as these; and no less decidedly should a 'dead set' be made at the vermin.

With references to the latter nearly every part of this remarkable narrative abounds. They seem to crawl all over almost every page. Here, for instance, is a dreadful picture, as drawn by our 'casual.' It describes part of her experience at Newington:—

Shortly afterwards two women came in, and relieved the loneliness. They were after hours, and their clothes were not taken away. The first was an elderly woman of about fifty-four years of age, very strong, ruddy, and sun-burnt; she had a basket with some scraps of food in it, and a blacking-box with Day and Martin's name upon it, which was filled with cottons, tapes, stay-laces, and other articles of a similar kind. She was literally clothed in filthy rags. Her dress consisted of an old body-lining, which scarcely reached her waist, and a black skirt,—she had nothing on else but a bonnet and shawl.

After taking these off she removed a series of rags which were pinned in pieces round about her, and as each was taken off she drew it briskly through her hand to knock off the vermin with which everything was covered. She then removed her boots, which were without a bit of sole and very old, and her stockings, which had no feet, a few rags being tied round the toes to protect them on the road. When she had reduced herself to complete nudity she commenced to destroy the vermin on her body, the skin being covered with sores and dirt such as made me ill to look

upon.

The other woman was somewhat younger; her outside clothes were rather more respectable, but underneath she was quite as bad, and was very soon as naked as the other, and actively engaged in the same way.

When they had finished themselves, they began to pick their clothes, shaking them over the beds generally, and turning over the gathers of the dresses to find out what they sought.

After a time I got a little tranquil, for no one can conceive my horror at the sight which presented itself, and which I could not help watching spite of all my fear. I asked them what time it was, and they said it was about eleven o'clock, and I then said I suppose you are friends;' they said 'No, they had met accidentally at the police-station. Both were hawkers out of luck. The younger one had no money, and nothing to sell. She said that she would like to wash her chemise, and the other said she could go to the public wash-house at threehalfpence an hour; but what, said the former, if you have not got the money? They remained in this way fully an hour and a half, and then they shook the rugs and the beds, making a great dust, and lay down talking to each other in low tones which I could not hear.

They soon went to sleep, but I was frightened to death. I found myself covered with vermin, and in a state of constant misery the whole night through. I could neither sit nor lie, and I went as near the door as I could get, in order to get a breath of air if one came through the narrow opening I have already noticed.

About three o'clock I heard the bell ring and the key turned in the door. Fearing to be found out of bed I again forced myself to get in before the woman came, and I had scarcely done so when she brought in a woman of about thirty years of age, who was tall, strong, and almost as dark as a gipsy. She appeared under the influence of drink, but not intoxicated, and she sat down sullenly in the corner and began to pick over her dress as the others had done. She wore a dark linsey skirt, very torn and dirty; the body was of striped calico, and she said she had bought it for twopence of a workhouse nurse, but she added that they chaffed her about getting it in gaol, which seemed more likely. She said, that fellow

(Mr. Greenwood, we suppose) that made a bother about the vagrants; he has only given us extra trouble. I came here at two o'clock, and they made me go all the way to the police station for an order; if I had known that, I could have got one easy enough on my way, for I have passed them twenty times.' Her feet were also encased in rags, and she said 'She hadn't had a wash for more than three weeks.'

In my life I never saw a human being in such a dreadful state. There she sat tearing her skin to pieces, and on her back were sores as large as your hand, which must have been intolerably painful. The stench was terrific, and, dirty as she was, I was obliged to ask her for a little water to prevent my fainting. She fetched the tin and poured some water into it, and, seeing me shiver at the dirty can, she put in her fingers to clean it out. I thought I must have died, for I could not touch the water; and when she saw the reason she said, 'What a fool I am, I forgot what I had been doing; and then she swilled the tin several times, and I took a little and was revived. She remained sitting in the corner until it was daylight, and then lay down; and they were all fast asleep when the nurse arrived in the morning soon after six o'clock.

Here is a companion picture, as witnessed at Lambeth :

The last arrival was at twelve o'clock, when a woman and three children were shown in. They were at the police station when I was there, and she said they had been kept waiting for more than two hours for the order of admission. One child was put to bed with the mother, another in a bed by her bedside, and the eldest was sent over to the men's ward. They seemed very tired, but for a long time they never ceased getting up and tearing themselves to pieces; indeed, the constant scratching of every one in the ward went on until it was quite daylight. They all seem accustomed to the vermin, and they look for nothing better. They all seemed to know that sleep was out of the question until the feeding time was fairly over, and daylight had arrived; then a common repose gradually took possession of the casuals and their voracious companions, and I was the only person awake when the bell rang for us to get up.

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Shortly afterwards the woman came in and expressed her surprise that they were not yet dressed, and hurried them on. The beds were then turned up, and a deaf and dumb girl brought in a pint of good skilly and a piece of bread for each. After breakfast the oakum was brought in, and we were set to work, superintended by the female already described.

The operation of picking their clothes went on even whilst they were eating their breakfast, and seems the only habitual method of cleanliness; it was continued whilst they were at work, and there was a woman named Shipton, of middle age, the wife of a vagrant in the male ward, who could not sit still one moment without turning up her clothes to relieve the violent irritation of her skin. After sitting at her work for an hour, and doing very little, this woman became suddenly frantic; she jumped up and rushed about the ward, as if she were insane, crying piteously, 'I cannot bear it-I cannot bear it.'

Roaring with madness, she stripped herself entirely naked, retaining only her bonnet and a small shawl. The clothes she took off scarcely held together, and she tore them into rags. At this moment the woman came in and began to blow

her up.

What have you done that for?' she said; 'you ought to be ashamed of yourself. This is the twelfth case of tearing up, and you will have three days for it on bread and water. If you wanted to tear up why did you not do it outside, and not keep me here two or three hours waiting on such as you?'

'I could not bear it any longer,' answered the woman, and I cannot help it.' The attendant then went out for the assistant nurse, who was a sour-looking woman in spectacles. When she came in she turned over the torn rags with her keys, and said that they were clean and free from vermin, that she had seen much worse, and that it was not through dirt she did it, but devilment. She went away, but turned back again to tell the superintendent to take care that the woman did the oakum before she left. Neither the nurse nor the other person seemed to have a grain of pity for this poor creature, but I believe her sufferings to have been genuine. She appears to have had the fever, which made them less easily borne; even the nurse was frightened, and in my whole life I never saw so pitiful an object.

If the Legislature is really determined and has finally resolved that casual wards, open to all the necessitous alike, whether

deserving or undeserving, shall be provided by the so-called guardians of the poor, it is certain, we repeat, that the casual wards ought to be at least so placed and managed, as not to be positively promotive of infectious or contagious disease, and so constructed as to afford the least possible lodgment for vermin. A temporary complete change of clothing should be provided, and the clothes of the paupers should be in all cases well boiled before being returned to their owners. To do less than this, is to inflict most unjust and unnecessary persecution on the deserving poor, who must sometimes come within these wards; and for whose benefit, indeed, they ought to be entirely appropriated.

Dr. Stallard treats the question in a very sensible manner. He observes that two distinct classes, the deserving and the undeserving, are to be found availing themselves of the casual ward. The one class deserve to be assisted; would work, if they could find it, or were able; are compelled, perhaps, to travel for some temporary purpose, are unable to pay for lodgings, and ought to be properly accommodated whilst on their way. The other class are old stagers, accustomed to the treatment they receive, and determined to live without working as much as they can; they care little what they eat, they wallow in filth, and set the Union officers at defiance. It is a subject of just complaint that to such as these the Houseless Poor Act has given a legal position, and the privileges of lodging and food at the public expense. What right, asks Dr. Stallard, have such idle vagabonds, whether male or female, to our sympathy and relief? And is it not shameful that the heavilyburdened ratepayer should be taxed for their support? On the other hand, what right have we to keep a destitute but honest wayfarer, whether man or woman, standing at the door of a police-office, perhaps mixed up with a score of foulmouthed vagabonds, exposed to the inclemency of the weather, the mockery of passers by, and the jeers of the police, who reluctantly perform their hateful duty? What right to insult those who are already in despair? The professional vagrant and the destitute traveller should never have been confounded by the Legislature; should never be forced to sleep in the same bedroom, or associato in the same work-place. The casual ward is a school of vagrancy and petty crime, in which those who enter by compulsion are taught to prefer a wandering life, and to acquire the means of indulging in their preference; but happily the pupils are comparatively few, because the genuine wayfarer shuns the horrors of the accommodation, and feels that he cannot associate with the vagrant without losing caste and self-respect. Every night, respectable but destitute

persons prefer to walk the strects, or, as in Bethnal Green, to sit in the public water-closet, rather than remain in such debasing company.

But here comes the question: Can the two classes be discriminated in practise? At present, this is not done, or even attempted. The employment of policemen as relieving officers does indeed deter some of the criminal class from seeking lodgings in casual wards; but it also keeps away others sorely needing and really deserving relief, who cannot bring themselves to submit to this ordeal that they may obtain it. We agree with Dr. Stallard that every genuine destitute traveller should be provided with a bed and breakfast at the public cost, and should be let go in the morning as early as he pleases. He should, however, for his due recognition, be expected to provide himself with a passport signed perhaps by an employer in the presence of a police inspector, a clergyman, or a magistrate, to stand good for a certain reasonable time. In London, a certificate of destitution should be obtained, entitling the bearer to bed and breakfast for a week, and renewable at discretion, until work was found. Persons found wandering in the streets, homeless and uncertificated, should be taken before the Poor-law magistrate, and either supplied with the necessary certificate, or remitted to a house of detention. This latter should be a real workhouse, where useful labour should be provided and insisted upon, and from which no inmate should be allowed to depart without having behaved well for at least a month. At the end of that time, if found deserving, he should be supplied with a passport, in order that he may seek employment. Dr. Stallard suggests that a register of persons wanting labourers should be kept at these houses of detention. Would it not be still better if the Board of Trade would organise for the whole kingdom a system by which the waves of high and low pressure of the atmosphere of supply and demand in all its branches might be noted and registered, so that persons unable under present arrangements to find work for themselves might know on good authority whither they might betake themselves with the best chance of discovering it?

Dr. Stallard's projected method of dealing with the two classes of destitute persons is described in detail in his book, and to this we must refer those of our readers who desire further information with regard to it. The latter part of his volume is filled with the particulars of a complete scheme for the regulation of workhouse infirmaries.

WHAT DO THEY SAY, THOSE WEDDING BELLS?

'I

DON'T like 'em,' said Judith Spinks to herself, as she sat alone in her work room, cutting out the pattern for a new silk mantle, and as she spoke, she gave an indignant poke of her scissors at the paper, till it was a wonder the pattern was not quite spoiled, but it was not. What's the good of 'em? Making all that uproar because two folks have made fools of themselves? Because another poor woman, God help her, has put herself into a man's power for ever and ever, no matter what comes. What's the good of you, I ask?' she went on, lifting up her head and apostrophising the bells, that just now, pealing from the belfry close by, seemed inclined in their fun or madness, Judith thought the latter, to make a humming-top of her little room with its open window, and of her brain at the same time. Slap bang, here we are again.' 'Yes, I hear you!' Here we are again, here we are again.' 'Hush, you almost drive me crazy!' And she rose up from her chair, and, going to the window, seized hold of the iron hook that held it open, and shut the casement with a quick hand, and close-pressed lips of determination. 'It's a hot day, and it's a shame to shut the window, the room so close as it is; but I can't abear you, I can't abear you! And as she sat down again. she shook her fist in the air, in the direction of the window whence could see, if you were so minded, a section of the church steeple, and a bit of the churchyard, with its rows of sombre, cut yews on either side the paths. And then the dressmaker returned to her scissors and her pattern with a stern face.

you

'Miss Spinks, Miss Spinks!' said a voice at the door of the attic, for it was in the top storey of the house that she was sitting, 'May I come in? just for a minute! To see them coming out, you know.' And while the speaker was uttering these words, she entered the room, in the shape of a young, bright-faced girl, with rosy cheeks and light hair, and tripped quickly across the floor with the motion of a sunbeam that has half an idea of dancing, but has not quite made up its mind.

Miss Spinks did not lift up her head, or she might have been tempted to look less grave, but she said gruffly, while snipping away, 'What a simpleton you are, Lucy! Ahwell-in twenty years you'll be wiser.'

Judith Spinks could speak with authority on this matter, for she had evidently passed the twenty years she spoke of. Twenty and seventeen, which last was the age of Lucy, make thirty-seven; and, to look at Miss Spinks's face, you could not have the smallest hesitation in declaring her to be forty years Vol. 10.-No. 37.

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