen-
sure — had to be overcome. The statements of
the missionaries have from time to time been
published, and lie recorded against us as a
nation, of the glaring evils and ignorance of a
vast portion of our people. It is principally
owing to the city missionaries that the other
portions of society have known what they now
do of the practices and habits of the poor; it is
principally due to their exertions that schools
have been established in connection with their
labours; and the Ragged-schools — one of the
principal movements of the last few years — are
mainly to be attributed to their efforts.

"A man," says my informant in conclusion,
"can receive little benefit from a thing he does
not understand; the talk which will do for the
senate will not do for the cottage, and the argu-
ment which will do for the study will not do for
the man who spends all his spare time in a pub-
lic-house. These remarks will apply to the
distribution of tracts, which should be couched
in the very language that is used by the people
to whom they are addressed; then the ideas will
penetrate their understanding. Some years back
I met with an old sailor in a lodging-house in
Westminster, who professed a belief that there
had once been a God, but that he was either dead,
or grown old and diseased. He did not dispute
the inspiration of the Bible. He believed that
there had been revelations made to our fore-
fathers when God was alive and active, but that
now the Almighty did not `fash' (trouble) him-
self about his creatures at all!

"I endeavoured to instruct the man in his
own rude language and ideas; and after he had
thus been made to comprehend the doctrine of
the Atonement, he said, `I see it all plain
enough — though I've liked a drop o' drink, and
been a devil among the gals, and all that, in my
time, if I'll humble myself I can have it all
wiped off; and, as the song says, "We may be
happy yet," because, as the saying is, it's all
square with God A'mighty,' Whether the
sailor permanently reformed, I am unable to
say, for I lost sight of him shortly after; at any
rate he understood the subject, and was thus
qualified to profit by it. And what can the
teachers of Christianity among the British
heathen — herded together in courts and alleys
— tell their poor ignorant hearers better than the
old sailor's aphorism, `You have, indeed, gone
astray from your greatest and best Friend, but,
if you so desire, "You may be happy yet," be-
cause it's all square with God A'mighty?'

"Before quitting this subject, I would add,
if you really wish to do these poor creatures
good, you must remember that your instructions
are not intended for so-called fashionable so-
ciety, but for those who have a fashion of their
own. If you lose sight of this fact, your words
will die away upon the wind, and no echo in the
hearts of these poor people will answer your
addresses."

The above observations are from the pen of
one who has not only had the means, but is
likewise possessed of the power, of judging as to
the effect of the several plans (now in course of
operation) for the reformation and improvement
of the London poor. I have given the comments
in the writer's own language, because I was
anxious that the public should know the opinions
of the best informed of the street-people them-
selves on this subject; and I trust I need not
say that I have sought in no way to influence
my correspondent's judgment.

I now subjoin a communication from a cler-
gyman in the country, touching the character of
the tramps and lurkers frequenting his neigh-
bourhood, together with some suggestions con-
cerning the means of improving the condition of
the London poor. These I append, because it
is advisable that in so difficult a matter the
sentiments of every one having sufficient expe-
rience, judgment, and heart to fit him to speak
on the subject should be calmly attended to, so
that amid much counsel there may be at least
some little wisdom.

"The subject of the welfare of our poorer
brethren was one which engaged much of my
attention twenty years ago, when studying for
the bar at Lincoln's Inn, before I entered into
orders; and the inquiries, &c., then made by
me in reference to London, are recalled by many
of your pages. I have pursued the same course,
according to my limited means and opportu-
nities (for my benefice, like thousands of others,
is but 100l. a-year) in this neighbourhood, and
there are very many of my clerical brethren,
also, deeply anxious and exerting their means
for the country poor. The details given in your
numbers as to the country tramps and patterers,
I can fully corroborate from personal experience
and knowledge, so far as the country part of it.
We never give money to beggars here, on any
pretence whatever. We never give clothes. We
never give relief to a naked or half-naked man if
we can avoid it (the imposture is too barefaced).

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Medicine I do give occasionally to the sick, or
pretended sick, and see them take it. Every
beggar may have dry bread, or three or four
tracts to sell, but never both. I know we are
even thus often imposed on; but it is better to
run this risk than to turn away, by chance, a
starving man; and I do see the mendicants often
sit down on a field near, and eat the dry bread
with ravenous look. The tramps sometimes
come to church on Sunday, and then beg: but we
never give even bread on Sunday, because on
that day they can get help at the Union work-
house, and it only tempts idlers. Sometimes we
are days without a beggar, and then there will
be ten to twenty per day, and then all at once
the stream stops. There are no tramp lodging-
houses in my parish (which is a village of 600
or 700 people). Most of the burglaries here-
abouts seem connected with some inroad of
tramps into the neighbourhood. The lodging-
houses are very bad in some of the small towns
near, but somehow the magistrates cannot get
them put down. The gentry are alive here to
the evil of crowded cottages, &c., and are using
efforts to build better and more decent ones.
But the evil results from the little landowners,
who have an acre or two, or less, and build rows
of cottages on them of the scantiest dimensions,
at high rents, — ten per cent. on the cost of build-
ing. The rents of the gentry and nobility are
very moderate to the poor, viz., scarcely two per
cent. (beyond the yearly repairs) on the market
value of the cottage.

"In 1832 I succeeded in getting land allot-
ments for the poor here, and most of the parishes
round have followed our example since. The
success to the poor has always depended on the
rent being a real rent, such as is paid by the
land round about, and on the rules of good
management and of payment of rent being
rigidly enforced.

"The character of the poor of England must be raised, as well as their independence. They
must not be left to lean on charity. I am sure
that the sterling worth of the English character
can only be raised by that means to the surface of society among the poor. The "English" is
a fine material, but the poor neither value, nor
are benefited, by mawkish nonsense or excessive
feeling.

"I believe this parish was one of the most
fearfully demoralized twenty years ago. It
was said there was not one young female cottager
of virtuous character. There was not one man
who was not, or had not been, a drunkard; and
theft, fighting, &c., &c., were universal. It is
greatly better now — totally different — and I
attribute the change to the land allotments, the
provident society, the village horticultural so-
ciety, the lending library, the clothing club, the
coal club, the cultivating a taste for music, &c.,
&c., as subsidiary to the more directly pastoral
work of a clergyman, and the schools, &c.

"I am probably visionary in my ideas, but
the perusal of your pages has led me to think
that, were I clergyman of a parish where the
street-folks lived, I should aim at some schemes
of this style, in addition to the benefit society
and loan society (the last most important) as
proposed by yourself.

"(1) To get music taught at ½d. a week, or
something of the kind — a ragged-school music-
room, if the people would learn gratis, would be
still better — as a step to a "superior" music
class at 1d. per week.

"(2) To get the poor to adorn their rooms
plentifully with a better class of pictures — of
places, of people, of natural history, and of his-
torical and religious subjects — just as they
might like, and a circulating library for pictures
if they preferred change. This I find takes with
the village poor. Provide these things exces-
sively cheap for them — at nominal prices, just
high enough to prevent them being sold at a
profit by the poor.

"(3) To establish a monthly or fortnightly
sheet — or little book for the poor — at ½d., or some
trifle, full of pictures such as they would like,
but free from impropriety. It might be called
`The Coster's Barrow,' or some name which
would take their fancy, and contain pictures
for those who cannot read, and reading for those
who can. Its contents should be instructive, and
yet lively; as for instance, the `History of Lon-
don Bridge,' `History of a Codfish,' `Travels of
Whelks,' `Dreams of St. Paul's,' (old History of
England), `Voice from the Bottom of the Coal
Exchange' (Roman tales), `True Tale of Tra-
falgar,' &c., &c. All very short articles, at
which perhaps they might be angry, or praise,
or abuse, or do anything, but still would read, or
hear, and talk about. If possible, the little
work might have a corner called, `The Next
World's Page,' or any name of the kind, with
nothing in it but the Lord's Prayer, or the Creed,
or the Ten Commandments, or a Parable, or
Miracle, or discourse of Christ's — in the exact
words of Scripture — without any commentary;
which could neither annoy the Roman Catholics
nor others. Those parts in which the Douay
version differs from ours might be avoided, and
the Romanists be given to understand that they
would always be avoided.

"The more difficult question of cheap
amusements instead of the demoralizing ones
now popular, is one which as yet I cannot see
my way through — but it is one which must be
grappled with if any good is to be done.

"I write thus," adds my correspondent, "be-
cause I feel you are a fellow-worker — so far as
your labours show it, for the cause of God's
poor — and therefore will sympathize in any-
thing another worker can say from experience
on the same subject."

Such are the opinions of two of my cor-
respondents — each looking at the subject from
different points of view — the one living among
the people of whom he treats, and daily wit-
nessing the effects of the several plans now in
operation for the moral and physical improve-
ment of the poor, and the other in frequent in-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 320.]

tercourse with the tramps and lurkers, on their
vagrant excursions through the country, as well
as with the resident poor of his own parish — the
former living in friendly communion with those
of whom he writes, and the latter visiting them
as their spiritual adviser and material bene-
factor.

I would, however, before passing to the con-
sideration of the next subject, here pause to
draw special attention to the distinctive features
of the several classes of people obtaining their
livelihood in the streets. These viewed in regard
to the causes which have induced them to adopt
this mode of life, may be arranged in three
different groups, viz.:

• (1.) Those who are bred to the streets.

• (2.) Those who take to the streets.

• (3.) Those who are driven to the streets.

The class bred to the streets are those whose
fathers having been street-sellers before them,
have sent them out into the thoroughfares at an
early age to sell either watercresses, laven ler,
oranges, nuts, flowers, apples, onions, &c., as a
means of eking out the family income. Of
such street-apprenticeship several notable in-
stances have already been given; and one or
two classes of juvenile street-sellers, as the
lucifer match, and the blacking-sellers, still
remain to be described. Another class of
street-apprentice is to be found in the boys
engaged to wheel the barrows of the costers,
and who are thus at an early age tutored in all
the art and mystery of street traffic, and who
rarely abandon it at maturity. These two
classes may be said to constitute the natives of
the streets — the tribe indigenous to the paving-
stones — imbibing the habits and morals of the
gutters almost with their mothers' milk. To
expect that children thus nursed in the lap
of the kennel, should when men not bear the
impress of the circumstances amid which they
have been reared, is to expect to find costermon-
gers heroes instead of ordinary human beings.
We might as well blame the various races on
the face of the earth for those several geogra-
phical peculiarities of taste, which constitute
their national characteristics. Surely there is a
moral acclimatisation as well as a physical one,
and the heart may become injured to a parti-
cular atmosphere in the same manner as the
body; and even as the seed of the apple returns,
unless grafted, to its original crab, so does the
child, without training, go back to its parent
stock — the vagabond savage. For the bred and
born street-seller, who inherits a barrow as
some do coronets, to be other than he is — it has
here been repeatedly enunciated — is no fault of
his but of ours, who could and yet will not
move to make him otherwise. Might not "the
finest gentleman in Europe" have been the
greatest blackguard in Billingsgate, had he
been born to carry a fish-basket on his head
instead of a crown? and by a parity of reasoning
let the roughest "rough" outside the London
fish-market have had his lot in life cast, "by
the Grace of God, King, Defender of the Faith,"
and surely his shoulders would have glittered
with diamond epaulettes instead of fish scales.

I say thus much, to impress upon the
reader a deep and devout sense, that we who
have been appointed to another state, are, by
the grace of God, what we are, and from no
special merit of our own, to which, in the arro-
gance of our self-conceit, we are too prone to
attribute the social and moral differences of our
nature. Go to a lady of fashion and tell her
she could have even become a fishfag, and she
will think you some mad ethnologist (if indeed
she had ever heard of the science). Let me
not, however, while thus seeking to impress the
reader's mind with a sense of the "antecedents"
of the human character, be thought to espouse
the doctrine that men are merely the creatures
of events. All I wish to enforce is, that the
three common causes of the social and moral
differences of individuals are to be found in
race, organization, and circumstances — that none
of us are entirely proof against the influence of
these three conditions — the ethnological, the
physiological, and the associative elements of our
idiosincracy. But, while I admit the full
force of external nature upon us all, while I
allow that we are, in many respects, merely
patients, still I cannot but perceive that, in
other respects we are self-agents, moving rather
than being moved, by events — often stemming
the current of circumstances, and at other
times giving to it a special direction rather than
being swept along with it. I am conscious that
it is this directive and controlling power, not
only over external events, but over the events of
my own nature, that distinguishes me as well from
the brute of the fields as it does my waking from
my sleeping moments. I know, moreover, that in
proportion as a man is active or passive in his
operations, so is his humanity or brutality de-
veloped; that true greatness lies in the supe-
riority of the internal forces over the external
ones; and that as heroes, or extraordinary men
are heroes, because they overcome the sway of
one or other, or all, of the three material in-
fluences above-named, so ordinary people are
ordinary, simply because they lack energy —
principle — will (call it what you please) to
overcome the material elements of their nature
with the spiritual. And it is precisely because
I know this, that I do know that those who are
bred to the streets must bear about them the
moral impress of the kennel and the gutter —
unless we seek to develope the inward and con-
trolling part of their constitution. If we allow
them to remain the creatures of circumstances,
to wander through life principleless, purpose-
less, conscienceless — if it be their lot to be flung
on the wide waste of waters without a "guiding
star" above, or a rudder or compass within,
how can we (the well-fed) dare to blame them
because, wanting bread, they prey and live
upon their fellow-creatures?

I say thus much, because I feel satisfied that
a large portion of the street-folk — and especially
those who have been bred to the business —

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are of improvable natures; that they crave
knowledge, as starving men for "the staff of
life;" that they are most grateful for instruc-
tion; that they are as deeply moved by any
kindness and sympathy (when once their sus-
picion has been overcome) as they are excited
by any wrong or oppression — and I say it
moreover, because I feel thoroughly convinced
of the ineffectiveness of the present educational
resources for the poor. We think, if we teach
them reading and writing, and to chatter a creed,
that we have armed them against the tempta-
tions, the trials, and the exasperations of life,
believing, because we have put the knife and
fork in their hands that we have really filled
with food the empty bellies of their brains. We
exercise their memories, make them human
parrots, and then wonder that they do not act
as human beings. The intellect, the con-
science, the taste, indeed all that refines, en-
lightens, and ennobles our nature, we leave
untouched, to shrivel and wither like unused
limbs. The beautiful, the admirable, the true,
the right, are as hidden to them as at their first
day's schooling. We impress them with no
purpose, animate them with no principle; they
are still the same brute creatures of circum-
stances — the same passive instruments — human
waifs and strays — left to be blown about as the
storms of life may whirl them.

Of the second group, or those who take to
the streets, I entertain very different opinions.
This class is distinguished from that above
mentioned, in being wanderers by choice, rather
than wanderers by necessity. In the early chap-
ters of this work, I strove to point out to my
readers that the human race universally con-
sisted of two distinct classes: the wanderers and
the settlers — the civilized and the savage — those
who produced their food, and those who merely
collected it. I sought further to show, that these
two classes were not necessarily isolated, but that,
on the contrary, almost every civilized tribe had
its nomadic race, like parasites, living upon it.
These nomadic races I proved, moreover, to have
several characteristics common to the class, one
of the most remarkable of which was, their
adoption of a secret language, with the intent of
concealing their designs and exploits. "Strange
to say," I then observed, "that despite its pri-
vations, dangers, and hardships, those who have
once taken to a wandering life rarely abandon
it. There are countless instances," I added, "of
white men adopting all the usages of an Indian
hunter; but there is not one example of the In-
dian hunter or trapper, adopting the steady and
regular habits of civilized society." That this
passion for "a roving life" (to use the common
expression by which many of the street-people
themselves designate it), is a marked feature
of some natures, there cannot be a doubt in the
mind of any one who has contemplated even
the surface differences of human beings; and
nevertheless it is a point to which no social philo-
sopher has yet drawn attention. To my mind,
it is essentially the physical cause of crime. Too
restive and volatile to pursue the slow process
of production, the wanderers, and consequently
the collectors, of subsistence must (in a land
where all things are appropriated) live upon the
stock of the producers. The nomadic or vagrant
class have all an universal type, whether they be
the Bushmen of Africa or the "tramps" of our
own country; and Mr. Knapp, the intelligent
master of the Wandsworth and Clapham Union,
to whom I was referred at the time of my in-
vestigations touching the subject of vagrancy,
as having the greatest experience upon the
matter, gave me the following graphic account,
which, as I said at the time of its first publi-
cation, had perhaps never been surpassed as an
analysis of the habits and propensities of the
vagabond class:

"Ignorance," to use the gentleman's own
words, "is certainly not their prevailing charac-
teristic: indeed, with a few exceptions, it is the
reverse. The vagrants are mostly distinguished
by their aversion to continuous labour of any
kind. He never knew them to work. Their
great inclination is to be on the move, and wan-
dering from place to place, and they appear to
receive a great deal of pleasure from the assem-
bly and conversation of the casual ward. They
are physically stout and healthy, and certainly
not emaciated or sickly. They belong especially
to the able-bodied class, being, as he says, full
of health and mischief. They are very stubborn
and self-willed. They are a most difficult class
to govern, and are especially restive under the
least restraint; they can ill brook control, and
they find great delight in thwarting the autho-
rities. They are particularly fond of amuse-
ments of all kinds. He never knew them love
reading. They mostly pass under fictitious
names. They are particularly distinguished by
their libidinous propensities. They are not re-
markable for a love of drink. He considers
them to be generally a class possessing the
keenest intellect, and of a highly enterprising
character. They seem to have no sense of
danger, and to be especially delighted with such
acts as involve any peril. They are likewise
characterised by their exceeding love of mis-
chief. They generally are of a most restless
and volatile disposition. They have great
quickness of perception, but little power of con-
tinuous attention or perseverance. They have
a keen sense of the ridiculous, and are not devoid
of deep feeling. In the summer they make
regular tours through the country, visiting all
places that they have not seen. They are per-
fectly organized, so that any regulation affecting
their comforts or interests becomes known among
the whole body in a remarkably short space of
time."

Every day my inquiries add some fresh proof
to the justice of the above enumeration of the
several phenomena distinguishing this class. To
the more sedate portion of the human family,
the attractions of "a roving life" are inexpli-
cable. Nevertheless, there can be no doubt that,
to the more volatile, the mere muscular exercise

[Description: 915EAF. Page 322.]

and the continual change of scene, together with
the wild delight which attends the overcoming
of any danger, are sources of pleasure sufficient
to compensate for all the privations and hard-
ships attending such a state of existence.

Mr. Ruxton, one of the many who have passed
from settlers to wanderers, has given us the
following description of the enjoyments of a life
in the wilderness:

"Although liable to an accusation of bar-
barism, I must confess that the very happiest
moments of my life have been spent in the
wilderness of the Far West; and I never recall,
but with pleasure, the remembrance of my
solitary camp in the Bayou Solade, with no
friend near me more faithful than my rifle, and
no companions more sociable than my good
horse and mules, or the attendant cayute which
nightly serenaded us. Seldom did I ever wish
to change such hours of freedom for all the
luxuries of civilized life; and unnatural and
extraordinary as it may appear, yet such is the
fascination of the life of the mountain hunter,
that I believe not one instance could be adduced
of even the most polished and civilized of men,
who had once tasted the sweets of its attendant
liberty and freedom from every worldly care, not
regretting the moment when he exchanged it
for the monotonous life of the settlements, nor
sighing and sighing again once more to partake
of its pleasures and allurements."

To this class of voluntary wanderers belong
those who take to the streets, glad to exchange
the wearisomeness and restraint of a settled oc-
cupation for the greater freedom and license of a
nomad mode of life. As a class, they are essen-
tially the non-working, preferring, as I said
before, to collect, rather than produce, what they
eat. If they sell, they do so because for sundry
reasons they fear to infringe the law, and as
traders their transactions certainly are not
marked by an excess of honesty. I am not
aware that any of them are professional thieves
(for these are the more daring portion of the
same vagrant fraternity), though the majority
assuredly are habitual cheats — delighting in
proving their cleverness by imposing upon
simple-minded citizens — viewing all society as
composed of the same dishonest elements as
their own tribes, and looking upon all sympathy
and sacrifice, even when made for their own
benefit, as some "artful dodge" or trick, by
which to snare them.

It should be remembered, however, that there
are many grades of vagrants among us, and
that though they are all essentially non-pro-
ducing and, consequently, predatory, still many
are in no way distinguished from a large portion
of even our wealthy tradesmen — our puffing
grocers and slopsellers. To attempt to improve
the condition of the voluntary street-sellers by
teaching of any kind, would be to talk to the
wind. We might as well preach to Messrs.
Moses, Nicol, and Co., in the hope of Christian-
ising them. Those who take to the streets are
not, like those who are bred to it, an uneducated
class. They are intelligent and "knowing"
enough, and it is this development of their intel-
lect at the expense of their conscience which
gives rise to that excessive admiration of mere
cleverness, which makes skill the sole standard
of excellence with them. They approve, admire,
venerate nothing but what is ingenious. Wrong
with them is mere folly — right, cunning; and
those who think the simple cultivation of the
intellect the great social panacea of the time,
have merely to study the characteristics of this
class to see how a certain style of education can
breed the very vice it seeks to destroy. Years
ago, I wrote and printed the following passage,
and every year since my studies have convinced
me more and more of its truth:

"Man, if deprived of his intellect, would be
the most miserable and destitute, — if of his
sympathy, the most savage and cunning, of all
the brute creation: consequently, we may infer
that, according as solely the one or the other of
these powers is expanded in us, so shall we ap-
proximate in our nature either to the instinct of
the brute or to the artifice of the demon, and
that only when they are developed in an equal
degree, can Man be said to be educated as Man.
We should remember that the intellect simply
executes; it is either the selfish or moral pro-
pensity that designs. The intellectual principle
enables us to perceive the means of attaining
any particular object; it is the selfish or else
the moral principle in us, that causes us origin-
ally to desire that object. The two latter prin-
ciples are the springs, the former is the
instrument of all human action. They are
masters, whereas the intellect is but the servant
of the will; and hence it is evident that in pro-
portion as the one or the other of these two
predominant principles — as either the selfish or
the moral disposition is educed in man, and thus
made the chief director and stimulus of the
intellectual power within him, so will the culti-
vation of that power be the source of happiness
or misery to himself and others."

The third and last class, namely, those who
are driven to the streets, is almost as large as
any. Luckily, those who take to that mode of
life, are by far the least numerous portion of
the street-folk; and if those who are bred to the
business are worthy of our pity, assuredly those
who are driven to it are equally, if not more, so.
With some who are deprived of the means of
obtaining a maintenance for themselves, the sale
of small articles in the streets may, perhaps, be
an excuse for begging; but in most cases, I am
convinced it is adopted from a horror of the
workhouse, and a disposition to do, at least, some-
thing for the food they eat. Often is it the last
struggle of independence — the desire to give
something like an equivalent for what they re-
ceive. Over and over again have I noticed this
honourable pride, even in individuals who, from
some privations or affliction that rendered them
utterly incompetent to labour for their living,
had a just claim on our sympathies and assist-
ance. The blind — the cripple — the maimed —

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the very old — the very young — all have gene-
rally adopted a street-life, because they could
do nothing else. With many it is the last resort
of all. The smallness of the stock-money re-
quired — for a shilling, it has been shown, is
sufficient to commence several street-trades — is
one of the principal causes of so many of those
who are helpless taking to the street-traffic.
Moreover, the severity of the Poor-laws and
the degradation of pauperism, and the aversion
to be thought a common beggar by all, except
the very lowest, are, I have no doubt, strong
incentives to this course. There are many call-
ings which are peculiar, as being followed prin-
cipally by the disabled. The majority of the
blind are musicians, or boot-lace or tape-
sellers. The very old are sellers of water-
cresses, lucifers, pincushions, ballads, and pins
and needles, stay-laces, and such small articles
as are light to carry, and require but a few
pence for the outlay. The very young are
sellers of flowers, oranges, nuts, onions, black-
ing, lucifers, and the like. Many of those
who have lost an arm, or a leg, or a hand, turn
showmen, or become sellers of small metal
articles, as knives or nutmeg-graters; and many
who have been born cripples may be seen in the
streets struggling for self-support. But all who
are driven to the streets have not been physi-
cally disabled for labour. Some have been
reduced from their position as tradesmen or
shopmen; others, again, have been gentlemen's
servants and clerks; all, dragged down by a series
of misfortunes, sometimes beyond their control,
and sometimes brought about by their own
imprudence or sluggishness. As we have seen,
many are reduced to a state of poverty by long
illness, and on their recovery are unable, from
want of clothes or friends, to follow any other
occupation.

But a still larger class than all, are the
beaten-out mechanics and artizans, who, from
want of employment in their own trade, take to
make up small things (as clothes-horses, tin-
ware, cutlery, brushes, pails, caps, and bonnets)
on their own account. The number of artizans
in the London streets speaks volumes for the in-
dependence of the working-men of this country;
as well as for the difficulty of their obtaining
employment at their own trades. Those who
are unacquainted with the sterling pride of the
destitute English mechanic, know not what he
will suffer before becoming an inmate of a
workhouse, or sinking to the debasement of a
beggar. That handicraftsmen do occasionally
pass into "lurkers" I know well; but these, I
am convinced, have gradually been warped to
the life by a long course of tramping, aided by
the funds of their societies, and thus becoming
disused to labour, have, after forfeiting all claims
upon the funds of their trade, adopted beggary
as a means of subsistence. But, that this is the
exception rather than the rule, the following is
sufficient to show:

"The destitute mechanics," said the Master
of the Wandsworth and Clapham Union to me,
"are entirely a different class from the regular
vagrants; they have different habits, and indeed
different features. During the whole of my expe-
rience I never knew a distressed artizan who
applied for a night's shelter, commit an act of
theft; and I have seen them," he added, "in
the last stage of destitution. Occasionally
they have sold the shirt and waistcoat off their
backs before they applied for admittance into
the workhouse, while some of them have been
so weak from long starvation that they could
scarcely reach the gate, and indeed had to be
kept for several days in the Infirmary before
their strength was recruited sufficiently to con-
tinue their journey." "The poor mechanic,"
said another of my informants, "will sit in the
casual ward like a lost man, scared. Its shock-
ing to think a decent mechanic's houseless.
When he's beat out he's like a bird out of a
cage; he doesn't know where to go, or how to
get a bit."

I shall avail myself of another occasion to
discuss the means of improving the condition
of the street-people.