fect confidence that it was going to be fondled and made
much of, that there was no possibility in a human heart
of balking its expectation. It was as if God had prom-



276 OUR OLD HOME

ised the poor child this favor on behalf of that individ-
ual, and he was bound to fulfil the contract, or else no
longer call himself a man among men. Nevertheless,
it could be no easy thing for him to do, he being a per-
son burdened with more than an Englishman's custom-
ary reserve, shy of actual contact with human beings,
afflicted with a peculiar distaste for whatever was ugly,
and, furthermore, accustomed to that habit of observa-
tion from an insulated standpoint which is said (but, I
hope, erroneously) to have the tendency of putting ice
into the blood.

So I watched the struggle in his mind with a good
deal of interest, and am seriously of opinion that he did
an heroic act, and effected more than he dreamed of
towards his final salvation, when he took up the loath-
some child and caressed it as tenderly as if he had been
its father. To be sure, we all smiled at him, at the time,
but doubtless would have acted pretty much the same
in a similar stress of circumstances. The child, at any
rate, appeared to be satisfied with his behavior ; for
when he had held it a considerable time, and set it down,
it still favored him with its company, keeping fast hold
of his forefinger till we reached the confines of the
place. And on our return through the courtyard, after
visiting another part of the establishment, here again
was this same little Wretchedness waiting for its victim,
with a smile of joyful, and yet dull recognition about its
scabby mouth and in its rheumy eyes. No doubt, the
child's mission in reference to our friend was to remind
him that he was responsible, in his degree, for all the
sufferings and misdemeanors of the world in which he
lived, and was not entitled to look upon a particle of its
dark calamity as if it were none of his concern : the off-
spring of a brother's iniquity being his own blood-
relation, and the guilt, likewise, a burden on him, unless
he expiated it by better deeds.

All the children in this ward seemed to be invalids,
and, going up-stairs, we found more of them in the same
or a worse condition than the little creature just described,
with their mothers (or more probably other women, for



GLIMPSES OF ENGLISH POVERTY 277

the infants were mostly foundlings) in attendance as
nurses. The matron of the ward, a middle-aged woman,
remarkably kind and motherly in aspect, was walking to
and fro across the chamber on that weary journey in
which careful mothers and nurses travel so continually
and so far, and gain never a step of progress with an
unquiet baby in her arms. She assured us that she en-
joyed her occupation, being exceedingly fond of children ;
and, in fact, the absence of timidity in all the little peo-
ple was a sufficient proof that they could have had no
experience of harsh treatment, though, on the other
hand, none of them appeared to be attracted to one in-
dividual more than another. In this point they differed
widely from the poor child below-stairs. They seemed
to recognize a universal motherhood in womankind, and
cared not which individual might be the mother of the
moment. I found their tameness as shocking as did
Alexander Selkirk that of the brute subjects of his else
solitary kingdom. It was a sort of tame familiarity, a
perfect indifference to the approach of strangers, such
as I never noticed in other children. I accounted for it
partly by their nerveless, unstrung state of body, incapa-
ble of the quick thrills of delight and fear which play
upon the lively harp-strings of a healthy child's nature,
and partly by their woful lack of acquaintance with a
private home, and their being therefore destitute of the
sweet homebred shyness, which is like the sanctity of
heaven about a mother-petted child. Their condition
was like that of chickens hatched in an oven, and grow-
ing up without the especial guardianship of a matron-
hen : both the chicken and the child, methinks, must
needs want something that is essential to their respec-
tive characters.

In this chamber (which was spacious, containing a
large number of beds) there was a clear fire burning on
the hearth, as in all the other occupied rooms; and
directly in front of the blaze sat a woman holding a
baby, which, beyond all reach of comparison, was the
most horrible object that ever afflicted my sight. Days
afterwards nay, even now, when I bring it up vividly



278 OUR OLD HOME

before my mind's eye it seemed to lie upon the floor
of my heart, polluting my moral being with the sense of
something grievously amiss in the entire conditions of
humanity. The holiest man could not be otherwise than
full of wickedness, the chastest virgin seemed impure, in
a world where such a babe was possible. The governor
whispered me, apart, that, like nearly all the rest of them,
it was the child of unhealthy parents. Ah, yes ! There
was the mischief. This spectral infant, a hideous mock-
ery of the visible link which Love creates between man
and woman, was born of disease and sin. Diseased Sin
was its father, and Sinful Disease its mother, and their
offspring lay in the woman's arms like a nursing. Pesti-
lence, which, could it live and grow up, would make the
world a more accursed abode than ever heretofore.
Thank Heaven, it could not live ! This baby, if we
must give it that sweet name, seemed to be three or four
months old, but, being such an unthrifty changeling,
might have been considerably older. It was all covered
with blotches, and preternaturally dark and discolored ;
it was withered away, quite shrunken and fleshless ; it
breathed only amid pantings and gaspings, and moaned
painfully at every gasp. The only comfort in reference
to it was the evident impossibility of its surviving to
draw many more of those miserable, moaning breaths ;
and it would have been infinitely less heart-depressing
to see it die, right before my eyes, than to depart and
carry it alive in my remembrance, still suffering the in-
calculable torture of its little life. I can by no means
express how horrible this infant was, neither ought I to
attempt it. And yet I must add one final touch. Young
as the poor little creature was, its pain and misery had
endowed it with a premature intelligence, insomuch that
its eyes seemed to stare at the by-standers out of their
sunken sockets knowingly and appealingly, as if sum-
moning us one and all to witness the deadly wrong of
its existence. At least, I so interpreted its look, when
it positively met and responded to my own awe-stricken
gaze, and therefore I lay the case, as far as I am able,
before mankind, on whom God has imposed the neces-



GLIMPSES OF ENGLISH POVERTY 279

sity to suffer in soul and body till this dark and dread-
ful wrong be righted.

Thence we went to the school-rooms, which were un-
derneath the chapel. The pupils, like the children whom
we had just seen, were, in large proportion, foundlings.
Almost without exception, they looked sickly, with marks
of eruptive trouble in their doltish faces, and a general
tendency to diseases of the eye. Moreover, the poor
little wretches appeared to be uneasy within their skins,
and screwed themselves about on the benches in a dis-
agreeably suggestive way, as if they had inherited the
evil habits of their parents as an innermost garment of
the same texture and material as the shirt of Nessus,
and must wear it with unspeakable discomfort as long as
they lived. I saw only a single child that looked healthy;
and on my pointing him out, the governor informed me
that this little boy, the sole exception to the miserable
aspect of his school-fellows, was not a foundling, nor
properly a work-house child, being born of respectable
parentage, and his father one of the officers of the insti-
tution. As for the remainder, the hundred pale abor-
tions to be counted against one rosy-cheeked boy, what
shall we say or do ? Depressed by the sight of so much
misery, and uninventive of remedies for the evils that
force themselves on my perception, I can do little more
than recur to the idea already hinted at in the early part
of this article, regarding the speedy necessity of a new
deluge. So far as these children are concerned, at any
rate, it would be a blessing to the human race, which
they will contribute to enervate and corrupt, a greater
blessing to themselves, who inherit no patrimony but dis-
ease and vice, and in whose souls if there be a spark of
God's life, this seems the only possible mode of keeping
it aglow, if every one of them could be drowned to-
night, by their best friends, instead of being put tenderly
to bed. This heroic method of treating human maladies,
moral and material, is certainly beyond the scope of
man's discretionary rights, and probably will not be
adopted by Divine Providence until the opportunity of
milder reformation shall have been offered us, again and
again, through a series of future ages.



2 8o OUR OLD HOME

It may be fair to acknowledge that the humane and
excellent governor, as well as other persons better ac-
quainted with the subject than myself, took a less gloomy
view of it, though still so dark a one as to involve scanty
consolation. They remarked that individuals of the male
sex, picked up in the streets and nurtured in the work-
house, sometimes succeed tolerably well in life, because
they are taught trades before being turned into the world,
and, by dint of immaculate behavior and good luck, are
not unlikely to get employment and earn a livelihood.
The case is different with the girls. They can only go
to service, and are invariably rejected by families of re-
spectability on account of their origin, and for the better
reason of their unfitness to fill satisfactorily even the
meanest situations in a well-ordered English household.
Their resource is to take service with people only a step
or two above the poorest class, with whom they fare
scantily, endure harsh treatment, lead shifting and pre-
carious lives, and finally drop into the slough of evil,
through which, in their best estate, they do but pick their
slimy way on stepping-stones.

From the schools we went to the bake-house, and the
brew-house, (for such cruelty is not harbored in the heart
of a true Englishman as to deny a pauper his daily allow-
ance of beer,) and through the kitchens, where we be-
held an immense pot over the fire, surging and walloping
with some kind of a savory stew that filled it up to its
brim. We also visited a tailor's shop, and a shoemaker's
shop, in both of which a number of men, and pale, dimin-
utive apprentices, were at work, diligently enough, though
seemingly with small heart in the business. Finally, the
governor ushered us into a shed, inside of which was piled
up an immense quantity of new coffins. They were of the
plainest description, made of pine boards, probably of
American growth, not very nicely smoothed by the plane,
neither painted nor stained with black, but provided with
a loop of rope at either end for the convenience of lifting
the rude box and its inmate into the cart that shall carry
them to the burial-ground. There, in holes ten feet deep,
the paupers are buried one above another, mingling their



GLIMPSES OF ENGLISH POVERTY 281

relics indistinguishably. In another world may they
resume their individuality, and find it a happier one
than here!

As we departed, a character came under our notice
which I have met with in all almshouses, whether of the
city or village, or in England or America. It was the
familiar simpleton, who shuffled across the courtyard,
clattering his wooden-soled shoes, to greet us with a howl
or a laugh, I hardly know which, holding out his hand
for a penny, and chuckling grossly when it was given
him. All underwitted persons, so far as my experience
goes, have this craving for copper coin, and appear to
estimate its value by a miraculous instinct, which is one
of the earliest gleams of human intelligence while the
nobler faculties are yet in abeyance. There may come a
time, even in this world, when we shall all understand
that our tendency to the individual appropriation of gold
and broad acres, fine houses, and such good and beautiful
things as are equally enjoyable by a multitude, is but a
trait of imperfectly developed intelligence, like the sim-
pleton's cupidity of a penny. When that day dawns,
and probably not till then, I imagine that there will be
no more poor streets nor need of almshouses.

I was once present at the wedding of some poor Eng-
lish people, and was deeply impressed by the spectacle,
though by no means with such proud and delightful emo-
tions as seem to have affected all England on the recent
occasion of the marriage of its Prince. It was in the
Cathedral at Manchester, a particularly black and grim
old structure, into which I had stepped to examine some
ancient and curious wood-carvings within the choir. The
woman in attendance greeted me with a smile, (which
always glimmers forth on the feminine visage, I know
not why, when a wedding is in question,) and asked me
to take a seat in the nave till some poor parties were
married, it being the Easter holidays, and a good time for
them to marry, because no fees would be demanded by
the clergyman. I sat down accordingly, and soon the
parson and his clerk appeared at the altar, and a con-
siderable crowd of people made their entrance at a side



282 OUR OLD HOME

door, and ranged themselves in a long, huddled line across
the chancel. They were my acquaintances of the poor
streets, or persons in a precisely similar condition of life,
and were now come to their marriage-ceremony in just
such garbs as I had always seen them wear : the men in
their loafers' coats, out at elbows, or their laborers'
jackets, defaced with grimy toil; the women drawing
their shabby shawls tighter about their shoulders, to hide
the raggedness beneath ; all of them unbrushed, un-
shaven, unwashed, uncombed, and wrinkled with penury
and care ; nothing virgin-like in the brides, nor hopeful
or energetic in the bridegrooms ; they were, in short,
the mere rags and tatters of the human race, whom some
east-wind of evil omen, howling along the streets, had
chanced to sweep together into an unfragrant heap.
Each and all of them, conscious of his or her individual
misery, had blundered into the strange miscalculation of
supposing that they could lessen the sum of it by multi-
plying it into the misery of another person. All the
couples (and it was difficult, in such a confused crowd, to
compute exactly their number) stood up at once, and had
execution done upon them in the lump, the clergyman
addressing only small parts of the service to each indi-
vidual pair, but so managing the larger portion as to
include the whole company without the trouble of
repetition. By this compendious contrivance, one would
apprehend, he came dangerously near making every
man and woman the husband or wife of every other ;
nor, perhaps, would he have perpetrated much additional
mischief by the mistake ; but, after receiving a benedic-
tion in common, they assorted themselves in their own
fashion, as they only knew how, and departed to the
garrets, or the cellars, or the unsheltered street-corners,
where their honeymoon and subsequent lives were to be
spent. The parson smiled decorously, the clerk and the
sexton grinned broadly, the female attendant tittered al-
most aloud, and even the married parties seemed to see
something exceedingly funny in the affair ; but for my
part, though generally apt enough to be tickled by a joke,
I laid it away in my memory as one of the saddest sights
I ever looked upon.



GLIMPSES OF ENGLISH POVERTY 283

Not very long afterwards, I happened to be passing the
same venerable Cathedral, and heard a clang of joyful
bells, and beheld a bridal party coming down the steps
towards a carriage and four horses, with a portly coach-
man and two postilions, that waited at the gate. One
parson and one service had amalgamated the wretched-
ness of a score of paupers ; a Bishop and three or four
clergymen had combined their spiritual might to forge
the golden links of this other marriage-bond. The bride-
groom's mien had a sort of careless and kindly Eng-
lish pride ; the bride floated along in her white drapery,
a creature so nice and delicate that it was a luxury to
see her, and a pity that her silk slippers should touch
anything so grimy as the old stones of the churchyard
avenue. The crowd of ragged people, who always clus-
ter to witness what they may of an aristocratic wedding,
broke into audible admiration of the bride's beauty and
the bridegroom's manliness, and uttered prayers and
ejaculations (possibly paid for in alms) for the happiness
of both. If the most favorable of earthly conditions
could make them happy, they had every prospect of it.
They were going to live on their abundance in one of
those stately and delightful English homes, such as no
other people ever created or inherited, a hall set far and
safe within its own private grounds, and surrounded with
venerable trees, shaven lawns, rich shrubbery, and trim-
mest pathways, the whole so artfully contrived and tended
that summer rendered it a paradise, and even winter
would hardly disrobe it of its beauty ; and all this fair
property seemed more exclusively and inalienably their
own, because of its descent through many forefathers,
each of whom had added an improvement or a charm,
and thus transmitted it with a stronger stamp of rightful
possession to his heir. And is it possible, after all, that
there may be a flaw in the title-deeds ? Is, or is not, the
system wrong that gives one married pair so immense a
superfluity of luxurious home, and shuts out a million
others from any home whatever ? One day or another,
safe as they deem themselves, and safe as the hereditary
temper of the people really tends to make them, the gentle-
men of England will be compelled to face this question.



CIVIC BANQUETS

IT has often perplexed me to imagine how an English-
man will be able to reconcile himself to any future state
of existence from which the earthly institution of dinner
shall be excluded. Even if he fail to take his appetite
along with him, (which it seems to me hardly possible to
believe, since this endowment is so essential to his com-
position,) the immortal day must still admit an interim
of two or three hours during which he will be conscious
of a slight distaste, at all events, if not an absolute re-
pugnance, to merely spiritual nutriment. The idea of
dinner has so imbedded itself among his highest and
deepest characteristics, so illuminated itself with intellect
and softened itself with the kindest emotions of his heart,
so linked itself with Church and State, and grown so
majestic with long hereditary customs and ceremonies,
that, by taking it utterly away, Death, instead of putting
the final touch to his perfection, would leave him in-
finitely less complete than we have already known him.
He could not be roundly happy. Paradise, among all its
enjoyments, would lack one daily felicity which his som-
bre little island possessed. Perhaps it is not irreverent
to conjecture that a provision may have been made, in
this particular, for the Englishman's exceptional neces-
sities. It strikes me that Milton was of the opinion here
suggested, and may have intended to throw out a delight-
ful and consolatory hope for his countrymen, when he
represents the genial archangel as playing his part with
such excellent appetite at Adam's dinner-table, and con-
fining himself to fruit and vegetables only because, in
those early days of her housekeeping, Eve had no more
acceptable viands to set before him. Milton, indeed,
had a true English taste for the pleasures of the table,
though refined by the lofty and poetic discipline to which



CIVIC BANQUETS 285

he had subjected himself. It is delicately implied in the
refection in Paradise, and more substantially, though still
elegantly, betrayed in the sonnet proposing to " Lau-
rence, of virtuous father virtuous son," a series of nice
little dinners in midwinter ; and it blazes fully out in that
untasted banquet which, elaborate as it was, Satan tossed
up in a trice from the kitchen-ranges of Tartarus.

Among this people, indeed, so wise in their generation,
dinner has a kind of sanctity quite independent of the
dishes that may be set upon the table ; so that, if it be
only a mutton-chop, they treat it with due reverence, and
are rewarded with a degree of enjoyment which such
reckless devourers as ourselves do not often find in our
richest abundance. It is good to see how stanch they are
after fifty or sixty years of heroic eating, still relying
upon their digestive powers and indulging a vigorous ap-
petite ; whereas an American has generally lost the one
and learned to distrust the other long before reaching the
earliest decline of life ; and thenceforward he makes little
account of his dinner, and dines at his peril, if at all. I
know not whether my countrymen will allow me to tell
them, though I think it scarcely too much to affirm, that,
on this side of the water, people never dine. At any
rate, abundantly as Nature has provided us with most of
the material requisites, the highest possible dinner has
never yet been eaten in America. It is the consummate
flower of civilization and refinement ; and our inability
to produce it, or to appreciate its admirable beauty, if a
happy inspiration should bring it into bloom, marks
fatally the limit of culture which we have attained.

It is not to be supposed, however, that the mob of cul-
tivated Englishmen know how to dine in this elevated
sense. The unpolishable ruggedness of the national
character is still an impediment to them, even in that
particular line where they are best qualified to excel.
Though often present at good men's feasts, I remember
only a single dinner which, while lamentably conscious
that many of its higher excellences were thrown away
upon me, I yet could feel to be a perfect work of art.
It could not, without unpardonable coarseness, be styled



2 86 OUR OLD HOME

a matter of animal enjoyment, because, out of the very
perfection of that lower bliss, there had arisen a dreamlike
development of spiritual happiness. As in the master-
pieces of painting and poetry, there was a something in-
tangible, a final deliciousness that only fluttered about
your comprehension, vanishing whenever you tried to
detain it, and compelling you to recognize it by faith
rather than sense. It seemed as if a diviner set of
senses were requisite, and had been partly supplied, for
the special fruition of this banquet, and that the guests
around the table (only eight in number) were becoming
so educated, polished, and softened, by the delicate influ-
ences of what they ate and drank, as to be now a little
more than mortal for the nonce. And there was that
gentle, delicious sadness, too, which we find in the very
summit of our most exquisite enjoyments, and feel it a
charm beyond all the gayety through which it keeps
breathing its undertone. In the present case, it was
worth'a heavier sigh, to reflect that such a festal achieve-
ment, the production of so much art, skill, fancy, in-
vention, and perfect taste, the growth of all the ages,
which appeared to have been ripening for this hour, since
man first began to eat and to moisten his food with wine,
must lavish its happiness upon so brief a moment,
when other beautiful things can be made a joy forever.
Yet a dinner like this is no better than we can get, any
day, at the rejuvenescent Cornhill Coffee-House, unless
the whole man, with soul, intellect, and stomach, is ready
to appreciate it, and unless, moreover, there is such a
harmony in all the circumstances and accompaniments,
and especially such a pitch of well-according minds, that
nothing shall jar rudely against the guest's thoroughly
awakened sensibilities. The world, and especially our
part of it, being the rough, ill-assorted, and tumultuous
place we find it, a beefsteak is about as good as any
other dinner.

The foregoing reminiscence, however, has drawn me
aside from the main object of my sketch, in which I pur-
posed to give a slight idea of those public, or partially
public banquets, the custom of which so thoroughly pre-



CIVIC BANQUETS 287

vails among the English people, that nothing is ever
decided upon, in matters of peace or war, until they
have chewed upon it in the shape of roast-beef, and