in this island, at a very early period of their history, used the bow,
like other nations, for two purposes. In time of peace it was an
implement for hunting and pastime; and in time of war it was a formidable
weapon of offence and defence. It was not till after the battle of
Hastings that our Anglo-Saxon forefathers learned rightly to appreciate
the merit of the bow and the cloth-yard shaft. Though a general
disarming followed that event, the victor allowed the vanquished Saxon to
carry the bow. The lesson taught by the superiority of the Norman
archers was not forgotten. From that period the English archers began to
rise in repute, and in course of time proved themselves, by their
achievements in war, both the admiration and terror of their foes, and
excelled the exploits of other nations. The great achievements of the
English bowmen, which shed lustre upon the annals of the nation, extended
over a period of more than five centuries, many years after the invention
and use of firearms. All the youth and manhood of the yeomanry of
England were engaged in the practice of the long bow. England,
therefore, in those times possessed a national voluntary militia, of no
charge to the government, ready for the field on a short notice, and well
skilled in the use of weapons. Hence sprung the large bodies of
efficient troops which at different periods of English history, in an
incredibly short time, were found ready for the service of their country.
These men were not a rude, undisciplined rabble, but were trained,
disciplined men, every one sufficiently master of his weapon to riddle a
steel corslet at five or six score paces; or, in a body, to act with
terrific effect against masses of cavalry; while most of them could bring
down a falcon on the wing by a bird-bolt, or, with a broad arrow,
transfix the wild deer in the chase. There is little at the present day
in England to afford any adequate idea of the high importance, the great
skill, and the distinguished renown of the English archers. Some few
places still retain names which tell us where the bowmen used to assemble
for practice,--as _Shooter's Hill_, _in Kent_; _Newington Butts_, _near
London_; and _St. Augustine's Butts_, _near Bristol_. Many of the noble
and county families of Great Britain and Ireland have the symbols of
archery charged on their escutcheons; as, for instance, the Duke of
Norfolk, on his bend, between six crosslets, bears an escutcheon charged
with a demi-lion pierced in the mouth with an arrow, within a double
tressure flory and counterflory. This was an addition to the coat of his
Grace's ancestor, the Earl of Surrey, who commanded at Flodden Field, in
1513. There are also existing families which have derived their surnames
from the names of the different crafts formerly engaged in the
manufacture of the bow and its accompaniments; as, for instance, the
names of _Bowyer_, _Fletcher_, _Stringer_, _Arrowsmith_, &c. If we refer
to our language, there will be found many phrases and proverbial
expressions drawn from or connected with archery; some suggesting
forethought and caution, as "_Always have two strings to your bow_;" it
being the custom of military archers to take additional bowstrings with
them into the field of battle; "_Get the shaft-hand of your
adversaries_;" "_Draw not thy bow before thy arrow be fixed_;" "_Kill two
birds with one shaft_." To make an enemy's machinations recoil upon
himself, they expressed by saying, "_To outshoot a man in his own bow_."
In reference to a vague, foolish guess, they used to say, "_He shoots
wide of his mark_;" and of unprofitable, silly conversation, "_A fool's
bolt is soon shot_." The unready and the unskilful archer did not escape
the censure and warning of his fellows, although he might be a great man,
and boast that he had "_A famous bow--but it was up at the castle_." Of
such they satirically remarked that "_Many talked of Robin Hood_, _who
never shot in his bow_." Our ancestors also expressed liberality of
sentiment, and their opinion that merit belonged exclusively to no
particular class or locality, by the following pithy expressions, "_Many
a good bow besides one __in Chester_;" and "_An archer is known by his
aim_, _and not by his arrows_."
And what was the result of all this practice with the bow?--why, that we
never feared invasion. Those were not times when old ladies were
frightened out of their night's sleep. Every Englishman was a free and
fearless soldier; the foe might growl at a distance, but he never dared
to touch our shores--to plunder our cities--to massacre our smiling
babes--and to do outrage worse than death to our English womanhood; and
so it will be seen now that the bow has been superseded by the rifle,
when our young lads of public spirit respond to Tennyson's patriotic
appeal, "Form, Riflemen, form!"
CHAPTER XVII.
CRIMINAL LONDON.
A _brochure_ of fifty pages, full of figures and tables, just issued,
contains the criminal statistics of the metropolis, as shown by the
police returns. It is not very pleasant reading, in any sense, but it no
doubt has its value. We learn from it that last year the police took
into custody 64,281 persons, of whom 29,863 were discharged by the
magistrates, 31,565 summarily disposed of, and 2,853 committed for trial;
of the latter number 2,312 were convicted, the rest being either
acquitted or not prosecuted, or in their cases true bills were not found.
About twenty years ago, in 1839, the number taken into custody rather
exceeded that of last year, being 65,965; although since that period 135
parishes, hamlets, and liberties, with, in 1850, a population of 267,267,
have been added to the metropolitan district, and although the entire
population must have greatly increased in the interval. These returns
exhibits strange variations in the activity of the police; while last
year the apprehensions were, as stated, 64,281, in 1857 they amounted to
as much as 79,364. The difference is 15,000, and of that number in
excess, not one-half were convicted, either summarily or after trial, the
rest forming an excess in the whole of those discharged by the
magistrates. It is a striking fact that nearly half the number of all
whom the police take into custody are discharged, so that the
discrimination of the police is far from being on a par with its
activity.
Criminal London spends some considerable part of its time at Newgate,
Clerkenwell, Wandsworth, Hollowway, and other establishments well-known
to fame, and descriptions of which are familiar to the reader, but a
favourite resort, also, is Portland Goal, which, by the kindness of
Captain Clay, we were permitted, recently, to inspect. Portland Goal is
situated on a neck of land near Weymouth.
To reach it, the better way is to take a passage in one of the numerous
steamers which ply between Weymouth and Portland. In half an hour you
will find yourself at the bottom of the chalk hill on which the prison is
built. If you are sound in limb, and not deficient in wind, in another
half hour you will find yourself at the principal entrance of the goal.
But to get at the Prison is no easy work. The Captain of the steamer
will tell you, you must take a trap the moment you get on shore, but Jehu
will ask you so long a price as to put all idea of riding quite out of
the question. The people on the island will give you but little
information, and that of rather a contradictory character. Undoubtedly
the better plan is to trust to your own sense and legs. On our way we
met an officer of the Royal Navy--a captain, we imagine. Before us, at a
little distance, was what we took to be the prison, but we were not sure
of the fact, and accordingly asked the gallant officer. We trust he was
not a type of the service. He did not know what that building was before
him: he did not know whether there was a prison there; and then he
finished by asking us if we were one of the officials. If the French do
come, let us hope Her Majesty's fleet will have more acute officers than
our gallant acquaintance! We arrived at the principal entrance,
notwithstanding the non-success of our queries with the brave marine, at
a quarter to one. Before we enter, let us look around. What a place for
a man to get braced up in! What a jolly thing it would be for many a
London Alderman could he come here for a few months. Just below is the
prison, clean, snug, and warm. At our feet is the stupendous Breakwater,
within which lie, as we trust they may ever lie, idle and secure, some of
the ships comprising the Channel Fleet. Here, stealing into the bay like
a bird with white wings, is a convict ship, coming to bear away to the
Bermudas some of the convicts now shut up within those stone walls. If
you look well at her through the glass you can see her live freight on
board, for she only calls here for some fifty or sixty,--who, however,
have no wish to leave Portland for harder work and a less healthy
climate. Beyond is Weymouth, and its comfortable hotels--its agreeable
promenade--and with, in summer time, its pleasant bathing. Right across
St. Albyn's Head, and on the other side the Dorset coast, and straight
across some eighty miles of the salt sea, is Cherbourg, with a breakwater
far more formidable than that above which we stand. It is a clear bright
sky above us, and in the light of the sun the scene is beautiful almost
as one of fairy land.
We ring the bell--hand in, through a window, our letter of
introduction--are ushered into a wooden cage in which the janitor
sits--enter our name in a book, and sit down. The officers, consisting
of about 160 men, exclusive of a small guard of soldiers, are coming in
from dinner. In appearance they somewhat resemble our Coast-guard, are
tall fine men, with very red faces, and big black bushy whiskers. The
principal warden came to receive us; he has been here ever since the
place has been opened, and we could not have had a better guide, or one
more competent to explain to us the nature of the important works carried
on. And now we have passed into the very prison itself, and stand
surrounded by men who have committed almost every species of crime.
There are some fifteen hundred of them here from all parts of England;
stupid peasants from Suffolk and Norfolk, and clever rascals (these
latter are very troublesome) from London, and Birmingham, and Liverpool,
and other busy centres of industry, and intelligence, and life. Says our
informant, We have a good many captains in the army here, and several
merchants, nor are we surprised at the information.
When we entered, the men had just dined, and were collected in the yard
previous to being examined and walked off in gangs, under the charge of
their respective officers, to work. The gangs consisted of various
numbers, of from fifteen to thirty; each officer felt each man, to see
that nothing was hidden, and examined his number to see that it was all
right, and as each gang marches through the gate, the officer calls out
the number of the gang, and the number of men it contains, to the chief
officer, who enters it in his book. As soon as this operation was over,
the gangs marched out, some to quarry stones for the Breakwater below;
and others, by far the larger number, to construct the enormous
barricades and fortifications which the Government has ordered as a
defence for that part of the world. The prisoners who cannot stand this
hard work are employed in mending clothes, in making shoes, in baking,
and brewing, in the school-room, and other offices necessary in such an
enormous establishment. In this latter employment no less a personage
than Sir John Dean Paul had been occupied till very recently. The scene
was a busy one; all around us were convicts--here quarrying, there
employed in the manufacture of tools, or in carpenters's or masons's
work--all working well, and many of them cheerful in spite of the
presence of an official, and little apparently heeding the sentry
standing near with loaded gun ready to shoot, if need be, a runaway. We
have heard gentlemen say that at Bermuda and at Gibraltar, the convicts
will not work. All we can say is, that at Portland they do, and so
effectually, as to cost the country but little more than four or five
pounds a year. Our out door inspection over, we then went over the
sleeping apartments, and the chapel, and the kitchen, and laundry, and
bakery. The impression left on us was very favourable. The food is of
the plainest, but most satisfactory character. The allowance for
breakfast is 12 oz. of bread, 1 pint of tea or cocoa. Dinner, 1 pint of
soup, 5.5 oz. of meat, 1 lb. of potatoes, 6 oz., of bread or pudding.
Supper, 9 oz. of bread, 1 pint of gruel or tea. The chapel is a handsome
building, capable of containing fifteen hundred people, and the sleeping
apartments were light and airy, and well ventilated. Each cell opens
into a corridor, there being a series of three or four storeys; each
sleeping apartment can contain from a hundred to five hundred men; in
each cell there is a hammock, and all that is requisite for personal
cleanliness, besides a book or two which the convict is allowed to have
from the library. Of course the manner of life is somewhat monotonous.
Before coming to Portland, the prisoners have passed their allotted time,
(generally about nine months), in what is termed separate confinement, at
Pentonville, Millbank, Preston, Bedford, Wakefield, or some other prison
adapted for the first stage of penal discipline. Upon their reception
they are made to undergo medical inspection, a change of clothes, and are
required to bathe; they are then informed of the rules and regulations of
the prison, and moved to school for examination in educational
attainments, with a view to their correct classification. Afterwards
they receive an appropriate address from the chaplain, and are allowed to
write their first letter from Portland to their relations. They are then
put to work, and are made to feel that their future career depends in
some measure on themselves. Thus there are four classes, and the convict
in the best class may earn as much as two shillings-a-week, which is put
to his credit, and paid him when he becomes free, partly by a post-office
order, payable to him when he reaches his destination, and partly
afterwards. The dress consists of fustian, over which a blue smock frock
with white stripes is thrown. Convicts who are dangerous, and have
maltreated their keepers, instead of a frock have a coat of a somewhat
loud and striking character. Then, again, a yellow dress denotes that
the convict has attempted to escape; and further, a blue cloth dress
denotes that the wearer, engaged as a pointsman, has but little more time
to stay, and has a little more freedom intrusted to him. In the working
days in summer the prison-bell rouses all hands at a quarter-past five,
allowing an hour for washing, dressing, and breakfast. Then comes
morning service in the chapel. They are then marched off to labour,
where they remain till eleven, when they return to dinner. At half-past
twelve they are again paraded, and dismissed to labour till six. Suppers
are distributed to each cell at half-past six, and at seven evening
service is held in the chapel. The prisoners then return to their cells.
In winter-time they are recalled from labour at half-past four, prayers
are read at five, and supper is served at six; the prisoners then return
to their cells. At eight all lights must be put out, and silence reigns
in every hall, the slippered night-guards alone gliding through the long
and dimly-lighted galleries like so many spectres. It may be that sorrow
is wakeful, but it is not so at Portland. If the men have troubled
consciences and uneasy hours, it is when they are at work, and not during
the period allotted to repose. They are asleep as soon as ever the
lights are put out, and till the bell summons them to labour they sleep
the sleep of the just. Nor can we wonder at it. There is no sleep so
sweet and precious, as that earned by a long day's work in the open air.
Attendance at chapel and walking exercise in the open air, are the two
great features of the Sunday's employment; and, as a farther change, we
may mention, each prisoner is allowed half a day's schooling per week.
While at work, of course they talk together,--it is impossible to prevent
that,--and they choose their companions, and have their friendships as if
they were free; and even, as in the case of Sir John Dean Paul,
maintain--or endeavour to do so--the social distinctions which were
accorded to them when supposed to be respectable members of respectable
society. Altogether here, as at many a worse place than Portland, the
convicts must work hard, for the contractor depends on them for the
supply of stone which is sent down the tramway to the Breakwater; but
many of the men at Portland have been accustomed to hard labour all their
lives. They are chiefly young and able-bodied, and here they are well
cared for and taught. Surely here, if anywhere, the convict may repent
his crimes, and be fitted to return to society a wiser and a better man!
We cannot exactly say what are the effects of all this; but surely the
convicts must be better from this separation from their usual haunts and
associates. Portland Prison is admirably adapted for carrying out a
great experiment in the treatment and improvement of the criminal
classes. It has now been in existence twelve years, and the experiment
hitherto has succeeded. At any rate, if it is a blunder, it is not a
costly one, like some establishments nearer town.
It is now nearly ten years since transportation to the colonies ceased to
be a punishment for criminal offences. The Tasmanian and Australian
authorities refused to receive them; and the government establishment at
Norfolk Island was abandoned, the home government resolving to make an
effort to dispose of the convict population in some other manner. The
convict establishment on the Island of Portland was the first scheme
proposed for the employment and reformation of offenders. The principal
object was to secure a place of confinement for long-term convicts; the
next, to systematically apply the labour of such convicts to "national
works of importance," the prosecution of which at once was profitable,
and afforded the means of training the convicts to habits of industry.
The Penal Servitude Act was passed in 1850, and under it the
much-condemned ticket of leave came into operation. It substituted
sentences of penal servitude for all crimes formerly visited by sentences
of transportation to a less period than 14 years. As few of such
sentences, comparatively, reached over that period, the Act practically
reduced the transportation sentences to a mere tithe of what they were
before--the average during the years from 1854 to 1857 not being more
than 235 out of 3200. In 1857 the transportation sentences only amounted
to 110, while the penal servitude sentences were 2474. In that year an
Act was passed with a small proportionate remission of sentence as a
reward for good conduct. The advantages of the system thus established,
were considered to be--1st, Its deterring effects. 2nd, Its affording
encouragement to the convict. 3rd, As giving the means of dealing with
refractory convicts; and 4th, As affording means of employment to
offenders on their discharge.
Portland Prison, as the chief punitive establishment under this new
system, is, of course, most deserving notice. In 1857, the total
expenditure on this prison was 48,782 pounds. The total value of the
labour performed in the same year was 41,855 pounds, which, divided by
1488 (the average number of prisoners), gave 28 pounds 2s. 7d. as the
rate per man. We doubt if the labour in our county prisons has ever
reached the half of this value. Large numbers of the Portland prisoners
have obtained employment at harbour and other similar works since their
discharge, and generally their conduct has been satisfactory. The
Discharged Prisoners' Aid Society regularly assists the well-behaved
convicts in finding employment on their release from confinement, and
that society's operations have been remarkably successful. Pentonville
prison has ordinarily from five to six hundred prisoners; while in
Milbank the daily average number, in 1857, was about 1100. Parkhurst
prison is kept for boy convicts, of whom the average daily number in
1857, was 431; and Brixton, for females, of whom 784 in all were received
in that year. The Fulham Refuge is another female institution, in which
convicts are received previous to being discharged on license, and in
which they are taught a knowledge of household work, such as cooking,
washing, &c., calculated to improve their chances of getting employment.
Portsmouth, Chatham, Lewes, and Dartmoor are also used as convict
establishments; the latter, however, is being gradually given up, as
utterly unfitted for such a purpose, its temperature in winter somewhat
approaching to that of Nova Zembla. It is difficult to say what are the
numbers requiring to be disposed of in these convict prisons in the
average of years, but they probably range about 7,000 males and 1,200
females. If the decrease of crime in 1858 continue in subsequent years,
our home prisons will amply suffice for the reception of our convict
population.
CHARTER XVIII.
CONCERNING CABS.
One of the most blessed institutions of London is the cab. I prefer it
much to the 'bus--to equestrian exercise--and if I had, which I have not,
a carriage of my own, I dare say I should prefer it even to that. If the
horse falls down, it is not yours that breaks its knees; if the shafts
suddenly snap asunder, they are not yours that are damaged. And you need
not be imposed on, unless you are flat enough to ask cabby his fare, and
then it serves you right. The number of cabs now licensed in London is
4,500; each common cab and the two horses with the appointments requisite
to work it are estimated to cost not more than 60 pounds, so that the
capital engaged is, in round numbers, upwards of 270,000 pounds, provided
by upwards of 1,800 small owners. The waste of the capital committed by
this competition within the field of supply is visible to the eye, at all
times and all weathers, in full stands, or long files waiting hour after
hour, and in the numbers crawling about the streets looking out for
fares. The cost of the keep of each horse is estimated at 16s. 4d. per
week--the depreciation of horse stock is put down at 2s. 6d. per week
each, and of the vehicle at 8s. per week. The market value of the labour
of such a man as the driver of a cab may be set down in London at 4s. per
diem. The stable rent is at least 10s. per week, per cab and horses, so
that the capital invested for man, horse, and vehicle, may be set down at
more than one shilling per hour lost during every hour of the twelve that
cabs are kept unemployed. On every cab-stand, where in foul weather as
well as fair a dozen cabs are seen constantly unemployed, the
administrative economist may see capital evaporating in worse than waste
at a rate of 12s. per hour, 7 pounds 4s. per diem, or at a rate of
between two and three thousand pounds per annum, to be charged to some
one, _i.e._ the public. If all were employed, as the usual rate of
driving is six miles per hour, they must be each employed at least four
hours per diem to pay for their keep. If, however, the cabs were
constantly employed daily, at least three horses must be employed, which
would augment the charge, by that of an additional horse, at the rate of
4d. per hour. A large proportion of the cabs are employed during the
whole 24 hours; but there are then two men, a night man and a day man,
and three horses. It is probably greatly below the fact to state that at
least one-third of the cabs are, the week through, unemployed--that is to
say, one-third of the capital invested is wasted, a service for two
capitals being competed for by three, to the inevitable destruction of
one. As in other cases of competition within the field, efforts are made
by violent manifestations of discontent at the legal fare, by mendacity,
and by various modes of extortion, to charge upon the public the expense
of the wasted capital. Sometimes it is in the form of a piteous appeal
that the driver or the competitor has been out all day and has not before
had "one single blessed fare." And yet the legal charge for the
frequently wretched service of the man, horse, and vehicle is, when taken
by the hour, nearly double, and by the mile, nearly treble--when only two
horses per diem are used--its actual prime cost, which is, when driving
at little more than six miles an hour, 2d. or 3d. per mile, and when
waiting, 1s. 4d. per hour. But there is now a cry from the cab
proprietors that this charge of double the prime cost does not pay, as it
probably does not under such a ruinous system, and an appeal is proposed
to parliament for an augmentation of the fares, but such augmentations,
under this principle of competition within the field, would only
aggravate the evil, for it would lead to an increased number of
competitors, and instead of there being a competition of three to do the
work of two, there would be a competition of two or more to do the work
of one--that is, a greater waste of capital to be paid for by some one.
Since the reduction of the fares in 1852, the number of cabs in the
metropolis, instead of being reduced, has been increased from 3297 to
4507 in 1857.
The criminal returns afford melancholy indications of their moral
condition to those conversant with penal statistics. Thus, in the police
returns we find, under the head of "Coach and cabmen"--but it is stated
by the police to be chiefly of cabmen--a very heavy list of offences. In
the year 1854 it was 682; in the year before that, 777. The recurring
crimes are thus denoted:
Apprehensions for 1853. 1854.
Offenses against the Hackney Carriage Act 369 335
Simple larcenies 29 36
Other larcenies 10 12
Common assaults 54 42
,, on the police 24 11
Cruelty to animals 57 27
Disorderly characters 15 21
Drunk and disorderly characters 66 62
Drunkenness 82 73
Furious driving 24 18
In respect to this service of cabs, says a writer--from whom I have taken
these figures, I regret I cannot find out his name, that I might quote
it--"the analysed charges and statistics show that by a
properly-conducted competition by adequate capital for the whole
field--for which, in my view, the chief police or local administrative
authorities ought, as servants of the public, to be made
responsible--service equal to the present might be obtained at 3d. or 4d.
per mile; or at the present legal fare of 6d. per mile, a service
approaching in condition to that of private carriages, might be insured
out of the waste which now occurs."
A pleasant way of getting along is that of getting in a Hansom, and
bidding the driver drive on. A great improvement, undoubtedly, on the
old Hackney coach, or on that first species of cab--consisting of a gig
with a very dangerous hood--on one side of which sat the driver, while on
the other was suspended yourself. Now as you dash merrily along, with a
civil driver, a luxurious equipage, and not a bad sort of horse, little
do you think that you may be driving far further than you intended, to a
dangerous illness and an early grave.
A terrible danger threatens all who live in London, or who visit it, by
means of a custom--which ought not to be tolerated for an instant--of
carrying sick persons in cabs to hospitals. No doubt the increase of
smallpox in the metropolis may be referred to this source. Put a case of
smallpox into a comfortable cab for an hour, then send the vehicle into
the streets; first a merchant sits in it for a quarter of an hour, then a
traveller from the railway gets his chance of catching the disease, and
so on for the next week or two. When it takes, the victims have had no
warning of their impending danger, and wonder where they got it. They in
their turn become new centres of disease, and for the next few weeks they
infect the air they breathe, the houses they inhabit, the clothing sent
to the laundress, and everybody and everything which comes within their
influence, and it is impossible to say where the infection ceases. The
following arrangements would easily, cheaply, and effectually do away
with the evil:--1. Make it penal to let or to hire a public vehicle for
the conveyance of any person affected with contagious disease. 2. Every
institution for the reception of contagious disease should undertake to
fetch the patient on receipt of a medical certificate as to the nature of
the case.
Do not be too confidential with cabby, nor ask him what he charges, nor
hold out a handful of silver to him and ask him to pay himself, nor give
him a sovereign in mistake for a shilling, and delude yourself with the
idea that he will return it. Don't tell him you are in a hurry to catch
the train. I once offered the driver of a Hansom a shilling for a ride
from the Post Office to the Angel, Islington; he was so disgusted that he
plainly informed me that if he'd a known I was only going to give him a
shilling, he'd be blessed if he would not have lost the mail for me. The
repeal of the newspaper stamp has done wonders for cabby. He now takes
in his morning paper the same as any other gentleman. To ride in a cab
is the extent of some people's idea of happiness. I heard of a clerk who
had absconded with some money belonging to an employer, he had spent it
all in chartering a cab, and in riding about in it all day. M.P.'s are
much in the habit of using cabs. On one occasion an M.P. who had been at
a party, hurrying down to a division, was changing his evening costume
for one more appropriate to business. Unfortunately, in the most
interesting part of the transaction, the cab was upset and the M.P. was
exhibited in a state which would have made Lord Elcho very angry.
Cab drivers I look upon as misanthropic individuals. I fancy many of
them were railway directors in the memorable year of speculation, and
have known better days. The driver of a buss is a prince of good fellows
compared with a cabman. The former has no pecuniary anxieties to weigh
him down, he is full of fun in a quiet way, and in case of a quarrel he
has his conductor to take his side--he has his regular employment and his
regular pay; the cabby is alone, and has to do battle with all the world,
and he has often horses to drive and people to deal with that would tire
the patience of a Job. He is constantly being aggravated--there is no
doubt about that; the magistrates aggravate him--the police aggravate
him--his fares aggravate him--his 'oss aggravates him--the crowded state
of the street, and the impossibility of getting along aggravates him--the
weather aggravates him--if it is hot he feels it, and has a terrible
tendency to get dry--and if it is cold and wet not even his damp wrappers
and overcoats can keep out, I suspect, chilblains; and I know he has
corns, and he will use bad language in a truly distressing manner. Then
his hours of work are such as to ruffle a naturally serene temper, and
when he finds it hard work to make both ends meet, and sees how gaily
young fellows spend their money--how he drives them from one public to
another, and from one place of amusement to another--and in what
questionable society,--one can scarce wonder if now and then cabby is a
little sour, and if his language be as rough as his thoughts. Strange
tales can he tell. A friend of the writer's once hired a chaise to take
him across the country; their way led them through a turnpike-gate, and,
to my friend's horror, the driver never once pulled up to allow him to
pay the toll. My friend expostulated; as the toll had to be paid, he
thought the better plan was to pay it at once. "Oh, it's all right,"
said Jehu, smiling, "they know me well enough--I am the man wot drives
the prisoners, and prisoners never pay." Our London cabby is often
similarly employed, and, as he rushes by, we may well speculate as to the
nature and mission of his fare. Cabby so often drives rogues that we
cannot wonder if in time he becomes a bit of a rogue himself.
CHAPTER XIX.
FREE DRINKING FOUNTAINS.
Till lately the London poor had no means of getting water but the pump or
the public-house. Of the latter we can have but a poor opinion, nor all
the former much better. It appears that "the London pumps can never be
otherwise than dangerous sources of supply; the porous sod from which
they suck being that into which our cesspools and leaky drains discharge
a great part of their fluid--sometimes even a great part of their solid
contents, and in which, till very recently, all our interments have taken
place. It is a soil which consequently abounds with putrid and
putrefiable matter. The water derived from it invariably contains
products of organic decomposition, more or less oxidised; and it is a
mere chance, beyond the power of water-drinkers to measure or control,
whether that oxidation shall at all times be so incomplete as to have
left the water still capable of a very dangerous kind of fermentation."
We are further told that, "the shallow well water receives the drainage
of Highgate Cemetery, of numerous burial grounds, and of innumerable
cesspools which percolate the soil on the London side of the Cemetery,
and flow towards the Metropolis. . . . That the pump-water also becomes
contaminated with the residual liquors of manufacturing processes. . . .
That a man who habitually makes use of London pump-water, lives in
perpetual danger of disease."
But one of the greatest and most unexpected sources of danger is, that
the sense of taste or smell fails to warn us of the danger of using such
water, since clearness, coolness, and tastelessness, may exist, without
being evidences of wholesomeness. We are also told that "the carbonic
acid of the decomposed matter makes them sparkling, and the nitrates they
contain give them a pleasant coolness to the taste, so that nothing could
be better adapted to lure their victims to destruction than the external
qualities of these waters--hence the worst of them are most popular for
drinking purposes."
The nitrates with which these waters are charged generally proceed from
the decomposition of animal matter, such as the corpses interred in
London churchyards; hence the popularity of some pumps near churchyards;
and to such an extent are some of these waters charged with this
ingredient, that J. B. C. Aldis, M.D., declares the water of a
surface-well (though cool and sparkling to the taste) twice exploded
during the process of incineration when he was analysing it!
Under these peculiar circumstances it does seem strange that in London
the weary, the thirsty, and the poor have thus practically been driven to
the public house, and that they should have been left without an
alternative. A man toiling all day, bearing, it may be, heavy burdens in
the summer sun, miles it may be from his home, parched with thirst,
practically to quench that thirst has been compelled to resort to the
beer-shop or the gin-palace. And what has been the consequence, that the
man has been led to drink more than was good for him--that he has got
into bad company--that he has wasted his time and his money, injured his
health, and possibly been led into the commission of vice and crime.
Every day the evil has been demonstrated in the most striking, in the
most alarming, and in the most abundant manner. A benevolent gentleman
at Liverpool was the first to see the evil, and to devise a remedy. He
erected fountains, elegant and attractive in character, furnished with
pure water, and in one day of about thirteen hours twenty-four thousand
seven hundred and two persons drank at the thirteen fountains in that
town. Of that twenty-four thousand seven hundred and two persons, many
would otherwise have resorted to public-houses or gin-palaces to quench
their thirst. In smaller places, where results are easier to ascertain,
it has been found that in reality the fountains do keep people from
frequenting beer-shops, and, therefore, do keep them sober. A gentleman
who largely employs workmen in ironworks in the town of Wednesbury,
having recently erected fountains for his workpeople, says that his
manager has since observed an improvement in their habits and regularity
of attendance, attributable to their discarded use of beer, in
consequence of the facility of obtaining pure water which the fountains
afford. The publicans in London understand this, as it appears from the
report of the committee of the Free Drinking Association, held at
Willis's Rooms last week, when the drinking cups have been missing they
have invariably been found at some neighbouring public-house. The
movement, as we have intimated, commenced at Liverpool; it was not long
before it reached London. According to Mr. Wakefield, the honorary
secretary of the Association, there was a greater need for this movement
in London than elsewhere, owing to the fact that the greater radiation of
heat from a larger surface of buildings, less shade, more smoke and dust,
and longer street distances, combines to make London a more
thirst-exciting place than any provincial town. Mr. Samuel Gurney, M.P.,
was the first, who, in a letter published in some of the Loudon papers,
called attention to the grievous privation which the want of these
fountains inflicted on the London poor, and subsequently by his great
personal influence and liberal pecuniary contributions, and unwearied
exertions founded the Association; the Earl of Shaftesbury, the Earl of
Carlisle, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and other distinguished noblemen
and gentlemen rallied around him. London parishes and vestries have most
of them come forward and contributed, and already nearly a hundred
drinking fountains have been erected by this Association. It is inferred
from the Liverpool statistics that at least 400 fountains might be
advantageously erected in London; these could not be constructed and kept
in repair at a less cost than 20,000 pounds. To gain this sum the
Association appeals to the public. Last year the total receipts of the
Association amounted to 2,609 pounds; much more is required; a very good
sign, indicative of the appreciation on the part of Londoners of the boon
offered them, is found in the fact that the poor themselves are
contributing voluntarily and in an unostentatious manner to defray the
expenses of erection. The plan of attaching moneyboxes to the fountains
for the donations of friends has been adopted, and the first money-box
has been placed at the first erected fountain on Snow Hill. So far as
the experience of four weeks justifies an opinion, it is very
encouraging, and a sum of 8d. a day has been deposited in small coins,
varying from farthings to two-shilling pieces. The experiment is to be
extended to five other fountains, when, if successful, it is proposed to
supply every fountain with a money-box, when the erection will be more
than self-supporting. "Of all the efforts I have been called to make,"
said the Earl of Shaftesbury, "there is none that so strongly commends
itself to my feelings and my judgment as the Free Drinking Fountain
movement." The Earl of Carlisle says, "Erect drinking fountains, and
habits of intemperance will soon show a diminution, and with a diminution
of intemperance will be stopped the most prolific of all the sources of
crime and misery." Most people will say the same, and we look upon these
fountains--elegant in character, supplied with pure water--as a grateful
acknowledgment by the richer classes of the interest and sympathy they
feel for those in less happy circumstances.
As evidence of the grateful interest elicited by this movement in the
humblest classes, let the reader take the following letters. The first
was addressed, "for Mr. Samuel Gurney Esquire who bilt the fountaine
Newgate Street."
to Mr. Gurney esquire
July 9
Kind Sir
i take liberty to giv you my best thanks fore the butiful fountaine
what you wos so kind to giv to us poor men for Newgate Street and i
would plese ask you sir to be so kind and giv us 2 more cups extra
fore wen in Newgate street i see the squeeging and shovin for water
for only the 2 cups of woman and little boys is not enuff this verry
hot days and God bless you Sir fore all your goodness what you do
from a poor man in London.
* * * * *
Monday June the 20th
Gentlemen of the Committee
I see by the paper of yesterday the working Men had a large Meeting
on the Fountain question. I think under your care and good
Management the Working Women could also form and do much good. Also
the Ladies could associate with the working Classes as their
Subscriptions could be distinct from ours; as of course our means are
very limited; but surely we could most of us become Subscribers at
twopence per week in so noble a cause that bids fair to drive the
curse of Public Houses from our land--King's Cross wants one much,
and there is room in the open Square also at the Portland Road at the
end of Euston Road. They ought to be round or Square with 4 or 6
places to Drink from, with something of interest to mark to whose
honour they were raised. One Subject could be Prince Edward
suppressing the wine houses in Gibraltar, 1792. I think nothing
could be better for the purpose as we all feel something must be done
to stop this crying evil that is sending thousands to Death and
Madness--the other subject could be Alderman Wood who rose from a
poor Charity School Boy of Tiverton Devonshire to plead the Duke of
Kent's return to England that his child, our present good queen,
should be born on British ground; so we as a people have to thank the
late Sir Matthew Wood for that. I think the wives and daughters of
freemasons will give freely in respect to the late Duke of Kent who
spent I may say thousands to raise the standard of that noble order.
. . . Forgive these few remarks of A Soldier and a Mason's Daughter
who has her country's interest at heart.
J. DUNN x 103 Euston Road Euston Sq. Gentlemen forgive the intrusion
on your time also my bad grammar but remember I hear and see every
Day the Curse of Drink.
As evidence of the filthy nature of London water and of the need of
fountains, let the reader take the following letter from Dr. Letheby, the
City Medical Officer, addressed to the Honorary Secretary of the Drinking
Fountain Association; and let the reader bear in mind that Dr. Letheby's
evidence is confirmed by that of upwards of fifty other medical
gentlemen. Dr. Letheby says,--
"From what I know of the habits of the poor within this city, I am
led to believe that the erection of drinking fountains would be of
especial service to them; for although the average supply of water to
the metropolis is abundant, yet the distribution of it is so unequal
that the poorer classes do not obtain their proper proportion; in
fact, this has become so serious a matter in most of the courts and
alleys of this city, that I have great difficulty in dealing with it.
You are, no doubt, aware that the water companies have been obliged
to shorten the time of supply ever since they have been compelled by
the Act of Parliament to furnish filtered water to the public; and,
as the poor have not the means of altering the present condition of
the service, and adapting it to the new arrangement, their
receptacles are never filled during the short time that the water is
on. Every contrivance is, therefore, used to secure as much water as
possible while it is flowing; but, partly from the filthy state of
the cisterns, and partly from the foetid emanations to which the
water is exposed in the over-crowded rooms in which it is kept, it is
rarely, if ever, drinkable. The poor, then, would be too glad to
avail themselves of the opportunities afforded by the public
fountains, and would, I am quite sure, hail them as boons of the
greatest value; and when it comes to be known that the water which
flows from the fountains is as pure as chemical and other
contrivances can render it, the boon will most assuredly be prized by
all.
"At present, the public wells of this city are largely used by all
classes of persons; and, knowing what I do of the composition of
these waters, I have looked with much concern at the probable
mischief that might be occasioned by them; for though they are
generally grateful to the palate, and deliriously cool, they are rich
in all kinds of filthy decomposing products, as the soakage from
sewers and cesspools, and the not less repulsive matters from the
over-crowded churchyards. What, therefore, can be of greater
importance to the public than the opportunity of drinking water which
shall not only be grateful and cool, as that from the city pumps, but
which shall have none of its lurking dangers?
"As to the quality of the water that is now supplied by the public
companies I can speak in the fullest confidence, for it is not merely
the most available for your purposes, but it is in reality the best
supply that can be obtained. I need not describe the admirable
arrangements that have been employed by the several companies for the
purification of the water, but I may state that there is not a city
in Europe that has so large a supply of good water as this
metropolis, and I do not know where or how you could obtain a better.
I say, therefore, without hesitation, that the water supplied by the
public companies is the best that can be used for the fountains; and,
seeing that it will be twice filtered, and carefully freed from every
kind of impurity by the most perfect chemical and mechanical
contrivances, there need be no hesitation on the part of the most
fastidious in freely drinking at the public fountains."
CHAPTER XX.
CONCLUSION.
One bright May morning in the year of our Lord, 1445, the streets of
London presented an unusually animated appearance. Here and there were
quaint devices and rare allegories, well pleasing alike to the rude eye
and taste of citizen and peer. From dark lane and darker alley poured
forth swarms eager to behold the stranger, who, young, high-spirited, and
beautiful, had come to wear the diadem of royalty, and to share the
English throne. The land of love and song had given her birth. Her
"gorgeous beauty," as our national dramatist describes it, had been
ripened but by fifteen summers's suns. Hope told a flattering tale. She
discerned not the signs that prophesied a dark and dreary future. A
tempest rudely greeted her as she landed on our shores. Sickness preyed
upon her frame. Those whose fathers's bones were bleaching on the
battle-fields of France murmured that Maine and Anjou, won by so free an
expenditure of English blood and gold, should be ceded to the sire of one
who, dowerless, came to claim the throne, and, as it speedily appeared,
to rule the fortunes, of HENRY PLANTAGENET. In mercy the sad perspective
of thirty wintry years was hidden from her view. She dreamt not of the
cup of bitterness it was hers to drink--how she should be driven from the
land that then hailed her with delight--how all that woman should abhor
should be laid to her charge--how, in her desolate chateau, stripped of
her power, and fame, and crown, lonely and broken-hearted, she should
spend the evening of her life in unavailing sorrow and regret, till, with
bloodshot eyes, and wrinkled brow, and leprous skin, she should become
all that men shuddered to behold. But onward passed the procession, and
smiles were on her lips, and joy was in her heart. Bright was her
queenly eye, and beautiful was her flaxen hair, so well known in romance
or in the songs of wandering troubadour. Around her were the children of
no common race, gallant and haughty, dark-eyed Norman barons, ready to
keep, as their fathers had won, with their own good swords, power and
nobility upon British soil.
Years have come and gone. The great ones of the earth have felt their
power slip from them. Crowns and sceptres have turned to dust. Thrones
have tottered to their fall; but there was then that evolving itself of
which succeeding ages have witnessed but the more full development. In
that procession there were symptoms of a coming change--signs, and
warning voices, that told the noble that the power and pride of the
individual man was being torn from him--that he had been weighed in the
balance and found wanting. The trading companies--the sons of the Saxon
churl--THE MIDDLE CLASSES--for the first time appeared upon the scene,
and were deemed a fitting escort to royalty. History herself has deigned
to tell us of their show and bravery--how, on horseback, with blue gowns
and embroidered shoes, and red hoods, they joined the nobles and prelates
of our land. Four hundred years have but seen the increase of their
wealth, of their respectability, and power. Their struggle upwards has
been long and tedious, but it has been safe and sure. The wars of the
red rose and the white--wars which beggared the princes of England, and
spilt the blood of its nobles like water--were favourable to the progress
of the middle class. The battle of Barnet witnessed the fall and death
of the kingmaker, and with her champion feudalism fell. The power passed
from the baron. The most thoughtless began to perceive that a time was
coming when mere brute strength would fail its possessor. Dim and
shadowy notions of the superiority of right to might were loosened from
the bondage of the past, and set afloat; discoveries, strange and
wonderful, became the property of the many; the fountains of knowledge,
and thought, and fame were opened, and men pressed thither, eager to win
higher honour than that obtained by the intrigues of court, or the
accidents of birth.
With all that was bright and good did the middle classes identify
themselves. In them was the stronghold of civilization. The prince and
peer were unwilling to admit of changes in polity, in religion, or in
law, which to them could bring no good, and might possibly bring harm.
Conventional usage had stamped them with a higher worth than that which
by right belonged to them; their adulterated gold passed as current coin;
hence it was their interest to oppose every attempt to establish a more
natural test. The aristocracy ceased to be the thinkers of the age.
From the middle classes came the men whose words and deeds we will not
willingly let die. Shakspere, Milton, and Cromwell shew what of genius,
and power, and divine aim, at one time the middle classes contained.
And now, once more, is there not an upheaving of humanity from beneath?
and over society as it is, does not once more loom the shadow of a coming
change? Does not middle-class civilization in its mode of utterance and
thought, betoken symptoms of decay? Look at it as it does the genteel
thing, and sleeps an easy hour in Episcopalian church or Dissenting
chapel--as it faintly applauds a world-renovating principle, and
gracefully bows assent to a divine idea. Ask it its problem of life, its
mission, and it knows no other than to have a good account at the bank,
and to keep a gig; possibly, if it be very ambitious, it may, in its
heart of hearts, yearn for a couple of flunkeys and a fashionable square.
It is very moral and very religious. Much is it attached to morality and
religion in the abstract; but to take one step in their behalf--to cut
the shop, for their sake, for an hour--is a thing it rarely does. Often
is it too much trouble for it to vote at a municipal election--to employ
the franchise to which it has a right--to support the man or the paper
that advocates its principles. That is, it refuses to grapple with the
great principle of ill with which man comes into this world to make war;
and, rather than lose a pound, or sacrifice its respectability, or depart
from the routine of formalism into which it has grown, it will let the
devil take possession of the world.
Looked at from a right point of view, the world's history is a series of
dissolving views. We have had the gorgeous age of nobility, the
money-making one of the middle-classes--lower still we must go. Truth
lies at the bottom of the well; the pearls, whose lustre outshine even
beauty's eye are hidden in the deep. The men who now stamp their impress
on the age--whose thought is genuine and free--who shew the hollowness of
shams--who demand for the common brotherhood of man their common
rights--who herald a coming age--who are its teachers and
apostles--originally laboured in coal-mines, like Stephenson; or mended
shoes, like Cooper; or plied the shuttle, like Fox; or stood, as did
Burns and Nicoll, at the plough, with GOD'S heaven above them, and GOD'S
inspiration in their hearts.
The decline and fall of England has already found chroniclers enough.
Ledru Rollin and the Protectionists are agreed as regards the lamentable
fact. G. F. Young, the chairman of the Society for the Protection of
British Industry and Capital, believed it as firmly as his own existence.
A similar opinion is more than hinted in the tedious History of Dr.
Alison. At a still earlier period the same doleful tale was ever on the
lips and pervaded the writings of Southey, the Laureate and the renegade.
If these gentlemen are right, then the melancholy conviction must be
forced upon us that England has seen her best days; that it will never be
with her what it was in time past, when she bred up an indomitable race,
when her flag of triumph fluttered in every breeze, and floated on every
sea. We must believe that England's sun is about to set; that, with its
brightness and its beauty, it will never more bless and irradiate the
world.
Against such a conclusion we emphatically protest. We look back upon our
national career, and we see that each age has witnessed the people's
growth in political power; that especially since that grand field-day of
Democracy, the French Revolution, that power has gone on increasing with
accelerated force; that it was to the increased ascendancy of that power
that we owed it that we rode in safety whilst the political ocean was
covered with wreck and ruin. If one thing be clearer than another in our
national history, it is that our greatness and the power of the people
have grown together. At a season like the present it is well to remember
this. Prophets often fulfil their own prophecies. The Jeremiads of the
weak, or the interested, or the fearful, may damp the courage of some
hearts; and a people told that they are ruined, that the poor are
becoming poorer every day, that the end of all labour is the workhouse or
the gaol, that their life is but a lingering death, may come to believe
that the handwriting is upon the wall, and that it is hopeless to war
with fate.
The fact is, nations, when they die, die of _felo-de-se_. The national
heart becomes unsound, and the national arm weak. The virtue has gone
out of it. Its rulers have usurped despotic powers, and the people have
been sunk in utter imbecility, or have looked upon life as a May-day
game, and nothing more. In our cold northern clime--with the remains of
that equality born and bred amidst the beech-forests that bordered the
Baltic--the English people could never stoop to this; and hence our
glorious destiny. No nation under heaven's broad light has been more
sorely tried than our own. We have taken into pay almost every European
power. Our war to restore the BOURBONS, and thus to crush Liberalism at
home, and keep the Tories in office, was carried on at a cost which only
Englishmen could have paid; and yet from our long seasons of
distress--from our commercial panics, the result of fettered trade--from
our formidable continental wars--we have emerged with flying colours, and
indomitable strength. Mr. Porter's statistics showed what we had done in
the face of difficulty and danger, and the progress we have made since
Mr. Porter's time is something prodigious. Not yet has the arm of the
people been weakened or its eye dulled.
These are facts such as the united Croaker tribe can neither refute nor
deny. We understand the meaning of such men when they raise a cry of
alarm. What such men dread does in reality infuse into the constitution
fresh vigour and life. Not national death, but the reverse is the
result. The removal of one abuse, behind which monopoly and class
legislation have skulked, is like stripping from the monarch of the
forest the foul parasite by which his beauty is hidden and his strength
devoured. From such operations the constitution comes out with the
elements of life more copious and active in it than before. It finds a
wider base in the support and attachment of the people; it becomes more
sympathetic with them. It grows with their growth and strengthens with
their strength.
It is not true, then, that for us the future is more fraught with anxiety
than hope. The theory is denied by fact. It is not true commercially,
nor is it true morally. Our progress in morals and manners is, at least,
equal to our progress in trade. The coarse manners--the brutal
intoxication--the want of all faith in spiritual realities, held not
merely by the laity but by the clergy as well of the last century, now no
longer exists. Reverend Deans do not now write to ladies as did the
bitter Dean of St. Patrick's to his Stella. Sure are we that Victoria
cannot speak of her bishops as, according to Lord Hervey, George II. did,
and justly, speak of his. No Prime Minister now would dare to insult the
good feeling of the nation by handing his paramour to her carriage from
the Opera in the presence of Majesty. Fielding's novels graphically
display a state of things which happily now no longer exists. The gossip
of our times reveals enough--alas!--too much--of human weakness and
immorality; but the gossip of our times is as far superior to that which
Horace Walpole has so faithfully preserved, or to that which Mrs. Manley
in her "New Atlantis" sullied her woman's name by retailing, or to that
which Count Grammont thought it no disgrace to record, as light to
darkness or as dross to gold. Macaulay thus describes the country squire
of the seventeenth century:--"His chief pleasures were commonly derived
from field-sports, and from an unrefined sensuality. His language and
his pronunciation were such as we should now only expect to hear from
ignorant clowns. His oaths, coarse jokes, and scurrilous terms of abuse
were uttered with the broadest accents of his province." The country
squire of the nineteenth century is surely some improvement upon this;
nor has the improvement been confined to him--it has extended to all
classes. We still hear much, for instance, of drunkenness, but
drunkenness does not prevail as it did when publicans wrote on their
signs, as Smollett tells us they did,--"You may here get drunk for one
penny, dead drunk for two pence, and clean straw for nothing."
After all, then, we lay down our pen in hope. We have undergone
struggles deep and severe, and such struggles we may still continue to
have. With a debt of eight hundred millions like a millstone round our
neck--with a population increasing at the rate of a thousand a day--with
Ireland's ills not yet remedied--with half the landed property of the
country in the hands of the lawyer or the Jew--with discordant colonies
in all parts of the globe--with large masses in our midst degraded by woe
and want--barbarians in the midst of civilization--heathens in the full
blaze of Christian light--no man can deny that there are breakers ahead.
Rather from what we see around us we may conclude that we shall have
storms to weather, severe as any that have awakened the energy and
heroism of our countrymen in days gone by. But the history of the past
teaches us how those storms will be met and overcome. Not by accident is
modern history so rich in the possession of the new creed and the new
blood, for the want of which the glory of Athens and Corinth, and of her
"who was named eternal" passed away as a dream of the night. Not that
England may perish does that new blood course through the veins, and that
new creed fructify in the hearts of her sons. The progress we have made
is the surest indication of the progress it is yet our destiny to make.
Onward, then, ye labourers for humanity, heralds of a coming age--onward
then till
"We sweep into a younger day.
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay."
Those who would deny the people their political rights--who would teach a
Christianity unworthy of its name--who would inculcate a conventional
morality--who would degrade the national heart by perpetuating religious
and political shams--they, and not the foreigner, are our national
enemies. Against them must we wage untiring war, for they are hostile to
the progress of the nation, and by that hostility sin against the
progress of the world. England will still stand foremost in the files of
time--and of that England, London will still remain the heart and head.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM OSTELL, HART STREET, BLOOMSBURY.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
_Price_ 3_s._ 6_d._, _bound in cloth_, _Second Edition_, _Revised_.
THE NIGHT-SIDE OF LONDON,
BY
JAMES EWING RITCHIE.
Contents: Seeing a Man hanged--Catherine-street--The Bal Masque--Up the
Haymarket--Ratcliffe Highway--Judge and Jury Clubs--The Cave of
Harmony--Discussion Clubs--Cider Cellars--Leicester Square--Boxing
Night--Caldwell's--Cremorne--The Costermongers' Free-and-Easy, &c.
* * * * *
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
"We would wish for this little volume an attentive perusal on the part of
all to whom inclination or duty, or both, give an interest in the moral,
the social, and the religious condition of their fellow-men; above all,
we should wish to see it in the hands of bishops, and other
ecclesiastical dignitaries--of metropolitan rectors and fashionable
preachers--of statesmen and legislators--and of that most mischievous
class of men, well-meaning philanthropists. The picture of life in
London, of its manifold pitfalls of temptation and corruption, which are
here presented to the reader's eye, is truly appalling. No one can rise
from it without a deep conviction that something must be done, ay, and
that soon, if the metropolis of the British Empire is not to become a
modern Sodom and Gomorrah."--_John Bull_.
"There is a matter-of-fact reality about the sketches, but they are
chiefly remarkable for the moral tone of their reflections. Generally
speaking, painters of these subjects rather throw a purple light over the
actual scenes, and say nothing of the consequences to which they lead.
Mr. Ritchie is ever stripping off the mask of the mock gaiety before him,
and pointing the end to which it must finally come."--_Spectator_.
"We have kept Mr. Ritchie's book lying on our table, hoping that we might
find an opportunity for making it the basis of an article on the fearful
evils which it discloses. We must be satisfied, however, for the
present, with recommending all our readers who are anxious to promote the
social and moral regeneration of our great cities to read it carefully;
and to remember, while they read, that London does not stand alone, but
that all our larger towns are cursed with abominations, such as those
which Mr. Ritchie has so vigourously and effectually
described."--_Eclectic Review_.
"The author of 'The Night-Side of London' has graphically described the
scenes of debauchery which are to be found at night. It is a fearful and
shocking _expose_."--_Illustrated Times_.
* * * * *
_Price_ 2_s._, _Cheap Edition_, _Revised and Enlarged_,
THE LONDON PULPIT,
BY
JAMES EWING RITCHIE.
Contents: The Religious Denominations of London--Sketches of the Rev. J.
M. Bellew--Dale--Liddell--Maurice--Melville--Villiers--Baldwin
Brown--Binney--Dr. Campbell--Lynch--Morris--Martin--Brock--Howard
Hinton--Sheridan Knowles--Baptist Noel--Spurgeon--Dr. Cumming--Dr. James
Hamilton--W. Forster--H. Ierson--Cardinal Wiseman--Miall--Dr. Wolf, &c.,
&c.
* * * * *
"The subject is an interesting one, and it is treated with very
considerable ability. Mr. Ritchie has the valuable art of saying many
things in few words: he is never diffuse, never dull, and succeeds in
being graphic without becoming flippant. Occasionally his strength of
thought and style borders rather too closely on coarseness; but this
fault of vigorous natures is counterbalanced by compensatory merit--by an
utter absence of cant, a manly grasp of thought, and a wise and genial
human-heartedness. The book is a sincere book; the writer says what he
means, and means what he says. In these half-earnest days it is a
comfort to meet with any one who has 'the courage of his opinions'
especially on such a subject as the 'London Pulpit.'"--_Daily News_.
"One of the cleverest productions of the present day."--_Morning Herald_.
* * * * *
_Just Published_, _price_ 3_s._ 6_d._, _bound in cloth_, _post-free_
3_s._ 10_d._
HERE AND THERE IN LONDON,
BY
JAMES EWING RITCHIE.
Contents: The House of Commons from the Stranger's Gallery--A Night with
the Lords--The Reporters' Gallery--The Lobby of the House of Commons--Our
London Correspondent--Exeter Hall--A Sunday at the Obelisk--The Penny
Gaff--The Derby--Vauxhall--The Stock Exchange--Rag Fair--Mark Lane--The
Coal Whippers--Portland Place--An Omnibus Yard--The New Cattle
Market--The Government Office--Paternoster Row--The London Hospital.
* * * * *
"We have no doubt that his work will be extensively read, and it deserves
no less, for it is thoroughly impartial, very graphic, reliable in its
details, and extremely well written."--_Illustrated News of the World_.
"We recommend the book as being likely to afford a spare half-hour of
pleasant recreation."--_Leader_.
"Lively and attractive."--_Spectator_.
"Light and graceful sketches of the interior life of the great
metropolis."--_Inquirer_.
* * * * *
314, Strand, _W.C._,
_Nov._ 1, 1860.
* * * * *
MR. WILLIAM TINSLEY'S
LIST OF NEW WORKS.
* * * * *
NOW READY, PRICE FIVE SHILLINGS,
A NEW WORK
BY
MR. BLANCHARD JERROLD,
ENTITLED
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH.
* * * * *
This work consists of a series of quaint stories and papers, contributed
by Mr. Jerrold to "Household Words."
[_Now ready_.
* * * * *
PREPARING FOR IMMEDIATE PUBLICATION,
A New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition of
THE NIGHT SIDE OF LONDON.
THIRD EDITION.
BY J. EWING RITCHIE,
AUTHOR OF "ABOUT LONDON," ETC.
* * * * *
NEW WORK BY MR. RITCHIE.
* * * * *
JUST PUBLISHED; PRICE FIVE SHILLINGS,
ABOUT LONDON.
BY
J. EWING RITCHIE,
AUTHOR OF
"_The Night Side of London_," "_Here and there in London_,"
"_The London Pulpit_," _&c._
* * * * *
Contents:--Newspaper People--Spiritualism--About Coal--Highgate--Tom
Tidler's Ground--Westminster Abbey--London Charities--Pedestrianism--Over
London Bridge--The House of Commons and the Early Closing Movement--Town
Morals--The same subject continued--London Matrimonial--Breach-of-Promise
Cases--The London Volunteers--Criminal London--Concerning Cabs--Free
Drinking Fountains--Conclusion.
* * * * *
"Mr. Ritchie ought to be a popular author, and largely read by a numerous
and highly respectable class."--_Athenaeum_.
"They are all written with such a knowledge of each subject as might be
expected from a perceptive and accurate observer, who has gained his
experience from himself, while the descriptive writing is that of a
practised hand."--_Illustrated London News_.
"We can give to this work our heartiest praise. 'About London' is
written by one whose object is as much to instruct as to amuse, and who
succeeds without any apparent effort in doing both. We say without any
apparent effort, because Mr. Ritchie's sketches are too bold to be stiff,
his style too fluent and natural to be laboured. Notwithstanding this,
'About London' displays an amount of industrious research very rarely met
with, and a knowledge of men and manners which only experience--and
active experience, moreover--can supply."--_Literary Gazette_.
"The subjects for the most part are familiar to us, and the easy and
unaffected style in which they are treated is always sure to gratify
without wearying the reader."--_Morning Advertiser_.
"Mr. Ritchie has already given us various works devoted to metropolitan
subjects, such as 'The Night Side of Loudon,' 'The London Pulpit,' 'Here
and There in London.' His volume 'About London' will, no doubt, be as
widely circulated as its predecessors. In it he communicates a vast mass
of information in a pleasant, gossiping style.--_Illustrated News of the
World_.
"Mr. Ritchie is well and favourably known as one of those writers who,
whilst possessed of a keen and observant eye, remarks all the social
inconsistencies of which human society in the great modern Babylon is
composed, and spares neither those who may be said to hold the language
of the first murderer--'Am I my brother's keeper?' nor others, who grovel
in the sensuality, which speedily deforms man into little less than the
beast of the earth. In this, the last of the several books in which he
has related the doings of London life, high and low, he does not enter so
fully into the mysteries of the singular career of the Arabs of our
streets, but touches matters on a somewhat higher level with the same
force and intelligence, which he has hitherto manifested, combined with a
more genial and pleasant refinement, which will commend its information
to those who may have been disposed to be somewhat hypercritical as to
the advisability of too closely 'holding the mirror up to nature,' and
showing vice its own deformity and horror.--_Bella Weekly Messenger_.
"The new book by Mr. Ritchie, entitled 'About London,' fully sustains the
reputation of the author of 'The Night Side of London.' It is, both in
matter and manner, a most readable volume. In a series of twenty
chapters the more conspicuous and characteristic places and persons about
London are admirably sketched. The author indulges in all his modes. He
is observant, penetrative, didactic, satirical, and reflective. Health,
cheerfulness, and hope, however, are the pervading tones of this work.
Whether the subject be the 'Newspaper People,' 'Spiritualism,' 'London
Gents.' or 'Criminal London,' he has the happy disposition of educing
good and ennobling lessons and influence from each and all.--_Press_.
* * * * *
NOW READY:
A New Edition, revised and greatly enlarged, with a full Index,
DR. WARDROP'S VALUABLE WORK:
ON THE NATURE AND TREATMENT
OF THE
DISEASES OF THE HEART;
CONTAINING ALSO SOME
NEW VIEWS OF THE CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD,
WITH
AN ACCOUNT OF THE MUSCOLO-CARDIAC, THE PULMO-CARDIAC,
AND THE VENO-PULMONARY FUNCTIONS.
BY
JAMES WARDROP, M.D.,
_Surgeon to the person of George IV._, _Fellow of the Royal Society_,
_and of the_
_Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh_; _Fellow of the Royal College
of_
_Surgeons of England_; _Member of the Imperial Academy of Medicine_
_of Paris_, _Moscow_, _St. Petersburgh_, _and Wilna_; _Member of the_
_Royal Medical and Surgical Society of Berlin_, _and of the_
_Medical Society of Leipsic_,
_&c. &c. &c._
A New Edition, carefully Revised, with considerable Additions,
AND A COPIOUS INDEX.
[_Large Octavo_, 18_s._
* * * * *
NOTICE.
THE WIMBLEDON SHOOTING-MATCH AND THE VOLUNTEER REVIEW.
* * * * *
This day is published, the Second Edition, revised, corrected,
and greatly enlarged, of
MR. GEO. AUGUSTUS SALA'S
NARRATIVE
OF THE GRAND
VOLUNTEER REVIEW.
TO WHICH IS ADDED AN ACCOUNT OF THE
WIMBLEDON SHOOTING-MATCH.
*** This Edition, which has been enlarged by Sixteen Pages, contains a
correct list of all the Volunteer Corps that were reviewed by Her
Majesty, with the name of the Commander, description of dress, and number
of each Company; as well as a full account of the Grand Rifle-Match at
Wimbledon.
* * * * *
PRICE SIXPENCE, POST FREE.
* * * * *
The _Morning Advertiser_, of June 29th, says:--
"We anticipate an immediate and extensive sale for this opportune and
patriotic publication. It is a beautiful written and graphic narrative
of one of the greatest events--perhaps in its political and military
bearings _the_ greatest event--of the present century. Mr. Sala has
evidently written out of the fulness of his heart, and the result is an
eloquent and vivid literary review of the greatest military Volunteer
Review which has ever been witnessed in this or in any other country.
Mr. Tinsley has done good service to his country in perpetuating the
details of that great event by so able and popular a pen as that of Mr.
George Augustus Sala, and in publishing the little work at so moderate a
price as to place it within the reach of all."
* * * * *
NEW NOVEL, BY MR. VANE ST JOHN.
* * * * *
NOW READY, AT ALL THE LIBRARIES,
UNDER CURRENTS:
A NOVEL OF OUR DAY.
BY
VANE IRETON ST. JOHN,
_Author of_ "_St. Eustace_: _or_, _the Hundred and One_."
* * * * *
LONDON: W. TINSLEY, 314, STRAND;
And may be ordered of all Booksellers, and at all Railway Station