University of Virginia Library

SIR,—In your paper, the other week, I read of a woman, Cameron, Overgate, Dundee, found dead—her child, a boy of seven years, sleeping beside her. She expired unknown to any—she and her little son lying on a shakedown in a wretched hovel—not a morsel of food, but every mark of starvation, cold and hunger. Now, sir, having myself tasted the bitter cup—having seen death at work in this same hideous form—the above tragedy affected me very much. I do not think ill of mankind, but the contrary. I would not reflect on the goodwill of those who undertake, and whose duty it then is, to watch the abodes of misery. Reproach may not apply to the will of parties so placed; but what could the mildest say of that blameable and fatal ignorance that thus defeats the very best ends of mercy—leaving a human creature to struggle with death in its most revolting attitude—then mock the whole with a sort of posthumous wail? I sincerely believe that there was not one in Dundee that night—whether on hardest pallet or softest down—but would have started in the dark hour, ministered to yon perishing woman, soothed the little trembler at her cold breast, and been happy. But who knew of it? Why, everybody, next day, when the white coffin is seen borne along by a troop of pale-faced existences, whose present suffering is nowise smoothed by the prospect offered in their then dowie occupation, and the fate that may be their own one cold dark night ere long. Starvation to death is not uncommon amongst us; yet we are in the nineteenth century—the pearl age of benevolent societies, charity-schools, and “useful knowledge.” Would benevolence be perverted, charity made colder, or the knowledge useless, that made us timeously acquainted with catastrophes like these? In Aberdeen, the other week, an aged man was found dead in his garret, with every appearance of want and wretchedness. How came it to be known? Did the elder of the district discover it while on his round of Christian inquiry? Did some benevolent ruler in a benevolent society miss his poor old neighbour? Weeks and weeks his tottering footsteps had not been seen on the pavement, or heard in his naked abode. He is dead—starved dead—and the stench of his half-consumed body first gives notices that, “however man may act by man, Death is at his post.” Oh, that some kind-hearted creature, with a turn for statistical computation, would lend me a hand! It might be made clear, I think, that in a population of sixty thousand, one hundred could be spared (by regular changes) to hunt Misery to its very heels, and scare it, at least, from its more hideous feasts. Say that districts are divided into wards, each ward having its appointed inspector, whose duty it should be to observe earnestly, and report faithfully, all concerning the povery-stricken residents in his charge.

That the “Murder of Neglect” is perpetrated in this land is one terrible fact, and it is as true, though, alas! not so terrifying, that he who is ignorant of it, or, knowing it, feels it only as an incident per course, bestowing upon it a fushionless shrug, and a “woe's me,”—that man has blood upon his head! We are the children of one Father, travelling together on the broad and brief way to eternity. Alas! for such unequal equipment—seeing we must at last pull up at the one same stage! You will forgive me all this preaching, but my soul is in it, and last night I composed the following lines bearing that way. If you think these, or any sentiments here expressed, would, if made public, in any way move an additional feeling in favour of the “Overgate Orphan,” I would be proud and happy.