The Morning Chronicle Survey of Labour and the Poor : The Metropolitan Districts Volume 1 9781315459844, 9781138207738

Citation preview

ROUTLEDGE LIBRARY EDITIONS: THE HISTORY OF SOCIAL WELFARE

Volume 18

THE MORNING CHRONICLE SURVEY OF LABOUR AND THE POOR: THE METROPOLITAN DISTRICTS

This pageintentionally left blank

First published in 1980 First published 1980 by Caliban Caliban Books Books 2017 This edition edition first first published This published in in 2017 by Routledge Routledge by Park Square, Park, Abingdon, Abingdon, Oxon Oxon OX14 22 Park Square, Milton Milton Park, OX14 4RN 4RN and by Routledge and by Routledge 711 Third NY 10017 10017 711 Third Avenue, Avenue, New New York, York, NY Routledgeis an imprint the Taylor Taylor & & Francis Francis Group, Group, an informa Routledge is an imprint of of the an informa business business

1980 Caliban © 1980 Caliban Books Books

All rights reserved. reserved. No part part of of this book book may reprinted or All rights may be be reprinted reproducedor utilised utilised in any any form or by any any electronic, electronic,mechanical, reproduced mechanical, or other or hereafter or other means, means, now now known known or hereafter invented, invented, including including photocopyingand or in any information information storage or photocopying and recording, recording, or in any storage or retrieval system, system,without permissionin in writing writing from the publishers. publishers. retrieval without permission from the .

Trademarknotice: Product Productor trademarksor Trademark or corporate corporate names names may may be be trademarks or registeredtrademarks, trademarks,and are used usedonly for identification identification and and registered and are only for explanationwithout intent to to infringe. infringe. explanation without intent Cataloguingin Publication Publication Data British Library Library Cataloguing A catalogue cataloguerecord for this this book book is from the the British A record for is available available from British Library Library

ISBN: ISBN: ISBN: ISBN: ISBN: ISBN: ISBN: ISBN: ISBN:

978-1-138-20330-3 (Set) 978-1-138-20330-3 (Set) 978-1-315-45977-6 978-1-31545977 -6 (Set) (Set) (ebk) (ebk) 978-1-138-20773 -8 (Volume (Volume 18) 18) (hbk) (hbk) 978-1-138-20773-8 978-1-138-20775 -2 (Volume (Volume 18) 18) (pbk) (pbk) 978-1-138-20775-2 978-1-31545985-1 (Volume 18) 18) (ebk) (ebk) 978-1-315-45985-1 (Volume

Publisher'sNote Publisher’s Note The publisher to great greatlengths the quality The publisher has has gone gone to lengths to to ensure ensure the quality of of this this reprint but points points out that some imperfections in the reprint but out that someimperfections the original copies copies may be may be apparent. apparent. Disclaimer Disclaimer The publisher has has made made every every effort effort to trace copyright holders holders and and The publisher trace copyright would welcome correspondence they have would welcome correspondence from those those they have been been unable unable to trace. trace.

New prefaceto the 2016 edition of Henry Mayhew'sMorning Chronicle survey

The original edition of this publication cameout in 1980, and consists of six volumes of letters that Henry Mayhew wrote for the Morning Chronicle on the condition of the poor in London. The survey was carried out in 1849 and 1850 and covered both people living in London and those who had migrated there from rural and industrial areasof Great Britain. The volumes are not only invaluable historical documentsin their own right, but also allow an understandingof the economic and social changeswhich are currently occurring in many developing countries. Poverty is the main focus of the survey but Mayhew also ranged widely acrossdifferent occupationsand industries,concernednot only to undertake 'the first attempt to publish the history of the people, from the lips of the people themselves',but also to describethe economic and social conditions responsiblefor the dire poverty he found in London and elsewhere.Like many of his contemporaries,he struggled to fully understandthe processesresponsiblefor this widespread pauperization,but one of his major themeswhich is relevant today, is the impact of populationgrowth on poverty and economicinequality. Recentwork has establishedthat the increasein populationin England was largely independentof economicgrowth in the eighteenthand nineteenthcenturies.The population grew through a decreasein mortality shaped by a decline in the incidence of disease, regardlessof changesin real income.1 There is a similar processoccurring globally today where population increasehas largely been brought about by improvementsin medical treatment,much of which has beenrelatively cheapto implement, such as vaccinationand rehydrationprogrammes. This has occurred in some very poor countries, and as a result, a rapidly expanding population has createda surplus of labour, which has been harnessedby multi-national companiesfor profit maximization, resulting in the growth of global capitalism.

Currently economic historians have come to recognise the importance of the growth of capitalism in England's economic history. Mayhew describedthe way employersextractedlabour from workers in sweatedworkshops and in other situations, but he documented how the supply of labour greatly influenced this process. Where labour was plentiful wages were reduced, but when scarce - such as during the Napoleonic wars - wages increased. Many pages of the current volumes show that the swelling of the population led to migration of the rural poor - including the Irish - into London, particularly during the first half of the nineteenth century. London's own indigenous population also increased rapidly, resulting in a vast pool of labour desperate in many casesfor work, and reduced to dire poverty. The developing world suffers from many of the problemsdescribed by Mayhew: water and nutritional poverty, sexual exploitation, environmental degradation, and desperation to escapeand migrate out of the worst conditions. Today many people living in poor countries attemptto flee to wealthier parts of the world, particularly when there is unemployment and a lack of economic opportunities. Currently, the crisis in the Middle East is fuelled partly by large numbersof young men unable to find work, and much of this is due to a rapid increase in population, resulting in a distorted age profile. Such conditions also lead to the economic and sexual exploitation of women, either in the form of domestic labour or prostitution. The power of Mayhew's writing is that he not only presents a description and analysis of these trends, but also provides personal accounts of individual lives, which move and have an emotional impact on the reader. A statistic does not have the impact of a personal tragedy, and Mayhew has rescuedEngland'spoor from historical neglect, reminding us where we have come from and how many of our contemporaries in developing countries suffer from the same poverty and exploitation describedby him. It took many decadesto remedy theseconditions in England, partly as a result of economic developmentand the growth of the welfare state, as well as the decreasein fertility, which led to a reduction of population. However, the impact of global demographicgrowth is now having a major impact on the economicwellbeing of the populationof developed countries such as England. Multi-national companies exploit demographicallygeneratedlabour surpluses,re-locating industrial and service activities into countries like China and India. This is creating unemployment and economic hardship, particularly among young people - and fuelling an increase in economic inequality which will be difficult to remedy. Fertility is now declining in many

developing countries, and it is possible that the future reduction of population levels in these countries will diminish the pool of cheap labour, and eventually transform the natureof global capitalism. Peter Razzell

This pageintentionally left blank

THE MORNING CHRONICLE SURVEY OF LABOUR AND THE POOR: THE METROPOLITAN DISTRICTS Volume I

HENRY MAYHEW

CALIBAN BOOKS

© Caliban Books 1980 This edition first published 1980 by Caliban Books 13 The Dock, Firle, SussexBN8 6NY

ISBN 0904573 20 6

All Rights Reserved.No part of this publication may be reproduced,stored in a retrieval system,or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permissionof the copyright owner.

Typesettingby Eager Typesetting Company, 22a WestboumePlace, Hove, East Sussex Printed and bound in Great Britain by REDWOOD BURN LIMITED Trowbridge and Esher

CONTENTS Introduction

page

1

A Visit To The CholeraDistricts Of Bermondsey: Monday, September24, 1849

31

Friday, October 19, 1849 ... Letter ITuesday,

40

Tuesday,October 23, 1849 Letter IITuesday,

51

Friday, October26, 1849 ... Letter IIITuesday,

64

Tuesday, Tuesday,October 30, 1849 Letter IV

80

Friday, November2, 1849 LetterV Tuesday,

96

Tuesday, Letter VI Tuesday,November6, 1849

109

Tuesday, Letter VII Friday, November9, 1849

127

Letter VIII : :: :Tuesday,November13, 1849

151

Letter IXTuesday, Friday, November16, 1849

169

Letter XTuesday, Tuesday,November20, 1849

199

Tuesday, Letter XI Friday, November23, 1849

221

Letter XIITuesday, Tuesday,November27, 1849

247

This pageintentionally left blank

INTRODUCTION

On Monday. September24th. 1849 The Morning Chronicle published an account of a visit to the cholera districts of Bermondsey- the first of a seriesof articleson the London poor by Henry Mayhew. The area he concentrated on was Jacob's Island. one of the few districts surviving the great fire of London; the island was surroundedby a tidal ditch which had becomeone vast open sewerand Mayhew describeda part of the areaas follows: We then journeyedon to London-street,down which the tidal ditch continuesits course. In No. 1 of this street the cholera first appearedseventeenyears ago, and spread up it with fearful virulence; but this year it appearedat the opposite end, and ran down it with like severity. As we passedalong the reeking banks of the sewer the sun shone upon a narrow slip of the water. In the bright light it appearedthe colour of a strong green tea, and positively looked as solid as black marble in the shadow- indeed it was more like watery mud than muddy water; and yet we were assuredthat this was the only water that the wretched inhabitantshad to drink. As we gazed in horror at it, we saw drains and sewers emptying their filthy contents into it; we saw a whole tier of doorless privies in the open road, common to men and women, built over it; we heard bucket after bucket of filth splash into it, and the limbs of the vagrant boys bathing in it seemed,by pure force of contrast, white as Parian marble. And yet, as we stood doubting the fearful statement,we saw a little child, from one of the galleriesopposite,lower a tin can with a rope to fill a large bucket that stood beside her. In each of the balconies that hung over the stream the same-selftub was to be seen in which the inhabitantsput the mucky liquid to stand, so that they may, after it has resteda day or two, skim the fluid from the solid particlesof filth, pollution and disease. As the little thing dangled her tin cup as gently as possible into the stream,a bucket of night soil was poured down from the next gallery.l

2

as a result of it The impact of the article was considerable~ for example.Charles Kingsley and the Christian Socialists pressedfor sanitaryreform.2 Mayhew'sgreatskill lay in his ability to vividly recreatescenesand eventsencounteredwe feel as we read his account that we are there in Bermondsey,seeing what he saw, 130 years ago. Mayhew also achieved the impact that he did through pioneering what we would now call oral history - or in his words, "the first attempt to publish the history of the people, from the "3 lips of the peoplethemselves. There was nothing new of coursein the concernfor the conditions under which the poor lived - "The Condition of England" questionwas long-standing,and had been probed and investigatedsince the beginning of the century in a series of medical, poor law and other government reports. Perhapswhat was new was a sharpeningof the concern of the propertied classesfor the stability of the social order in which they so clearly had an overwhelming The Morning Chronicle in its editorial. vested interest~ announcingthe commencementof the national survey of labourand the poor, argued "the starving or mendicant state of a large portion of the people . . . if suffered to remain unremedied many years longer, will eat, like a dry rot, into the very framework of our society, and haply bring down the whole fabric with a crash."4

The Chartist agitation of the previous year had left its mark, and the "dangerousclasses"is a phrase which appears frequently in The Morning Chronicle-although Mayhew only used it to rebut the assumptionsand fears which it concealed.A secondaryconcernrevealedby The Morning Chronicle editorial was the injustice of society as it was then constituted- "No man of feeling or reflection can look abroadwithout being shockedand startled by the sight of enormouswealth and unboundedluxury, placed in direct juxtapositionwith the lowest extremesof indigence

3

and privation." 5 But again none of this was new - the middle class public had long been aware through novels as well as governmentreportsof the existenceof the poor what was new was that a man of great sensitivity of languageand feeling, was about to embark on one of the greatestsurveys of human life ever undertaken,and this "factual" survey was to have an impact on contemporaries that no other writing on the poor had ever had. To understand how Mayhew achievedthis impact is one of the aims of this introduction. Mayhew himself claimed that he had been responsible for suggestingthe national survey to The Morning Chronicle, but this was disputed by the newspaperin an editorial after Mayhew had broken with them.6 Whatever the origin of the survey, Mayhew's first letter appearedin the newspaperon October19th, 1849,and a seriesof eightytwo letters by him continued until December12th, 1850. Just over a third of this material was incorporated in Mayhew's later study, London Labour And The London Poor, but the bulk of it has never beenpublished(although selectionshave appearedin the last few years7). The survey covered many regions of England and Wales, and was divided between three types of area-the rural, manufacturing and metropolitan. Mayhew was appointed the metropolitan correspondentand he appearsto have been helped by his brother "Gus", as well as by CharlesKnight and Henry Wood, along with assistants,stenographersand general helpers.8 It was Mayhew's contribution that soon attractedattention and the great majority of letters to the newspaperconcernedhis accounts of the London poor, rather than those on the countryside or industrial areas. Not only was there great generalinterest, but novelists of the day were clearly influencedby what they read-Charles Kingsley incorporated some of Mayhew's work into his novel Alton Lockeand someoneof the statureof Thackeray wrote in the March 1850 issueof Punch:

4

"A clever and earnest-mindedwriter gets a commissionfrom The Morning Chronicle newspaper,and reportsupon the state of our poor in London; he goes amongstlabouring people and poor of all kinds-and brings back what? A picture of human life so wonderful, so awful, so piteous and pathetic, so exciting and terrible, that readersof romancesown that they never read anything like to it; and that the griefs, struggles,strange adventureshere depictedexceedanything that any of us could imagine ..."9

Mayhew achievedthis effect on his readersby combining the survey side of his work with illustrations drawn from vivid individual autobiographicalhistories.It was this latter approachwhich gave his work such emotionalforce; people could identify for the first time with the poor, not just as depicted in a novel, but through the words of individuals whose lives were being laid out before the reader. No amount of statistical and official information on the poor could come near to Mayhew's work for emotional impact; he may have arrived at his method partly through his journalistic experience,but ironically, it was probably his adherence to natural science which led him to such a literal rendering of the evidence given to him by the people he interviewed. But also Mayhew understoodthe poor: there were elementsin his characterand experience which led him to sympathizeand identify with them, as we will now see. He was born in London in 1812 the son of a selfmade solicitor, and was educatedat WestminsterPublic School. The evidencewe have suggestshis father was both tyrannicaland unsympatheticto all his children,particularly to his sons; he also appearsto have been violent with his wife. Mayhew wrote a satireon his father, suggestingthat he had a particulardislike for the front of respectabilitythat his father presentedto the world.10 Although Mayhew appears to have been a brilliant pupil, his indolence and rebelliousnessled him to leave the school at an early age; he refused to be flogged by the headmasterfor a minor mis-

5

demeanourand immediatelyleft the school never to return. Similarly, after a brief period of apprenticeshipin his father solicitor's business,he causedhis father some embarrassment by forgetting to lodge legal papers,and fled the house not to seehis father for severalyears. Mayhew'sbrilliance, indolenceand humourled him to adoptthe life of a literary bohemian, writing for satirical magazines(he claimed to be one of the co-foundersof Punch), newspapers,as well as his own plays, short storiesand novels. Much of this writing had a radical edge which was probably linked with his reactionagainstthe conservativerespectabilityof his father, although his work was also characterizedby some of the middle-classassumptionsof the day, showing that he had not escapedthe influenceof his bourgeoisbackground.11 One aspect of Mayhew's characterwhich perhaps has not been sufficiently stressedin other commentaries on his work, was his interest in the natural sciences. According to one account, he had unsuccessfully tried to persuade his father to allow him to become an experimentalchemist,12 and when he left home, he spent much of his time on such experiments(he is reputed to have nearly blown up his brother's house on one occasion! 13), and his interestin natural scienceclearly informed the way he approachedThe Morning Chronicle survey. He wrote to the editor of that paper in February 1850 explaininghis approach: I made up my mind to deal with human nature as a natural philosopheror a chemist deals with any material object; and, as a man who had devoted some little of his time to physical and metaphysicalscience,I must say I did most heartily rejoice that it should have been left to me to apply the laws of inductive philosophyfor the first time, I believe, in the world to the abstractquestionsof political economy_14

Although this stresson scienceand political economywould seema far cry from Mayhew the greatoriginatorof working classoral history, with all its moving and vivid writing, the

6

contradiction is not as great as it might seem. Mayhew always stressedhe was presentinga factual picture of the London poor as he found them; when in dispute with the editor of The Morning Chronicle about the contentof some of his articles- the editor had removedsomepassagesantipathetic to free trade- Mayhew insisted that the original report of the speechof a boot-maker be restored on the grounds that he was "a person collecting and registering facts." 15 His notion of natural sciencewas essentiallythat it was an inductive discipline, with factual information being collected in great detail before valid generalisations could be reached.It was partly on these grounds that he was critical of the political economists of the day; he believed that they constructed their theories without familiarizing themselveswith the complexitiesof the situations they were trying to explain. An obvious weaknessin Mayhew'smethod was that he did not usea strict processof randomsamplingin selecting informants- his work was carried out before this had been developed-but he did attempt whereverpossibleto avoid undue bias. This is illustrated by the dispute that aroseover the reliability of his evidenceon RaggedSchools; his assistantR. Knight gave the following account of the method of selectinginformants in a letter to The Morning Chronicle: I was directed by your Special Correspondentto obtain for him the addressesof some of the boys and girls who attended the RaggedSchool in Westminster,so that he might be able to visit them at their homes. Your correspondentdesired me to take the names of the first parties that came to hand, so that neither particularly good nor bad casesmight be selected, but such as might be presumedto be fair averageexamples of the practical tendencyof the school in question.16

Mayhew comes near here to a random sampling method, but elsewherehe was too dependenton special sourcesof information to be able to achieve this aim. Frequently

7

he used key informants- doctors, clergymen,trade union leaders-to both provide information on a subject and introduce him to other informants in the area that he was interestedin. The disadvantagesand potential bias in this method is obvious, but in practice it seemsto have been remarkably successful. All of Mayhew's key informants appearto have beenintelligent and well-informed men, and were able to provide him with a rangeand depthof information that would have been unavailable elsewhere(this is perhapsa method that social scientiststoday might benefit from rediscovering).A check on the reliability and objectivity of the information given was the public natureof the survey- errors were open to correction through the letter column of the newspaper,and that there were only one or two correctionsof this kind,17 bears testimony to the high overall accuracyof Mayhew'swork. The major theme of the survey was of course poverty, and an introduction of this kind can only touch upon some of the more important aspectsof the subject as it was treated by Mayhew. One of the things that he revealed to his contemporarieswas the complexity of poverty, as well as its inevitability. Anything which could destroy a family's ordinary means of livelihood - illness, old age, death or accident- could throw it into the most extreme and abject poverty. I quote at some length the following accountgiven to Mayhew of what happenedto a coalwhipper(a labourerunloadingcoal) after an accident: I was a coalwhipper. I had a wife and two children. Four months ago, coming off my day's work, my foot slipped, and I fell and broke my leg. I was taken to the hospital, and remained there ten weeks. At the time of the accident I had no money at all by me, but was in debt by the amount of ten shillings to my landlord. I had a few clothes of myself and wife. While I was in the hospital I did not receive anything from our benefit society, becauseI had not been able to keep up my subscription. My wife and children lived, while I was in hospital, by pawning my things, and going from door to

8

door, to every one she knowed, to give her a bit. The men who worked in the same gang as myself made up 4s. 6d. for me, and that, with two loaves of bread that they had from the relieving-officer, was all they got. While I was in the hospital, the landlord seized for the rent the few things that my wife had not pawned, and turned her and my two little children into the street- one was a boy three years old, and the other a baby just turned ten months. My wife went to her mother, and she kept her and my little ones for three weeks, till she could do so no longer. My mother, poor old woman, was most as bad off as we were. My mother only works on the groundout in the country at gardening.She makes about 7s. a week in summer, and in the winter she only has only 9d. a day to live upon; but she had at least a shelter for her child, and she willingly shared that with her daughter and daughter'schildren. She pawned all the clothes she had to keep them from starving- but at last everything was gone from the poor old woman, and then I got my brother to take my family in. My brother worked at garden work, the same as my motherin-law did. He made about 15s. a week in summer, and about half that in the winter time . . . He had only one room, but he got in a bundle of straw for me, and we lived and slept there for sevenweeks. He got credit for more than £1 of bread, and tea, and sugarfor us; and now he can't pay, and the man threatensto summon him for it. After I left my brother's, I cameto live in the neighbourhoodof Wapping, for I thought I might manage to do a day's work at coalwhipping, and I couldn't bear to live on his little earning any longer-he could scarcelykeep himself then. At last I got a ship to deliver, but I was too weak to do the work, and in pulling at the ropes, my hand got sore, and festeredfor want of nourishment. . . After this I was obliged to lay up again, and that's the only job of work that I have been able to do for this last four months . . . I had one pennyworth of bread this morning. We altogetherhad half-a-quaternloaf among the four of us, but no tea nor coffee. Yesterdaywe had some bread, and tea, and butter, but wherever my wife got it from I don't know. I was three days, but a short time back, without a taste of food (here he burst out crying). I had nothing but water which passedmy lips. I had merely a little at home, and that my wife and children had. I would rather starve myself than let them do so. Indeed, I've done it over and over again. I never

9

begged. I'd die in the streetsfirst. I never told nobody of my life. The foreman of my gang was the only one besidesGod that knew of my misery; and his wife cameto me and brought me money and brought me food; and himself too, many a time ("I had a wife and five children of my own to maintain, and it grieved me to my heart," said the man who sat by, "to seethem want, and I unableto do more for them.")18

Anyone tempted to dismantle the welfare state would do well to ponderthis passageat somelength; thereis no doubt whatsoever from the voluminous evidence produced by Mayhew and the other correspondentsof The Morning Chronicle, that this man's experienceof what happenedin sicknessand ill-health was entirely typical. It is not only the extremepoverty of the family itself, but the poverty of their neighbours,workmatesand relatives which gives the report such importancein revealing the terrible conditions under which the poor of Victorian England lived. The harshnesswith which the family were treatedby the landlord and the relieving officer obviously addedconsiderably to their misery; only the supportof neighbours,workmates and aboveall, relatives,enabledthem to survive at all. Mayhew makes it very clear that these caseswere not merely examples of individual distress, but were characteristicof whole classesof people. Poverty of this kind was the result of structuralchangesin society,a theme which becameMayhew'sover-riding concernin his Morning Chronicle letters. He analysedthe poverty resulting from changes in the organisation of trades, and began to generalisethis into an indictment of the whole of capitalist society. Before he embarkedon this analysis, he gathered togethera vast amount of empirical evidenceon the incidence and nature of poverty, and perhaps what was so unusual about this, was his ability to write so well about what other authorshad managedto make so mundaneand boring; here is his descriptionof the hiring of labourersin the docks:

10

As the foreman calls from a book the names,some men jump upon the backs of the others, so as to lift themselveshigh above the rest, and attract the notice of him who hires them. All are shouting. Some cry aloud his surname, some his christian name; others call out their own names, to remind him that they are there. Now the appeal is made in Irish blarney, now in broken English. Indeed it is a sight to sadden the most callous, to see thousandsof men struggling for only one day'shire, the scuffle being made the fiercer by the knowledge that hundredsout of the number assembledmust be left to idle the day out in want. To look in the faces of that 19 hungry crowd is to seea sight that must be ever remembered.

He went on to detail the poverty of the dock labourers,and illustrated this in brilliant fashion through interviews with individual dockers and their families - families that lived in one squalid, unheated andvirtually unfurnished room, who were frequently subject to hunger and illness, without proper clothing - children without shoesand socks- and could only find work if they were preparedto participate in the scrambledescribedabove. Many of the people seeking dock work had previously been silk-weaversliving and working in the Spitalfields area~ the drastic decline in the prosperity in this trade was delineatedby Mayhew in one of his first letters.20 Although silk-weaving was the most dramatic example of an occupationfalling into destitution, most of the trades covered by Mayhew were subject to something of the same process. Real wages fell amongst nearly all occupational groups, and The Morning Chronicle survey provides an unrivalled series of economic histories of various trades from the late eighteenthcentury onwards. Workers in the shoe- and boot-making trade had suffered severely in living standardssince the prosperity of the Napoleonic wars, as was revealed by one of Mayhew's informants: In 1812 the boot-makersreceived their highest wages. If an average could have been taken then of the earnings of the

11

trade, one with another, I think it would have beenabout 35s. a man. The great decrease(from 35s. to 13s. 6d. a week) that has taken place is not so much owing to the decreaseof wagesas to the increaseof hands,and the consequentdecrease of work coming to each man. I know myself that my late master used to earn £2 a week on averagemany years back, but of late years I am sure he has not made ISs. a week.2I

Mayhew unfortunately did not collect systematicinformation on changesin prices- the evidence he did publish suggeststhat prices only begun to fall significantly after the mid-1840's. But the qualitative evidenceon living standards more than outweighs this deficiency. Here is a description of a boot-maker'searningsand style of life in the early yearsof the century: I got work in Mr. Hoby's . . . not long after the battle of Waterloo, in 1815, and was told by my fellow workmen that I wasn't born soon enough to see good times; but I've lived long enough to see bad ones. Though I wasn't born soon enough, as they said I could earn, and did earn £150 a year, somethingshort of £3 a week; and that for eight years when trade became not so good . . . I could then play my £1 a corner at whist. I wouldn't play at that time for less than Ss. I could afford a glass of wine, but was never a drinker; and for all that, I had my £100 in the Four per Cents for a long time (I lent it to a friend afterwards), and from £40 to £50 in the savingsbank. Some made more than me, though I must work. I can't stand still. One journeyman,to my knowledge, saved £2,000; he once made 34 pairs of boots in three weeks. The bootmen then at Mr. Hoby's were all respectablemen; they were like gentlemen-smoking their pipes in their frilled shirts, like gentlemen-all but the drunkards. At the trade meetings, Hoby's best men used to have one corner of the room to themselves,and were called the House of Lords. There was more than one hundredof us when I becameone; and before then there were an even greaternumber. Mr. Hoby has paid five hundred pounds a week in wages. It was easy to save money in thosedays; one could hardly help it. We shall neversee the like again.22

Contrastthis with the life-style of a boot-closerwho

12

assuredme that he had dealt with his baker for fourteen or fifteen years and had never been able to get out of debt lately ... As for a coat, he said, "Oh, God blessmy soul, sir, I haven't bought one for this six or seven years, and my missus has not been able to purchasea gown for the same time; to do so out of my earnings now is impossible. If it wasn't for a cousin of mine that is in place, we shouldn't have a thing to our backs, and working for the best wagestoo . . . Wageshave beengoing down ever since 1830. Before that time my wife attendedto her domestic duties only . . . Since that period my wife has been obliged to work at shoe-binding,and my daughteras well . . . My comforts have certainly not increasedin proportion with the price of provisions. In 1811 to 1815 bread was very high-I think about 1s. 1otd. the best loaf - and I can say I was much more comfortablethen than at present. I had a meat dinner at that time every day, but now I'm days without seeingthe sight of it. If provisionswere not as cheap as they are now we should be starving outright ..."23

Thesewere men who worked in the "honourable"part of the trade- working on the premisesof their employerfor fixed hours, their conditions of work regulated by agreement with their trade union. Although increasingly impoverishedby the fall in wages,their situationwas much better than that of people working in the "dishonourable" sector- those who either worked for themselves as "chambermasters"in their own homes,or were employed by them. This sector was strongly concentratedin the east end of London, whereasthe more respectablepart of the trade were concentratedmainly in the west end. This polarisation of the trades- with about ten per cent "honourable" and ninety per cent "dishonourable"-was revealedby Mayhew to be common in the London trades. He summarizedthe markedly different life-styles of the two groups and illustrated it with reference to the tailoring trade: The very dwellings of the people are sufficient to tell you the wide difference betweenthe two classes.In the one you occa-

13

sionally find small statuesof Shakespeare beneathglassshades; in the other all is dirt and foetor. The working tailor's comfortable first-floor at the West-end is redolent with the perfumeof the small bunch of violets that standin the tumbler over the mantel-piece;the sweater'swretched garret is rank with the stenchof filth and herrings. The honourablepart of the trade are really intelligent artisans, while the slopworkers are generally almost brutified with their incessant toil, wretchedpay, miserablefood, and filthy homes.24

The sweatingsystemat its worst could be highly dangerous to health and life, as was revealed by someonewho had worked for one: One sweater I worked with had four children, six men, and they, together with his wife, sister-in-law, and himself, all lived in two rooms, the largest of which was about eight feet by ten. We worked in the smallest room and slept there as well - all six of us. There were two tum-up beds in it, and we slept three in a bed. There was no chimney, and indeed no ventilation whatever. I was near losing my life there . . . Almost all the men were consumptive,and I myself attended the dispensaryfor diseaseof the lungs.zs

What had brought about the terrible massof misery and poverty that week after week filled The Morning Chronicle's pages?The answer of the political economists of the day was that it was largely due to an over-rapid expansion of population, and it was this Malthusian orthodoxy that Mayhew was most concernedto dispute. He did not contest that an over-supply of labour would lead to a fall in wages and living standards,but criticized the Malthusian conclusion on empirical grounds. In his later work London Labour And The London Poor, he arguedthat there had beenno excessiveincreasein population in the first half of the nineteenthcentury, stating that the demand for labour as measuredby various output/ productionseries,had more than kept pacewith population increase.26 He did not seemto realise that this contradicted his own findings about the increasingpoverty of the mass

14

of the people, although he could have saved part of his argument by stressing the re-distribution of income from poor to rich. The re-distribution would have had to have been very dramatic to accountfor the depth of poverty he found in his survey, and there is no evidencethat it ever reachedthis scale.The major problem with Mayhew'sargument is that he usedproductionseriesfor commoditiessuch as cotton and wool, which are known to have expanded very dramatically, the textile industry being central to the industrial revolution then taking place. The standard of living and how it changed in this period has of course become a subject of extensive scholarly debate, but this does not appear to be resolvable with existing statistical data. Mayhew's own detailed qualitative evidence seems much more useful in telling us what was happeningat this time, and the conclusionfrom his survey must be that there was a vast increasein poverty during the first half of the nineteenthcentury. How are we to reconcile the above conclusionwith some of the statistical series on wages which appear to contradict it? The answerlies I believe in what the bootmaker told Mayhew in the interview quoted previouslythat it was not so much a fall in wage rates of existing trades that was responsible,but a significant decreasein the amount of employment available and the growth of sweatedwork practicesoutside of the recognized(and presumably the statistically measured)regular trades.Mayhew himself statedthat "in the generality of tradesthe calculation is that one-third of the handsare fully employed,onethird partially, and one-third unemployedthroughout the year." 27 This would seem to bring the analysis back to an over-supplyof labour and an excessivelyexpandingpopulation, but Mayhew had a seriesof detailed argumentsbased on his empirical findings with which to counter this thesis. For him the surplusof labour was the result of the competitivenessof contemporarycapitalist society, and he brought

15

this out in a number of separatebut related themes. He recognizedthat the introduction of new technology had a significant impact on the creation of surplus labour; for example, he described in some detail the effect of steam machinery on the employmentof sawyersand how it had both reduced their numbers and income.28 But the effect of the new technologywas very limited in London as most industries were labour-intensive;what Mayhew did trace however was the impact of the industrial revolution of the textile industry in Lancashire,for some of the labour displaced found its way on to the London labour market. One man who had become destitute gave Mayhew the following accountof his life: "I am thirty-eight" he said, "and have been a cotton-spinner, working at Chorlton-upon-Medlock. I can neither read nor write. When I was a young man, twenty years ago, I could earn £2 lOs. clear money every week, after paying two piecers and a scavenger.Each piecer had 7s. 6d. a week-they are girls; the scavenger-a boy to clean the wheels of the cotton spinning machine had 2s. 6d. I was masterof them wheels in the factory. This state of things continued until about the year 1837. I lived well and enjoyedmyself, being a heartyman, noways a drunkard, working every day from half-past five in the morning till half-past seven at night -long hours that time, master. I didn't care about money as long as I was decentand respectable.I had a turn for sporting at the wakes down there. In 1837 the 'self-actors' (machines with steam power) had come into common use. One girl can mind three pairs-that used to be three men's work- getting 15s. for the work which gave three men £7 lOs. Out of one factory 400 handswere flung in one week, men and women together. We had a meeting of the union, but nothing could be done, and we were told to go and mind the three pairs, as the girls did, for 15s. a week. We wouldn't do that. Some went for soldiers, some to sea, some to Stopport (Stockport), to get work in factories where the self-actorswer'nt agait."28

The Luddite reaction to new technology becomes completely understandable,its beneficiariesat this time being almost entirely the owners of factories and their like. The

16

sawyershad destroyedthe first mechanicalmills in London (thesewere run by horse-powerbut on the sameprinciple as the later steam mills), but had eventually succumbedto the new technology. Mayhew realized however that technology was not the prime moving force in the early capitalist transformation of society, at least in the London area. Much more important was the "extraction of labour-surplus"through changesin the organisationof what Marx called the social relationships of production- in particular the development of petty capitalismin various forms. Mayhew did not of course analyse the course of events in such simple analytical terms; he gave a much more descriptiveaccount of what he called the effects of the "competitive system". He analysedthe increaseof surpluslabour under two headings: the increase in the number of labourers and the increasein the amountof labour extractedfrom an existing labour force. He saw six ways of increasingthe number of labourers: "(1) By the undueincreaseof apprentices.(2) By drafting into the ranks of labour thosewho shouldbe otherwise engaged,as women and children. (3) By the importation of labourers from abroad. (4) By the migration of country labourersto towns, and so overcrowdingthe market in the cities. (5) By the depressionof other trades.(6) By the undueincreaseof the peoplethemselves. " 29 Three,four and six are all direct effects of increasingpopulationand belong if you like to the "oppositionargument".One and two form a part of Mayhew'smain argument(five is rathernebulous), although he does not spell this out. He groupedthe means of increasing the amount of labour from a fixed labour force under sevenheadings:"(1) By extra supervisionwhen the workmen are paid by the day ... (2) By increasingthe workman'sinterestin his work; as in piecework, where the payment of the operative is made proportional to the quantity of work done by him ... (3) By large quantitiesof work given out at one time; as in 'lump-work' and 'contract

17

work'. (4) By the domestic system of work, or giving out materials to be made up at the homes of the workpeople. (5) By the middleman system of labour. (6) By the prevalence of small master.(7) By a reducedrate of pay, as forcing operativesto labour both longer and quicker, in order to make up the sameamountof income." 30 Many of these headingsoverlapas Mayhew himself was preparedto admit; categoriestwo to six all have a strong elementof increasing the capitalist principle into work situations,and in practice the prevalenceof the contractsystemand in particular the growth of small masters (petty capitalists) seem to have been most important, at least in Mayhew's work. Headings one and sevenconcernthe control that employerswere able to exert over their work force, without having to go through indirect market forces (the distinction between employer and employeebecomesblurred of coursein the caseof the small master-a more appropriatedistinction here would be between the rich capitalist and the poor worker who actually provided the labour, under whatever relationship of production). That employers were able to extract enormous amountsof extra labour through direct control was brought out by Mayhew in a number of places; perhapsthe most striking example was the "strapping system" in the carpentry and joinery trade: Concerningthis I receivedthe following extraordinaryaccount from a man after his heavy day's labour; and never in all my experiencehave I seen so bad an instanceof over-work. The poor fellow was so fatigued that he could hardly rest in his seat. As he spoke he sighed deeply and heavily, and appeared almost spirit-broken with excessivelabour: - "I work at what is called the strapping shop," he said, "and have worked at nothing else for thesemany yearspast in London. I call 'strapping', doing as much work as a human being or a horse possibly can in a day, and that without any hanging upon the collar, but with the foreman'seyes constantlyfixed upon you, from six o'clock in the morning to six o'clock at night. The shop in which I work is for all the world like a prison-the

18

silent systemis as strictly carried out there as in a model gaol. If a man was to ask any common question of his neighbour, exceptit was connectedwith his trade, he would be discharged there and then. If a journeymanmakes the least mistake, he is packed off just the same. A man working in such placesis almost always in fear; for the most trifling things he is thrown out of work in an instant . . . I supposesince I knew the trade a man doesfour times the work that he did formerly ... What's worse than that, the men are everyone striving one againstthe other . . . They are all tearing along from the first thing in the morning to the last thing at night, as hard as they can go, and when the time comesto knock off they are ready to drop. I was hours after I got home last night before I could get a wink of sleep; the soles of my feet were on fire, and my arms achedto that degreethat I could hardly lift my hand to my head."31

The result of this terrible exploitation of labour was that many joiners were "quite old men and gray with spectacles on, by the time they are forty. "32 It is easy now to understandcurrent trade union practices which regulate and control the amount of work to be done independentlyof the "logic of production." Trade unions were of courseactive during the whole of the nineteenthcentury and we must ask why they were unable to prevent the extremeconditions describedabove. This is perhapsthe crucial question that Mayhew never answered in his discussion of political-economy, yet the answer to such a question is to be found in his own survey. Unions had been very active in the protection of living standards and working conditions, even when they had not achieved legal recognition. One boot-makerdescribedthe strike of 1812which resultedin victory for the union: The masters,at that time, after holding out for thirteen weeks, gave way, yielding to all the demandsof the men. "The scabs had no chancein those days," said my informant, "the wages men had it all their own way; they could do anything, and there were no slop shopsthen. Some scabswent to Mr. Hoby 'occasioning' (that is asking whether he 'had occasion for anotherhand'), but he said to them. 'I can do nothing; go to

19

my masters (the journeymen) in the Parr's Head, Swallowstreet' (the sign of the public-house used by the men that managedthe strike)."33

The key to the successof unions at this time was provided by anotherof Mayhew'sinformants: I believe the reduction of wagesin our trade is due chiefly to the supra-abundanceof workmen; that is the real cause of our prices having gone down, becausewhen men are scarce, or work is plentiful, they will have good wages.From the year 1798 our wages began to increasepartly becausethe number of handswas decreasedby war, and partly becausethe foreign orders were much greaterthen than now.34

After the Napoleonic wars labour flooded back onto the market, and with population doubling in the first half of the nineteenthcentury, the supply of labour greatly began to exceedits demand.This of course is a highly complex question, much debated by economists, sociologists and historians, the critical element in the debate being the balance between supply and demand for labour, and its relationship with the distribution of real resourceswithin an early capitalist economy. Another boot-makerput this very simply when he told Mayhew: The cause of the trade being so overstockedwith hands is, I believe, due in great measureto the increaseof population. Every pair of feet there is born, certainly wants a pair of shoes; but unfortunately, as society is at present constituted, they cannot get them. The poor, you see, sir increase at a greaterrate than the rich.35

Several of Mayhew's artisan informants showeda remarkably good grasp of basic economics,and one or two even anticipated Marxand Keynes in their understandingof the effects of under-consumptionon the capitalist economy. One man believed in particular that the new technology would havedisastrouseffectson the economy: Suppose,I say, that all human labour is done away by it, and the working men are turned into paupersand criminals, then what I want to know is who are to be the customersof the

20

capitalists? The capitalists themselves,we should remember, spend little or none (comparatively speaking) of the money they get; for, of course, it is the object of every capitalist to save all he can, and so increase the bulk of money out of which he makeshis profits. The working men, however, spend all they receive- it's true a small amount is put into the savingsbank, but that's a mere drop in the ocean; and so the working classesconstitute the great proportion of the customers of the country. The lower their wages are reduced of course the less they have to spend, and when they are entirely supersededby machinery,of coursethey'll have nothing at all to spend, and then, I ask again, who are to be the capitalists'customers?36

These dire predictions did not come to full realization in the hundred years or so after they were made, and this was partly because the industrial revolution had brought about an improvement of average living standards after the 1840's, mainly through a fall in prices. A number of informants told Mayhew how the fall in prices of bread, meat, fruit and vegetables,clothing and other goods, had improved their lot from the mid1840'sonwards,and this was due to a numberof factorsnew technology, railways, more efficient farming-and undoubtedlythis developmentwas the great turning point in the history of capitalism. There were of course many other factors that preventedthe pauperizationof the working classespredicted by Marx - perhapsone of the most important being the developmentof specializationand the growth of the division of labour, which enabled the labour force through their unions to exploit the dependency of employerson small numbersof key workers. At the time that Mayhew wrote however, there was little evidenceof this development,and the unions were weak and the mass of the populationin a pauperizedstate. What Mayhew failed to realize was the importance of the rate of expansionof the populationfor the conditions under which the struggle betweencapital and labour was conducted.(I assume here that population was expanding

21

for other than economicreasons,and was primarily a function of medical and other non-economicfactors.37) Throughout his surveythere is constantmentionof a massivesurplus of labour demandingwork which was not there to be had;38 this enabledemployersto ruthlesslycrush strikes and union activity, either by employing blackleg labour, or by sending work into non-unionizedsectorsand areasof the country. What Mayhew did realize was that this surplus of labour enabledemployersto extracteven further surplusesthrough the modesof exploitation discussedabove- formulated by Mayhew in the phrase,"Over-work makes under-pay,and under-paymakesover-work." 39 A surplusof populationdid not operatein a vacuum, it was employedwithin a certain social relationship of production, and this could be crucial for the developmentof the economy.In the caseof London during the middle of the nineteenth century, it was the growth of petty-capitalismthat was crucial. This took many guises- sub-contracting,chamber-masters, sweaters,etc. but the critical developmentwas the exploitation of labour through a systemof production which gave workers a personalbut minimal interestin profitability. A cabinet-makergave the following explanationof why so many men becamesmall capitalistsworking on their own account: One of the inducements. . . for men to take for making up for themselvesis to get a living when thrown out of work until they can hear of somethingbetter . . . Another of the reasonsfor the men turning small mastersis the little capital that it requiresfor them to start themselves... Many works for themselves,becausenobody else won't employ them, their work is so bad. Many weavers has took to our businessof late . . . Another reason for men turning little masters is becauseemployment'smore certain like that way; a man can't be turned off easily, you see, when he works for himself. Again, some men prefer being small mastersbecausethey are more independentlike; when they're working for themselves, they can begin working when they please,and knock off when-

22

ever they like. But the principal reasonis becausethere ain't enoughwork at the regular shopsto employ them all. 40

These small masterswere drawn into a system of ruthless competition, and the money paid to them by the warehouses-the "slaughterers"-becamebarely sufficient for subsistence.Many of the chamber-masterswere sweaters, employing their wives and children and any other sourceof cheaplabour, but none of them were real beneficiariesfrom the long and grinding hours of work - it was the ownersof the warehousesand their customerswho really gainedfrom this systemof exploitation. The major reasonwhy so many small masters were prepared to tolerate these conditions was becausethere was no alternative-a surplusof labour through a rapidly-expandingpopulation had thrown them out of regular work and into pauperized independence, which in turn helpeddestroythe power of the trade unions in the "honourable"sectorof the trade. Although Mayhew failed to link population growth with the changesin the structureof the social relationships of production which he so effectively described,he provided in his survey nearly all that we would want to know to understandthe developmentof contemporarycapitalism. However, his survey went well beyond the confines of this major theme, and to the sociologist, his work provides a range of fascinating detail on other sociological subjects. One themethat constantlyrecurs is the growth of a culture of respectability during the nineteenthcentury, a subject which obviously fascinated Mayhew. There are frequent mentions in the survey of the decline in drunkennessand brutality which characterizedmany English workmen of an earlier epoch;here is Mayhew'sinterview with a cabinetmakeron the subjectof respectability: "Within my recollection," said an intelligent cabinet-maker, "there was much drinking, among the cabinet-makers.This was fifteen years back. Now I am satisfied that at least seveneighthsof all who are in society are soberand temperatemen.

23

Indeed, good masters won't have tipplers now-a-days." . . . The great majority of the cabinet-makersare married men, and were described to me by the best informed parties as generally domestic men, living, wheneverit was possible, near their workshops,and going home to every meal. They are not much of play-goers, a Christmas pantomime or any holiday spectaclebeing exceptions,especiallywhere there is a family. "I don't know a card-player," said a man who had every means of knowing, "amongst us, I think you'll find more cabinet-makersthan any other trade membersof mechanics' institutes and literary institutions and attendersof lectures." Some journeymen cabinet-makershave saved money, and I found them all speakhighly of the advantagesthey, as well as their masters,derive from their trade society.4!

These respectableartisanswere of course only a minority we saw earlier how the of the total of working people~ members of the "honourable" west end trade lived very different lives to those of the east end. The respectable artisanswere family men,living quiet private lives, markedly in contrastwith the life of the "rough" working class,which was violent, noisy and gregarious.Mayhew had a deeply on the one hand ambivalentattitude towards respectability~ he admired the "rational" sobrietry, cleanlinessand cultured life-style of his intelligent artisans,yet on the other was greatly attractedto the spontaneityand colour of his street folk, vagabonds,delinquents, labourers and other unrespectableinhabitants of London. The intelligence of the respectableartisanenabledhim to take an active interest in union and political matters,whereasthe unskilled workmen tendedto passivelyacquiesein the miseriesof his lot: The transition from the artisan to the labourer is curious in many respects. In passing from the skilled operative of the West End to the unskilled workman of the Easternquarter of London, the moral and intellectual changeis so great that it seemsas if we were in a new land and among another race. The artisansare sufficiently educatedand thoughtful to have a senseof their importance in the state . . . The unskilled labourers are a different class of people. As yet they are as unpolitical as footmen. Insteadof entertainingviolently demo-

24 cratic opm10ns, they appear to have no political opm10ns whatever-or, if they do possess any, they rather lean towards the maintenance "of things as they are," than towards the ascendancyof the working people.42

Not only were the unskilled unpolitical, but they tendedto be more addicted to violence, drunkennessand dishonesty than the rest of the population, Mayhew finding from official statistical returns of crime that the labourers of London were "nine times as dishonest, five times as drunken, and nine times as savage, as the rest of the community."43 What Mayhew most disliked about the unrespectable however was the dirt and squalorin which they lived; in discussingthe importanceof fish in the diet of the poor the railway had ushered in an era of very cheap fish in London-he wrote: The rooms of the very neediest of our needy metropolitan population, always smell of fish; most frequently of herrings. So much so, indeed, that to those,like myself, have beenin the habit of visiting their dwellings, the smell of herrings, even in comfortable houses, savours from association,so strongly of squalorand wretchednessas to be often most oppressive.44

This echoesthe passagequotedearlier,which contrastedthe west end tailor's comfortable apartmentwith flowers and pictures, and "the sweater'swretchedgarret . . . rank with the stenchof filth and herrings." Mayhew believedthat the poor of the east end were "brutified with their incessant toil, wretched pay, miserablefood, and filthy homes", and in a number of places in his survey he uses strong moral languageto condemnwhat he consideredto be the vices of the unrespectablepoor. Listen to the following account of the lives of pickpocketsand note the mixture of moral disapproval and insightful sociological and psychological analysis: It is a singular fact that as a body the pickpockets are generally very sparing of drink. My informant never knew

25

any one of these young pickpocketsor "gonoffs" to be drunk, or to seem in any way anxious for drink. They are mostly libidinous, indeed universally so, and spend whatever money they can spare upon the low prostitution round about the neighbourhood . . . Nor can their vicious propensities be ascribed to ignorance, for we have seen that out of 55 individuals 40 could read and write, while four could read . . . Neither can the depravity of their early associationsbe named as the cause of their delinquenciesfor we have seen that, as a class, their fathers are men well to do in the world. Indeed their errors seemto have rather a physical than either an intellectual or moral cause. They seem to be naturally of an erratic and self-willed temperament,objecting to the restraints of home, and incapable of continuous application to any one occupation whatsoever.They are essentiallythe idle and the vagabond; and they seem generally to attribute the commencementof their careerto harshgovernmentat home.45

Much of this account could be applied to Mayhew himself-his own reaction against parental authority, his "erratic and self-willed temperament",and his restlessness. Although current sociologicalfashion is againstthe kind of physiologicalexplanationof delinquencygiven by Mayhew, thereis probablyas much evidencein its favour as with rival more widely acceptedtheories. The delinquentswere rebels, but rebels with energy, intelligence, humour and a love of life. It is thesequalities which inform someof Mayhew'sbest-knownwork, the writing on street entertainers,costermongers,tricksters and the host of other colourful characters which fill his pages. Listen to the marvellousaccountof one of the many tricks playedon a gullible public: I've done the shivering dodge too -gone out in the cold weatherhalf naked. One man has practisedit so much that he can't get off shivering now. Shaking Jemmy went on with his shivering so long that he couldn't help it at last. He shivered like a jelly -like a calf's foot with the ague-on the hottest day in summer.46

And someof Mayhew'scharactersare so closein languageto Dickens, that the readerfinds himself unconsciouslycarried

26

from one to the other. One of the Punchand Judy men told Mayhew: One of my pardnerswas buried by the workhouse; and even old Pike, the most noted showman as ever was, died in the workhouse. Pike and Porsini- Porsini was the first original street Punch, and Pike was his apprentice- their names is handeddown to prosperity among the noblemenand footmen of the land. They both died in the workhouse,and, in course, I shall do the same.Somethingelse might tum up, to be sure. We can't say what this luck of the world is. I'm obliged to strive wery hard-wery hard indeed, sir- now, to get a living, and then not get it after all at times-compelledto go short often.47

The comic quality of the languageconcealsof coursethe real suffering of the street performers-Mayhew met a streetclown on the verge of starvation,minutes afterwards transformed into an apparently happy and laughing performer48- but their human quality shines through their sufferings, and there is almost something moving in the quaintnessof their language. Mayhew was acutely aware of how sociological factors influenced the adoption of respectabilityor its opposite; he gave a great deal of spacefor example to the effects of the system of paying wages in public-housesto men working in the coal-unloadingtrade. For many years it had led to widespreaddrunkennessand brutality - many men beatingtheir wives becauseof disputesover the spending of money on drink- and Mayhew summarizedthe effectsof the systemin the following passage: The children of the coalwhipperswere almost reared in the tap-room, and a personwho had great experiencein the trade tells me he knew asmany as 500 youths who were transported, and as many more who met with an untimely death. At one house there were forty young robust men employed about seventeenyearsago, and of theseare only two living at present. My informant tells me that he has frequently seenas many as 100 men at one time fighting pell-mell at King James'sstairs, and the publican standingby to seefair play.49

27

Similarly amongst dockers the irregularity of work and income led to "irregularity of habits"-drunkenness,violence and the squanderingof money.50 In the last resort, Mayhew's sympathyfor the poor was so great that it overrode his own middle classprejudices.In a numberof places he observedthat morality was very different when viewed from the perspectiveof middle classcomfort as againstthe realitiesof life amongstthe poor: It is easy enough to be moral after a good dinner beside a snug sea-coalfire, and with our heartswell warmed with fine old port. It is easy enough for those that can enjoy these things daily to pay their poor-rates,rent their pew, and "love their neighboursas themselves";but place the self-samehighly respectablepeople on a raft without sup or bite on the high sea, and they would toss up who should eat their fellows . . . Morality on £5000a year in Belgrave-square,is a very different thing to morality on slop-wagesin Bethnal-green.st

In his speechto the tailors at a special public meeting on the 28th October, 1850, explaining his reasonsfor withdrawing from The Morning Chronicle, he passionately denouncedthe inequitiesof contemporarycapitalist society, and perhapscamenearestto a socialistethic andphilosophy. He subsequentlywent on to write London Labour and the London Poor, some of which included part of his Morning Chronicle material. After this work, he fell into oblivion and obscurity. The poor seemedto bring out the very best of Mayhew; without them, his work sunk back into the rather pedestriansatirical plays and novels written for a middle classreadingpublic (The Morning Chronicle survey 52). was readby a wide rangeof socialclasses The very best of Mayhew was the material he collected on the lives of the poor, "from the lips of the people themselves".The range and depth of theseautobiographies is so brilliant, that no amount of commentarycan even come nearto their quality and importance.Mayhew opened up a new history of the English people in this part of his work, as his informants had come from all parts of the

28

country and spannedthe complete age range. The reader has to read the survey itself to appreciatethis part of his work. Dancesand music at the harvestcelebrations,vagabond life in the countrysideand its pleasuresand hardships, the problems of a country linen-draper, the harshnessof convict life in Australia- the floggings and killings - the brutal conditions on board ship for emigrants(but not convicts-these were protected by their military escort), the meeknessand deferenceof some of the poor, suffering the worst of all poverties,the colour prejudice experiencedby an Indian streetentertainer- this and a host of other subjects are coveredin what we would now considerthe beginnings of oral history. Mayhew died in July 1887, forgotten and unknown; he is now recognizedas one of the great pioneersof sociologicalstudy, but aboveall, he was a man of deep sympathy and compassionfor the suffering of the poor. Peter Razzell REFERENCES 1. The Morning Chronicle, September24, 1849. 2. Anne Humphreys (Ed.), Voices Of The Poor : Selections From Henry Mayhew's The Morning Chronicle 'Labour And The Poor'

(1849-I850) (1971), p. ix. 3. Henry Mayhew, London Labour And The London Poor, Vol. 1 (Dover Publications,1968), p. xv. 4. The Morning Chronicle, October18, 1849. 5. Ibid. 6. The Morning Chronicle, October31, 1850. 7. Humphreys, op. cit.; E. P. Thompson and Eileen Yeo, The Unknown Mayhew (1971); P. E. Razzell and R. Wainwright (Eds.), The Victorian Working Class : Selections From The Morning Chronicle (1973). 8. Thompsonand Yeo, op. cit., pp. 60, 61. 9. Humphreys,op. cit., p. ix. 10. Thompsonand Yeo, op. cit., p. 13. 11. SeeHumphreys,op. cit., pp. xv, xvi. 12. Ibid, p. xi. 13. Ibid. 14. Report Of The Speech Of Henry Mayhew And The Evidence Adduced A.t A. Public Meeting ... ConvenedBy The Committee Of The Tailors Of London (1850), p. 6. 15. Ibid.

29 16. The Morning Chronicle, April 25, 1850. 17. See for example The Morning Chronicle, February 25, 1850, for a letter correctingerrors on prices paid in the shoetrade. 18. The Morning Chronicle, December21, 1849. 19. Ibid, October 26, 1849. 20. Ibid, October23, 1849. 21. Ibid, February4, 1850. 22. Ibid, February7, 1850. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid, December14, 1849. 25. Ibid, December18, 1849. 26. Henry Mayhew, London Labour And The London Poor, Vol. 2 (Dover Publications,1968), pp. 317-321. 27. Ibid, p. 300. 28. The Morning Chronicle, January18, 1850. 29. Mayhew, London Labour And The London Poor, Vol. 2, p. 311. 30. Ibid, p. 328. 31. The Morning Chronicle, July 18, 1850. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid, February4, 1850. 34. Ibid, February7, 1850. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid, July 25, 1850. 37. See P. Razzell, "Population Change in Eighteenth Century England : a Re-Appraisal" in Michael Drake (Ed.), Population In Industrialization (1969); Peter Razzell, The ConquestOf Smallpox (1978). 38. See for example The Morning Chronicle, October 26, 1849, November 16, 1849, January 11, 1850, January 15, 1850, and July 11, 1850. 39. ReportOf The SpeechOf Henry Mayhew, op. cit., p. 21. 40. The Morning Chronicle, August 22, 1850. 41. Ibid, August 1, 1850. 42. Ibid, December21, 1849. 43. Ibid. 44. Mayhew, London Labour And The London Poor, Vol. 1, p. 62. 45. The Morning Chronicle, November2, 1849. 46. Ibid, January31, 1850. 47. Ibid, May 16, 1850. 48. Ibid, May 30, 1850. 49. Ibid, December21, 1849. 50. Ibid, October 30, 1849. 51. Report Of The SpeechOf Henry Mayhew,op. cit., p. 36. 52. Seefor exampleThe Morning Chronicle. June 13, 1850.

This pageintentionally left blank

31

A VISIT TO THE CHOLERA DISTRICTS OF BERMONDSEY

Monday, September24, 1849 There is an Easternfable which tells us that a certain city was infested by poisonousserpentsthat killed all they fastenedupon; and the citizens, thinking them sent from Heavenas a scourgefor their sins, kept praying that the visitation might be removed from them, until scarcelya house remained unsmitten. At length, however, concludesthe parable, the eyes of the people were opened; for, after all their prayersand fastings, they found that the eggsof the poisonousserpentswere hatched in the muck-heapsthat surrounded their own dwellings. The history of the late epidemic,which now seemsto have almost spent its fatal fury upon us, has taught us that the massesof filth and corruption round the metropolis are, as it were, the nauseous nestsof plagueand pestilence.Indeed,so well known are the localities of fever and disease,that London would almost admit of being mappedout pathologically, and divided into its morbid districts and deadly cantons. We might lay our fingers on the Ordnancemap, and say here is the typhoid parish, and there the ward of cholera; for as truly as the West-endrejoices in the title of Belgravia, might the southern shores of the Thames be christened Pestilentia. As seasonfollows season,so does diseasefollow diseasein the quarters that may be more literally than metaphoricallystyled the plaguespots of London. If the seasonsare favourable, and typhus does not bring death to almost every door, then influenza and scarlatina fill the workhouseswith the families of the sick. So certain and regular are the diseasesin their returns, that each epidemic, as it comes back summer after summer, breaks out in the self-same streetsas it appeared onits former visit, with but this slight difference, that if at its last visitation it began at the top of the street, and killed its way down, this time it beginsat the bottom, and kills its way as surely up the lines of houses. Out of the 12,800 deaths which, within the last three months, have arisen from cholera, 6,500 have occurred on the southern shoresof the Thames;and to this awful number no localities have

32

contributed so largely as Lambeth, Southwark and Bermondsey, each, at the height of the disease,adding its hundred victims a week to the fearful catalogue of mortality. Any one who has ventureda visit to the last-namedof these placesin particular, will not wonder at the ravagesof the pestilencein this malariousquarter, for it is boundedon the north and east by filth and fever, and on the south and west by want, squalor, rags and pestilence.Here stands,as it were, the very capital of cholera,the Jessoreof London -JACOB's IsLAND, a patch of ground insulated by the common sewer. Sparedby the fire of London, the housesand comforts of the people in this loathsome place have scarcely known any improvementsince that time. The place is a century behind even the low and squaliddistrictsthat surroundit. In the days of Henry II, the foul stagnantditch that now makes an island of this pestilential spot, was a running stream, supplied with the waterswhich poured down from the hills about Sydenham and Nunhead,and was used for the working of the mills that then stood on its banks. These had been granted by charter to the monks of St. Mary and St. John, to grind their flour, and were dependenciesupon the Priory of Bermondsey. Tradition tells us that what is now a straw yard skirting the river, was once the City Ranelagh,called "Cupid's Gardens,"and that the trees, which are now black with mud, were the bowers under which the citizens loved, on the sultry summerevenings,to sit besidethe streamdrinking their sack and ale. But now the running brook is changedinto a tidal sewer, in whose putrid filth stavesare laid to season;and where the ancient summer-housesstood, nothing but hovels, sties, and muck-heapsare now to be seen. Not far from the Tunnel there is a creek opening into the Thames. The entranceto this is screenedby the tiers of colliers which lie before it. This creek bearsthe name of the Dock Head. Sometimesit is called St. Saviour's, or, in jocular allusion to the odour for which it is celebrated,Savory Dock. The walls of the warehouseson each side of this muddy streamare greenand slimy, and bargeslie beside them, above which sacksof corn are continually dangling from the cranesaloft. This creek was once supplied by the streams from the Surrey hills, but now nothing but the drains and refuse of the housesthat have grown up round about it thickens and swells its waters. On entering the precinctsof the pest island, the air has literally the smell of a graveyard, and a feeling of nauseaand heaviness comesover any one unaccustomedto imbibe the musty atmosphere. It is not only the nose, but the stomach,that tells how heavily the

33

air is loaded with sulphurettedhydrogen; and as soon as you cross one of the crazy and rotting bridges over the reeking ditch, you know, as surely as if you had chemically tested it, by the black colour of what was once the white-lead paint upon the door-posts and window-sills, that the air is thickly charged with this deadly gas. The heavy bubbles which now and then rise up in the water show you whence at least a portion of the mephitic compound comes, while the open doorless privies that hang over the water side on one of the banks, and the dark streaksof filth down the walls where the drains from each house dischargethemselvesinto the ditch on the opposite side, tell you how the pollution of the ditch is supplied. The water is covered with a scum almost like a cobweb, and prismatic with grease. In it float large massesof green rotting weed, and againstthe posts of the bridges are swollen carcassesof deadanimals,almost bursting with the gasesof putrefaction.Along its shoresare heapsof indescribablefilth, the phosphorettedsmell from which teUs you of the rotting fish there, while the oyster shells are like piecesof slate from their coating of mud and filth. In some parts the fluid is almost as red as blood from the colouring matter that pours into it from the reeking leather-dressers' close by. The striking peculiarity of Jacob'sIsland consistsin the wooden galleries and sleeping-roomsat the back of the houseswhich overhang the dark flood, and are built upon piles, so that the place has positively the air of a Flemish street, flanking a sewer insteadof a canal, While the little ricketty bridges that span the ditches and connect court with court, give it the appearanceof the Venice of drains, where channelsbefore and behind the housesdo duty for the ocean. Across some parts of the streamwhole rooms have been built, so that house adjoins house; and here, with the very stench of death rising through the boards,human beings sleep night after night, until the last sleep of all comes upon them years before its time. Scarce a house but yellow linen is hanging to dry over the balustradeof staves,or else run out on a long oar where the sulphur-coloured clothes hang over the waters, and you are almost wonderstruckto see their form and colour unreflectedin the putrid ditch beneath. At the back of nearly every house that boastsa squarefoot or two of outlet- and the majority have none at all -are pig-sties. In front waddle ducks, while cocks and hens scratchat the cinderheaps.Indeed, the creaturesthat fatten on offal are the only living things that seemto flourish here.

34

The inhabitants themselvesshow in their faces the poisonous influence of the mephitic air they breathe. Either their skins are white, like parchment,telling of the impaired digestion, the languid circulation, and the coldnessof the skin peculiar to personssuffering from chronic poisoning, or else their cheeksare flushed hectically, and their eyesare glassy,showing the wasting fever and general decline of the bodily functions. The brown, earthlike complexionof some, and their sunk eyes, with the dark areolre round them, tell you that the sulphurettedhydrogen of the atmospherein which they live has been absorbedinto the blood; while othersare remarkable for the watery eye exhibiting the increasedsecretionof tears so peculiar to those who are exposedto the exhalationsof hydrosulphateof ammonia. Scarcely a girl that has not suffusion and sorenessof the eyes, so that you would almost fancy she had been swallowing small dosesof arsenic; while it is evidentfrom the irritation and discharge from the mucous membranesof the nose and eyes for which all the children are distinguished,that the poor emaciatedthings are suffering from continual inhalation of the vapour of carbonateof ammoniaand other deleteriousgases. Nor was this to be wonderedat, when the whole air reekedwith the stench of rotting animal and vegetablematter; for the experiment of ProfessorDonovan has shown that a rabbit, with only its body enclosedin a bladder filled with sulphurettedhydrogen, and allowed to breathefreely, will die in ten minutes. Thenardalso has proved that one eight hundredthpart of this gas in the atmosphere is sufficient to destroy a dog, and one two hundredand fiftieth will kill a horse; while Mr. Taylor, in his book on poisons, assuresus that the men who were engagedin excavatingthe ThamesTunnel suffered severely during the work from the presenceof this gas in the atmospherein which they were obliged to labour. "The air, as well as the water which trickled through the roof," he tells us, "was found to contain sulphurettedhydrogen. This was probably derived from the action of the iron pyrites in the clay. By respiring this atmospherethe strongestand most robust men were, in the course of a few months, reducedto a stateof extremeexhaustionand died. They becameemaciated,and fell into a state of low fever, accompanied with delirium. In one casewhich I saw," he adds, "the face of the man was pale, the lips of a violet hue, the eyes sunk and dark all round, and the whole muscular system flabby and emaciated." To give the readersomeidea as to the extentwith which the air in Jacob'sIsland is charged with this most deadly compound, it will be sufficient to say that a silver spoon of which we caught

35

sight in one of the least wretcheddwellings was positively chocolatecoloured by the action of the sulphur on the metal. On approaching the tidal ditch from the Neckinger-road, the shuttersof the house at the corner were shut from top to bottom. Our intelligent and obliging guide, Dr. Martin, informed us that a girl was then lying dead there from cholera, and that but very recently another victim had fallen in the house adjoining it. This was the beginning of the tale of death, for the tidal ditch was filled up to this very point. Here, however,its putrefying waterswere left to mingle their poison with the 267 cubic feet of air that each man daily takes into his lungs, and this was the point whence the pestilence commencedits ravages.As we walked down George-row,our informant told us that at the corner of London-streethe could see, a short time hack, as many as nine housesin which there were one or two personslying dead of the cholera at the sametime; and yet there could not have been more than a dozen tenementsvisible from the spot. We crossed the bridge, and spoke to one of the inmates. In answerto our questions,she told us she was never well. Indeed,the signs of the deadly influence of the place were paintedin the earthy complexion of the poor woman. "Neither I nor my children know what health is," said she. "But what is one to do? We must live where our breadis. I've tried to let the house,and put a bill up, but cannot get any one to take it." From this spot we were led to narrow close courts, where the sun nevershone,and the air seemed almost as stagnantand putrid as the ditch we had left. The blanched cheeksof the people that now came out to stare at us, were white as vegetablesgrown in the dark, and as we stoppedto look down the alley, our informant told us that the place teemedwith children, and that if a horn was blown they would swarm like bees at the sound of a gong. The houses were mostly inhabited by "cornrunners," coal-porters,and "longshore-men,"getting a precarious living- earning some times as much as 12s. a day, and then for weeks doing nothing. Feversprevailed in thesecourts we were told more than at the side of the ditch. By this way we reached a dismal stack of hovels called, by a strangeincongruity, Pleasant-row.Inquiring of one of the inmates, we were informed that they were quite comfortable now! The stenchhad been all removed,said the woman, and we were invited to pass to the back-yard as evidence of the fact. We did so; the boards bent under our feet, and the air in the cellar-like yard was fretid to positive nausea.As we left the house a child sat nursing a dying half-comatosebaby on a door step. The skin of its little

36

arms, instead of being plumped out with health, was loose and shrivelled, like an old crone's, and had a flabby monkey-like appearancemore than the characterof human cuticle. The almost jaundiced colour of the child's skin, its half paralyzed limbs, and stateof stupor, told it was suffering from some slow poison; indeed the symptomsmight readily have beenmistakenfor thoseof chronic poisoning from acetateof lead. At the end of this row our friend informed us that the last houseon either side was never free from fever. Continuing our course we reached "The Folly," another street so narrow that the namesand tradesof the shopmenwere painted on boards that stretched,acrossthe street, from the roof of their own house to that of their neighbour's.We were here stoppedby our companionin front of a house "to let." The building was as narrow and as unlike a human habitation as the wooden housesin a child's box of toys. "In this house," said our friend, "when the scarlet fever was raging in the neighbourhood,the barberwho was living here suffered fearfully from it; and no sooner did the man get well of this than he was seized with typhus, and scarcely had he recovered from the first attack than he was struck down a secondtime with the same terrible disease.Since then he has lost his child with cholera, and at this moment his wife is in the workhouse suffering from the same affliction. The only wonder is that they are not all dead, for as the man sat at his meals in his small shop, if he put his hand against the wall behind him, it would be coveredwith the soil of his neighbour'sprivy, sopping through the wall. At the back of the housewas an open sewer, and the privies were full to the seat." One fact, says an eminent writer in toxicology, is worthy of the attention of medical jurists, namely, that the respiration of an atmosphere0nly slightly impregnated with the gases emanating from drains and sewers,may, if long continued,seriouslyaffect an individual and causedeath. M. D' Arcet had to examine a lodging in Paris, in which three young and vigorous men had died successively in the course of a few years, under similar symptoms. The lodging consistedof a bed-room with a chimney, and an ill-ventilated ante-room. The pipe of a privy passeddown one side of the room, by the head of the bed, and the wall in this part was damp from infiltration. At the time of the examinationthere was no perceptible smell in the room, though it was small and low. M. D' Arcet attributed the mortality in the lodging to the slow and long-continued action of the emanationsfrom the pipe (Ann. d'Hyg., Juillet, 1836).

37

We then journeyed on to London-street,down which the tidal ditch continuesits course. In No. 1 of this street the cholera first appearedseventeenyears ago, and spread up it with fearful virulence; but this year it appearedat the opposite end, and ran down it with like severity. As we passedalong the reeking banks of the sewer the sun shoneupon a narrow slip of the water. In the bright light it appearedthe colour of strong green tea, and positively looked as solid as black marble in the shadow- indeedit was more like watery mud than muddy water; and yet we were assuredthis was the only water the wretched inhabitantshad to drink. As we gazedin horror at it, we saw drains and sewersemptying their filthy contentsinto it; we saw a whole tier of doorlessprivies in the open road, common to: men and women, built over it; we heard bucket after bucket of filth splash into it, and the limbs of the vagrant boys bathing in it seemed,by pure force of contrast,white as Parian marble. And yet, as we stood doubting the fearful statement, we saw a little child, from one of the galleriesopposite,lower a tin can with a rope to fill a large bucket that stood beside her. In each of the balconiesthat hung over the stream the self-same tub was to be seen in which the inhabitantsput the mucky liquid to stand, so that they may, after it has rested for a day or two, skim the fluid from the solid particlesof filth, pollution, and disease. As the little thing dangledher tin cup as gently as possibleinto the stream, a bucket of night-soil was poured down from the next gallery. In this wretchedplace we were taken to a housewhere an infant lay deadof the cholera. We askedif they really did drink the water? The answer was, "They were obliged to drink the ditch, without they could beg a pailfull or thieve a pailfull of water." But have you spokento your landlord about having it laid on for you? "Yes, sir; and he says he'll do it, and do it, but we know him better than to believe him." "Why, sir," cried another woman, who had shot out from an adjoining room, "he won't even give us a little whitewash, though we tell him we'll willingly do the work ourselves: and look here. sir," she added,"all the tiles have fallen off, and the rain poursin wholesale." We had scarcely left the house when a bill caught our eye, announcingthat "this valuable estate" was to be sold! From this spot we crossedthe little shaky bridge into Providencebuildings-a narrow neck of land set in sewers.Here, in front of the houses, were small gardens that a table-cloth would have covered. Still the one dahlia that here raised its round red head made it a happier and brighter place. Never was colour so grateful

38 to the eye. All we had looked at had been so black and dingy, and had smelt so mud. of churchyard clay, that this little patch of beauty was brighter and greenerthan ever was oasis in the desert. Here a herd of children came out, and staredat us like sheep.One child our guide singled out from the rest. She had the complexion of tawed leather, and her bright, glassy eyes were sunk so far back in her head, that they looked more like lights shining through the hollow socketsof a skull than a living head, and her bonesseemed ready to start through the thin layer of skin. We were told she had had the cholera twice. Her father was dead of it. "But she, sir," said a woman addressingus, "won't die. Ah! if she'd had plenty of victuals and been brought up less hardy she would have been dead and buried long ago, like many more. And here's another," she added, pushing forward a long thin woman in rusty black. "Why' I've know'd her eat as much as a quartern loaf at a meal. and you can't fatten her no how." Upon this there was a laugh, but in the woman'sbloodlesscheeksand blue lips we saw that she like the rest was wasting away from the influence of the charnellike atmospherearound her. The last place we went to was in Joiner's-court,with four wooden housesin it, in which there had lately been as many as five cases of cholera. In front, the poor souls, as if knowing by an instinct that plants were given to purify the atmosphere,had pulled up the paving-stonesbefore their dwellings, and planted a few stocks here and there in the rich black mould beneath.The first housewe went to, a wild ragged-headedboy shot out in answerto our knock, and putting his hands across the doorway, stood there to prevent our entrance. Our friend asked whether he could enter, and see the state of the drainage? "No; t'ain't convenient," was the answer, given so quickly and sharply, that the lad forced some ugly and uncharitablesuspicionupon us. In the next house,the poor inmatewas too glad to meet with any one ready to sympathisewith her sufferings. We were taken up into a room, where we were told she had positively lived for nine years. The window was within four feet of a high wall, at the foot of which, until very recently, ran the open common sewer. The room was so dark that it was severalminutes before we could see anything within it, and there was a smell of must and dry rot that told of damp and imperfect ventilation, and the unnaturalsize of the pupils of the wretchedwoman'seyes convinced us how much too long she had dwelt in this gloomy place. Here, as usual, we heard stories that made one's blood curdle. of the cruelty of those from whom they rented the sties called dwellings. They had begged for pure water to be laid on, and the

39

rain to be shut out; and the answer for eighteen years had been, that the lease was just out. "They knows its handy for a man's work," said one and all, "and that's the reasonwhy they impose on a body." This, indeed, seemsto us to be the great evil. Out of thesewretches'health,comfort, and even lives, small capitalistsreap a petty independence;and until the poor are rescuedfrom the fangs of these mercenary men, there is but little hope either for their physical or moral welfare. The extreme lassitude and deficient energy of both body and mind induced by the mephitic vapoursthey continually inhale leads them-we m;1y say, forces them to seek an unnatural stimulus in the gin-shop; indeed, the publicans of Jacob'sIsland drive even a more profitable trade than the landlords themselves.What wonder, then, since debility is one of the predisposingconditionsof cholera, that - even if these stenchesof the foul tidal ditch be not the direct causeof the disease-that the impaired digestive functions, the languid circulation, the depressionof mind produced by the continued inhalation of the noxious gasesof the tidal ditch, together with the intemperancethat it induces-the cold, damp houses-and, above all, the quenchingof the thirst and cooking of the food with water saturatedwith the very excrementsof their fellow creatures.should make Jacob'sIsland notoriousas the Jessore of England.

40

LABOUR AND THE POOR THE METROPOLIT AN DISTRICTS (FROM OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT] LETTER I

Friday, October 19, 1849

The plan of publishing in this journal a seriesof communications descriptiveof the condition of the poor was fully explainedin The Morning Chronicle of yesterday. To me has been confided the office of examining into the condition of the poor of London; and I shall now proceed to state the view I purpose taking of the subject. Under the term poor I shall include all those persons whose incomings are insufficient for the satisfaction of their wants- a want being, accordingto my idea, contra-distinguishedfrom a mere desire by a positive physical pain, instead of a mental uneasiness, accompanyingit. The large and comparatively unknown body of people included in this definition I shall contemplatein two distinct classes,viz., the honest and dishonestpoor; and the first of these I purpose sub-dividing into the striving and the disabled-or, in other words, I shall consider the whole of the metropolitan poor under three separatephases, according as they will work, they can't work, and they won't work. Of those that will work, and yet are unable to obtain sufficient for their bodily necessities,I shall devote my attention first to such as receive no relief from the parish; and under this head will be included the poorly-paidthe unfortunate-and the improvident. While treating of the poorly-paid, I shall endeavourto lay before the readera catalogue of such occupationsin London as yield a bare subsistenceto the parties engagedin them. At the same time I purpose,when possible, giving the weekly amount of income derived from each, together with the cause-if discoverable-of the inadequate return. After this, it is my intention to visit the dwellings of the

41

unrelieved poor-to ascertain, by positive inspection, the condition of their homes-to learn, by close communion with them, the real or fancied wrongs of their lot- to discover, not only on how little they subsist, but how large a rate of profit they have to pay for the little upon which they do subsist-to ascertainwhat weekly rent they are chargedfor their waterless,drainless,floorless, and almost roofless tenements;and to calculate the interest that the petty capitalist reaps from their necessities.Nor shall I fail to point out how, when the poor are driven to raise a meal on their clothes or their bedding, he who makesthe advanceis licensedby law to receive as much as 20 per cent. for the petty loan upon the shirt or the blanket, though more than five per cent. is forbidden to be chargedfor the loan upon the land. But, however alive I may be to the wrongs of the poor, I shall not be misled by a morbid sympathy to see them only as suffering from the selfishnessof others. Their want of prudence, want of temperance,want of energy, want of cleanliness, want of knowledge, and want of morality, will eachbe honestly set forth. This done, I shall proceed to treat of the poor receiving parish relief, outside and inside the union; after which, the habits, haunts,and tricks of the beggarsof London will be duly set forth; and, finally, thoseof the thievesand prostitutes. In the present article I shall endeavourto give the reader a general idea of the wealth and poverty, the power and weakness, the knowledge and ignorance,the luxury and want, the crime and charity, which all lie huddled togetherin London, in such vast and striking confusion. But before doing so, let me briefly draw attention to the extraordinarychangeof feeling which has taken place of late years, and which makesthe poor of the presentday of such moment to us that, from high to low, from one corner of the land to the other-in the mansion, the counting-house,and the taproom-the sufferingsand privationsof the labouring classesshould be listened to with so lively an interestthat the columnsof a morning newspaperare judged a fit place for the exposition of them. Indeed, the chief distinction of the presentage from the past, consists, not in the substitution of steam for human labour-in the use of cranks and levers for thews and sinews-nor does it lie in the iron bandswhich now link town to town, and brace county to county, nor in the nerve-like wires that carry our wishes from one corner of the land to the other with the same marvellous instantaneousnessas our muscles act in obedienceto our will. These, it is true, are salient points of difference betweenus and our forefathers. Still the broad line of demarcation separatingour own

42 times from all others is to be found in the fuller and more general developmentof the humansympathies. By the Act 27th Henry VIII, the officers of towns are directed to collect alms for the purposeof keeping "sturdy vagabondsand valiant beggars" to continual labour; and it is provided "that a sturdy beggar is to be whipped for his first offence, his right ear cropped for his second,and if he again offends he is to be sent to the next gaol till the quarter sessions,there to be indicted for wandering, loitering, and idleness; and if convicted, to suffer execution as a felon and as an enemy of the commonwealth." To those who have beenaccustomedto regardthe "good old times" as a kind of past millennium, it must appearutterly incredible that, in the days of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, mere beggary was punishablewith death; or that "bluff King Hal" should have hung up during his reign, as Harrison tells us, "of great thieves, of petty thieves and rogues, three score and twelve thousand"-slaying twice as many as the recent scourge that we prayed to have removed from us. It must be equally difficult for such as are ignorant of the atrocities perpetratedby "merry England," to believe that in the year 1785 no less than ninety-sevenpersonswere hangedfor the offence of stealing in shops to the value of five shillings; and that the late Lord Ellenboroughsaid in the House of Lords, when a bill was brought in a secondtime for the abolition of the capital punishment awarded to this offence, "he trusted that laws which a century had proved to be beneficial, would not be changedfor the illusory opinions of speculatists and modern philosophy" (Hansard, vol. xx). The bull and badger baiting-the dog and cock fighting - the rat killing- and such other sports of the last century as pleased only in proportion to the amount of pain inflicted, have entirely passedaway; and in their place there have sprung up among us laws and societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals. Our princes and noblesare no longer the patronsof prize fights, but the presidentsof benevolentinstitutions. Insteadof the "bear-gardens" and cock-pits that formerly flourished in every quarter of the town, our capital bristles and glitters with its thousandpalacesfor the indigent and suffering poor. If we are distinguishedamong nations for our exceedingwealth, assuredlywe are equally illustrious for our abundant charity. Almost every want or ill that can distress human nature, has some palatial institution for the mitigation of it. We have rich societiesfor every conceivableform of benevolence: for the visitation of the sick- for the cure of the maimed and the crippled-for the alleviation of the pangs of childbirth- for giv-

43

ing shelter to the houseless-support to the agedand the infirmhomes to the orphan and the foundling -for the reformation of juvenile offenders and prostitutes-the reception of the children of convicts-the liberation of debtors-the suppressionof vicefor educating the ragged- teaching the blind, the deaf, and the dumb-for guarding and soothing the mad-protecting the idiotic- clothing the naked-feeding the hungry. Nor does our charity ceasewith our own countrymen;for the very ships of war which we build to destroy the people of other lands, we ultimately convert into floating hospitalsto save or comfort them in the hour of their affliction amongus. Let us now turn our attention to the number and cost of the honest and dishonestpoor throughout England and Wales, so that we may be able to see what proportion the aggregateamount bears to the number of individuals living in a state of poverty and crime in the metropolis. Mr. Porter, usually no mean authority upon all matters of a statistical nature, tells us, in his "Progress of the Nation," p. 530, that "the proportion of persons in the United Kingdom who pass their time without applying to any gainful occupationis quite inconsiderable.Of 5,800,000males of 20 years and upwards living at the time of the censusof 1831, there were said to be engagedin some calling or profession, 5,450,000, thus leaving unemployed only350,000, or rather less than six per cent." "The number of unemployedadult malesin Great Britain in 1841," he afterwardsinforms us, "was only 274,000and odd." But this statementgives us no adequateidea of the number of persons subsisting by charity or crime. For the author of the "Progressof the Nation," strangeto say, wholly excludesfrom his calculation the massof individuals receiving in and out door relief, as well as the criminals, almspeople,and lunatics throughout the country. Now, according to the last report of the Poor-law Commissioners,the number of paupersreceiving in and out door relief was, in 1848, no less than 1,870,000and odd. The numberof criminals in the same year was 30,000 and odd. In 1844 the number of lunatics in county asylums was 4,000 and odd; while, according to the occupation abstract of the returns of the population, there were in 1841 upwards of 5,000 almspeople, 1,000 beggars, and 21,000 pensioners.Theseformed into one sum, give us no less than two millions and a quarter individuals who passtheir time without applying to any gainful occupation,and consequentlylive in a state of inactivity and vice upon the income of the remainder of the population. By the above computation, therefore, we see that, out of a total of sixteen million souls, one-seventh,or fourteen

44

per cent. of the whole, continuetheir existenceeither by pauperism, mendicancy,or crime. Now, the cost of this immense mass of vice and want is even more appalling than the number of individuals subsisting in such utter degradation.The total amount of money levied in 1848 for the relief of England and Wales was seven millions four hundred thousand pounds. But, exclusive of this amount, the magnitude of the sum that we give voluntarily towardsthe supportand education of the poorer classes,is unparalleled in the history of any other nation, or of any other time. According to the summary of the returns annexed to the voluminous reports of the Charity Commissioners,the rent of the land and other fixed property, togetherwith the interestof the money left for charitablepurposes in England and Wales, amounts to £1,200,000 a year; and it is believed that by proper managementthis return might be increased to an annualincome of at least two millions of money. "And yet," says Mr. M'Culloch, "there can be no doubt that even this large sum falls far below the amount expendedevery year in voluntary donations to charitable establishments.Nor can any estimate be formed," he adds, "of the money given in charity to individuals, but in the aggregateit cannot fail to amount to an immensesum." All things considered,therefore, we cannot be very far from the truth if we assumethat the sums voluntarily subscribedtowards the relief of the poor equal, in the aggregate,the total amount raised by assessmentfor the same purpose; so that it appearsthat the well-to-do amongst us expend the vast sum of fifteen million poundsper annum in mitigating the miseriesof their less fortunate brethren. But though we give altogether fifteen million pounds a year to alleviate the distress of those who want or suffer, we must rememberthat this vast sum expressesnot only the liberal extent of our sympathy, but likewise the fearful amount of want and suffering, of excessand luxury, that there must be in the land. If the poorer classesrequire fifteen millions to be addedin charity every year to their aggregateincome in order to relieve their pains and privations, and the richer can afford to have the same immense sum taken from theirs, and yet scarcely feel the loss, it shows at once how much the one class must have in excessand the other in deficiency. Whether such a state of things is a necessaryevil connectedwith the distribution of wealth, this is not the place for me to argue. All I have to do here is to draw attention to the fact. It is for others to lay bare the cause,and, if possible,discover the remedy.

45

There still remains, however, to be added to the sum expended in voluntary or compulsory relief of the poor, the cost of our criminal and convict establishmentsat home and abroad. This, according to the Government estimates of the present year, amounts to £948,000, which, together with that before mentioned makes, in round numbers, the enormoussum of £16,000,000per annum; and reckoning the national income, with Mr. M'Culloch, at £350,000,000,it follows that the country has to give nearly five per cent. out of its gross earningsevery year to support those who are either incapableor unwilling to obtain a living for themselves. This is a general view of the burdensof the entire country. Let us now proceed more particularly to examine the relative advantages or disadvantagesof the several counties, and to contrast the moral, intellectual, and physical condition of the best and the worst with the two metropolitancountiesin particular. First, in reference to the density of the population or number of inhabitants per hundred statute acres, the returns teach us that Middlesex is the most crowded of all the counties; the number of individuals there congregatedbeing as much as I ,931 per cent. above the average of the other counties; whilst the proportion for Lancashire,where the inhabitantsare the next most numerous,is but 243, and Surrey, the third in density, 179 per cent. above the mean quantity. In ignorance, Middlesex and Surrey are respectively 59 and 53 per cent. below the average; so that the metropolitan counties rank not only as the most crowded, but as the best instructed. In crime, however, Middlesex is almost as much above, as in ignoranceit is below the average, while Surrey occupies very nearly a medium place in the moral condition of the country. Nor are the metropolitan countiesless distinguishedfor their wealth than they are for their knowledge. The number of personsof independentmeans is the highest in Middlesex and Surrey, while the real property in Middlesex is 33 per cent. above the average, and in Surrey six per cent. below it. The depositsin the savingsbanksare in Middlesex 18 per cent. above, and in Surrey 15 per cent. below, the average. Again, the number of illegitimate children in the metropolitan counties is less than in any other district, and they are equally illustrious for the rarity of improvident marriagesamong the people-Rutland being the only county, indeed, that ranks before them in this respect. Finally, though not blessed with the fewest paupers, still the proportion of persons receiving parish relief is in both counties about 12t per cent. below the average. lt may then be said, that whilst the population is the most dense in the metropolitan counties, the people are the most instructed.

46

the most independent,the most prudent in marriage,and have the smallest number of illegitimate children of any other county in England and Wales; and whilst the amountof savingsin Middlesex is considerablyabove the average,the amountof pauperismin both counties is as considerably below it; and yet, strange to say, Middlesex is almost as distinguished for the criminality of its inhabitants as it is for their knowledge, independence,prudence, and chastity. Having now contrastedthe morality, intellect, and wealth of the people of the metropolitan districts with those of other counties, let us proceed to set forth more particularly the characteristicsof London itself. The city of London, within the walls, occupiesa spaceof only 370 acres, and is but the hundred and fortieth part of the extent covered by the whole metropolis. Nevertheless,it is the parent of a mass of united and far spreading tenements,stretching from Hammersmith to Blackwall, from Holloway to Camberwell. A century ago, according to Maitland, the metropolis had drawn into its vortex one city, one borough, and forty-three villages. Despite its vast extent, still its increasecontinues to be so rapid, that every year further house room has to be provided for twenty thousand persons-so that London increases annually by the addition of a town of considerablesize. At all times there are 4,000 extra houses in the course of erection. By the last return the metropolis covered an extent of nearly 45,000 acres, and contained upwardsof two hundredand sixty thousandhouses,occupied by one million eight hundredand twenty thousandsouls, constituting not only the densest,but the busiest hive, the most wondrous workshop, and the richest bank in the world. The mere name of London awakensa thousand trains of varied reflections. Perhaps the first thought that it excites in the mind, paints it as the focus of modern civilization, of the hottest, the most restlessactivity of the social elements.Some, turning to the west, see it as a city of palaces,adornedwith parks, ennobledwith triumphal arches,grand statues, and stately monuments; others, looking at the east, see only narrow lanes and musty counting-houses,with tall chimneys vomiting black clouds, and huge massesof warehouseswith doors and cranesranged one above another. Yet all think of it as a vast bricken multitude, a strange incongruous chaos of wealth and want -of ambition and despair-of the brightest charity and the darkest crime, where there are more housesand more houseless, where there is more feasting and more starvation, than on any other spot on earth-and all groupedround the one giant centre,

47

the huge black dome, with its ball of gold looming through the smoke (apt emblem of the source of its riches!) and marking out the capital, no matter from what quarter the traveller may come. Those who have only seen London in the daytime, with its flood of life pouring through its arteriesto its restlessheart, know it not in its grandestaspect.It is not in the noise and roar of the cataract of commercepouring through its streets,nor in its forest of ships, nor in its vast docks and warehouses,that its true solemnity is to be seen. To behold it in its greatestsublimity, it must be contemplated by night, afar off, from an eminence.The noblest prospect in the world, it has been well said, is London viewed from the suburbs on a clear winter's evening. The stars are shining in the heavens,but there is anotherfirmament spreadout below, with its millions of bright lights glittering at our feet. Line after line sparkles, like the trails left by meteors, cutting and crossing one another till they are lost in the haze of the distance. Over the whole there hangsa lurid cloud, bright as if the monstercity were in flames, and looking afar off like the sea by night, made phosphorescentby the million creaturesdwelling within it. At night it is that the strange anomaliesof London are best seen. Then, as the hum of life ceasesand the shopsdarken, and the gaudy gin palaces thrust out their ragged and squalid crowds, to pace the streets,London puts on its most solemnlook of all. On the benches of the parks, in the nitches of the bridges, and in the litter of the markets, are huddled together the homelessand the destitute. The only living things that haunt the streetsare the poor wretcheswho stand shivering in their finery, waiting to catch the drunkard as he goes shouting homewards.Here on a doorstepcrouchessome shoeless child, whose day's begging has not brought it enough to purchase it even the twopenny bed that its young companions in beggary have gone to. There, where the stonesare taken up and piled high in the road, and the gas streamsfrom a tall pipe in the centre of the street in a flag of flame - there, round the red glowing coke fire, are grouped a ragged crowd smoking or dozing through the night besideit. Then, as the streetsgrow blue with the coming light, and the church spires and chimney tops stand out against the sky with a sharpnessof outline that is seen only in London before its million fires cover the town with their pall of smoke-then come sauntering forth the unwashed poor, some with greasywallets on their back, to hunt over eachdirt heap, and eke out life by seekingrefuse bonesor stray rags and piecesof old iron. Others, on their way to their work, gatheredat the corner of the street round the breakfast stall, and blowing saucersof

48 steaming coffee drawn from tall tin cans, with the fire shining crimson through the holes beneath;whilst alreadythe little slattern girl, with her basketslung before her, screamswatercresses through the sleepingstreets. Yet who, to see the squalor and wretchednessof London by night, would believe that twenty-nine only of the London bankers have clearedthrough their clearing-houseas much as nine hundred and fifty-four million poundssterling in one year, the averagebeing more than three millions of money daily- or that the loans of merely one house in the City throughout the year exceed thirty millions? Who could have visited the Rookery of St. Giles's as it existed but a few months back, and have seen the unutterable abominationsof this retreat of wretchedness,this nest of disease, at once the nursery and sanctuaryof vice-where in one house alone, Mr. Smirke tells us, were huddled together eleven men, thirteen women, and thirty children-where as many as sixty of the foulest of the London lazzaroni often sleep in the same abode-who could witness this want and wretchedness,and yet believe that this country is "the ban for the whole world," as the late Mr. Rothschild called it in 1832; or that "all transactionsin India, in China, in Russia, and indeed every other empire, are guided and settledin this country"? Is it possible to believe that any man among us should want a roof to shelter his head by night, or a crust to quell his hungerby day, when we find that the amount of the property insured against fire is valued at more than five hundred millions sterling, even though, accordingto the returnsmadeof the fires in the metropolis during 1836 and 1837, forty per cent. of the houses,amountingto two-fifths of the whole, were entirely uninsured. "A very short excursioninto the worst part of St. Giles's," saysMr. Smirke, "will be enough to convince any one, through the medium of every sense,that it was built before the wholesomeregulationsrespecting building and cleansing were in force. Indeed there is scarcely a single sewer in any part of it; so that here, where there is the greatest accumulation of filth, there is the least provision made for its removal." And yet, in the Holborn and Finsbury division alone- close neighbours- the length of main covered sewers is eighty-three miles, the length of smaller sewers to carry off the surface water from the roads and streetssixteen miles; the length of drains leading from housesto the main sewerstwo hundredand sixty-four miles, an extent almost equal to the distanceof London from Edinburgh. The amount of money spent and the vastnessof apparatusemployedsingly in lighting London and the suburbswith

49

gas, would seemto dispel all thoughtsof poverty. According to the account of Mr. Headley, the capital employed in pipes, tanks, gas holders, and apparatus of the London gas works, amounts to £2,800,000, and the cost of lighting averagesclose upon half a million of money per year; no less than 1,460,000,000feet of gas being annually consumed,and upwardsof nine millions being used on the longest night, giving a light equal to half a million pounds of tallow candles. "The consumption of butchers' meat," says an excellent authority, "is nowhere so great in proportion to the population as in London." The population which obtains a supply of animal food from the metropolitan market amounts to two millions. Now, calculating the number of cattle and sheep sold in Smithfield in 1839, with the number of pigs and calves, from the returns of a previous year, and averagingthe dead weight of each according to the judgment of· an intelligent carcassbutcher in Warwick-lane, the gross weight of animal food which is furnished by the Smithfield market will amount to two hundred and seventymillion eight hundred and eighty thousandpounds of meat annually consumed in the metropolis alone. At the low price of 6d. per pound the above quantity amounts to £6,847,000; and dividing this quantity among a population of two millions, the consumption of each individual will average 136 pounds of meat in the course of the year; so that it seemsalmost impossible to believe that any living soul within or without the City walls should ever want a dinner. The amount of crime in London is almost as amazing as its wealth. About thirty-six thousandcrimir.als passthrough the metropolitan gaols, bridewells, and penitentiariesevery year. In one year the number of persons taken into custody by the metropolitan police for various infractions of the law amounts to 65,000 and odd-equal to the whole population of some of our largesttowns. The criminal districts of the metropolis are peculiar. Larceniesin a dwelling-housewere most numerousin Whitechapelin one year, and in St. George's-in-the-Boroughin another. Larcenies on the person, on the other hand, were most common in Covent-garden at one time, and at anotherin Shadwell. Highway robberies,burglaries, and shop-breakingoccur most frequently in the easternand southerndistricts, as Whitechapel,Southwark, Lambeth, Mile-end, and Poplar. The parish of St. Jamesusually furnishes the. largest proportionatenumberof casesunder the head of drunkenness,disorderly prostitutes,and vagrancy. Clerkenwell is distinguishedfor the greatest number of cases of horse-stealing,of assaultswith attempt to rescue, and wilful damage. Common assaultsare said

50

to be most frequent in Covent-gardenand in St. George's-in-theEast. Coining and uttering counterfeit coin, in Clerkenwell and Covent-garden; embezzlement,in Whitechapel and Clerkenwell; and pawning illegally in Mile-end and Lambeth. Murder has been found to be most prevalentin Clerkenwell and Whitechapel,manslaughter in Islington and Clerkenwell, and arson in Marylebone and Westminster. One thing is at least clear, that, judging from the limited number of facts supplied to us, Clerkenwell would seemto hold a bad pre-eminencefor the numberand natureof the offences committed within its limits. The Constabulary Commissioners, who had access to the best sources of information, made a return of the number of thieves and suspiciouscharacters within the boundariesof the metropolitanpolice, and the following is the result of their investigation:-They divided the whole number into three classes,and they found, 1st, that there were 10,444 persons who had no visible means of subsistence,and who are believed to live by the violation of the law, as by habitual depredations by fraud, by prostitution, etc. 2nd, of personsfollowing some ostensibleand legal occupation,but who are known to have committed some offence, and are believed to augment their gains by habitual or occasionalviolations of the law, there were 4,353; and 3rd, there were 2,104 personsnot recognisedto have committed any offences, but known as associatesof the above classes and otherwise deemedto be suspiciouscharacters.Besidesthis return, the ConstabularyCommissionersalso obtained another, giving the number of housesopen for the accommodationof delinquencyand vice in the metropolitandistrict- namely, housesfor the reception of stolen goods, 227; housesfor the resort of thieves, 276; number of brothels where prostitutes are kept, 933; number of housesof ill-fame where prostitutes resort, 848; number of houses where prostitutes lodge, 1,554; number of gambling houses, 32; and numberof mendicants'lodging-houses,221.

51

LETTER

II

Tuesday,October 23, 1849 IN MY first letter I stated that I purposedconsideringthe whole of the metropolitanpoor under three distinct phases-accordingas they will work, as they can't work, and as they won't work. The causesof poverty among such as are willing to work, appearedto me to be two. 1. The workman might receive for his labour less than sufficient to satisfy his wants. 2. He might receivea sufficiency, and yet be in want, either from having to pay an exhorbitantprice for the commoditieshe requiresin exchangefor his wages,or else from a deficiency of economyand prudencein the regulationof his desires by his means and chancesof subsistence.Or, to say the samething in a more concisemanner-the privationsof the industrious classesadmit of being referred either to (1) low wages, (2) high prices, or (3) improvident habits. In opening the subject which has been entrustedto me, and setting forth the plan I purpose pursuing, so as to methodize, and consequentlysimplify, the investigation of it, I stated it to be my intention to devote myself primarily to the considerationof that classof poor whose privations seemedto be due to the insufficiency of their wages. In accordancewith this object, I directed my steps first towardsBethnal-green,with the view of inquiring into the rate of wagesreceivedby the Spitalfieldsweavers.My motive for making this selection was, principally, becausethe manufactureof silk is one of the few arts that continue localized-that is, restrictedto a particular quarter- in London. The tannersof Bermondsey- the watchmakersof Clerkenwell-the coachmakersof Long-acrethe marine-store dealers of Saffron-hill- the old clothes-menof Holywell-streetand Rosemary-lane- the pottersof Lambeth- the hattersof the Borough- are amongthe few handicraftsand trades that, as in the bazaarsof the East are confined to particular parts of the town. Moreover, the weaversof Spitalfieldshave always been notoriousfor their privations, and being all groupedtogetherwithin a comparativelysmall space,they could be more easily visited, and a greatermassof information obtainedin a less spaceof time, than

52

in the caseof any other ill-paid metropolitanhandicraftwith which I am acquainted.In my inquiry I have soughtto obtain information from the artizansof Spitalfieldsupon two points in particular. I was desirousto ascertainfrom the workmen themselves,not only the average rate of wages received by them, but also to hear their opinions as to the causeof the depreciationin the value of their labour. The result of my inquiries on these two points I purpose setting forth in my present communication; but, before entering upon the subject,I wish the readerdistinctly to understandthat the sentimentshere recordedare thosewholly and solely of the weavers themselves.My vocation is to collect facts, and to registeropinions. I have undertakenthe subjectwith a rigid determinationneitherto be biased nor prejudiced by my own individual notions, whatever they may be, upon the matter. I know that as in sciencethe love of theorisingwarpsthe mind, and causesit to seeonly thosenatural phenomenathat it wishesto see- so in politics, party-feelingis the coloured spectaclesthrough which too many invariably look at the social eventsof this and other countries.The truth will be given in stark nakedness.Indeed, hardly a line will be written but what a note of the matter recordedhas been taken upon the spot, so that, no matter how startling or incredible the circumstancesmay seem, the readermay rest assuredthat it is his experiencerather than the reporter'sveracity that is at fault. With this preamblelet me now seek to set before the readerthe peculiar characteristics,first, of the district to which the Spitalfields weaver is indigenous,and, secondly,of the art he follows. "Owing to the vastnessof London," saysMr. Martin, in one of his Sanitary Reports-"owing to the moral gulf which there separatesthe various classesof its inhabitants,its severalquartersmay be designated as assemblages of towns rather than as one city; and so it is, in a social senseand on a smaller scale, in other towns: the rich know nothing of the poor-the massof misery that festersbeneath the affluence of London and of the great towns is not known to their wealthy occupants." The term Spitalfields, at an early period of the history of London designatedthe suburbanfields situatebetweenthe ancienthighway of Bishopsgate-street and the WhitechapelHigh·street.In the year 1197 one Walter Brune, a citizen of London, foundedin thesefields a large hospital for poor brethrenof the order of St. Austin; hence the surroundingmeadowswere called Hospital-fields,and ultimately Spitalfields. Of the district of Spitalfields, the weaving population for a long period was chiefly confined to Christchurch,but it has emigrated principally to the parish of Bethnal-green. This was

53

formerly one of the hamletsof the ancientmanor of StebonHeath, now called Stepney.In 1740, according tothe act of Parliamentfor making it a distinct parish, and erectinga parish church, the hamlet contained 1,800 houses,and 15,000 people, being upon an average rather more than eight personsto each house. Its extent at that period is not stated. Now, however, it occupiesan area of nearly one square mite-and-a-half, and constitutes a little more than a tenth part of the metropolis. The population in 1841 was 74,088, and the numberof inhabited housesII, 782, being in the proportion of rather more than six individuals to each house, and nearly 17 housesto each acre. The averagenumber of individuals per house throughout London is 7.4, and the averagenumber of housesper acre is 5.5; so that we see, though each particular house contains one individual less, still each acre of ground has 12 housesmore built upon it than is usual throughoutLondon. From this we should naturally infer that the generality of tenementsin this district would be of a small and low-rented character;and accordingly we find, from the returns of Mr. Bestow and the other parish officers, in 1839, that the number of houses rated under £20 was about 11,200, out of 11,700 and odd. Hence we see the truth of the remark that there is no parish in or about London where there is such a mass of low-rented houses. "The housesof the weavers," says Dr. Gavin in his valuable 'Sanitary Rambling,' generally consist of two rooms on the ground floor and a work-room above. This work-room always has a large window for the admission of light during their long hours of sedentarylabour. Whole streetsof such housesaboundin Bethnal-green,and a great part of the population is made up of weavers.There are some, but not a great numberof dwellings consisting of one room only. Such housesare always of the worst description. With very few exceptions,the dwellings of the poor are destitute of most of those structural conveniences common to the better class of houses.There are never any places set aside for receiving coals; dustbins to hold the refuse of the housesare exceedingly rare, and cupboardsor closets are nearly altogetherunknown. There are never any sinks, and the fireplaces are constructedwithout the slightest regard to the convenienceor comfort of the inmates." The history of weaving in Spitalfields is interesting, and tends to elucidate several of the habits existing to this day among the class. Upon the re~ocation of the ,edict of Nantesin 1685, numerousFrenchartizansleft their native country, and took refuge in the neighbouringstates.King JamesII encouraged thesesettlers,and William III publisheda proclamation,dated April 25, 1689, for encouragingthe FrenchProtestantsto transport

54

themselvesinto this kingdom, promising them his royal protection, and to rendertheir living here comfortableand easyto them. For a considerable time the population of Spitalfields might be consideredas exclusivelyFrench; that languagewas universallyspoken, and even within the memory of personsnow living, their religious rites were performedin French,in chapelserectedfor that purpose. The weavers were, formerly, almost the only botanists in the metropolis,and their love of flowers to this dayis a strongly marked characteristic of the class. Some years back, we are told, they passedtheir leisure hours, and generally the whole family dined on Sundays, at the little gardens in the environs of London, now mostly built upon. Not very long ago there was an Entomological Society, and they were amongthe most diligent entomologistsin the kingdom. This taste, though far less general than formerly, still continuesto be a type of the class. There was at one time a Floricultural Society, an Historical Society, and a MathematicalSociety, all maintained by the operative silk-weavers; and the celebrated Dollond, the inventor of the achromatic telescope,was a weaver; so too were Simpsonand Edwards,the mathematicians,before they were taken from the loom into the employ of Government,to teach mathematicsto the cadetsat Woolwich and Chatham. Such were the Spitalfields weavers at the beginning of the present century; possessingtastesand following pursuits the refinement and intelligenceof which would be an honour and a graceto the artizan even of the presentday, but which shoneout with a double lustre at a time when the amusementsof societywere almost all of a grossand brutalizing kind. The weaverof our own time, however, though still far above the ordinary artizan, both in refinement and intellect, falls far short of the weaverof former years. Of the importanceof the silk trade, as a branchof manufacture, to the country, we may obtain some idea from the estimateof the total value of the produce,drawn up by Mr. M'Culloch, with great care, as he tells us, from the statementsof intelligent practicalmen, in all parts of the country, conversantwith the trade, and well able to form an opinion upon it. The total amountof wagespaid in the year 1836 (since when, he says,the circumstanceshave changedbut little) was upwards of £370,000; the total number of hands employed, 200,000; the interest on capital, wear, tear, profit, etc., £2,600,000; and the estimatedtotal value of the silk manufacture of Great Britain, £10,480,000.Now, accordingto the censusof the weaversof the Spitalfields district, taken at the time of the Government inquiry in 1838, and which appearsto be consideredby the weavers themselvesof a generally accuratecharacter,the number

55

of looms at work was 9,302, and those unemployed,894. But every two of the looms employed would occupy five hands; so that the total number of hands engagedin the silk manufacturein Spitalfields, in 1838, must have been more than double that numbersay 20,000. This would show about one-tenthof the silk goodsthat were produced in Great Britain in that year to have been manufactured in Spitalfields, and hencethe total value of the produceof that district must have been upwardsof one million of money, and the amount paid in wages about £370,000. Now, from inquiries made among the operatives,I find that there has been a depreciation in the value of their labour of from 15 to 20 per cent since the year 1839; so that, according to the above calculation, the total amount of wagesnow paid to the weaversis £60,000less than what it was 10 years back. By the precedingestimateit will be seenthat the averageamount of wagesin the trade would have beenin 1839 about 7s. a week per hand, and that now the wageswould be about Ss. 6d. for each of the partiesemployed. This appearsto agreewith a printed statementput forward by the men themselves,wherein it is affirmed that "the averageweekly earningsof the operative silk weaverin 1824, under the act then repealed,taking the whole body of operativesemployed, partially employed, and unemployed,was 14s. 6d. Deprived of legislative protection," they say, "there is now no meansof readily ascertainingthe averageweekly earningsof the whole body of the employedand unemployedoperativesilk weavers; but, according to the best approximation to an averagewhich can be made in Spitaltields, the averageof the weekly earningsof the operative silk weaver is now, taking the unemployedand the partially employed, with the employedof those remaining attachedto the occupation of weaver, only 4s. 9d. But this weekly average would be much less if it included those who have gone to other trades, or who have become perpetual paupers." Hence it would appear that the estimate before given of 5s. 6d. for the weekly average wages of the employed is not very far from the truth. It may therefore be safely assertedthat the operativesilk weavers, as a body, obtain £50,000worth less of food, clothing, and comfort per annumnow than in the year 1839. Now let us see what was the state of the weaverin that year, as detailed by the Governmentreport, so that we may be the better able to comprehend what his state must be at present. "Mr. Thomas Heath, of No. 8 Pedley-street,"says the Blue Book of 1839, "has been representedby many personsas one of the most skilful workmen in Spitalfields. He handedin about 40 samplesof figured silk done by him, and they appear exceedingly beautiful.

56

This weaver also gave a minute and detailed account of all his earnings for 430 weeks, being upwards of eight years, with the namesof the manufactureand the fabrics at which he worked. The sum of the grossearningsfor 430 weeksis £322 3s. 4d.; being about 14s. 11id.-say 15s. a week. He estimateshis expenses(for quillwinding, picking, etc.) at 4s., which would leave Its. net wages;but take the expensesat 3s. 6d., it is still only lls. 6d. He states his wife's earningsat about 3s. a week. He gives the following remarkable evidence:-Have you any children? No; I had two, but they are both dead,thanksbe to God! Do you expresssatisfactionat the death of your children? I do! I thank God for it. I am relieved from the burden of maintaining them, and they, poor dear creatures,are relieved from the troublesof this mortal life." If this, then, was the condition and feeling of one of the most skilful workmen, 10 yearsago, earning lls. 6d. a week, and when it was proved in evidenceby Mr. Cole that 8s. 6d. per week was the averagenet earnings of 20 plain weavers-what must be the condition and feeling of the weavernow that wageshave fallen from 15 to 20 per cent. since that period? I will now proceedto give the result of my inquiries into the subject; though, before doing so, it will be as well to make the reader acquaintedwith the precautionsadopted to arrive at a fair and unbiasedestimateas to the feelings and condition of the workmen in the trade. In the first place, having put myself in communication with the surgeonof the district, and one of the principal and most intelligent of the operatives,it was agreedamongus that we should go into a particularstreet,and visit the first six weavers'housesthat we came to. Accordingly we made the best of our way to the neareststreet. The houseswere far abovethe averageabodesof the weavers,the streetbeing wide and airy, and the housesopen at the back, with gardens filled with many-coloureddahlias. The "long lights" at top, as the attic window stretching the whole length of the house is technically called, showedthat almost the whole line of houseswere occupied by weavers. As we entered the street, a coal cart, with a chime of bells above the horse's collar, went jingling past us. Another circumstancepeculiarto the placewas the absenceof children. In such a street, had the labour of the young been less valuable, the gutters and doorstepswould have swarmed with juveniles. We knocked at the door of the first house, and, requestingpermissionto speakwith the workman on the subjectof his trade, were all three usheredup a steepstaircase,and through a trap in the floor into the "shop." This was a long, narrow apartment, with a window back and front, extending the entire length

57

of the house- running from one end of the room to the other. The man was the ideal of his class-a short spare figure, with a thin face and sunken cheeks. In the room were three looms and some spinning wheels, at one of which sat a boy winding "quills." Working at a loom was a plump, pleasant-lookinggirl, busy mak· ing "plain goods." Along the windows, on each side, were ranged small pots of fuchsias, with their long scarlet drops swinging gently backwardsand forwards, as the room shook with the clatter of the looms. The man was a velvet weaver. He was making a drab velvet for coat collars. We sat down on a wooden chair besidehim, and talked as he worked. He told us he was to have 3s. 6d. per yard for the fabric he was engagedupon, and that he could makeabout halfa-yard a day. They were six in family, he said, and he had three looms at work. He got from 20s. to 25s. for the labour of five of them, and that only when they all are employed. But one loom is generally out of work waiting for fresh "cane." Up to 1824, the price for the samework as he is now doing was 6s. The reduction, he was convinced, arose from the competition in the trade, and one mastercutting under the other. "The workmen are obliged to take the low prices, becausethey have not the meansto hold out, and they knew that if they don't take the work others will. There are always plenty of weaversunemployed,and the causeof that is owing to the lowness of prices, and the people being compelled to do double the quantity of work that they used to do, in order to live. I have made a stand against the lownessof prices, and have lost my work through refusing to take the price. Circumstances compel us to take it at last. The cupboardgets low, and the landlord comesfor his weekly rent. The mastersare all trying to undersell one another. They never will advance wages. Go get my neighbour to do it, each says, and then I'll advance. It's been a continuationof reduction for the last 26 years, and a continuation of suffering for just as long. Never a month passesbut what you hear of something being lowered. Manufacturersmay be divided into two classes-those who care for their men's comforts and welfare, and those who care for none but themselves.In the work of reduction certain housestake the lead, taking advantageof the least depressionto offer the workmen less wages.It's uselesstalking about French goods. Why, we've driven the French out of the market in umbrellas and parasols-but the people are a-starving while they're a-driving of 'em out. A little time back he'd had only one loom at work for eight persons,and lived by making away with his clothes. Labour is so low he can't afford to send his children to

58 school. He only sends them of a Sunday-can't afford it of a work-a-day." At the next house the man took rather a more gloomy view of his calling. He was at work at brown silk for umbrellas. His wife worked when she was able, but she was nursinga sick child. He had made the same work he was then engagedupon at ls. a yard not six months ago. He was to have lOd. for it, and he didn't know that there might not be anotherpenny taken off next time. Weavers were all a-getting poorer, and mastersall a-getting country houses. His master had been a-losing terrible, he said, and yet he'd just taken a country mansion. They only give you work just to oblige you as an act of charity, and not to do themselvesany good-oh no! Works 15 hours, and often more. When he knocks off at 10 at night, leaves lights up all around him -many go on till 11. All he knows is, he can't. They are possessedof greater strength than he is, he imagines. In the dead of night he can always see one light somewhere-some man "on the finish." Wakes at five, and then he can hear the looms going. Low prices arise entirely from cornpetition among the masters. The umbrella silk he was making would most likely be chargeda guinea; what would sixpenceextra on that be to the purchaser,and yet that extra sixpencewould be three or four shillings per week to him, and go a long way towards the rent? Isn't able to tell exactly what is the cause of the depression-" I only know I suffers from it- aye, that I do! I do! and have severely for some time," said the man, striking the silk before him with his clenchedfist. "The man that used to make this here is dead and buried; he died of the cholera. I went to see him buried. He had lld. for what I get lOd. What it will be next God only knows, and I'm sure I don't care- it can't be much worse." "Mary," said he, to his wife, as she sat blowing the fire with the dying infant on her lap, "how much leg of beef do we use?- 4lb., ain't it, in the week, and 3 lb. of flank on Sunday-lucky to get that, too, eh?-and that's among half a dozen of us. Now, I should like a piece of roast beef, with the potatoesdone under it, but I shall never taste that again. And yet," said he, with a savage chuckle, "that there sixpence on this umbrella would just do it. But what's that to people? What's it to them if we starve?-and there is many at that game just now, I can tell you. If we could depend upon a constancyof work, and get a good price, why we should be happy men; but I'm sure I don't know whether I shall get any more work when my 'cane's'out. My children I'm quite disheartenedabout. They must tum out in the world somewhere, but where Heaven only knows. I often bother myself over that-

59

more than my father botheredhimself over me. What's to become of us all? What'sto becomeof us all- nine thousandof us herebesideswives and children-I can't say." These two specimenswill give the reader a conception of the feelings and state of the rest of the weavers in the same street. In all there was the samewant of hope- the samedoggednessand half-indifferenceas to their fate. All agreedin referring their misery to the spirit of competition on the part of the masters,the same desire to "cut under." They all spoke most bitterly of one manufacturer, in particular, and attributed to him the ruin of the trade. One weaver said he was anxious to get to America, and not stop "in this infernal country," for he could see the object of the Government was the starvation of the labouring classes."If you was to come round here of a Sunday," said he, addressinghimself to us, "you'd hear the looms going all about; they're obligated to do it or starve. There's no rest for us now. Formerly I lived in a house worth £40 a year, and now I'm obliged to put up with this damnabledog-hole. Every year bad is getting worse in our trade, and in others as well. What's life to me? Labour-labourlabour- and for what? Why for less and less food every month. Ah, but the peoplecan't bear it much longer: flesh, and blood, and bonesmust rise againstit beforelong! " Having, then, seen and heard the opinions of six of the operatives taken promiscuously, I was desirous of being placed in a position to see different classesof the same trade. I wished to be placed in communication with some of the workmen who were known to entertainviolent political opinions. I was anxiousalso to be allowed to seeweaverswho wer~ characterisedby the possession of such tastes as formerly distinguishedthe class. Unfortunately, however, though I was kindly taken to the housesof two or three individuals of known scientific tastesand acquirements,the parties were all absentfrom their homes.I was conducted,however,in the evening, to a tavern, where severalof the weaverswho advocated the principles of the People's Charter were in the habit of assembling.I found the room half full, and immediatelyproceeded to explain to them the object of my visit, telling them that I intended to make notesof whateverthey might communicateto me, with a view to publication in The Morning Chronicle. After a short consultationamong themselves,they told me that, in their opinion, the primary causeof the depressionof the pricesamongthe weavers was the want of the suffrage. "We considerthat labour is unrepresentedin the House of Commons, and being unrepresented,that the capitalist and the landlord have it all their own way. Prices

60

have gone down among the weaverssince 1824 more than one-half. The hours of labour have decidedlyincreasedamongus, so that we may live. The weavers now generally work one-third longer than formerly, and for much less. "I know two instances," said one person, "where the weavershave to work from 10 in the morning till 12 at night, and then they only get meat once a week. The averagetime for labour before 1824 was 10 hours a day; now it is 14. In 1824 there were about 14,000 handsemployed, getting at an average 14s. 6d. a week; and now there are 9,000 hands employed, getting at an averageonly 4s. 9d. a week, at increasedhours of labour. This depreciation we attribute, not to any decreasein the demand for silk goods, but to foreign and home competition. We believe that the foreign competition brings us into competition with the foreign workman; and it is impossible for us to compete with him at the presentrate of English taxation. As regardshome competition, we are of opinion that, from the continueddesire on the part of each trade to undersell the other, the workman has ultimately to suffer. We think there is a desireon the part of every manufacturerto undersellthe other, and so get an extra amountof trade into his own hands, and make a large and rapid fortune thereby. The public, we are satisfied,do not derive any benefit from this extreme competition. It is only a few individuals, who are termed by the trade slaughterhouse-men -they alonederive benefit from the system,and the public gain no advantagewhateverby the depreciationin our rate of wages. It is our firm conviction that if affairs continue as at present,the fate of the working man must be pauperism,crime, or death." It was now growing late, and as I was anxious to see some case of destitution in the trade, which might be taken as a fair average of the state of the secondor third-rate workman, I requestedmy guide, before I quitted the district, to conduct me to some such individual, if it were not too late. He took me towardsShoreditch, and on reaching a narrow back street he stood opposite a threestoried house to see whether there was still a light shining through the long window in the attic. By the flickering shadowsthe lamp seemedto be dying out. He thought, however, that we might venture to knock. We did so, and in the silent street the noise echoed from house to house. But no one came. We knocked again still louder. A third time, and louder still, we clattered at the door. A voice from the cellar demandedto know whom we wanted. He told us to lift the latch of the street door. We did so-and it opened.The passagelooked almost solid in the darkness.My guide groped his way by the wall to the staircase,bidding me follow him.

61

I did so, and reachedthe stairs. "Keep away from the banisters," said my companion,"as they are ratherrotten and might give way." I clung close to the wall, and we groped our way to the second floor, where a light shone through the closed door in a long luminous line. At last we gained the top room, and knocking, were told to enter. "Oh, Billy, is that you?" said an old man sitting up, and looking out from betweenthe curtains of a turn-up bedstead. "Here, Tilly," he continued to a girl who was still dressed,"get another lamp, and hang it up again the loom, and give the gentleman a chair." A backlessseat was placed at the foot of the old weaver's bedstead;and when the fresh lamp was lighted, I never beheld so strange a scene. In the room were three large looms. From the head of the old weaver'sbed a clothes line ran to a loom opposite,and on it were a few old raggedshirts and petticoatshanging to dry. Under the "porry" of another loom was stretcheda secondclothesline, and more linen drying. Behind me on the floor was spreada bed, on which lay four boys, two with their headsin one direction and two in another,for the more convenientstowage of the number. They were coveredwith old sacksand coats. Beside the bed of the old man was a mattresson the ground without any covering, and the tick positively chocolate-colouredwith dirt. "Oh, Billy, I am so glad to see you," said the old weaver to my companion; "I've been dreadful bad, nearly dead with the cholera. I was took dreadful about one o'clock in the morning; just the time the good'oomandown below were taken. What agony I suffered to be sure! I hope to God you may never have it. I've known 400 die about here in 14 days. I couldn't work! Oh, no! It took all the use of my strengthfrom me, as if I'd been on a sick bed for months. And how I lived I can't tell. To tell you the real truth, I wanted, such as I never ought to want-why, I wanted for common necessaries.I got round as well as I could; but how I did it I don't know- God knows; I don't, that's true enough. I hadn't got any money to buy anything. Why, there'ssevenon us, hereyes, seven on us-all dependenton the weaving here-nothing else. What was four shillings a yard is paid one-and-ninenow, so I leavesyou to judge, sir- ain't it Billy? My work stoppedfor seven days, and I was larning my boy, so his stopped too, and we had nothing to live upon. God knows how we lived. I pawned my things-and shall never get 'em again-to buy some bread, tea, and sugar, for my young onesthere. Oh! its like a famine in these parts, just now, among the people, now they're getting well. It's no use talking about the parish; you might as well talk to a wall. There was hardly anybody well just round about here from the back of

62 ShoreditchChurch-you may say-to Swan-street.The prices of weaving is so low, that we're ashamedto say what it is, becauseit's the means of pulling down other poor men's wages and other trades. Why, to tell you the truth, you must need supposethat ls. 9d. a yard ain't much, and someof the mastersis so cruel, that they gives no more than ls. 3d. -that'sit. But it's the competitive system; that's what the Government ought to put a stop to. I knows personswho makes the same work as mine - scoreson 'em-at ls. 3d. a yard. Wretchedis their condition! The peopleis a-being brought to that state of destitution, that many say it's a blessing from the Almighty that takes 'em from the world. They lose all love of country-yes, and all hopes; and they prays to be tortured no longer. Why, want is commonto a 100 of families close here tomorrow morning; and this it is to have cheapsilks. I should like to ask a questionhere, as I seesyou a-writing, sir. When is the people of England to see that there big loaf they was promisedthat's it- the people wants to know when they're to have it. I am sure if the ladies who wears what we makes,or the Queenof England was to see our state, she'd never let her subjects suffersuch privations in a land of plenty. Yes, I was comfortablein '24. I kept a good little house, and I thought as my young ones growed upwhy I thought as I should be comfortablein my old age, and 'stead of that, I've got no wages. I could live by my labour then; but now, why it's wretchedin the extreme.Then I'd a nice little garden, and somenice tulips for my hobby, when my work was done. There they lay, up in my old hat now. As for animal food, why it's a strangerto us. Once a week, may be, we getsa tasteof it, but that's a hard struggle, and many a family don't have it once a montha jint we never sees. Oh! it's too bad! There's seven on us here in this room - but it's a very large room to someweavers'-theirs ain't about half the size of this here. The weavers is in general five or six all living and working in the same room. There's four on us here in this bed, one head to foot -one at our back along the bolster; and me and my wife side by side. And there'sfour on on 'em over there. My brother Tom makes up the other one. There's a nice state in a Christian land! How many do you think lives in this house! Why twenty-three living souls. Oh, ain't it too bad! But the people is frightened to say how bad they're off, for fear of their mastersand losing their work, so they keepsit to themselves-p oor creatures.But, oh, there's many wuss than me. Many's gone to the docks, and some turned costermongers.But none goes a stealing nor a sojering that I hearson. They goes out to get a loaf of bread-oh, it's a shocking scene! I can't say what

63

I thinks about the young uns. Why you loses your nat'ral affection for 'em. The people in general is ashamedto say how they thinks on their children. It's wretchedin the extremeto seeone'schildren, and not be able to do to 'em as a parent ought; and I'll say this here after all you've heard me state-that the Governmentof my native land ought to interpose their powerful arm to put a stop to such things. Unless they do, civil society with us is all at an end. Everybody is becoming brutal -unnatural.Billy, just turn up that shell now, and let the gentlemansee what beautiful fabrics we're in the habit of producing-and then he shall say whether we ought to be in the filthy state we are. Just show the light, Tilly! That's for ladies to wear and adorn them, and make them handsome." [It was an exquisite piece of maroon-colouredvelvet, that, amidst all the squalor of the place, seemedmarvellously beautiful, and it was a wonder to see it unsoiled amid all the filth that surrounded it.] "I say, just turn it up, Billy, and show the gentleman the back. That's cotton partly, you see, sir, just for the manufacturersto cheat the public, and get a cheaparticle, and have all the gold out of the poor working creaturesthey can, and don't care nothing about them. But death, Billy- death gets all the gold out of them. They're playing a deep game, but death wins after all. Oh, when this here's made known, won't the manufacturersbe in a way to find the public aware on their tricks. They've lowered the wagesso low, that one would hardly believe the people would take the work. But what's one to do?-the children can't quite starve. Oh no! - oh no! "

64

LETTER III Friday, October 26, 1849

There is an error in my last letter which I should like to correct before entering upon the subject of my present communication. The total amount of money paid as wagesfor the manufactureof the entire quantity of silk goods produced in Great Britain is £3,700,000,and not £370,000,as statedin my secondletter. To the intelligent reader the mis-statementwas evidently a typographical error, the produceof Spitalfields being afterwardsestimatedat onetenth of the entire quantity manufacturedthroughoutthe kingdom, and the sum paid in wagesto the operativesof that particular district alone being stated to be about £370,000. I also wish it to be known that, in reckoning the numberof handsemployedin Spitalfields at 20,000, I included those engagedin warping and winding, as well as in weaving merely, becauseMr. M'Culloch had done so in his estimate of the total produce of the country, and I was desirousof checking the accountsfurnished to me by the workmen with the data supplied to Mr. M'Culloch by the manufacturers. Some persons, looking at the earnings of the Spitalfields weaver for a particular week, may think the averageof 5s. 6d. far below the truth; and such, indeed, was the impression originally made upon myself. But, upon inquiring more closely into the matter, I found that the time that the weaversare at "play" (as they technically term being out of work) is so considerablein the course of the year, that their regular income bears no proportion to their occasionalgains. Mr. ThomasHeath, in his examinationbefore the Government Commissioner,is very explicit on this point. "There are," said the Commissioner, "many persons who represent the earningsof weaversat your branch (figured goods)as much higher than what you state." "Many personsdeceivethemselves,"was the reply, "by omitting to take into account the time which they lose by 'play' -that is, the time which they are unemployed. I took horne a piece today which I had wove in six days, and I got 30s. for it. Some people would say that my earningswere 30s. a week, but it is no such thing. I paid 4s. expenses,which reducesthe amount

65

to 26s., and then it probably will be a week of play before I am set to work again. The manufacturerwill wait till he gets an order for what I am doing. He will do no work on the chanceof sale; so it will be only 13s. a week. I have been as fortunate as most of the trade. I have never been dischargedaltogether. I have always been attachedto somewarehouse,but then I have had a great deal of play, as othershave had. I have not beenable to buy a coat for these five years." Indeed, from after inquiries made in connection with the subject, I feel satisfied that, taking the total amount of money received as wages throughout the year, 5s. 6d. is about the averageweekly earningsof each of the operativesengagedin the manufactureof silk in the neighbourhoodof Spitalfields. I shall now passfrom the weaversof Spitalfields to the labourers at the "Docks." This transition I am induced to make, not because there is any affinity between the kinds of work performed at the two places, but becausethe docks constitute as it were a sort of home colony to Spitalfields, to which the unemployed weaver migratesin the hope of bettering his condition. From this it would be generallyimagined that the work at the docks was either better paid, less heavy, or more easily, and therefore more regularly, obtained. So far from such being the fact, however, the labour at the docks appearsto be not only more onerous,but doubly as precariousas that of weaving, while the averageearningsof the entire classseemto be even less. What, then, it will be asked,constitutes the inducementfor the change?Why does the weaverabandonthe calling of his life, and forsake an occupationthat at least appears to have, and actually had, in the days of better prices, a refining and intellectual tendency?Why doeshe quit his gracefulart for the mere muscular labour of the human animal? This, we shall find, arises purely from a desire for some out-of-door employment;and it is a consequenceof all skilled labour-since the acquirementof the skill is the result of long practice-that if the art to which the operative has been educatedis abandoned,he must take to some unskilled labour as a means of subsistence.I pass, then, to the considerationof the incomingsand condition of the dock labourers of the metropolis, not becausethe classof labour is similar to that of weaving, but becausethe two classesof labourers are locally associated.I would rather have pursuedsomemore systematicplan in my inquiries, but, in the present state of ignorance as to the generaloccupationsof the poor, systemis impOssible. I am unable to generalize,not being acquaintedwith the particulars-for each day's investigationbrings me incidentally into contactwith a means of living utterly unknown among the well-fed portion of society.

66

All I can at presentassertis, that the poor appearto admit of being classified, according to their employments,under three headsArtisans, Labourers,and Petty Traders; the first classconsistingof skilled, and the secondof unskilled, workmen; while the third comprises hawkers, costermongers,and such other small dealers, who are contradistinguishedfrom the larger onesby bringing their wares to the consumerinsteadof leaving the consumerto seekthe wares. Of the skilled workmen few are so poorly paid for their labour as not to obtain a sufficiency for the satisfactionof their wants. The amount of wagesis generally considerablyabove the sum required for the positive necessaries of life- that is to say, for appeasingan appetite, or allaying a pain, rather than gratifying a desire. The class of Spitalfields weavers,however, appearto constitute a striking exception to the rule-from what causeI do not even venture to conjecture. But with the unskilled labourer the amount of remunerationis seldom much above subsistencepoint, if it be not very frequently below it. Such a labourer,commerciallyconsidered, is, as it were, a human steam-engine,supplied with so much fuel, in the shape of food, merely to set him in motion. If he can be made to perform the sameamountof work with half the consumption, why, a saving of one-half the expense is supposedto be effected. Indeed, the grand object in the labour market of the presentday appearsto be to economisehuman fuel. If the living steam-enginecan be made to work as long and as well with a less amountof coal, just so much the betteris the result considered. The dock labourers are a striking instanceof mere brute force with brute appetites. This class of labour is as unskilled as the power of a hurricane. Mere muscle is all that is needed; hence every human "locomotive" is capableof working there. All that is wanted is the power to move heavy bodies from one place to another. Mr. Stuart Mill tells us that labour in the physical world is always and solely employed in putting objects in motion; and assuredly,if this be the principal end of physical labour, the docks exhibit the perfection of human action. Dock work is preciselythe office that every kind of man is fitted to perform, and there we find every kind of man performing it. Those who are unable to live by the occupationto which they have been educatedcan obtain a living there without any previous training. Hence we find men of every calling labouring at the docks. There are decayedand bankrupt masterbutchers,masterbakers,publicans,grocers,old soldiers, old sailors, Polish refugees, broken-down gentlemen, discharged lawyers' clerks, suspended Government clerks, almsmen, pensioners, servants,thieves-indeed, everyonewho wants a loaf and

67

is willing to work for it. The London Dock is one of the few places in the metropolis where men can get employmentwithout either characteror recommendation;so that the labourersemployedthere are naturally a most incongruous assembly. Each of the docks employsseveralhundred"hands" to ship and dischargethe cargoes of the numerousvesselsthat enter; and as there are some six or sevenof such docks attachedto the metropolis,it may be imagined how large a numberof individuals are dependenton them for their subsistence.At a rough calculation, there must be at least 20,000 soulsgetting their living by suchmeans. For the presentI shall notice only the London Dock, reserving the result of my inquiries into the incomings and condition of the labourersat the other docks till my next letter. Before proceeding to give an accountof the London Dock itself, let me thus publicly tender my thanks to Mr. Powles, the intelligent and obliging secretary, for the ready mannerin which he placed the statisticsof the company at my service. Had I experienced from the deputysuperintendentthe same courtesy and consideration,the present exposition of the state of the labourers employed in the London Dock would doubtlesshave been more full and complete; but the one gentlemanseemedto be as anxious to withhold information as the other was to impart it. Indeed, I found, in the first instance, throughoutthe that the orders given by the deputy-superintendent dock to each of the different officers were that no answersshould be made to any inquiries I might put to them; and it was not until I had communicatedmy object to the secretary,that I was able to obtain the least information concerning even the number of "hands" employed at different times, or the amount of wagespaid to them. I shall now give a brief statementof the character,condition, and capacity of the London Dock, after which the description of the kind of labour performedthere, and then the classof labourersperforming it will follow in due order. The London Dock occupies an area of 90 acres, and is situate in the three parishesof St. George, Shadwell, and Wapping. The population of these three parishes,in 1841, was 55,500, and the number of inhabited houses8,000, which covereda spaceequal to 338 acres. This is in the proportion of 23 inhabited housesto the acre, and seven individuals to each house. The number of persons to each inhabited house is, despite of the crowded lodging-houses with which it abounds, not beyond the average for all London. In my last letter I showedthat Bethnal-green,which is said to possess the greatestnumber of low-rented houses,had only upon an

68

average17 inhabitedhousesto eachacre, while the averagethrough London was but 5.5 housesper acre. So that it appearsthat in the three parishesof St. George-in-the-East,Shadwell, and Wapping, the housesare more than four times more crowded togetherthan in the other parts of London, and more numerous,by half as many again, than those even in the low-rented district of Bethnal-green. This affords us a good criterion as to the characterof the neighbourhood, and consequentlyof the people living in the vicinity of the London Dock. The courts and alleys round about the dock swarm with low lodging-houses,and are inhabited either by the dock labourers, sack-makers,watermen,or that peculiar classof London poor who pick up a precarious living by the water side. The open streets themselveshave all, more or less, a maritime character.Every other shop is either stockedwith gear for the ship or for the sailor. The windows of one house are filled with quadrantsand bright brass sextants, chronometersand huge mariner's compasses,with their cards trembling with the motion of the cabs and waggonspassing in the street. Then comesthe sailor's cheapshoe-mart,rejoicing in the attractivesign of "Jack and his Mother." Every public-houseis a "Jolly Tar," or somethingequally taking. Then come sail-makers, their windows stowed with ropes and lines smelling of tar. All the grocersare provision agents,and exhibit in their windows tin cases of meat and biscuits, and every article is warrantedto keep in any climate. The corners of the streets, too, are mostly monopolized by slopsellers, their windows party-coloured with bright red and blue flannel shirts, the door nearly blocked up with hammocksand well-oiled "nor'-westers,"and the front of the house itself nearly covered with canvas trousers, rough pilot coats, and shiny black dreadnoughts.The passengersalone would tell you that you were in the maritime districts of London. Now you meet a satinwaistcoatedmate, or a black sailor with his large fur cap, or else a Custom-houseofficer in his brass-buttonedjacket. The London Dock can accommodate500 ships, and the warehouseswill contain 232,000tons of goods. The entire structurecost £4,000,000 of money. The tobacco warehousesalone cover five acresof ground. The walls surroundingthe dock cost £65,000. One of the wine vaults has an area of sevenacres,and in the whole of them there is room for stowing 60,000 pipes of wine. The warehousesround the wharfs are imposing from their extent, but are much less lofty than those at St. Katherine's, and being situated at somedistancefrom the Dock, goodscannotbe cranedout of the ship's hold and stowedaway at one operation.According to the last

69 half-yearly report, the number of ships which enteredthe London Dock during the six months ending the 31st of May last was 704, measuringupwardsof 195,000tons. The amoQntof earningsduring that period was £230,000and odd, and the amount of expenditure nearly £121,000. The stock of goods in the warehouseslast May was upwardsof 170,000tons. As you enter the dock, the sight of the forest of masts in the distance,and the tall chimneysvomiting cloudsof black smoke,and the many-coloured flags flying in the air, has a most peculiar effect; while the sheds, with the monster wheels arching through the roofs, look like the paddle-boxesof huge steamers. Along the quay you see now men with their faces blue with indigo, and now gaugerswith their long brass-tippedrule dripping with spirit from the cask they have been probing; then will come a group of flaxen-haired sailors, chattering German; and next a black sailor, with a cotton handkerchief twisted turban-like around his head. Presentlya blue-smockedbutcher, with fresh meat and a bunch of cabbagesin the tray on his shoulder,and shortly afterwardsa mate with green parakeetsin a wooden cage.Here you will seesitting on a bench a sorrowful-looking woman, with new bright cooking tins at her feet, telling you she is an emigrantpreparingfor her voyage. As you passalong this qUF\Y the air is pungentwith tobacco,at that it overpowersyou with fumes of rum. Then you are nearly sickened with the stenchof hides and huge bins of horns, and shortly afterwards the atmosphereis fragrant with coffee and spice. Nearly everywhereyou meet stacksof cork, or else yellow bins of sulphur or lead-colouredcopperore. As you enter this warehouse,the flooring is sticky, as if it had been newly tarred, with the sugarthat has leaked through the casks, and as you descendinto the dark vaults you see long lines of lights hanging from the black arches, and lamps flitting about midway. Here you sniff the fumes of the wine, and there the peculiar fungus smell of dry-rot. Then the jumble of soundsas you passalong the dock blendsin anything but sweet concord. The sailors are singing boisterousnigger songs from the Yankee ship just entering, the cooperis hammeringat the caskson the quay, the chains of the cranes, loosed of their weight, rattle as they fly up again; the ropes splash in the water; some captain shouts his orders through his hands; a goat bleats from some ship in the basin; and empty casks roll along the stoneswith a hollow drum-like sound. Here the heavyladen shipsare down far below the quay, and you descendto them by ladders, whilst in anotherbasin they are high up out of the water, so that their greencoppersheathing is almost level with the eye of the passenger,while above his

70 head a long line of bowsprits stretch far over the quay, and from them hang sparsand planksas a gangwayto eachship. This immense establishmentis worked by from one to three thousand hands, according as the businessis either "brisk" or "slack." Out of this number there are always from four to five hundred permanentlabourers, receiving upon an average 16s. 6d. per week wages, with the exceptionof coopers,carpenters,smiths, and other mechanics,who are paid the usual wagesof their crafts. Besides these there are many hundreds-from one thousand to two thousandfive hundred-casuallabourers,who are engagedat the rate of 2s. 6d. per day in the summer,and at 2s. 4d. per day in the winter months. Frequently, in case of many arrivals, extra handsare hired in the courseof the day at the rate of 4d. per hour. For the permanentlabourers a recommendationis required, but for the casual labourersno "character"is demanded.The number of the casualhandsengagedby the day dependsof courseupon the amount of work to be done, and I find that the total number of labourersin the docks varies from 500 to 3,000 and odd. On the 4th May, 1849, the number of hands engaged-both permanent and casual-was 2,794; on the 26th of the same month it was 3,012, and on the 30th it was 1,189. These appear to be the extremesof the variation for the presentyear. The fluctuation is due to a greateror less number of ships entering the dock. The lowest number of ships entering the dock in any one week last year was 29, while the highest number was 141. This rise and fall is owing to the prevalenceof easterlywinds, which serve to keep the ships back, and so make the business"slack." Now deductingthe lowest number of hands employed from the highest number, we have no less than 1,828 individuals who obtain so precariousa subsistence by their labour at the docks that, by the mere shifting of the wind, they may be all deprivedof their daily bread. Calculatingthe wages at 2s. 6d. a day for each hand, the company would have paid £376 lOs. to the 3,012 hands employed on the 26th of May last, while only £148 12s. 6d. would have been paid to the 1,189 hands engagedon the 30th of the same month. Hence not only would I ,823 hands have been thrown out of employ by the chopping of the wind, but the labouring men dependentupon the businessof the docks for their subsistencewould in one day have beendeprived of £227 17s. 6d. This will afford the reader some faint idea of the precariouscharacterof the subsistenceobtained by the labourers employedin this neighbourhood,and consequently-as it has been well proven that all men who obtain their livelihood by irregular employmentare the most intemperateand improvident of all- it

71

will be easy to judge what may be the condition and morals of a classwho today as a body may earn near upon £400, and tomorrow only £150. I had hopedto have beenable to have shown the fluctuations in the total amount of wages paid to the dock labourersfor each week throughout the whole year; and so, by contrastingthe comparativeaffluence and comfort of one week with the distress and misery of the other, to have afforded the public some more vivid idea of the body of men who are performing perhapsthe heaviest labour, and getting the most fickle provision of all. But still I will endeavourto impress him with some faint idea of the struggle there is to gain the uncertaindaily bread. Until I saw with my own eyesthis sceneof greedydespair,I could not have believed that there was so mad an eagernessto work, and so biting a want of it among so vast a body of men. A day or two before I had sat at midnight in the room of the starving weaver; but as I heardhim tell his bitter story there was a patiencein his misery that gave it more an air of heroism than desperation.But in the scenesI have lately witnessedthe want has beenpositively tragic, and the struggle for life partaking of the sublime. The readermust first remember what kind of men the casuallabourersgenerallyare. They are men, it should be borne in mind, who are shut out from the usual means of life by the want of character.Hence you are not astonishedto hear, from those who are best acquaintedwith the men, that there are hundreds among the body who are known thieves, but who come there to seek a living; so that, if taken for any past offence, their late industry may plead for some little lenity in their punishment. He who wishesto behold one of the most extraordinaryand leastknown scenes of this metropolis, should wend his way to the London Dock gatesat half-pastsevenin the morning. There he will see congregatedwithin the principal entrancemassesof men of all grades, looks, and kinds; some in half-fashionablesurtouts, burst at the elbows, with the dirty shirts showing through; others in greasy sporting jackets, with red pimpled faces; others in the rags of their half-slang gentility, with the velvet collars of their paletots worn through to the canvas;some in rusty black, with their waistcoats fastenedtight up to the throat; others,again, with the knowing thieves' curl on each side of the jaunty cap; whilst here and there you may see a big-whiskered Pole, with his hands in the pocketsof his plaited French trousers.Some loll outside the gates, smoking the pipe which is forbidden within; but these are mostly Irish. Presently you know, by the stream pouring through the gates,

72

and the rush towards particular spots, that the "calling foremen" have made their appearance.Then begins the scuffling and scrambling, and stretching forth of countlesshands high in the air, to catch the eye of him whose voice may give them work. As the foreman calls from a book the names, some men jump upon the backs of the others, so as to lift themselveshigh above the rest, and attract the notice of him who hires them. All are shouting. Some cry aloud his surname,some his christian name; others call out their own names,to remind him that they are there. Now the appealis made in Irish blarney, now in broken English. Indeed, it is a sight to sadden the most callous, to see thousandsof men struggling for only one day's hire, the scuffle being made the fiercer by the knowledgethat hundredsout of the numberthere assembled must be left to idle the day out in want. To look in the faces of that hungry crowd, is to seea sight that must be ever remembered. Some are smiling to the foreman to coax him into remembrance of them; others with their protruding eyes eager to snatchat the hoped-forpass.For weeksmany have gone there, and gone through the same struggle, the same cries, and have gone away, after all, without the work they had screamedfor. From this it might be imaginedthat the work was of a peculiarly light and pleasantkind, and so, when I first saw the scene,I could not help imagining myself; but in reality the labour is of that heavy and continuouscharacterthat you would fancy only the best fed could withstand it. The work may be divided into three classes: wheel work, or that which is moved by the musclesof the legs and weight of the body; jigger or winch work, or that which is moved by the musCles of the arm-in .each of these the labourer is stationary; but in the truck work, which forms the third class, the labourerhas to travel over a spaceof ground greateror less in proportion to the distancewhich the goods have to be removed. The wheel work is performed somewhaton the system of the treadwheel, with this exception-that the force is applied inside, instead of outsidethe wheel. From six to eight men entera woodencylinder or drum, upon which are nailed battens,and the men, laying hold of ropes, commencetreading the wheel round, occasionallysinging the while, and stampingin time in a mannerthat is pleasantfrom its curiosity. The wheel is generally16 feet in diameterand eight to nine feet broad, and the six or eight men treadingwithin it will lift from 16 to 18 hundredweight,and often a ton, 40 times in an hour, an averageof 27 feet high. Other men will get out a cargo of from 800 to 900 casks of wine, each cask averaging about 5 cwt., and being lifted about 18 feet, in a day-and-a-half.At trucking, each

73

man is said to go, on an average,30 miles a day, and two-thirds of that time he is moving It cwt. at 6t miles per hour. This labour, though requiring to be seen to be properly understood, must still appearso arduous,that one would imagine it was not of that tempting nature that 3,000 men could be found every day in London desperateenoughto fight and battle for the privilege of getting 2s. 6d. by it; and even, if they fail in "getting takev on" at the commencementof the day, that they should then retire to the appointed yard, there to remain hour after hour in the hope that the wind might blow them some stray ship, so that other "gangs" might be wanted,and the calling foremanseekthem there. It is a curious sight to see the men waiting in these yards to be hired at 4d. per hour, for such are the terms given in the after-part of the day. There, seatedon long benchesrangedagainstthe wall, they remain- some telling their miseriesand some their crimes to one another, whilst others doze away their time. Rain or sunshine, there can always be found plenty ready to catch the stray shilling or eight pennyworthof work. By the size of the shed, you can tell how many men sometimesremain there in the pouring rain rather than run the chanceof losing the stray hour's work. Someloiter on the bridges close by, and presently, as their practised eye or ear tells them that the calling foremanis in want of anothergang, they rush forward in a streamtowardsthe gate, though only six or eight at most can be hired out of the hundredor more that are waiting there. Again the same mad fight takes place as in the morning; there is the same jumping on benches,the same raising of hands, the sameentreaties,and the samefailure as before. It is strangeto mark the changethat takes place in the mannerof the men when the foreman has left. Those that have been engagedgo smiling to their labour. Indeed, I myself met on the quay just such a chuckling gang passing to their work. Those who are left behind give vent to their disappointmentin abuseof him whom they had been supplicatingand smiling at a few minutesbefore. Upon talking with some of the unsuccessfulones, they assuredme that the men who had supplantedthem had only gainedtheir endsby bribing the foreman who had engagedthem. This I madea point of inquiring into, and the deputy-warehousekeeper, of whom I sought the information, soon assuredme, by the production of his book, that he himself was the gentlemanwho chose the men, the foreman merely executing his orders; and this, indeed, I find to be the custom throughout the dock. At four o'clock the eight hours' labour ceases,and then comes the paying. The namesof the men are called out of the "Matter-

74 book," and each man, as he answersto the cry, has half-a-crown given to him. So rapidly is this done, that in a quarterof an hour the whole of the men have had their wages paid to them. They then pour towardsthe gate. Here two constablesstand,and as each man passesthrough the wicket he takeshis hat off, and is felt from head to foot by_ the dock officer and attendant.And yet, with all the want, misery, and temptation-the millions of poundsof property, amid which they work, and the thousandsof pipes and hogsheadsof wines and spirits about the docks-I am informed, on the best authority, that there are on, an average but 30 charges of drunkennessin the courseof the year, and only eight of dishonesty every month. This may perhaps arise from the vigilance of the superintendents;but to see the distressedcondition of the men who seek and gain employmentin the London Docks, it appearsalmost incredible that out of so vast a body of men, without meansand without character, there should be so little vice or crime. There still remains one curious circumstanceto be added in connection with the destitution of the dock labourers. Close to the gate by which they are obliged to leave, sits on a coping stone the "refreshment man," with his two large canvaspocketstied in front of him, and filled with silver and copper, ready to give change to those whom he has trusted for their dinner that day until they were paid. As the men passedslowly on in a double file towards the gate, I sat beside the victualler, and asked him what constituted the general dinner of the labourers. He told me that he supplied them with pea-soup,bread and cheese,saveloys,and beer. Some, he said, ha' twice as much as others. Someha' a pennyworth,someha' eatables and a pint of beer, others two pints, and others four, and some spend their whole half-crown in eating and drinking. This gave me a more clear insight into the destitution of the men who stood there each morning. Many of them, it was clear, came to the gate without the meansof a day's meal, and being hired, were obliged to go on credit for the very food they worked upon. What wonder then, that the "calling foreman" should be often carried many yards away by the struggleand rush of the men around him, seeking employmentat his hands. One gentlemanassuredme that he had been taken off his feet, and hurried a distanceof a quarter of a mile by the eagernessof the impatient crowd around him. Having made myself acquaintedwith the characterand amount of the labour performed, I next proceededto make inquiries into the condition of the labourers themselves,and thus to learn the averageamount of their wages from so precariousan occupation. For this purpose, hearing that there were several cheap lodging-

75 housesin the neighbourhood,I thought I should be better enabled to arrive at an average result by conversing with the inmates of them, and thus endeavouringto elicit from them some such statement of their earnings, at one time and at another, as would enable me to judge what was their averageamount throughoutthe year. I had heard the most pathetic accounts from men in the waiting yard how they had been six weeks without a day's hire. I had been told of others who had been known to come there day after day, in the hope of getting sixpence,and who lived upon the stray pieces of bread given to them in charity by their fellowlabourers. Of one party I was informed by a gentlemanwho had soughtout his history in pure sympathyfor the wretchednessof the man's appearance.The man had once been possessedof £500 a year, and had squanderedit all away, and, through some act or acts that I do not feel myself at liberty to state, had lost caste, character,friends, and everything that could make life easyto him. From that time he had sunk and sunk in the world, until at last he had found him with a lodging-house for his dwelling-place, the associateof thieves and pickpockets. His only means of living at this time was bone and rag grubbing, and for this purposethe man would wander through the streets, at three every morning, to see what little bits of old iron, or rag, or refuse bone, he could find in the roads. His principal source of income, I am informed from such a source as precludesthe possibility of doubt, was by picking up the refuse ends of cigars, drying them, and selling them at one halfpenny per ounceas tobaccoto the thieveswith whom he lodged. However, to arrive at a fair estimate as to the characterand earningsof the labourersgenerally, I directed my guide, after the closing of the docks, to take me to one of the largest lodginghouses in the neighbourhood.The young man who was with me happenedto know one of the labourerswho was lodging there, and having called him out, I told him the object of my visit, and requested to be allowed to obtain information from the labourers assembledwithin. The man assented,and directing me to follow him, he led me through a narrow passageinto a small room on the ground-floor, in which sat, I should think, at least 20 to 30 of the most wretched objects I ever beheld. Some were shoeless,some coatless,others shirtless, and from all these came so rank and foul a stench, that I was sickened with a moment'sinhalation of the fretid atmosphere.Some of the men were seatedin front of a table eating soup out of yellow basins. As they saw me enter they gatheredround me, and I was proceedingto tell them the information I wished to gather from them, when in staggereda drunken

76 man in a white canvassuit, who announcedhimself as the landlord of the place, asking whetherthere had beena robbery in the house, that people should come in without saying with your leave, or by your leave. I explainedto him that I had mistakenthe personwho had introduced me for the proprietor of the house,when, he grew very abusive,and declaredI should not remain there. Someof the men, however, swore as lustily that I should, and after a time succeededin pacifying him. He then bade me let him hear what I wanted, and I again briefly statedthe object of my visit. I told him I wished to publish the state of the dock labourersin the newspaper, on which the man burst into an ironical laugh, and vowed, with an oath, that he know'd me, and that the men were a set of b--y flats to be done in that way. "I know who you are well enough," he shouted.I requestedto be informed for whom he took me. "Take you for," he cried, "why, for a b--y spy. You here from the Secretaryof State-you know you do, to see how many men I've got in the house,and what kind they are." This causeda great stir among the company,and I could seethat I was mistaken for one of the detective police. I was located in so wretched a court, and so far removed from the street, with a dead wall opposite, that I knew any atrocity might be committed there almost unheard;indeed the young man who had brought me to the house had warned me of its dangerouscharacterbefore I went, but from the kind reception I had met with from other labourers,I felt no fear. At last the landlord flung the door wide open, and shrieked from between his clenched teeth, "By God, if you ain't soon mizzled I'll crack your lr---y skull open for you," and so saying he preparedto make a rush towards me, but was held back by the youth who had brought me to the place. I felt that it would be dangerousto remain; and rising, informed the man that I would not trouble him to proceedto extremities. It was now so late that I felt it would be imprudent to venture into another such house that night. So, having heard of the case of a dock-labourer,who had formerly been a clerk in a Government office, I made the best of my way to the spot I had been directedto. He lived in the top back room in a small house up anotherdismal court. I was told by the woman who answeredthe door to mount the steep stairs, as ~he shrieked out to the man's wife to show me a light. I found the man seatedon the edgeof a bed, with six young children grouped round him. These were all shoeless; and playing on the bed was an infant, with only a shirt to cover it. The room was about sevenfeet square,and, with the man and his

77 wife, there were eight human creaturesliving in it. In the middle of the apartment,upon a chair, stood a washing-tub,foaming with fresh suds, and from the white crinkled hands of the wife it was plain that I had interruptedher in her washing. On one chair close by was a heap of dirty linen, and on anotherwere flung the newly washed.There was a saucepanon the handful of fire, and the only ornamentson the mantelpiece were two flat-irons and a broken shaving-glass.On the table at which I took my notes there was the bottom of a broken ginger beer-bottle filled with soda. The man was without a coat, and wore an old tatteredand greasyblack satin waistcoat. Across the ceiling ran strings to hang the clothes upon. On my observing to the woman that I supposedshe dried the clothes in that room, she told me that they were obliged to do so, and it gave them all colds and bad eyes. On the floor was a little bit of matting, and on the shelvesin the corner one or two plates. In answerto my questionings,the man told me he had beena dock labourer for five or six years. He was in her Majesty's Stationeryoffice. When there he had £150 a year. Left through accepting a bill of exchangefor £871. He was suspendedeight years ago, and had petitioned the Lords of the Treasury, but never could get any answer. After that, he was out for two or three years, going about doing what he could get, such as writing letters." "Then," said the wife, "you went into Mr. What's-his-name'sshop." "Oh, yes," answeredthe man, "I had six months' employmentat Clerkenwell. I had 12s. a week and my board there." Before this they had lived upon their things. He had a good stock of furniture and clothing at that time. The wife used to go out for a day's work when she could get it. She used to go shelling peasin the pea season,washing, or charing-anythingshe could get to do. His father was a farmer well to do. He should say the old man was worth a good bit of money, and he would have some property at his death. "Oh, sir," said the woman, "we have been really very bad off indeed; sometimeswithout even food or firing in the depth of winter. It is not until recently that we have been to say very badly off, becausewithin the last four years has been our worst trouble. We had a very good house-a seven-roomedhouse-in Walworth, and well furnished, and very comfortable. We were in businessfor ourselvesbefore we went there. We were grocers,near Oxford-street. We lived there at the time that Aldis, the pawnbroker's, was burnt down. We might have done well, if we had not given so much credit." "I've got," said the husband, "about £90 owing me down there now. It's quite out of characterto think of getting it. At Clerkenwell I got a job at a grocer'sshop. The master

78

was in the Queen'sBench Prison, and the mistressemployedme at 12s. a week, until he went through the Insolvent Debtors Court. When he passedthe court, the businesswas sold, and of coursehe didn't want me after that. I've done nothing else but this dock labouring work for this long time. Took to it first becauseI found there was no chanceof anything else. The characterwith the bill transaction was very much against me; so, being unable to get employment in a wholesale house, or anywhere else, I applied to the docks. They require no characterat all there. I think I may sometimeshave had about seven or eight days altogether. Then I was out for a fortnight, or three weeks perhaps;and then we might get a day or two again; and on some occasion, such things aswell, say July, August, September,and October, I was in work, one year, almost the whole of those months-three years ago I think that was. Then I did not get anything, exceptingnow and then not more than about three days' work, until the next March-that was owing to the slack time. The first year I might say that I might have been employed about one-third of the time. The secondyear I was employedsix months. The third year I was very unfortunate. I was laid up for three months with bad eyes and a quinseyin the throat, through working in an ice ship. I've scarcely had anything to do since then. That is nearly 18 months ago, and since then I have had casualemployment,perhapsone, and sometimestwo days a week. It would average5s. a week the whole year. Within the last few weeks I have, through a friend, applied at a shipping merchant's,and within the month I have had five days' work with them, and nothing else, except writing a letter, which I had 2d. forthat's all the employmentI've met with myself. My wife has been at employmentfor the last three months; she has a place she goes to work at. She had three shillings a week for washing, for charing, and for mangling; the party my wife worked for has a mangle, and I go sometimesto help; for if she has got 6d. worth of washing to do at home, then I go to turn the mangle for an hour insteadof her, she'snot strong enough." "We buy most bread," said the wife, "and a bit of firing, and I do manageon a Saturdaynight to get them a bit of meat for Sunday,if I possibly can; but what with the soap, and one thing and another, that's the only day they do get a bit of meat, unless I've a bit given me. As for clothing, I'm sure I can't get them any, unless I have that given me-poor little things." "Yes, but we have managedto get a little more bread lately," said the man. "When bread was lld. a loaf, that was the time when we was worse off. Of course we had the sevenchildren alive then. We only buried one three months ago. She was an

79 afflicted little creature for 16 or 17 months; it was one person's work to attend to her, and we was very badly off for a few months then. We've known what it is sometimesto go without bread and coals in the depth of winter. Last Christmastwo years we did so for. the whole day, until the wife came home in the evening, and brought, it might be, 6d. or 9d., according how long she worked. I was looking after them. I was at home ill. I have known us to sit several days, and not have more than 6d. to feed and warm the whole of us for the whole of the day. We buy half a quarternloaf, that'll be 4td., or sometimes5d., and then we have ld. for coals; that would be pretty nigh all that we could have for our money. Sometimeswe get a little oatmeal and make gruel. We had hard work to keep the children warm at all. What with their clothes and what we had, we did as well as we could. My children is very contented; give 'em bread, and the're as happy as all the world. That's one comfort. For instance,today we've had half a quartern loaf, and we had a piece left of last night's, after I came home. I had been earning some money yesterday.We had two ouncesof butter, and I had this afternoon a quarter of an ounce of tea, and a pennyworthof sugar. When I was ill I've had two or three of the children around me, fretting, at a time, for want of food. That was at the time I was ill. A friend gave me half a sovereignto bury my child. The parish provided me with a coffin, and it cost me about 3s. besides. We didn't have her taken away from here not as a parish funeral exactly. I agreed that if he would fetch it, and let it stand in an open place that he has got there near his shop until the Saturday,which was the time, I would give the undertaker3s. to let a man come with a pall to throw over the coffin, so that it should not be seen exactly that it was a parish funeral. Even the people in the housedon't know, not one of them, that it was buried in that way. I had to give ls. 6d. for a pair of shoesbefore I could follow my child to the grave, and we paid ls. 9d. for rent, all out of the half sovereign. I think there's some people at the docks a great deal worse off than us. I should say that there'smen go down there and stand at that gate from seven to 12, and then they may get called in and earn a shilling, and that only for two or three days in the week, after spendingthe whole of their time there."

80

LETTER IV Tuesday,October 30, 1849

The sceneswitnessedat the London Docks were of so painful a description- the struggle for one day's work - the scramblefor 24 hours' extra subsistenceand extra life were of so tragic a character-that I was anxious to ascertain,if possible, the exact number of individuals in and around the metropolis who live by dock labour. At one of the docks alone I found that 1,823 stomachs would be deprived of food by the mere chopping of the breeze. "It's an ill wind," saysthe proverb, "that blows nobody any good;" and until I came to investigatethe condition of the dock labourer, I could not have believed it possiblethat near upon two thousand souls, in one place alone, lived, chameleon-like,upon the air; or that an easterlywind, despite the wise saw, could deprive so many of bread.It is indeed"a nipping and an eagerair." That the sustenance of thousandsof families should be as fickle as the very breeze itself; that the weathercockshould be the index of daily want or daily easeto such a vast numberof men, women and children, was a climax of misery and wretchednessthat I could not haveimagined to exist; and since then I have witnessedsuch scenesof squalor, and crime, and suffering, as oppressthe mind even to a feeling of awe. The docks of London are, to the superficial observer, the very focus of metropolitan wealth. The cranescreak with the mass of riches. In the warehousesare stored goods that are, as it were, ingots of untold gold. Above and below ground you see piles upon piles of treasurethat the eye cannot compass.The wealth appears as boundlessas the very sea it has traversed.The brain achesin an attempt to comprehendthe amount of riGhes before, above, and beneathit. There are acres upon acres of treasure-more than enough,one would fancy, to stay the cravings of the whole world; and yet you have but to visit the hovels grouped round about all this amazing excessof riches, to witness the same amazing excess of poverty. If the incomprehensibility of the wealth rises to sublimity, assuredlythe want that co-existswith it is equally incom-

81

prehensible and equally sublime. Pass from the quay and warehousesto the courts and alleys that surround them, and the mind is as bewildered with the destitution of the one place, as it is with of the other. Many come to seethe riches, but the superabundance few the poverty aboundingin absolutemassesround the far-famed port of London. According to the official returns, there belongedto this port, on the 31st of December,1842, very nearly 3,000 ships, of the aggregate burden of 600,000 tons. Besidesthesethere were 239 steamers of 50,000 tons burden; and the crews of the entire numberof ships and steamersamountedto above 35,000 men and boys. The number of British and foreign ships that entered the port of London during the same year was 6,400 and odd, whose capacity was upwardsof a million and a quarterof tons; and the grossamountof Customs duty collected upon their cargoes was very nearly £12,000,000of money. So vast an amount of shipping and commerce, it has been truly said, was never concentratedin any other single port. Now, against this, we must set the amount of misery that coexists with it. We have shown that the massof men dependentfor their bread upon the businessof only one of the docks, are by the shifting of the breeze occasionallydeprived in one day of no less than £220-the labourersat the London Docks earning,as a body, near upon £400 today, and tomorrow scarcely £150. These docks, three being on however, are but one of six similar establishmentsthe north and three on the south side of the Thames-and all employing a greateror less number of "hands," equally dependent upon the winds for their subsistence.Deducting, then, the highest from the lowest number of labourers engaged at the London Docks- the extremesaccording to the books are under 500 and over 3,000-we have as many as 2,500 individuals deprived of a day's work and a living by the prevalenceof an easterlywind; and calculating that the same effect takes place at the other docksthe East and West India, for instance,St. Katharine's,Commercial, Grand Surrey, and East Country, to a greateror less extent, and that the handsemployedto load and unload the vesselsenteringand quitting all these places are only four times more than those required at the London Docks, we have as many as 12,000individuals, or families, whosedaily breadis as fickle as the wind itself- whose wages, in fact, are one day collectively as much as £1,500, and the next as low as £500; so that 8,000 men are frequently thrown out of employ, while the earningsof the class today amount to £1,000 less than they did yesterday.

82

It would be curious to take the averagenumber of days that easterlywinds prevail in London throughoutthe year, and so arrive at an estimate of the exact time that the above 8,000 men are unemployedin the course of 12 months. This would give us some idea of the amount of their average weekly earnings. By the labourers themselves I am assured that, taking one week with another, they do not gain 5s. weekly throughout the year. I have made a point of visiting and interrogatinga large numberof them, in order to obtain some definite information respectingthe extent of their income, and have found in only one instancean account kept of the individual earnings. In that case the wages averaged within a fraction of 13 shillings per week-the total sum gained since the beginning of the year being £25 odd. I should state, however, that the man earning thus much was pointed out to me as one of the most provident of the casuallabourers,and one, moreover, who was generally employed. "If it is possible to get work, he'll have it," was the description given to me of his character"there's not a lazy bone in his skin." Besidesthis, he had done a considerablequantity of piece-work; so that altogetherthe man's earningsmight be taken as the very extrememadeby the bestkind of extra "hands." The accountwas written in pencil, on the cover of an old memorandumbook, and ran as follows: £ sd Earned by day work from 1st January to 1st August, 1849, averaging lls. 10d. per week ... 16 11 6 By piece-work in August, averaging ll. 6s. 5d. per week 55 8 By day work from 1st Septemberto 1st October, averaging 17s. ltd. per week 387 Total, averaging 12s. 1I!d. per week

25 5 9

The man himself gives the following explanatio'nas to the state of the labour-marketat the London Docks: "He has had a good turn of work," he says, "since he has been there. Some don't get half what he does. He's not always employed, exceptingwhen the businessis in any way brisk, but when a kind of 'slack' comes,the recommendedmen get the preferenceof the work, and the 'extras' have nothing to do. This is the best summer he has had since he has been in London. Has had a good bit of piece-work. Obliged to live as he does, becausehe can't dependon work. Isn't certain of the secondday's labour. He's paid off every night, and can't say whetheror not they'll want him on the morrow."

83

If, then, 13s. be the averageamount of weekly earningsby the most provident, industrious, and fortunate of the casual labourers at the docks-and that at the best season-it may be safely assertedthat the lowest grade of workmen there do not gain more than 5s. per week throughout the year. It should be remembered that the man himself says "some don't get half what he does"and, from a multiplicity of inquiries that I have made upon the subject, this appearsto be about the truth. Moreover, we should bear in mind that the averageweekly wagesof the dock labourer, miserable as they are, are rendered even more wretched by the uncertain characterof the work upon which they depend. Were the income of the casual labourer at the dock, five shillings per week from one year's end to another, the workman would know exactly how much he had to subsistupon, and might therefore be expectedto display some little providence and temperancein the expenditureof his wages. But where the meansof subsistenceoccasionally rise to 15 shillings a week, and occasionallysink to nothing, it is absurd to look for prudence,economy,or moderation.Regularity of habits are incompatible with irregularity of incomeindeed,the very conditionsnecessaryfor the formation of any habit whatsoeverare, that the act or thing to which we are to become habituated should be repeatedat frequent and regular intervals. It is a moral impossibility that the class of labourerswho are only occasionally employed should be either generally industrious or temperate;both industry and temperancebeing habits producedby constancyof employmentand uniformity of income. Hence,where the greatestfluctuation occursin the labour, there of coursewill be the greatest idleness and improvidence; where the greatest want generally is, there we shall find the greatest occasional excess; where, from the uncertainty of the occupation, prudenceis most needed,there, strange to say, we shall meet with the highest imprudenceof all! "Previousto the formation of a canal in the north of Ireland," says Mr. Porter, in the Progressof the Nation, "the men were improvident even to recklessness.Such work as they got before came at uncertain intervals; the wages, insufficient for the comfortablesustenanceof their families, were wastedat the whiskyshop, and the men appearedto be sunk in a stateof hopelessdegradation. From the moment, however, that work was offered to them which was constant in its nature and certain in its duration, men who before had been idle and dissolute were convertedinto sober, hard-working labourers, and proved themselveskind and careful husbandsand fathers; and it is said that, notwithstandingthe distribution of several hundred pounds weekly in wages, the whole of

84 which must be consideredas so much additional money placed in their hands, the consumptionof whisky was absolutely and permanentlydiminished in the district. Indeed, it is a fact worthy of notice, as illustrative of the tendency of the times of pressure,and consequentlyof deficient and uncertainemployment,to increasespirit drinking, that whilst in the year 1836-a year of the greatestprosperity-the tax on British spirits amountedonly to £2,390,000; yet, under the privations of 1841, the English poorer classespaid no less than £2,600,000in taxes upon the liquor they consumed- thus spendingupwards of £200,000more in drink at a time when they were lessable to afford it, and so proving that a fluctuation in the income of the working classesis almost invariably attendedwith an excessof improvidence in the expenditure.Moreover, with referenceto the dock labourers, we have been informed, upon unquestionableauthority, that some years back there were near upon 220 ships waiting to be discharged in one dock alone; and such was the pressureof businessthen, that it becamenecessaryto obtain leave of her Majesty's Customs to increasethe usual time of daily labour from eight to 12 hours. The men employed,therefore,earned50 per cent. more than they were in the habit of doing at the briskesttimes; but so far from the extra amount of wages being devoted to increasethe comforts of their homes,it was principally spent in public-houses.The riot and confusion thus createdin the neighbourhoodwere such as had never been known before, and indeed were so general among the workmen, that every respectableperson in the immediate vicinity expresseda hope that such a thing as "overtime" would never occur again. It may, then, be safely assertedthat, though the wages of the casual labourer at the docks average5s. per week, still the weekly earningsare of so precariousand variable a nature, that, when the time of the men is fully employed,the money which is gainedover and above the amount absolutelyrequired for subsistenceis almost sure to be spent in intemperance; andthat, when there is little or no demandfor their work, and their gains are consequentlyinsufficient for the satisfaction of their appetites, they, and those who dependupon their labour for their food, must at leastwant -if not starve. The improvidenceof the casualdock laboureris due, therefore, not to any particular malformation of his moral constitution, but to the precariouscharacterof his calling. His vices are the vices of ordinary human nature. Ninety-nine in every hundredsimilarly circumstancedwould commit similar enormities. If the very winds could whistle away the food and firing of wife and children, I doubt

85

much whether, after a week or a month's privation, we should many of us be able to prevent ourselvesfrom falling into the very same excesses.It is consoling to moralize in our easy chairs, after a good dinner, and to assureourselvesthat we should do differently. Self-denial is not very difficult when our stomachsare full and our backs are warm; but let us live a month of hunger and cold, and assuredlywe shouldbe as self-indulgentas they. Since my last letter I have devoted my time to the investigation of the state of the casual labourers at the other docks, and shall now proceedto set forth the result of my inquiries. The West India Docks are about a mile and a half from the London Docks. The entire ground that they cover is 295 acres, so that they are nearly three times larger than the London Docks, and more than 12 times more extensive than those of St. Katharine. Hence they are the most capaciousof all the great warehousingestablishmentsin the port of London. The Export Dock is about 870 yards, or very nearly half a mile in length by 135 yards in width, its area, therefore, is about 25 acres. The Import Dock is the samelength as the Export Dock, and 166 yards wide. The South Dock, which is appropriated both to import and export vessels, is I, 183 yards, or upwardsof two-thirds of a mile long, with an entranceto the river at eachend; both the locks, as well as that into the Blackwall Basin, being 45 feet wide, and large enough to admit ships of 1,200 tons burden. The warehousesfor imported goods are on the four quays of the Import Dock. They are well contrived and of great extent, being calculatedto contain 180,000tons of merchandise;and there has been at one time on the quays and in the sheds, vaults, and warehouses,colonial produceworth £20,000,000sterling. The East India Docks are likewise the propertyof the West India Dock Company, having been purchasedby them of the East India Company at the time of the opening of the trade to India. The Import Dock here has an area of 18 acres, and the Export Dock about nine acres. The depth of water in thesedocks is greater,and they can consequentlyaccommodateships of greater burden, than any other establishmenton the river. The capital of both establishments, or of the united company, amounts to upwards of two millions of money. The West India Import Dock can accommodate 300 ships, and the Export Dock 200 ships, of 300 tons each; and the East India Import Dock 84 ships, and the Export Dock 40 ships, of 800 tons each. The number of ships that entered the West India Dock to load and unload last year was 3,008, and the number that enteredthe East India Dock 298. I owe the above information, as well as that which follows, to

86

the kindness of the secretaryand superintendentof the docks in question. To the politenessand intelligenceof the latter gentleman I am specially indebted. Indeed, his readinessto afford me all the assistancethat lay in his power, as well as his courtesy and gentlemanly demeanour, formed a marked contrast to that of of the London Docks-the one appearthe de.puty sup~rintendent ing as anxious for the welfare and comfort of the labouring men as the other seemed indifferent to it. The transition from the London to the West India Docks is of a very peculiar character. The labourers at the latter place seem to be more civilized. The scrambling and scuffling for the day's hire, which is the striking feature of the one establishment,is scarcelydistinguishableat the other. It is true there is the samecrowd of labourersin quest of a day's work, but the struggle to obtain it is neither so fierce nor so disorderly in its character. And yet here the casual labourersare men from whom no characteris demandedas well as there. The amount of wages for the summer months is the same as at the London Docks. Unlike the London Docks, ho\''ever, no reduction is madeat the Eastand West India Docks during the winter. The labour is as precariousat the one establishmentas at the other. The greatestnumber of handsemployedfor any one day at the East and West India Docks, in the course of last year, was nearly 4,000, and the smallest number about 1,300. The lowest numberof ships that enteredthe docks during any one week in the present year was 28, and the highest number, 209; being a difference of 181 vessels,of an averageburden of 300 tons each. The positive amount of variation, however, which occurred in the labour during the briskest and slackestweeks of last year, was a difference of upwards of 2,500 in the number of extra workmen employed,and of about £2,000in the amountof wagespaid for the six days' labour. I have been favoured with a return of the number of vessels that entered the East and West India Docks for each week of the presentyear, and I subjoin a statementof the number arriving in each of the first 14 of those weeks. In the first week of all there were 86, the second47, the third 43, the fourth 48, the fifth 28, the sixth 49, the seventh46, the eighth 37, the ninth 42, the tenth 47, the eleventh 42, the twelfth 131, the thirteenth 209, and the fourteenth85. Henceit appearsthat in the secondweek the numberof ships coming into dock decreasednearly one-half; in the fifth week they were again diminished in a like proportion, while in the sixth week they were increasedin a similar ratio; in the twelfth week they were more than three times what they were in the eleventh;in the thirteenth the numberwas half as much again as it

87

was in the twelfth; and in the fourteenth it was down below half the numberof the thirteenth; so that it is clear that the subsistence derived from dock labour must be of the most fickle and doubtful kind. Nor are the returnsfrom St. KatharineDocks of a more cheerful character. Here, it should be observed, that no labourer is employed without a previous recommendation;and indeedit is curious ·to notice the difference in the appearanceof the men applying for work at this establishment.They not only have a more decent look, but they seem to be better behaved than any other dock labourersI have yet seen.The "ticket" systemhere adopted-that is to say, the plan of allowing only such personsto labour within the docks as have been satisfactorilyrecommendedto the company, and furnished with a ticket by them in return - this ticket system, says the statementwhich has been kindly drawn up expresslyfor me by the superintendentof the docks, "may be worth notice at a time when such efforts are making to improve the condition of the labourers. It gives an identity and locus standi to the men which casual labourers cannot otherwise possess;it connectsthem with the various grades of officers under whose.eyes they labour, prevents favouritism, and leads to their qualifications and conduct being noted and recorded. It also holds before them a reward for intelligence, activity, and good conduct, becausethe vacanciesin the list of 'preferable' labourers which occur during the year are invariably filled in the succeedingJanuaryby selecting, upon strict inquiry, the best of the 'extra' ticket labourers-the vacancies among the permanentmen being supplied in like mannerfrom the list of 'preferable' labourers, while from the permanentmen are appointedthe subordinateofficers, as markers,samplers,"etc. Let us, however, before entering into a description of the class and number of labourersemployed at St. Katharine's,give a brief description of the docks themselves.The lofty walls which constitute it, in the languageof the Custom-house,a place of "special security," enclosean area of 23 acres, of which 11 are water, capable of accommodating120 ships, besidesbargesand other craft. Cargoesare raised into the warehousesout of the hold of a ship without the goods being depositedon the quay. The cargoescan be raised from the ship's hold into the warehousesof St. Katharine's in one-fifth of the usual time. Before the existence of docks, a month or six weeks was taken up in discharging the cargo of an East India-man of from 800 to 1,200 tons burden; while eight days were necessaryin the summerand 14 in the winter to unload a ship of 350 tons. At St. Katharine's, however, the average time now

88 occupiedin discharginga ship of 250 tons is 12 hours, and one of 500 tons two or three days, the goodsbeing placedat the sa:metime in the warehouse;there have been occasionswhen even greater despatch has been used, and a cargo of 1,100 casks of tallow, averagingfrom nine to 10 hundredweighteach,hasbeendischarged in seven hours. This would have been consideredlittle short of a miracle on the legal quays less than 50 years ago. In 1841 about 1,000 vessels and 10,000 lighters were accommodatedat St. Katharine's Docks. The capital expendedby the dock company exceedstwo millions of money. The businessof this establishmentis carried on by 35 officers, 105 clerks and apprentices,135 markers, samplers,and foremen, 250 permanentlabourers, 150 preferable ticket labourers, and a number of extra ticket labourers, proportioned to the amount of work to be done. The average number of labourers employed, "permanent," "preferable," and "extras," is 1,096; the highest number employed on any one day last year was 1,713, and the lowest number 515, so that the extreme fluctuation in the labour appearsto be very nearly 1,200 hands. The lowest sum of money, therefore, that was paid in 1848 for the day's work of the entire body of labourers employed was £64 7s. 6d., and the highest sum £2142s. 6d., being a difference of very nearly £150 in one day, or £900 in the courseof the week. The averagenumber of ships that enter the docks every week is 17; the highest number that entered in any one week last year was 36, and the lowest five, being a difference of 31. Assuming these to have been of an averageburden of 300 tons, and that every such vesselwould require 100 labourers to dischargeits cargo in three days, then 1,500 extra hands ought to have beenengagedto dischargethe cargoesof the entire number in a week. This, it will be observed,is very nearly equal to the highest numberof labourersemployedby the companyin the year 1848. The remaining docks are the Commercial Docks and timber ponds, the Grand Surrey Canal Dock at Rotherhithe,and the East Country Dock. The Commercial Docks occupy an area of about 49 acres, of which four-fifths are water. There is accommodation for 350 ships, and in the warehousesfor 50,000 tons of merchandise.They are appropriatedto vesselsengagedin the European timber and corn trades and the surroundingwarehousesare used chiefly as granaries- the timber remainingafloat in the dock until it is conveyedto the yards of the wholesaledealerand builder. The Surrey Dock is merely an entrancebasin to a canal, and can accommodate 300 vessels. The East Country Dock, which adjoins the

89 Commercial Docks on the south, is capableof receiving 28 timber ships. It has an area of 6t acres, and warehouseroom for 3,700 tons. In addition to these, there is the Regent'scanal Dock, between Shadwell and Limehouse, and though it is a place for bonding timber and deals only, it neverthelessaffords great accommodation to the trade of the port by withdrawing chipping from the river. The number of labourers, casual and permanent,employed at these various establishmentsis so limited, that, taken altogether, the fluctuationsoccurring at their briskestand slackestperiodsmay be reckonedas equal to that of St. Katharine's.Hence the account of the variation in the total number of hands employed, and the sum of money paid as wages to them by the different dock companies, when the business is brisk or slack, may be stated as follows:At the London Docks the difference between the greatest 2,000hands. and smallest number is 2,500 At the East and West India Docks At the St. Katharine Docks .. . 1,200 " 1,300 At the remaining docks (say) .. . Total number of dock-labourersthrown out of employ by 7,000 the prevalenceof easterlywinds The difference between the highest and lowest amount of £1,500 wagespaid at the London Docks is 1,875 At the East and West India Docks ... 900 At the St. Katharine Docks ... 975 At the remaining docks £5,250

From the above statement,then, it "appearsthat by the prevalence of an eaterly wind, no less than 7,000 out of the aggregate number of personsliving by dock labour may be deprived of their regular income, and the entire body may have as much as £5,250 a week abstractedfrom the amount of their collective earningsat a period of active employment. But the number of individuals who dependupon the quantity of shipping entering the port of London for their daily subsistenceis far beyond this amount. Indeed, we are assuredby a gentlemanfilling a high situationin St. Katharine's Docks, and who from his sympathy with the labouring poor has evidently given no slight attention to the subject, that, taking into consideration the number of wharf labourers, dock labourers, lightermen, riggers and lumpers, shipwrights, caulkers, ship carpenters, anchor smiths, corn porters, fruit and coal meters, and

90

indeed all the multifarious arts and callings connectedwith shipping, there are no less than from 25,000 to 30,000 individuals who are thrown wholly out of employ by a long continuanceof easterly winds. Estimating, then, the gains of this large body of individuals at 2s. 6d. per day, or 15s. per week, when fully employed,we shall find that the loss to those who dependupon the London shipping for their subsistenceamountsto £20,000per week; and considering that such winds are often known to prevail from a fortnight to three weeks at a time, it follows that the entire loss to this large class will amount to from £40,000 to £60,000 within a month; an amount of privation to the labouring poor which it is positively awful to contemplate.Nor is this the only evil connectedwith an enduring easterly wind. Directly a changetakes place, a "glut" of vesselsenters the metropolitan port, and labourersflock from all quarters, indeed they pour from every part where the workmen exist in a greaterquantity than the work. From 500 to 800 vessels frequently arrive at one time in London, after the duration of a contrary wind; and then, such is the demandfor workmen, and so great the pressof business,owing to the rivalry among merchants, and the desire of each owner to have his cargo the first in the market, that a sufficient number of handsis scarcelyto be found. Hundreds of extra labourers, who can find labour nowhere else, are thus led to seekwork in the docks. But, to use the words of our informant, two or three weeks are sufficient to break the neck of an ordinary glut, and then the vast amountof extra handsthat the excessof businesshas brought to the neighbourhoodare thrown out of employment,and left to increaseeither the vagabondismof the neighbourhood, or to swell the number of paupers and heightenthe ratesof the adjacentparishes. This may in some measureaccountnot only for the poverty and wretchednessof the people located in the many courts and alleys round about the docks, but it seemsalso to afford a ready explanation as to the amountof crime to be found there. As we said before, uncertain employment destroys all habits of prudence; and where there is no prudence,the presentaffluence cannot be made to provide for the future want. Since it is the very necessityof those who dependupon their daily work for their daily food, that if such work is not to be obtained, they must be either paupers, beggars, or thieves, it cannot be wondered at that the great majority of the population round about the port of London, where work is of such a precariousnature,should consistprincipally of thesethree classes. That such was the fact we had been assuredby those whose long residencein the neighbourhoodhad madethem acquaintedwith the

91

condition of the lower classes abounding in the purlieus of Rosemary-laneand the Minories. A few days ago I made an attempt to fathom the secretsof one of the low lodging-housesin the neighbourhood;and though I had proof demonstrativethat the endeavourwas attendedwith considerablepersonalrisk, still I was determinedto compassmy end, so as to be able to give the public some idea of the misery and crime that infested that part of the town. Entrusting myself to an experiencedguide, I was led to one of the most frequentedand cheapestlodging-housesin the neighbourhood. It was a large-sizedout-house,about the size of a small barn, and about as rudely put together. The walls were unplastered,and the tiles above barely servedto cover it in. In the wet weatherwe were told it leaked like a sieve. Around the room ran a long dirty table, at which sat some score of ragged, greasy wretches. The others were huddled round the fire. Some were toasting herrings, others drying ends of cigars for tobacco, and others boiling potatoes in coffee-pots. I soon communicatedto them the object of my visit; and having inquired how many of them out of those then present worked at the docks, I found them ready to answer my questionsin a more courteousmanner than I had expected.There were 29 people in the shed, and about a fourth were occasional dock labourers. "I worked at the docks half a day this afternoon," said one, "and all yesterday, and half a day on Monday-three days last week, and never above two or three days in the week these last nine weeks." This one appearedto have been about the most successfulof the number; and when I asked the rest what they did when they were wholly unemployed,the answerwas, they were forced to walk the streets all night, and starve. "There are plenty of us," said another, "who have to walk the streets of a night, though 'the bunks' (beds) are only two-pence here, and there's no other crib so cheap anywherenear." I askedthose who spoke of having walked the streetsall night till daylight what they had done for food? "I've been two days," cried one, "without taste or sup;" and one in the corner, with his head down, and his chin resting on his chest, cried, "I've been three days without foodhaven't had a bit in the world." "Ah! it's plaguy hard times, in the winter time with us, that it is," said a youth who could not have beenmore than 17. "Average it all the year round," cried a tall fellow in a canvassmock, "I've worked 11 years in the dock as an extra, and it don't give more than 5s. in the week. Why, we're very often three or four weeks and earn nothing in the winter time." "But you must get

92 something,"I said. "Yes, we goesabout jobbing, doing things down at Billingsgate. We gets a twopennyand a three-halfpennyjob very often. If we don't get that, we have to go without anything for lodging, and walk and starve." "I'll have to do that tonight," sir, cried the man at the corner of the room, who still sat with his chin on his chest- "I'll have to walk the streetsall night." "Yes," said a second, "and there's another besideshim that'll be obligated to walk the streets. The Refuge isn't open yet." I asked them what they usually had to eat. One had had "taters and herrings and a pound of bread." Another, "a pound of bread and a farthing's worth of coffee." "I've had two or three hard crusts," cried the man again who sat alone at the end of the room. "That's about the living we all has," I was told. "When we go without food all day," they said, "it's generally the depth of winter, wet weather,or something like that. We give those that want a bit of ours, whatever it may be. We gatherall round for him if we can." I asked them how much money they had got. "I've got 4d.," cried one. "I've got Is. 3d.," cried another. "I've got just enough for me bed." "I've got three-halfpence.""I've got I d." "I haven't one halfpenny," said the man at the end of the room. "No more have I," cried a second."There'sanotherone here hasn'tgot one," exclaimeda third. "Ah, if you was to come a here tomorrow night, you'd find half of us had not got any-full half." At this moment a boy about 13 years of age, in rags and tatters, with his hands full of halfpence, entered the room. There was a cunning about his expressionthat half told his calling. "What's he been at?" said our guide, "spouting a fogle, think you?" At this there was a loud laugh all through the company. "He's beenon the monkey, sir." I requestedan explanation, and was informed that he had been begging. The boy had retired to the further corner of the apartmentand was busy changinghis clothes. "Do you see,sir," said one of the company, "he's going to call at the same houses over again- he's changing his dress ready for it." "I'll lend you my cap, Jim," said a lad to the young but experiencedmendicant. I askedthem whether they all usually slept there of a night. "Bless you," was the answer, "I've known many here six months without sleepingin a bed." One of the youths saw me writing, and cried as he laughed, "Ah, they'll make a good play of this here, and have it out at the Standard." "I've been for the whole winter round," said a beardlessyoung man, " and never slept in a bed at a stretch. I laid for three solid monthson Billingsgate stones.Somehere lives by begging, but I don't; there's two in the place now." The boy who had enteredwith the halfpencehereapproachedme, and, look-

93

ing up impudently in my face, cried, "I lives by cadging master, and that's the plain truth. I get sometimes4d.; had two sixpenny jobs today, carrying gentlemen'sparcels." I wished to know something more definite about their living. I asked one what he was boiling; he told me that it was a farthing's worth of coffee, and that was his supper."There'sa shop round here makesfarthing's worths of everything," said they. "A farthing's worth of sugar,a farthing's worth of coffee, butter, and bacca. A halfpenny worth of breada farthing's worth of that ain't no good." I then inquired as to the stateof their clothing. "I've got a clean shirt to put on tomorrow morning, and that's the first I've had these eight months," cried the first. "I've got no shirt at all," said another. "I've none," said a third; "and the man down there ain't got none, I know;" he spoke of the same man at the far end of the room. Next I soughtto find out how many amongthe numberhad been confined in prison. "I've been in quod, sir, I have," cried one. "I've been in, too," shouteda second. And finding the answersto come too quickly for me to take down, I requestedthose who had been inmatesof a gaol to hold up their hands.They did so, and I counted 18 out of the 29 who were my companions. "Ah, there's quite that," said the best-looking man of the party; "if the whole 29 of us was down, it would not be too much, I'm sure." The young beggar-boyhere advancedagain to me, and with a knowing wink, cried, "I can't tell how many times I've been in- oh! it's above counting. I'm sureit's abovea dozentimes." I wished to see the size of the farthing's worth of coffee and sugar that they had spoken of as constituting their meals, and I spoke to the gentlemanwho had brought me to the place as to the possibility of getting a sample of the quantity. He directed me to give one of the boys a shilling, saying the lad would fetch what I wanted. Seeingthat I hesitateddoing as he requested,he took one from his purse, and giving it to a lad of the name of Dan, whose physiognomywas not of the most prepossessing description,he told him to go for what I wished. The boy quitted the room, and I must confessI never expectedto see him enter it again. I now asked the lodgers the reasonwhy they preferred theft to work. "We don't," was the answer; "its precioushard work having to walk the street, I can tell you; but we can't get nothing to do." "Look at me," cried one standingup. The man was literally a mass of rags and filth. His tattered clothes and shirt were black and shiny as a sailor's dreadnoughtwith greaseand dirt. "Look at me; who'd give me a day's work in the state I am! Why, the best job

94 I've had I only got 3d. by, and I don't make above 2s. 6d. a week honestly at the outside. We couldn't live on what we get, and yet we can live on a precious little here. Get a meal for five farthings. A farthing's worth of coffee, a farthing's worth of sugar, and half a pound of bread, three farthings. We can have a slap-up dinner for two-pence; a common one for a penny." "Oh, yes, a regular roarer for two-pence!" cried the beggar boy. "Three halfpennyworth of pudding, and a halfpenny-worthof gravy." "Or else we can have," said another, "2t lb. of taturs-that's a penny-and t lb. fourpenny bacon-that's anotherpenny. That's what we calls a first-rate dinner. Very often we're forced to put up with a penn'orth of taturs and a halfpenny herring-that's a threehalfpenny dinner. There'sa chap here was forced to do today with a ha'p'orth of taturs. He's been out ever since, and perhapswon't come in at all tonight. He'll walk the streetsand starve." At this point the boy came back with the farthing's worth of coffee and sugar, and to my utter astonishmentproducedthe 11td. of change. He was without shirt to his back or shoe to his foot, and when I asked him whetherhe had ever been in prison, he told me he had been "quodded" three times for vagrancy,and once on suspicion of highway robbery! I expressed my surprise at the honestyof the young thief. "Why, there's not a chap among them that wouldn't have done the samething," said my companion,who knew their characterswell; "they would all have done the same, except that one smoking there," pointing to an ill-looking lad in a Scotch cap. "When you gave me the shilling," cried Dan, "he followed me into the yard, and told me to hook it." I whispered with my companion as to whether it were possible to take the poor shoelessboy, who had resistedthis double temptation, from the wretchedand demoralizingassociationsof the place, and make an honest man of him. "No," was his answer; "he is hopeless.This is the chivalry of thesepeople. Make friends of them, and they will scarcelyever deceive you. They may be trusted with pounds by those whom they know; but as for industry or getting an honestliving, it's out of the question. I have known a few in my time that have been reclaimed, but they are the exceptions, and certainly not the rule:" Their habits could not be attributed to ignorance, for I found that 18 out of the 29 could read and write; nor could their propensitiesbe said to be due to the influence of early associations,for, on inquiring as to their parentage,one told me that his father kept about 40 or 50 horses. "My father was a schoolmaster,"said a second."And mine a dyer," said a third. "My father was a hatter,"

95 cried a fourth. Observing that the individuals were mostly youths, I wished to know how many were under 21; and on inquiry I found that 15 out of the 29 were below that age, nine were under 19, five under 17, and three under 15. The remainderof the scene I must reservefor my next letter. Suffice it, before my departureI went to inspect the "bunks," as the beds are called, for which they are charged2d. per night. The dormitory was at first appearanceexactly similar to a small dissenting chapel, the divisions betweenthe bedsstandingup like the partitions between the pews. On inspection, however, I found they were much closer, the partitions being only 22 inches apart. So close, indeed, were the bunks together, that 120 of them were stowed into a place about double the size of a four-stall stable. At the bottom of each of these was spread a leather, and as I walked round the place I saw many shirtlessmen stretchedthere like corpses,in a bed as narrow as a coffin, with anotherleatherto cover. The stench of the room was overpowering, and I hurried from the place,indeed,a wiser and a sadderman.

96

LETTER V Friday, November 2, 1849

Before passing from the subject of the Dock labourer to that of the presentletter, it may be as well to say a few words as to the meansof improving his condition. The aim and end of foresight or providenceis to make that constant which is naturally precarious-to give to the affairs of tomorrow the same stability as those of today. At presentthe knowledge of this great truth has percolatedonly down to the middle classes-the working men have yet to be made acquaintedwith its wisdom. Hence, in those callings where the labour and the income are the most uncertain of all - there, from the total absenceof providence among the class, we not only find the greatest want, but the greatest extravagance,together with the large family of vices and crimes which come of privations and intemperance.If, therefore, we wish to benefit a particular classof labourers,following some precarious calling, we must endeavoureither to give a greater regularity to the labour, or to introduce habits of economy and temperanceamong them, so that the occasional abundance may be transformedinto permanentcompetence.As I said before, however, where there is irregularity of work or income, we cannot expect habits of industry or moderation to be formed, because industry is merely a habit of working regularly, and moderation a habit of living in the same manner. It follows, then, that if we would improve the condition of the dock labourer, our principal aim must be to make dock labour more uniform in its character. How this is to be done I do not pretend to say. My vocation, as I said before, is to point out the evil; it is for others to discover the remedy. But, as long as matters are so arrangedthat it is possible for a continuanceof easterly winds to deprive 20,000 individuals of a living, and to abstract, in three weeks, as much as £60,000 from the ordinary earningsof the class, why, just so long must the neighbourhoodof the docks swarm with the vice and crime that at presentinfest them.

97

I now come to the class of cheap lodging-houses, usually frequented by the casual labourers at the docks. It will be remembered,perhaps,that in my last letter I describedone of these places, as well as the kind of charactersto be found there. Since then I have directed my attention particularly to this subject, not becauseit came next in order, accordingto the courseof investigation I had markedout for myself, but becauseit presentedso many peculiar featuresthat I thought it better, even at the risk of being unmethodical, to avail myself of the channels of information opened to me, rather than defer the matter to its proper place, and so lose the freshnessof the impressionit had made upon my mind. On my first visit, the want and misery that I saw were such, that, upon consulting with the gentlemanwho led me to the spot, it was arranged that a dinner should be given on the following Sunday to all those who were presenton the evening of my first interview; and, accordingly, enough beef, potatoes,and materials for a suetpudding were sent in from the neighbouringmarket to feed them every one. I parted with my guide, arranging to be with him the next Sunday at half-past-one.We met at the time appointed, and set out on our way to the cheap lodging-house.The streetswere alive with sailors and bonnetlessand capless women. The Jews' shops and public-houseswere all open, and parties of "jolly-tars" reeled past us, singing and bawling on their way. Had it not been that here and there a stray shop was closed, it would have been impossible to have guessedthat it was Sunday. We dived down a narrow court, at the entranceof which lolled Irish labourerssmoking short pipes. Across the court hung lines, from which dangled dirty white clothes to dry; and as we walked on, ragged,unwashed, shoeless children, scampered past us, chasing one another. At length we reached a large open yard. In the centre of it stood severalempty costermonger'strucks and turned-upcarts with their shafts high in the air. At the bottom of these lay two young girls huddled together asleep. Their bare heads told their mode of life, while it was evident, from their muddy Adelaide boots, that they had walked the streetsall night. My companiontried to see if he knew them, but they slept too soundly to be roused by gentle means. We passedon, and a few pacesfurther there sat grouped on a doorstep four women of the same characteras the last two. One had her head covered up in an old brown shawl, and was sleepingin t11-e lap of the one next to her. The other two were eating walnuts, and a coarse-featuredman, in knee-breechesand "ankle-jacks," was stretchedon the ground close besidethem.

98 At length we reachedthe lodging-house.It was night when I had first visited the place, and all now was new to me. The entrance was through a large pair of green gates, which gave it somewhat the appearanceof a stable yard. Over the kitchen door there hung a clothes line, on which was a wet shirt and a pair of raggedcanvas trousers brown with tar. Entering the kitchen, we found it so full of smoke that the sun's rays, which shot slantingly down through a broken tile in the roof, looked like a shaft of light cut through the fog. The flue of the chimney stood out from the bare brick wall like a buttress,and was black all the way up with the smoke: the beamswhich hung down from the roof, and ran from wall to wall, were of the samecolour; and in the centre, to light the room, was a rude iron gas-pipe,such as are used at night when the streets are turned up. The door was unboarded,and a wooden seat projected from the wall all round the room. In front of this was ranged a series of tables, on which lolled dozing men. A number of the inmates were grouped around the fire, some kneeling, toasting herrings, of which the place smelt strongly; others, without shirts, seatedon the ground close besideit, for warmth; and othersdrying the ends of cigars they had picked up in the streets.As we entered, the men rose, and never was so motley and so ragged an assemblage seen. Their hair was matted like flocks of wool, and their chins were grimy with their unshorn beards. Some were in dirty smock-frocks,others in old red plush waistcoatswith long sleeves. One was dressed in an old shooting-jacket with large wooden buttons-a secondin a blue flannel sailor's shirt- and a third, a mere boy, wore a long camlet coat reaching to his heels, and with the ends of the sleeveshanging over his hands. The featuresof the lodgers wore every kind of expression:one lad was positively handsome, and there was a franknessin his face, and a straightforward look in his eye that strongly impressed me with a sense of his honesty, even though I was assuredhe was a confirmed pickpocket. The young thief who had brought back the II td. changeout of the shilling that had been entrustedto him on the preceding evening, was far from prepossessing,now that I could see him better. His cheek bones were high, while his hair, cut close on the top, with a valanceof locks, as it were, left hanging in front, made me look upon him with no slight suspicion. On the form at the end of the kitchen was one whose squalor and wretchednessproduceda feeling approachingto awe. His eyes were sunk deep in his head, his cheeks were drawn in, and his nostrils pinched with evident want, while his dark stubbly beard gave a grimnessto his appearance that was almost demoniac; and yet there was a patience in

99

his look that was most pitiable. His clothes were black and shiny at every fold with grease,and his coarseshirt was so brown with long wearing, that it was only with close inspection you could see that it had been a checkedone; on his feet he had a pair of lady's side-laced boots, the toes of which had been cut off so that he might get them on. I never beheld so gaunt a picture of famine. To this day the figure of the man hauntsme. The dinner had been provided for 30, but the news of the treat had spread,and there was a muster of 50. We hardly knew how to act. It was, however, left to those whose names had been taken down as being presenton the previous evening, to say what should be done; and the answerfrom one and all was, that the newcomers were to share the feast with them. The dinner was then halfportioned out in an adjoining outhouse into 25 platesful-the entire stock of crockery belonging to the establishmentnumbering no more-and afterwardshandedinto the kitchen through a small window to each party, as his name was called out. As the hungry man received the steamingplate, he hurried to the seat behind the bare table, and commenced tearing the meat asunder with his fingers-for knives and forks were unknown there. Some, it is true, used bits of wood like skewers, but this seemedalmost like affectation in such a place; otherssat on the ground with the plate of meat and pudding on their laps; while the beggarboy, immediately on receiving his portion, dancedalong the room, whirling the plate round on his thumb as he went, and then, dipping his nose in the plate, seizeda potato in his mouth. I must confess,the sight of the hungry crowd gnawing their food was far from pleasantto contemplate;so while the dinner was being discussedI sought to learn from those who remained to be helped how they had fallen to so degradeda state. A sailor lad assuredme he had been robbed of his mariner's ticket; that he could not procure another under l3s.; and not having as many pence, he was unable to obtain another ship. What could he do, he said. He knew no trade. He could only get employmentoccasionallyas a labourerat the docks, and this was so seldom, that if it had not been for the few things he had he must have starved outright. The good-looking youth I have before spoken of wanted but £3 lOs. to get back to America. He had worked his passageover here-had fallen into bad company-beenimprisonedthree times for picking pockets-and was heartily wearied of his present course; he could get no work. In America he would be happy and among his friends again. I spoke to the gentleman who had brought me to the spot, and who knew them all well. His answers,however, gave me little hope.

100

The boy, whose face seemedbeaming with innate frankness and honesty, had been apprenticedby him to a shoe-stitcher.But no! he preferred vagrancyto work. I could have sworn he was a trustworthy lad, and shall neverbelievein "looks" again. The dinner finished, I told the men assembledthere that I should come some evening in the course of this week, and endeavourto ascertainfrom them some definite information concerningthe persons usually frequenting such housesas theirs. On our way home my friend recognised, among the females we had before seen huddled on the step outside the lodging-house, a young woman whom he had striven to get back to her parents. Her father had been written to, and would gladly receive her. Again the girl was exhorted to leave her present companionsand return home. The tears streamedfrom her eyes at the mention of her mother'sname; but she would not stir. Her excuse was, that she had no proper clothes to go in. Her father and mother were very respectable,she said, and she could not go back to them as she was. It was evident, by her language, she had at least been well educated.She would not listen, however, to my friend's exhortations;so, seeingthat his entreatieswere wasted upon her, we left her, and wendedour way home. Knowing that this lodging-housemight be taken as a fair sample of the class now aboundingin London, and, moreover, having been informed by those who had made the subject their peculiar study, that the charactersgenerally congregatedthere constituted a fair averageof the callings and habits of those who resort to the low lodging-housesof London, I was determinedto avail myself of the acquaintancesI made in this quarter, in order to arrive at some more definite information upon these places than had yet been made public. The only positive knowledgethe public have hitherto had of the peopleassemblingin the cheaplodging-housesof London is derived chiefly from the report of the ConstabularyCommissioners, and partly from the Report upon Vagrancy. But this information, having been procured through others, was so faulty, that, having now obtained the privilege of personalinspection and communication, I was desirous of turning it to good account. Consequently, I gave notice that I wished all that had dined there on last Sundayto attend me yesterdayevening, so that I might obtain from them generally an account of their past and presentcareer. I found them all ready to meet me, and I was assuredthat, by adopting certain precautions,I should be in a fair way to procure information upon the subject of the cheap lodging-houses of London that few have the meansof getting. However, so as to be

101

able to check the one account with another, I put myself in communication with a person who had lived for upwards of four months in the house. Strangeto say, he was a man of good educafurther than this I am not at tion and superior attainme~tsliberty to state. I deal with the class of houses,and not with any particular house,be it understood. The lodging-houseto which I more particularly allude makesup as many as 84 "bunks," or beds, for which 2d. per night is charged. For this sum the parties lodging there fo:r the night are entitled to the use of the kitchen for the following day. In this a fire is kept all day long, at which they are allowed to cook their food. The kitchen opens at five in the morning, and closes at about 11 at night, after which hour no fresh lodger is taken in, and all those who slept in the housethe night before, but who have not sufficient money to pay for their bed at that time, are turned out. Strangers who arrive in the course of the day must procure a tin ticket, by paying 2d. at the wicket in the office, previously to being allowed to enter the kitchen. The kitchen is about 40 feet long by 15 feet wide. The sleeping-roomis about 48 feet deep by about 40 feet wide. The "bunks" are each about seven feet long, and one foot 10 inches wide, and the grating on which the straw mattressis placed is about 12 inches from the ground. The wooden partitions betweenthe "bunks" are about four feet high. The coveringsare a leather or a rug, but leathers are generally preferred. Of these "bunks" there are five rows of about 24 deep, two rows being placed head to head with a gangway between each of such two rows, and the other row against the wall. The averagenumber of personssleeping in this house of a night is 60. Of these there are generally about 30 pickpockets, 10 street beggars, a few infirm old people who subsist occasionally upon parish relief, and occasionally upon charity; 10 or 15 dock-labourers; about the same number of low and precariouscallings such as the neighbourhood affords, and a few personswho have been in good circumstances, but who have been reduced from a variety of causes.At one time there were as many as nine personslodging in this housewho subsisted by picking up dogs' dung out of the streets,getting about 5s. for every basketful. The earningsof one of thesemen were known to average9s. a week. There are generally lodging in the house a few bone-grubbers,who pick up bones, rags, iron, etc., out of the streets. Their average earnings are about 1s. per day. There are several mud-larks, or youths who go down to the water-sidewhen the tide is out, to see whether any article of value has been left upon the bank of the river. The person supplying this information

102

to me, who was for some time resident in the house, has seen brought home by these personsa drum of figs at one time, and a Dutch cheeseat another. Thesewere sold in small lots or slices to the other lodgers. The pickpockets generally lodging in the house consist of shoplifters-including those who rob the till handkerchief-stealers, as well as steal articles from the doors of shops. Legs and breasts of mutton are frequently brought in by this classof persons.There are seldom any housebreakerslodging in such places, becausethey require a room of their own, and mostly live with prostitutes. Besidesthe pickpockets,there are also lodging in the house speculators in stolen goods. Thesemay be dock-labourersor Billingsgateporters, having a few shillings in their pockets. With this they purchase the booty of the juvenile thieves. "I have known," says my informant, "these speculatorswait in the kitchen, walking about with their hands in their pockets, till a little fellow would come in with such a thing as a cap, a piece of bacon, or a piece of mutton. They would purchaseit, and then either retail it amongstthe other lodgers in the kitchen, or take it to some 'fence,' where they would receive a profit upon it." The general feeling of the kitchen exceptingwith four or five individuals-is to encouragetheft. The encouragementto the "gonoff" (a Hebrew word signifying a young thief, probably learnt from the Jew "fences" in the neighbourhood), consists in laughing at and applauding his dexterity in thieving; and whenever anything is brought in, the "gonoff" is greeted for his good luck, and a general rush is made towards him to see the produce of his thievery. The "gonoffs" are generally young boys; 21 years of age. They about 20 out of 30 of these lads are und~r almost all of them love idleness,and will only work for one or two days together, but then they will work very hard. It is a singular fact that, as a body, the pickpocketsare generally very sparing of drink. My informant never knew any one of these young pickpockets or "gonoffs" to be drunk, or to seem in any way anxious for drink. They are mostly libidinous - indeeduniversallyso - and spend whatever money they can spare upon the low prostitutes round about the neighbourhood.Burglars and smashersgenerally rank above this class of thieves. A burglar would not condescend to sit among pickpockets.My informant has known a housebreaker to say with a sneer,when requestedto sit down with the "gonoffs," "No, no, I may be a thief, sir, but, thank God, at least I'm a respectableone." The beggarswho frequent these housesgo about different marketsand streets,asking charity of the people that pass by. They generallygo out in couples,the businessof one of the two

103

being to look out and give warning when the policemanis approaching, and of the other to stand "shallow," that is to say, to stand with very little clothing on, shivering and shaking, sometimeswith bandagesround his legs, and sometimeswith his arm in a sling. Others beg "scran" (broken victuals) of the servantsat respectable houses,and bring it home to the lodging-house,where they sell it. You may see, I am told, the men who lodge in the place, and obtain an honest living, watch for these beggarscoming in, as they were the best victuals in the city. My informant knew an instanceof a lad who seemedto be a very fine little fellow, and promisedto have been possessedof excellent mental capabilitiesif properly directed, who came to the lodging-house,when out of a situation, as an errand boy. He stayed there a month or six weeks, during which time he was tamperedwith by the others, and ultimately becamea confirmed "gonoff." The conversation among the lodgers relates chiefly to thieving and the best manner of stealing. By way of practice, a boy will often pick the pocket of one of the lodgers walking about the room, and if detected,declarehe did not meanit. The sanitary state of these housesis very bad. Not only do the lodgers generally swarm with vermin, but there is little or no ventilation to the sleeping rooms, in which 60 persons, of the foulest habits, usually sleep every night. There are no proper washing utensils, neither towels nor basins, nor wooden bowls. There are one or two buckets,but theseare not meant for the use of the lodgers, but for cleaning the rooms. The lodgers never think of washing themselves.The cleanliest among them will do so in the bucket, and then wipe themselveswith their pocket handkerchiefs or the tails of their shirts. A large sum to be made by two beggarsin one week is one pound, or lO shillings a piece-one for looking out, and one for "standing shallow." The averageearningsof such personsare certainly below eight shillings per week. If the report of the constabulary force commissionersstates that 20 shillings per week is the averagesum earned, I am told, the statementmust have been furnished by parties who had either some object in over-rating the amount,or else who had no meansof obtaining correct information on the subject. From all my informant has seenas to the earnings of those who make a trade of picking pockets and begging, he is convinced that the amount is far below what is generally believed to be the case. Indeed, nothing but the idle roving life that is connected with the businesscould compensatethe thieves or beggars for the privations they frequently undergo. After obtaining this information I attended the lodging-house,

104

in pursuanceof the notice I had given, in order to ascertainfrom the lodgers themselveswhat were the callings and earningsof the different parties there assembled.I found that from 50 to 60 had musteredpurposelyto meet me, although it was early in the evening, and they all expressedthemselvesready to furnish me with any information I might require. The gentlemanwho accompanied me assuredme that the answersthey would give to my questionings would be likely to be correct, from the fact of the number assembled,as each one would check the other. Having read to them the report in last Tuesday'sMorning Chronicle of my interview with them on Saturday, the 27th ult., they were much delighted at finding themselvesin print, and immediately arranged themselves on a seat all round the room. My first question was as to the age of those present. Out of 55 assembled,I found that there was one from 60 to 70 years old, four from 50 to 60, one from 40 to 50, 15 from 30 to 40, 16 from 20 to 30, and 18 from 10 to 20. Hence it will be seen that the younger membersconstitutedby far the greaterportion of the assembly.The 18 between10 and 20 were made up as follows- There were three of 20 years, eight of 19 years, three of 18 years, four of 17 years, one of 16 years, and two of 15 years. Hence there were more of the age of 19 than of any other age present. My next inquiry was as to the place of birth. I found that there were 16 belonging to London, nine to Ireland, three to Bristol, three to Liverpool, two were from Norfolk, two from Yorkshire, two from Essex,two from Germany,and two from North America. The remaining 14 were born respectivelyin Macclesfield, Bolton, Aylesbury, Seacomb,Deal, Epping, Hull, Nottinghamshire,Plumstead, Huntingdonshire,Plymouth, Shropshire, Northamptonshire, and Windsor. After this, I sought to obtain information as to the occupationsof their parents,with the view of discoveringwhether their delinquenciesarosefrom the depravedcharacterof their early associations.I found, among the number, 13 whose fathers had been labouring men - five had been carpenters,four millers and farmers, two dyers, two cabinet-makers,a tallow-chandler,a woodturner, a calico-glazer,a silversmith, a compositor,a cotton-spinner, a hatter, a grocer, a whip-maker, a sweep,a glover, a watchmaker, a madhouse-keeper,a bricklayer, a ship-builder, a cowkeeper, a fishmonger, a millwright, a coast guard, a rope-maker,a gunsmith, a collier, an undertaker, a leather-cutter,a clerk, an engineer, a schoolmaster,a captainin the army, and a physician. I now sought to learn from them the tradesthat they themselves were brought up to. There were 17 labourers,sevenmariners,three

105

weavers, two bricklayers, and two shoemakers.The rest were respectively silversmiths, dyers, blacksmiths, wood turners, tailors, farriers, caulkers,French polishers,shopmen,brickmakers,sweeps, ivory turners, cowboys, stereotype-founders,fishmongers, tallowchandlers, rope-makers, miners, bone-grubbers,engineers, coalporters, errand boys, beggars,and one called himself "a prig." I next found that 40 out of the 55 could read and write - four could read- and only 11 could do neither. My next point was to ascertainhow long they had been out of regular employment,or to use their own phrase,"had been knocking about." One had been 10 years idle; one, nine years; three, eight years; two, seven; four, six; five, five; six, four; nine, three; 10, two; five, one; three, six months, and one two months out of employments.A bricklayer told me he had been eight summersin and eight winters out of work; and a dock-labourerassuredme that he had been 11 years working at the dock, and that for full three-fourthsof his time he could obtain no employmentthere. After this, I questionedthem concerning their earningsfor the past week. One had gained nothing, anotherhad gained 1s., 11 had earned 2s., eight 3s., nine 4s., five 5s., four 6s., four 7s., six 8s., one lOs., one lls., and one ISs. From three I received no answers. The average earnings of the 52 above enumeratedare 4s. 11d. per week. Respectingtheir clothing, 14 had no shirts to their backs, five had no shoes,and 42 had shoesthat scarcelyheld together. I now desired to be informed how many out of the number had been confined in prison, and learnt that no less than 34, among the 55 present,had been in jail once, or oftener. Eleven had been in once; five had been in twice; five in three times; three, four times; four, six times; one, seven times; one, eight times; one, nine times; one, 10 times; one, 14 times; and one confessedto having been there at least 20 times. So that the 34 individuals had been imprisoned altogether 140 times; thus averaging four imprisonments to each person. I was anxious to distinguish between imprisonment for vagrancy and imprisonment for theft. Upon inquiry I discoveredthat seven had each been imprisonedonce for vagrancy- one twice, one three times, two four times, one five times, two six times, two eight times, and one ten times-making in all 63 imprisonments under the Vagrant Act! Of those who had been confined in gaol for theft, there were eleven who had been in once, seven who had been in twice, two three times, three six times, one eight times, and two ten times; making a total of 77 imprisonmentsfor thieving. Hence, out of 140 incarcerations,

106

63 of these had been for vagrancy, and 77 for theft; and this was among34 individuals in an assemblageof 55. The question that I put to them after this was, how long they had been engaged in thieving, and the following were the answers:- One had been fifteen years at it, one fourteen years, two twelve years, three ten years, one nine years, one eight years, two seven years, one six years, two five years,three four years, and one three years; one eighteen months, one seven months, two six months, and one two months. Consequentlythere were, of the halfhundred and odd individuals there assembled,thieves of the oldest standingand the most recentbeginning. Their greatestgains by theft in a single day were thus classified. The most that one had gained was 3d., the greatestsum another had gained was 7d., another Is. 6d., another Is. 9d., another2s. 6d., another 6s.; five had made from ten to fifteen shillings, three from one to two pounds, one from two to three pounds, six from three to four pounds, one from four to five pounds, two from twenty to thirty pounds, and two from thirty to forty pounds. Of the latter two sums, one was stolen from the father of the thief, and the other from the till of a counter when the shop was left unoccupied, the boy vaulting over the counter and abstractingfrom the till no less than seven five-pound notes, all of which were immediately disposed of to a Jew in the immediate neighbourhoodfor £3 lOs. each. The greatestearnings by begging l}ad been 7s. 6d., lOs. 6d., and £1; but the averageamount of earningswas apparentlyof so precarious a nature that it was difficult to get the men to state a definite sum. From their condition, however, as well as their mode of living whilst I remained among them, I can safely say begging did not seem to be a very lucrative or attractive calling, and the lodgers certainly were under no restraintin my presence. I wantedto learn from them what had beentheir motive for stealing in the first instance, and I found upon questioning them, that ten did so on running away from home. Five confessedto having done so from keeping flash company,and wanting money to defray their expenses;six had first stolen to go to theatres; nine because they had been imprisoned for vagrants, and found that the thief was better treated than they; one becausehe had got no tools to go to work with; one becausehe was "hard up;" one becausehe could not get work, and one more becausehe was put in prison for begging. The following is the list of articles that they first stole: Six rabbits, silk shawl from home, a pair of shoes,a Dutch cheese,a

107

few shillings from home, a coat and trousers, a bullock's heart, four "tiles" of copper, fifteen and sixpencefrom master,two handkerchiefs, half a quartern loaf, a set of tools worth three pounds, clothes from a warehouseworth twenty-two pounds, a Cheshire cheese,a pair of carriage lamps, some handkerchiefs,five shillings, some turnips, watch-chain and seals, a sheep, three and sixpence, and an invalid's chair. This latter article the boy assuredme he had taken about the country with him, and amused himself by riding in it down hill. Their places of amusement consisted, they told me, of the following: -The Britannia Saloon, the City Theatre, the Albert Saloon, the StandardSaloon, the Surrey and Victoria theatreswhen they could afford it, the Penny Negroes,and the Earl of Effingham concerts. Four frequenters of that room had been transported,and yet the house had been open only as many years, and of the associates and companionsof those present, no less than forty had left the country in the same manner. The names of some of these were curious. I subjoin a few of them: -The Bouger-The SlasherThe Spider - Flash Jim - White Coat - Moushe - Lankey Thompson-Tom Sales(he was hung)-and Jack Shephard. Of the fifty-five congregated,two had signed the temperance pledge, and kept it. The rest confessed to getting drunk occasionally,but not making a practiceof it. Indeed, it is generally allowed that, as a class, the young pickpocketsare rather temperate than otherwise, so that here, at least, we cannot assertthat drink is the cause of the crime. Nor can their vicious propensitiesbe ascribed to ignorance, for we have seen that out of 55 individuals 40 could read and write, while four could read. It should be remembered,at the same time, that out of the 55 men only 34 are thieves. Neither can the depravity of their early associations be named as the cause of their delinquencies, for we have seen that, as a class, their fathers are men rather well to do in the world. Indeed their errors seem to have rather a physical than either an intellectual or moral cause. They seem to be naturally of an erratic and self-willed temperament,objecting to the restraintsof home, and incapableof continuousapplication to any one occupation whatsoever.They are essentiallythe idle and the vagabond;and they seemgenerally to attribute the commencement of their careerto harshgovernmentat home. According to the report of the constabularyforce commissioners, there were in the metropolis, in 1839, 221 of such housesas the one at present described, and each of these houses harboured daily,

108 upon an average, no less than eleven of such charactersas the foregoing, making in all a total of 2,431 vagrantsand pickpockets shelteredby the proprietors of the low lodging-housesof London. The above two-penny lodging-househas, on an average,from fifty to sixty personssleepingin it nightly, yielding an income of nearly £3 per week. The three-pennylodging-housesin the same neighbourhood average from fifteen to twenty personsper night, and produce a weekly total of from 20s. to 25s. profit, the rent of the housesat the sametime being only from 5s. to 6s. per week. There is still one question worthy of consideration-Does the uncertainty of dock labour generate thieves and vagabonds, or do the thieves and vagabondscrowd round the docks so as to be able to gain a day's work when unable to thieve? According to returns of the metropolitanpolice force, the value of the property stolen in this district in the year 1848 was £2,007, of which only £365 were recovered. The number of robberies was 521, the average amount of each robbery being £3 17s. 0{-d. The amount recoveredaveraged14s. on eachrobbery.

109

LETTER VI Tuesday,November6, 1849

Before leaving the subject of the low London lodging-houses,it may be as well to inform the inexperiencedreaderthat the classof dormitories describedin my last letter are not the lowest of the low. There are "cribs" in the metropoliswhere the chargesfor a night's rest are less, the accommodationsmore meagre, and the lodgers even more degradedthan those of the two-penny refuges I lately visited. In some places a penny only is demandedfor shelter for the night, and there congregatethe most wretchedand demoralized of all characters.The commonestprostitutes,thieves, beggars,and vagabondsare taken into these dens of iniquity, and allowed to sleep promiscuouslyin one small room. There is little or no furniture in the house; so that no bedsare provided for the money. The lodgers-male and female-men, women, boys, and girls- all lie huddled together on the floor; the average nightly muster being about 30 of the most miserableand infamousof human beings-a mass of poverty, filth, vice, and crime-an assemblageof all that is physically 1oathsomeand morally odious-a chaos of want, intemperance,ignorance, disease,libidinism, rags, dirt, villany, and shamelessness, that can be paralleled in no other part of the globe but this, the first city in the world -the focus of wealth and intellect - the pinnacleof civilization and charity. The generalityof the low lodging-houses-the penny, two-penny, and three-pennyas well -I am informed by one who has lived in them and among them for many months-a man of superiorintelligence and education, be it understood- are kept by persons utterly deficient of all moral sense, and who either wink at or encourage the robberies which are continually concocted under their roofs. Nearly all the proprietors tacitly allow the produce of their lodgers' pilferings to be introducedand sharedin the kitchen, and many of them are known to be receivers of stolen goods, pledging for the pickpocketsthey harbourin their houseswhatever plunder they may bring home, and demandingof them two-pence

110

and the duplicate for so doing. Indeed, so general is the latter practice among the lodginghouse-keepersof the East-end of London, that theseare the "regular terms" of the class. But there are dormitories lower and lower still in the scale of comfort, cleanliness, and civilization. Such sleeping places are frequentedby those who want even the penny to provide them with the luxury of mere walls and roof to shelter them from the wind or the rain. Hence, if it be possible to conceive a class of beings still more wretched, more vicious, or more criminal than those visiting the lowest lodging-housesof London, they are to be found nestling under the archesof the Blackwall Railway. There may be discovered whole families, houselessand penniless, huddled close together-children cradled as it were in vice and crime, cheek by jowl with the vilest prostitutes and the meanestthieves. Or else they may be seen ranged along the wall of a neighbouringsugarbaker's, warming themselvesupon the pavement heated by the melting-panbeneath.To behold the drowsy, ragged,destitutecrowd gatheredthere at three o'clock in the morning, is a sight to shock the most callous, and one that is painful even to imagine. Let me pass, therefore, from such scenesto the subject of this communication-viz., the incomings and condition of the "slopworkers" of London. The change,however,is barely for the better. The class, it is true, are not yet sunk quite so low, and yet their weekly earnings are even less than those of the petty thieves and beggarsof the East-endof the metropolis. I had seenso much want since I began my investigation into the condition of the labouring poor of London that my feelings were almost blunted to sights of ordinary misery. Still I was unpreparedfor the amount of suffering that I have lately witnessed. I could not have believed that there were human beings toiling so long and gaining so little, and starving so silently and heroically, round about our very homes. It is true, one or two instancesof the kind had forced themselves into the police reports, and songsand plays had been written upon the privations of the class; still it was impossibleto believe that the romance of the song-writer and the fable of the playwright were plain, unvarnished,everyday matters of fact- or, even admitting their stories to be individually true, we could hardly credit them to be universally true. But the readershall judge for himself. I will endeavourto reproducethe scenesI have lately looked upon - and I will strive to do so in all their stark literality. It is difficult, I know, for those who are unacquaintedwith the misery hiding itself in the by-lanes and alleys of the metropolis to have perfect faith in the tales that it is my duty to tell them. Let me therefore once more

111

assure the sceptical reader, that hardly a line is written here but a note was taken of the matter upon the spot. The descriptionsof the dwellings and the individuals I allude to have all been written with the very places and parties before me; and the story of the people'ssufferings is repeatedto the public in the self samewords in which they were told to me. Still it may be said that I myself have been imposedupon-that I may have been taken to extreme cases,and given to understandthat they are the ordinary types of the class. This, I am ready to grant, is a common sourceof error; I will therefore now explain the meansthat I adopted,in this instancein particular, to prevent myself being deludedinto any such fallacy. My first step was to introduce myself to one of the largest "slopsellers" at the East-endof the town; and having informed the firm that I was about to examine into the condition and incomings of the slopworkers of London, I requested to know whether they would have any objection to furnish me with the list of prices that they were in the habit of paying to their workpeople, so that on my visiting the parties themselves-as I frankly gave them to understand I purposed doing-I might be able to compare the operatives'statementsas to prices with theirs, and thus be able to check the one with the other. Indeed, I said I thought it but fair that the employer should have an opportunity of having his say as well as the employed. I regret to say that I was not met with the candour that I had been led to expect. One of the firm wished to know why I singled their house out from the rest of the trade. I told him I did so merely becauseit was one of the largest in the business,and assuredhim that, so far from my having any personal object in my visit, I madeit a point never to allude by nameto any employer or workman to whom I might have occasion to refer. My desire, I said, was to deal with principles rather than persons; whereuponI was informed that the firm would have no objection to acquaint me with the prices paid by other housesin the trade. "If you merely wish to arrive at the principle of the slop business, this," said one of the partners, "will be quite sufficient for your purpose." Though I pressedfor some more definite and particular information from the firm, I could obtain nothing from them but an assurancethat a statementshould be written out for me immediately as to the generalcustomof the trade, and that, if I would call at any time after sunseton Saturdayevening, it should be at my disposal. I soon saw that it was uselessseekingto obtain any further information from the partiesin question-so, taking my departure, I made the best of my way to the workmen in the neighbourhood.

112

My time being limited, I consulted with a gentleman who is thoroughly conversantwith the characterof several of the operatives, as to the best and fairest means of taking an unprejudiced view of the state of the slopworkersof London; and it was agreed between us, that as the work was performed by both males and females, it would be better first to direct my attention to the state of the male "hands" employed by the trade; while, in order to arrive at an accurateestimate as to the incomings and condition of the class generally, it was deemed better to visit some place where several of the operatives were in the habit of working together, so that the opinions of a number of individuals might be taken simultaneouslyupon the subject. Accordingly I was led, by the gentleman whose advice I had sought, to a narrow court, the entranceto which was blocked up by stalls of fresh herrings. We had to pass sidewaysbetween the baskets with our coat-tails under our arms. At the end of the passage we entered a dirty-looking house by a side entrance. Though it was midday, the staircasewas· so dark that we were forced to grope our way by the wall up to the first floor. Here, in a small back room, about eight feet square,we found no fewer than seven workmen, with their coats and shoesoff, seatedcross-legged on the floor, busy stitching the different parts of different garments. The floor was strewn with sleeve-boards,irons, and snips of various coloured cloths. In one corner of the room was a tum-up bedstead, with the washed out chintz curtains drawn partly in front of it. Across a line which ran from one side of the apartment to the other were thrown the coats, jackets, and cravatsof the workmen. Inside the rusty grate was a hat, and on one side of the bobs rested a pair of old cloth boots, while leaning against the bars in front there stood a sackful of cuttings. Beside the workmen on the floor sat two good-looking girls- one cross-leggedlike the men - engagedin tailoring. My companion having acquaintedthe workmen with the object of my visit, they one and all expressedthemselvesready to answer any questionsthat I might put to them. They made dressand frock coats, they told me, Chesterfields,fishing-coats, paletots, Buller's monkey jackets, beavers, shooting coats, trousers, vests, sacks, Codringtons,Trinity cloaks and coats, and indeed, every other kind of woollen garment. They worked for the ready-madehouses,or "slopsellers." "One of us," said they, "gets work from the warehouse, and gives it out to others. The housespay different prices. Dress coats, from Ss. 6d. to 6s. 9d.; frock coats the same; shooting coats, from 2s. 6d. to 2s. 9d. In summertime,when trade is busy,

113 they pay 3s. Chesterfields,from 2s. 6d. to 3s., some are made for 2s.; paletots, from 2s. 6d. to 3s." "Aye, and two days' work for any man," cried one of the tailors with a withered leg, "and buy his own trimmings, white and black cotton, gimp, and pipe-clay." "Yes," exclaimed another, "and we have to buy wadding for dress coats; and soon, I suppose, we shall have to buy cloth and all together." Trousers,from Is. 6d. to 3s.; waistcoats,from 1s. 6d. to 1s. 9d. Dress and frock coats will take two days and a half to make each, calculatingthe day from six in the morning till sevenat night; but three days is the regular time. Shooting coats will take two days; Chesterfieldstake the &arne as dressand frock coats; paletots, two days; trousers,one day. "The master here" (said one of them scarcely distinguishable from the rest) "gets work from the warehouse at the beforementioned prices; he gives it out to us at the same price, paying us when he receives the money. We are never seen at the shop. Out of the prices the master here deducts4s. per week per head for our cup of tea or coffee in the morning, and tea in the evening, and our bed. We sleep two in a bed here, and some of us three. In most places the workmen eat, drink, and sleep in one room; as many as ever the room will contain. They'd put 20 in one room if they could." "I should like to see the paper this'll be printed in," cried the man with the withered leg. "Oh, it'll be a good job, it should be known. We should be glad if the whole world heard it, so that the people should know our situation. I've worked very hard this week, as hard as any man. I've worked from seven in the morning till II at night, and my earningswill be 13s. this week; and deducting my 4s. out of that, and my trimmings besides-the trimmings comes to about 1s. 9d. per week-which makes 5s. 9d. altogether, and that will leave me 7s. 3d. for my earningsall the week, Sunday included. It's very seldom we has a Sundaywalking out. We're obliged to work on Sundayall the same. We should lose our shop if we didn't. Eight shillings is the average wages, take the year all through. Out of this 8s. we have to deduct expensesof lodging, trimming, washing, and light, which comesto 5s. 9d. We can't get a coat to our backs." I inquired as to the earningsof the others. "Well, it's nearly just the same, take one with another, all the year round. We work all about the samehours-all the lot of us. The wagesare lower than they were this time twelvemonth, in 1848-that they are, by far, and heavier work too. I think there's a fall of 6d. in each job at the lowest calculation."

114 "Ah, that there is," said another; "a 3s. job we don't have 2s. 6d. for now." "Yes, it's causing half of the people," cried a third, "to be thieves and robbers. That's true. Wages were higher in 1847they're coming down now every year. The coats that they used to pay 5s. for this time two years, they are making for 3s. 6d. at present-the very same work, but a deal heavier than it was two years ago. This time twelvemonth we made coats for 7s., and 5s. this year is all we has for the same. Prices have come down more than a quarter-indeed about half, during these last 10 years. I'm sure I don't know what's the causeof it. The masterfirst says, I can't give no more than such a price for making such an article. Then the man objects to it, and says he can't live by it; as soon as he objects to it, the master will give him no more work. We really are the prey of the master,and cannot help ourselves.Whatever he offers we are obliged to accept, or else go starve." "Yes, yes," said they all, "that's the real fact. And if we don't take his offer, somebodyelse will, that's the truth, for we have no power to stand out against it. The workhouse won't have us-we must either go thieve, or take the price in the long run. There'sa standing price in the regular trade, but not in this. The regular trade is 6d. an hour. The regularswork only from six in the morning till seven at night, and only do 'bespoke'work. But we are working for the slop shops or warehouses,and they keep a large stock of ready-madegoods. We're called under-the-bedworkers, or workers for the 'sweaters.'All the personswho work for wholesalehouses are 'sweaters.'Single workmen cannot get the work from them, becausethey cannot give security-£5 in money, or a shopkeeper must be responsible to that amount. Those who cannot give security are obliged to work for 'sweaters.'The reason for the warehousesrequiring this security is, becausethey pay so badly for the work they are afraid to trust the journeymanwith it. But in the regular trade, such as at the West-end, they require no security whatever. In the slop trade the journeymendo not keep Monday-they can't do it, Sunday nor Monday either-if they do they must want for food. Since we've been working at the slop trade we find ourselvesfar worse off than when we were working at the regular trade. The journeymenof the slop trade are unable to earn 13s. where the regular journeymancan earn 30s., and then we have to find our own trimmings and candle light. I'd sooner be transported than at this work. Why, then, at least, I'd have regular hours for work and for sleep; but now I'm harder worked and worse fed than a cab-horse."

115

During my stay in this quarter an incident occurred, which may be cited as illustrative of the poverty of the class of slop-workers. The friend who had conductedme to the spot, and who knew the workmen well, had long been striving to induce one of the men a Dutchman- to marry one of the females working with him in the room, and with whom he had been living for many months. That the man might raise no objection on the score of poverty, my friend requestedme to bear with him half the expenseof publishing the banns. To this I readily consented,but the man still urged that he was unable to wed the girl just yet. On inquiring the reason we were taken outside the door by the Dutchman, and there told that he had been forced to pawn his coat for 6s., and as yet he had saved only half the amount towards the redemption of it. It would take him upwards of a month to lay by the remainder. This was literally the fact, and the poor fellow said, with a shrug of his shoulders,he could not go to be married in his shirt sleeves. He was told to make himself easy about the weddinggarment, and our kind-heartedfriend left delighted with the day's work. I now wished to learn from some of the female operativeswhat prices they were paid, and requestedmy friend to introduce me to some workwoman who might be consideredas one of the most provident, industrious, and best conducted in the trade. The woman bears, I understand,an excellent character,and she gave the following melancholy account of her calling: -She makes various kinds of garments.Scarcely a garment that is to be made but what she makes; works for various slop-sellers; makes shirts, drawers, trousers, blouses, duck frocks, sou'-westers,and oilskin waterproofcoats, some in a rough statein the calico before they're oil'd, and others after they're oil'd. Works first hand. For shirts she gets 2s. to 6s. a dozen, that's the highest; there are some lower than that, but she generally refuses those. The lowest are ls. a dozen, or only a penny each. Of the 2s. a dozen she can make about three in the day-the day being from eight in the morning to ten in the evening. She usually makes 18 in the week. Shirtmaking is generally considered the worst work - has to find all her own trimmings, all the thread and cotton, everything, excepting the buttons,out of the 2s. a dozen. The price is paid for rowing shirts, called "rowers," with full bosoms put in, just the same as the 6s. a dozen ones, only the work is not so good. Of the 6s. a dozen she can't make more than one in the day. They're white collars and wristbands. Has to find her own trimmings. Is forced to give security for about £5. Those who cannot get security must

116

work for "sweaters." Flannel drawers are some 2s. 6d. a dozen, and some 3s. Some are coloured, and some are white flannel; the white are 3s., the coloured 2s. 6d. Has to find her own thread. Can do three pairs in a day-making 9d. at best work, or 7td. at worst, out of which there is to be deducted1td. for one ounce of thread. Moleskin trousers, and beaverteen,like the other articles, vary in price. The lowest price for moleskin trousersis 6s. a dozen pair-the highest, lOs. The beaverteenthe same. Can't make more than one pair of either the high or low priced ones in the day. The trimmings for eachdozenpair come to Is. 6d. The highest priced ones are all double stitched. Blouses are from 5s. to 7s. a dozen. Can't make two of the lowest price in the day. Might make one of the highest. Trimming for a dozen comes to about 6d., becauseit's chiefly cotton that is used in blouses.Duck frocks are 2s. to 2s 6d. a dozen. May make about a dozen and a half of those in a week if she sits very close to it. "During the courseof years," she said, "that I have worked at the business,I find it's all alike. You can't earn much more at one kind of work than you can at another." Sou'-westersare IOd. a dozen; from that to 3s. Can make one in a day of those at 3s., and of those at IOd. she makes half a dozen in the day. Oilskin waterproof coats, ready-dressed, are Is. 6d. each; and the others, undressed,from 4s. to 6s. per dozen. She has to find all her trimmings out of that. Can make one of those that are dressedin two days, and of those that are in the undressedstate,a dozen inthe week. "Upon the average,"she says, "at all kinds of work, excepting the shirts, that I make, I cannot earn more than 4s. 6d. to 5s. per week- let me sit from eight in the morning till ten every night; and out of that I shall have to pay Is. 6d. for trimmings and 6d. candlesevery week; so that altogetherI earn about 3s. in the six days. But I don't earn that, for there's the firing that you must have to pressthe work, and that will be 9d. a week, for you'll have to use half a hundredweightof coals. So that my clear earningsare a little bit more than 2s., say 2s. 3d. to 2s. 6d. every week. I consider the trousersthe best work. At the highest price, which is lOs. a dozen, I should make no more than eight of them in a week; that would give me 6s. 8d. The trimmings of that eight pair would cost me Is., the candles6d., and the coals 9d., for pressing,leaving 4s. 5d. clear-and that is the very best kind of work that can be got in the slop trade. Shirt work is the worst work - the very worst, that can be got. You cannot make more of those at 6s. a dozen than one a day, yielding 3s. a week. The trimmings would be about 3d. for the shirts, and the candles6d., as before, making

117

9d. to be deducted,and so leaving 2s. 3d. per week clear. I have known the prices much better when I first began to work at the business,some nineteen years ago. The shirts that they now give 6d. for were then ls.; and those now at 2d., were 8d. The trousers were Is. 4d. and Is. 6d. a pair, the best-now they give only IOd. for the best. The other articles are down equally low." "I cannot say," she added, "what the cause may be. I think there are so many to work at it, that one will underwork the other. I have seen it so at the shop. The sweatersscrew the people down as low as they possibly can, and the mastershear how little they can get their work done for, and cut down the sweaters,and so the workpeople have to suffer again. Every shop has a great number of sweaters.Sometimesthe sweaterswill get as much as 2d. or 3d.; indeed, I've known 'em take as much as 4d. out of each garment. I should supposeone that has a good many people to work for her-say about a dozen-I supposethat she'll clear from £1 to £1 5s. per week out of their labour. The workpeople are very dissatisfied,and very poor indeed- yes, very poor. There is a great deal of want, and there is a great deal of suffering amongstthem. I hear it at the shop when I go in with my work. They have generally been brought up regularly to the trade. It requires an apprenticeship.In about three months a person may learn it, if they're quick; and persons pay from lOs. to £1 to be taught it, bad as the trade is. A mother has got two or three daughters,and she don't wish them to go to service, and she puts them to this poor needlework; and that, in my opinion, is the cause of the destitution and prostitution about the streetsin theseparts. So that in a great measureI think the slop trade is the ruin of the young girls that take to it - the prices are not sufficient to keep them, and the consequenceis, they fly to the streets to make out their living. Most of the workers are young girls who have nothing else to dependupon, and there is scarcelyone of them virtuous. When they come on first they are very meek and modestin their deportment, but after a little time they get connectedwith the othersand led away. There are between200 and 300 of one classand another work at my shop. I dare say of females altogether there are upwards of 200. Yesterdaymorning there were seventy-fivein the shop with me, and that was at eight in the morning, and what there may be throughout the day it's impossible to form an idea. The age of the femalesin generalis about fourteen to twenty. "My daughteris a most excellent waistcoathand. I can give you an accountof her work, and then, of course,you can form an idea of what everybody else gets. The lowest price waistcoat is 3s. per

118

dozen, and the highest 9s. They are satin ones. She can make one satin one per day, and three of the 3s. ones. She earns, upon an average,about 4s. per week; deduct from this, trimmings about 6d. for the lowest, and 1s. per week for the highest price. As we both sit to work together,one candledoes for the two of us, so that she earns about 3s. per week clear, which is not sufficient to keep her even in food. My husband is a seafaring man, or I don't know what I should do. He is a particularly steady man, a teetotaller, and so indeed are the whole family, or else we could not live. Recently my daughterhas resigned the work and gone to service as the prices are not sufficient for food and clothing. I never knew a rise, but continual reductions. I know a woman who has six children, and she has to support them wholly on slop work. Her husbanddrinks, and does a day's work only now and then, spending more than he brings home. None of her children are able to work. I don't know how on earth she lives, or her little oneseither. Poor creature,she looked the picture of distressand poverty when I last saw her." This woman I had seenaway from her home, so I requestedmy friend to lead me to the dwelling of one of the shirt workers, one that he knew to be a hard-working, sober person, so that I might judge of the condition of the class. The woman lived over a coal and potato shed, occupying a small close room on the "secondfloor back." It did not require a second glance either at the room or the occupant to tell that the poor creaturewas steepedin poverty to the very lips. In one corner of the apartment was rolled up the bed on the floor. Beside the window was an oyster tub, set upon a chair. At this she was busy washing, while on the table a small brown pan was filled with the newly washed clothes; beside it were the remains of the dinner, a pieceof dry coarsebread,and half a cup of coffee. In answer to my inquiries, she made the following statement:"I make the 'rowers,' that is the rowing shirts. I'm only in the shirt line. Do nothing else. The rowers is my own work. These(she said, taking a cloth off a bundle of checkedshirts on a side table) is 2d. a piece. I have had some at 2td., and even 3d., but them has full linen fronts and linen wristbands. These are full-fronted shirts-the collars, wristbands,and shoulder-strapsare all stitched, and there are seven button-holesin each shirt. It takes full five hours to do one. I have to find my own cotton and thread. I gets two skeins of cotton for ld., becauseI am obliged to have it fine for them; and two skeins will make about three to four shirts. Two skeins won't quite make three-and-a-half,so that it don't

119

leave above seven farthings for making each of the shirts. If I was to begin very early here, about six in the morning, and work till nine at night, I can't make above three in the day at them hours. I often work in the summertime from four in the morning to nine or ten at night- as long as I can see. My usual time of work is from five in the morning till nine at night, winter and summer; that is about the average time throughout the year. But when there's a press of business,I work earlier and later. I often gets up at two and three in the morning, and carrieson till the evening of the following day, merely lying down in my clothes to take a nap of five or ten minutes. The agitation of mind never lets one lie longer. At the rowers work I don't reckon I makes 5s. a week at the best of times, even working at the early and late hours; and working at the other hours I won't make above 3s. 6d. Average all the year round I can't make more than 4s. a week, and then there's cotton and candles to buy out of that. Why, the candles will cost about !Od. or Is. a week in the depth of winter, and the cotton about 3d. or 4d. a week, so that I clears about 2s. 6d. a week-yes, I reckon that's about it! I know it's so little I can't get a rag to my back. I reckon nobody in the trade can make more than I do- they can't-and there's very few makes so much, I'm sure. It's only lately that I found a friend to be security for the rowing shirts, or else before that I only received ltd. for the same shirts as I now have 2d. for, becauseI was forced to work for a sweater. These prices are not so good as those usually paid in the trade; some housespays 3s. a dozen for what I have 2s. for. A few weeks-that is, about six weeksago - the price was 2s. 6d. a dozen; but they always lowers the price towards winter. Never knew them to raise the prices. I have worked at the businessabout eight years, and when I first began the 'rowers' were at 3s. 6d. a dozen-the very same article that I am now making for 2s. They in general keep the sweatersemployedin winter- some call them the 'double hands,'and they turn off the single handsfirst, because it's the least trouble to them. The sweaters,you see, take out a great quantity of work at a time. The sweaters,many of them, give security to £20. I've kown some of them take out as much as a chaise-cartfull of various sorts of work, according to the hands they've got employed. One that I knows keeps a horse and cart, and does nothing himself-that he don't. I supposehe's got near upon a hundredhands,and gives about £50 security. He was a potboy at a public-house,and married a shirt-maker. The foremen at the large shops generally marry a shirt-maker, or someonein the line of business,and then take a quantity of work home to their

120 wives, who give it out to poor people. They take one-fourth part out of the price, let it be what it will." She produced an account-book, of which the following is a copy:1842 July 2 Nine at 2d. 4 Nine at 2d. 7 Three at 2d. " 10 Nine at 2d. 12 Sevenat 2td. 17 Nine at 2td. 19 Nine at 2td. 21 Six at 2d. 24 Twelve at 2id.... ·" 26 Six at 2id. 27 Six at 2td. 28 Six at 2td. 31 Six at 2td. " Aug. 2 Three at 3d. (bespoke) Nine at 2td. ... " Nine at 2td. 6 11 Six at 2td. " 14 Twelve at 2td.... 16 Four at 2d. 17 Six at 2td. 21 Eight at 2!d. ... 23 Eight at 2d. 25 Eighteenat 2d. 31 Seventeenat 2d. " Sept.11 Nine at 2d. 13 Nine at 2d. 17 Twelve at 2d. " 25 Eight at 2!d. 27 Eight at 2td. 29 Twelve at 2d. " Oct. 6 Twelve at 2d. To be in by 12 Tuesday,or not to be paid for:Oct. 9 Nine at 2d. 16 Twelve at 2d. " 29 Nine at 2d. "

....

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

s. d. 1 6 1 6 0 6 1 6 1 5t 1 lOt 1 lOt 1 0 2 3 1 It 1 3 1 3 1 3 0 9 1 tot 1 lOt 1 3 26 0 3 13

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

3 2 1 1 2 1 1 2 2

£

0 0 0 0 0 0

0

1 8 1 4

0 10 6 6

0 10 8 0 0

0 1 6 0 2 0 0 1 6

£2 12 4 Hence it will be seen that the averageearningswere 2s. lOtd. per week, from which are to be deductedcotton and candles, costing say, lO!d. a week, and so leaving 2s. per week clear for 17 weeks. These prices are all "first-handed." She can't say why they get so little- supposesit's owing to the times. But one cause is the Jews going to those in the trade and making their brag how little they can get the shirts done for. The

121

original cause of the reduction was their being seni to the unions and the prisons to be made. This is now discontinued. "I find it very hard times," she said, "oh, very hard indeed. If I get a bit of meat once a week, I may think myself well off." (She drew a bag from under the table.) "I live mostly upon coffee, and don't taste a cup of tea not once in a month, though I am up early and late; and the coffee I drink without sugar. Look here, this is what I have. You see this is the bloom of the coffee that falls off while it's being sifted after roasting; and I pays 6d. for a bagfull holding about half a bushel." The next party I visited was one who worked at waistcoats,and here I found the keenestmisery of all. The house was unlike any that I had seen in the same trade: all was scrupulously clean and neat. The old brass fender was as bright as gold, and worn with continued rubbing. The grate, in which there was barely a handful of coals, had been newly black-leaded,and there was not a cinder littering the hearth. Indeed, everything in the place evinced the greatestorder and cleanliness. Nor was the suffering self-evident. On the contrary, a stranger,at first sight, would have believed the occupant to have been rather well to do in the world. A few minutes' conversationwith the poor creature, however, soon told you that the neatnesswas partly the effect of habits acquired in domestic service, and partly the result of a struggle to hide her extreme poverty from the world. Her story was the most pathetic of all I had yet heard:- "I work for a slop-house-waistcoat work," she said; "I don't make sleeve waistcoats,but body waistcoats, and the lowest price I get is 4d.; I have had 'em as high as Is. 3d. I take the run, such as they have got to give me-sometimes one thing and sometimesanotherin the waistcoatway. Some have better work than others, but my eyesight won't admit of my doing the best work. Some waistcoatsare as much as Is. 9d., some 2s. I have worked twenty-six years at the same warehouse.The general price for the waistcoats I have now is 6d., 8d., and IOd. I can make one a day sometimes, and sometimesthree in two days-just as it happens-for my health is very bad. Sometimes I don't earn more than 2s. 6d. a week, and sometimes I have earned 3s. 6d. and 4s. That's the most I have earned for this severalyears. I must work very close from about nine in the morning to eleven at night to earn that. Prices have come down very much indeed since I first worked for the warehouse-very much. The prices when I was first employedthere were as much as Is. 9d. for what I get now Is. ld. for. Every week they have reduced something within these last few years. Work's falling very much.

122

The work has not riz- no, never since I worked at it. It's lower'd, but it's not riz. The mastersseem to say that the work is lowered to them-that they can't afford to pay a better price, or else they would. The parties for whom I work lay it to the large slop-houses. They say it's through them that the work has lowered so. I find it very difficult to get sufficient to nourish me out of my work. I can't have what I ought to have. I think my illness at presentis from over-exertion. I want more air than I can get. I am wholly dependent on myself for my living, and never made more than 4s. a week. Several times I have had my work thrown back upon my hands, and that has perhaps made me ill, so that I've not been able to do anything. I am obliged to work long, and always-sick or well- I must do it for my living, to make any appearanceat all. My sight is very bad now from over-work, and perhapsother difficulties as well- I suffer so bad with my head. My greatest earningsare 4s. per week, my lowest 2s. 6d., and I generally average about 3s. Many weeks I have been wholly without workingnot able to do it. Young people that have got good health and good work might, perhaps,earn more than I do; but at the common work I should think they can't make more than I can. I never was married. I went out to service when I was younger, and to waistcoating after quitting service; so that I might be at home with mother and father, and take care of them in their old age. I rent the house. It's where I buried mother and father from; and as such, I've kept it on since they've been dead. I let the two rooms, but I don't gain anything by it. I stand at about ten-pencea week rent when I live in the top room and let the others; but sometimes it's empty, and I lose by it. Some time ago, too, a party ran away, and left £3 lOs. in my debt. That nearly ruined me. I've not got the better of it yet. I've been very short-very short indeed, sir; in want of common necessariesto keep my strength and life together. I don't find what I get by my labour sufficient to keep me. I've no money anywhere,not a farthing in the house; yes-I tell a story-I've got a penny. If I were to be taken ill I don't know what I should do. But I should be obliged to do as I've often done before. The Almighty is my only support. For my old age there is nothing but the workhouse. After six and twenty years' hard work I've not a penny to the fore - nothing to dependupon for an hour. If I could have saved, I should have been very glad to have done so. Take one week with another, I have earned3s., and that has been barely sufficient to keep me. I've sold several things to make up, when I've come short. The things here belonged to father and mother. I've sold a great many that they left me.

123

Many people who follow the same businessI think are worse off, if anything, than I am; becauseI've got a home, and I strive to keep it together,and they've not." It seemeddifficult to believe that there could be found women suffering more keenly than this poor creature;and yet the gentleman who had kindly undertakento introduceme to the betterclass of workpeoplein the trade, led me to a young woman, most ladylike in her appearanceand manners,from whom I gatheredthe following pitiable tale: She works at waistcoat business;at the best kind of work. Gets lOd. each waistcoat, sometimes8d., and sometimes6d.; some she has heard of being as low as 2td. There are shilling ones, but there's a great deal of work in them. Black satin waistcoatsare lOd., stitched all round; and out of the lOd. trimmings are to be found. The trimmings for each waistcoatcost ld., sometimesltd., and occasionally2d. "Those I am making now at lOd.," she said, "have a quantity of work in them. They would take me the whole day, even if I was well enough to sit so long at 'em. Besidesthis, there'shalf a day lost eachtime you take your work in. And sometimes every other day-and often every day-they'll dmg you up to the warehousefor the little bit of work. They give out four at a time mostly. We have to give housekeeper's securityfor £5 before we can get work. Some weeks I don't do more than four. Some weeks I don't do that. Last week I had a hard matter to do four; but then I wasn't well. When I was apprenticewe used to have 5s. for making the very sameas those that I now get lOd. for. At 2s. apiece one might live, but as it is now, I am starving; if it wasn't for my friends helping me a little, I don't know what would become of me, I'm sure. Frequentlythe work is returnedupon our hands, and recently I have had 9s. to pay out of my earningsfor some waistcoatsthat were sent back to me becausethey were kept out too long. They were kept out longer than they should have been, becauseI was ill; I wasn't able to make them. I sat up in my bed, ill as I was, and bastedthem myself, and then a girl that I got did what she could to them, and I finished them; but, owing to the delay, the foreman grew spiteful and returnedthem on my hands. I have been suffering for this ever since, and I couldn't subsist upon what I get now, were it not for some kind friends. I've got a spirit, and wouldn't like to be under an obligation, but I am forced to live as I do. While I was ill my rent went back, and I've left part of my things where I was living before I came here, because I couldn't pay up what I owed for my lodging. Thereis my doctor's bill to be paid-for I haven't paid it yet, and I have beenobliged

124

to get rid of the waistcoatsthat were returned to me; I sold them for a trifle, as I could, with the exceptionof one that I've pledged. I got ls. upon that, and I sold the others at ls. 6d. each, though they chargedme at the shop 3s. 3d. apiecefor them. I was glad to get rid of them anyhow, just then. "The waistcoatsthat they pay a shilling for to have made are like jackets-they have sleeves and flaps to pockets like coats. I don't know what they are like. It would take anyonetwo days to make them. It takes me two days. My averageearningsare from 3s. to 4s. a week, and out of that I have to pay 2s. for the waistcoats returned on my hands, and about 6d. for trimmings, per week, leaving me about Is. 6d. to live upon. Some personssay they can earn at waistcoating 14s. to 15s. per week, and they tell the master so; but then they have people to help them-girls who probably pay them somethingto learn the business,or who are very young, and have Is. per week for doing the inferior parts. I don't know why the prices are so low. I have found prices continually going down since I came from the west-endof the town. I never knew an advance.If they took off 2d. or ld., I never heardof their putting it on again. The prices have fallen more within the last two or three years-much more than ever they did before. I don't think they can get very much lower. If they do, persons must starve. It is almost as bad as the workhousenow. I was apprenticed to the waistcoatingat the West-end,and was paid a little different then. I could earn 15s. a week at that time. The businesshas materially injured my health; yes, that it has. My eyesight and health have both suffered from it. It has producedgeneraldebility; the doctor saysit's sitting so long in the house.Sometimesall night I used to sit up to work. I've known many people that have had strong constitutions, and after they've worked at it many years they've gone like I have. There are personswho get even lower prices than I do-oh, yes, sir, a great deal lower! Some I know get three-pence,and evenfour-pencefor a waistcoat." I asked whether she kept any account of her earnings,and she immediately producedthe book in which her work was enteredby her employers.On one side was a statementof the work given out to her, and on the other that of the work brought home, together with the price paid for it, and the amountdeductedfrom the earnings for the waistcoats which had been returned upon the poor girl's hands. The following is the accountof the prices pafd to, and the sumsreceivedby, the waistcoatmaker:-

125 Four vests returned, 9s. to pay Sept.12 Four at 10d. 13 One at 10d....

s. d. 3 4 0 IO

To pay for waistcoatsreturned

4 2 2 0

"

Paid Sept.28 Five at IOd.... To pay for waistcoatsreturned Paid Oct. 10 Two at Is. 17 Three at 6d.... " I8 One at Is. ... To pay for waistcoatsreturned Paid Oct. 22 Four at 9!d. 26 Two at IOd .... "

To pay for waistcoatsreturned Paid Oct. 30 Three at lOd. 31 One at lOd.... " To pay for waistcoatsreturned Paid

22 42 2 0 22 2 0 I 6 I 0 4 6 I 6 3 0 3 2 1 8 4 10 1 6 3 4 2 6

0 10 3 4

1 0

2 4

Total receipts from Sept. 13 to Oct. 31 (seven weeks), I3s., averaging Is. IOtd. per week. On my way home from these saddeningscenes,I called at the wholesale slop warehouse for the promised statementas to the prices paid by the generalityof the trade. After waiting a considerable time, one of the principals and foreman came to communicate to me the desiredinformation. The usual sum earnedby a person working at the slop trade is, they told me, three-penceper hour!! Women working at moleskin trousers, they said, would earn, upon an average,Is. IOd. every day of ten hours' labour.

126

At waistcoatsfemales would earn generallyat the rate of 2s. per day of ten hours' labour. The foreman and the principal then wished to know in what state I had found the workpeople generally. I told them I had never seen or heard of such destitution. "Destitution!" was the exclamation. "God bless my soul, you surpriseme!" "And I think it but right, gentlemen,"I added, "to apprise you that your statement as to prices differs most materially from that of the workpeople;" and so saying, I took my departure.

127

LETTER VII Friday, November9, 1849

From the slop-workersof the easternparts of London I now come to consider the condition of the male and female operativesemployed in making the clothes of the army, navy, police, railway, customs, and post-office servants,convicts, and such other articles of wearing apparel as are made either by contract or in large quantities. Small as are the earningsof those who dependfor their living upon the manufactureof the ready-madeclothes for the wholesale warehousesof the Minories and the adjoining places, still the incomings of those who manufacturethe clothes of our soldiersand sailors, Government,railway-police, and Custom-house officers, are even less calculatedto supportlife. I thought the force of misery could no further go than with the waistcoat and shirt handsthat I had visited last week. And yet, since then, I have seen people so overwhelmedin suffering and so used to privations of the keenestkind, that they had almost forgotten to complain of them. The causeof thesethings, as I said before, I do not pretendto deal with. I have taken the matter up merely with the view of laying before the public a true and unbiassedstatementof the incomings and condition of the workpeopleof the metropolis;and I can assure the readerI am at no little painsin order to arrive at a fair average estimateof the state of those personsto whom I direct my attention. I seek for no extreme cases. If anything is to come of this hereafter, I am well aware that the end can be gained only by laying bare the sufferings of the class, and not of any particular individuals belonging thereto. Moreover, I wish it to be known, that in the course of my investigationsI make a point of placing myself under the guidance of those gentlemen who have long known the character of the workpeople whom I visit, so that I may be led to those who are suffering from insufficient remuneration for their labour rather than from an improvident expenditure of their gains. Further still, whenever an extraordinary case presentsitself to me, I generally make a point of inquiring in the

128 immediate neighbourhoodas to the characterof the individual, so that I may trust to no one man'sopinion for what I assert. With this preamble, let me now set forth as briefly as possibly the mannerin which the clothing for the army is regulated. I deal with the army in particular, becauseit may be taken as a fair type of all the other casesof Governmentor contract work that appear to be considerablyunderpaid. For this purpose,I cannot do better than avail myself of the GovernmentReport from the Select Committee on Army and Navy Appointments:"In the army estimatesof this year (1833)," said the Select Committee in their examinationof one of the Governmentofficers, "the sum required for clothing, exclusive of the amount required for clothing in the East Indies, is 255,010/. "In what manner is that divided or assignedto the different colonels of regiments; begin first with the Life Guards and Horse Guards; state the rates generally assigned to each?-The clothing allowances" (the answerwas) "are fixed annual rates, by King's warrantsof the 22nd and 30th of July, 1830, for infantry and cavalry. For the Life Guards they were fixed in 1803 at the presentrate; for the Blues they were fixed in September,1830, at the presentrate; and for the Foot Guards the exact off-reckoning is taken. I believe I have already stated that the act of 1783 did not apply to the Foot Guards,and their pay used to be voted in gross down to the estimateof 1831. At that time, by an office arrangement, sanctionedby the Secretaryat War, we took the off-reckoning, the part of the pay off-reckoned for clothing, and put it down as the charge for clothing the regiment, taking the exact sum off-reckoned as the allowance for each rank. In the Cavalry: for the sergeant,5/. 19s.; corporal, 61. lOs. 3d.; private, 4/. Os. 3d.; drummer or trumpeter, 61. lOs. 3d.; non-effective man, 61. lOs. 3d.; warrant and contingent man, 4/. Os. 3d. In the Infantry: sergeant, 11. 9s. 2d.; corporal, 4/. 19s. 6d.; private, 2/. 6s.; drummeror trumpeter,41. 19s. 6d. Life Guards: sergeant, 91. 17s.Std.; corporal, 91. 17s.Std.; private, 91. 17s. Std.; drummer or trumpeter, 91. 17s. Std. Horse Guards: sergeant, 51. 19s.; corporal, 51. 19s.; private, 51. 19s.; drummer or trumpeter, 51. 19s. Foot Guards: sergeant,st. 9s. O!d.; corporal, 4/. ls. 11 13-14d.; private, 3/. 17s.0 19-84d.; drummer or trumpeter, 41. ls. 11 13-l4d.; warrant and contingent man, 3/. 17s.0 19-84d. "State in what mannerthe different sums voted by Parliamentfor the clothing of the respectiveregimentsare assignedto the colonels?-The colonel is required to make an assignmentof the whole clothing allowance to some person,either his agent, or it may be a personempowered by that agent, or to the clothier himself, as a security to the clothier. After the estimates are voted by Parliament, the Board of General Officers are apprised by the Secretaryat War of the number on the establishmentof the regiments of Cavalry, Infantry, and Foot Guards, for which the colonel has the right to assign. The Life Guards and Horse Guards are not so notified. The notification authorisesthe Oothing Board to pass the assignment.The assignmentis presentedto the Secretaryat War afterwards,and a warrant is granted by him twice a year, in April and July, for one-half the clothing allowanceeach time."

129 Sir R. Donkin, m observations:-

his examination, made the following

"We have 105 battalions of infantry; the clothing of these costs 255,000/. a year by the army estimates,of which 63,000/. a year goes to the colonels as their emoluments;that is to say, the public pay these 105 colonels 63,000/. a year more than the clothing costs,for purposeswhich are perfectly understoodand admitted; that is, to increasethe colonel's income; it amountsto 600/. a year each, that is, the 63,000/. gives 600/. a year for each of the 105 colonels; I am taking the greatestamount." It appears,then, that the army clothing in the year abovealluded to cost, for 105 battalionsof infantry, £255,000. The supply of this was intrusted to 105 colonels, and they paid £192,000for the goods, taking to themselves£63,000 profit out of the transaction. The evidenceof Mr. Pearse,one of the army clothiers, before the same committee,was as follows: -

"In what manner are your contracts made with the colonels of the regiments you clothe?- In point of fact we make no contract with them, it being well known that amongst the variety of clothiers there prevails a competition amongst them to provide clothing as cheapas it is possible to be effectually done; this competition brings the prices to a point at which all the respectableclothiers from time to time make their chargesto the colonels.I requestto observe,that if the competition was not so very severe, and no competition prevailed, a higher price would be assuredly charged than at present, as in point of fact, the price which the clothiers charge is not adequateas compared to the profits of other branchesof business,but there is no risk or adventure in it; therefore I am the more satisfied that the profit may not exceed the ordinary interest of money, five per cent., or from five to eight per cent. for commercial profit. It is to be observed,that this is a transaction which returns capital only in about sixteen months, as shown by statements delivered." Of the evils of this competitive system, the following extract from the same gentleman'sevidencemay be taken as an apt illustration. Its influence upon the workpeople will be afterwards exposed:"When the contract was opened, Mr. Maberly took it at the same price in December,1808. This statementshows the effect of wild competition. In Februaryfollowing, Esdailes'house,who were accoutrementmakers, and not clothiers, got knowledge of what was Mr. Maberly's price, and they tendered at 12s. 6!d. a month afterwards; it was evidently then a struggle for the price, and how the quality the least good (if we may use such a term) could pass.Mr. Maberly did not like to be outbidden by Esdailes; Esdailesstoppedsubsequently,and Mr. Maberly bid 12s. 6d., three months after, and Mr. Dixon bid again, and got the contract for lls. 3d. in October; and in Decemberof that year another public tendertook place, and Messrs.A. and D. Cock took it at lls. Std., and they subsequentlybroke. It went on in this sort of way, changing

130

hands every two or every three months, by bidding against each other. Presently,though it was calculatedthat the great coat was to wear four years, it was found that those great coatswere so inferior in quality that they wore only two years, and representationswere accordingly made to the Commander-in-Chief,when it was found necessarythat great care should be taken to go back to the original good quality that had been establishedby the Duke of York, by which the colonels of regiments were governed,and which, when supplied by the colonels' clothiers, was very strictly attendedto." This leads me to the army clothiers themselves.Of the profits of these gentlemen I am in no way disposedto complain. Indeed, as a body of men, they appear to have no very exorbitant gains; and of one in particular I can state that his whole life appearsto have been an anxious study, and, indeed struggle, to benefit the workpeople in his employment. The following letter sent by him as far back as the year 1845 to the several army clothiers of the metropolis, with a view of inducing them to raise the wagesof the operativesengagedin the manufactureof regimentals,is a higher eulogy upon that gentleman'sexertions than any it is possible for me to pronounce:"Dear Sir- In reference to the conversationI had with you some time ago, respecting the prices paid for the making up of our army clothing, I then mentioned to you that it was my intention to pay an additional price for making up my clothing, and you may perhapsbe aware that I have since done so. Now, after making due inquiry, I have fixed upon prices which I have determinedto adopt from Monday next, for the future, a statementof which I enclose,trusting that your house, and the other army clothiers, will join in giving that which is justly due to thoseby whoselabour we live. "It would appear that, to get our army clothing made up, the poor people must be degradedby vice and drunkenness,or pinching poverty, before the piece-masterscan get the poor creatures to work for the prices given. "Feeling that I am the humblest individual in the trade, it has been my desire, not to take the lead in any matter connectedwith it, and I therefore first communicatedwith you on this subject, and now consider it only right to communicatefurther to you what I am about to do. I have no desire to interfere with your business,or that of any other house. I desire to act towards you as towards my poor workpeople, 'to do as I would be done by;' and remain, dear sir, yours, very "WM. SHAW faihfully, "34 Bloomsbury-street,Aug. 5, 1845." Again, in the year 1848, the samegentleman,impressedwith the same benevolentdesire to increasethe incomings of the underpaid and overworked operativesof the trade, addresseda letter to the Chairman of the Committee on Army, Navy, and OrdnanceEstimates,from which the following are extracts:-

l31

"My Lord- My object more particularly is to requestyour lordship will submit to the committee, as an evidenceof the evils of contracts, the great coat sent herewith, made similar to those supplied to the army, and I would respectfully appeal to them as men, as gentlemen,as Christians, whether five-pence, the price now being given to poor females for making up those coats, is a fair and just price for six, seven, and eight hours' work ... My lord, the misery amongstthe workpeople is most distressing-o f a mass of people, willing to work, who cannot obtain it, and of a mass, especially women, most iniquitously paid for their labour, who are in a state of oppressiondisgraceful to the Legislature, the Government, the Church, and the consuming public . . . I would therefore most humbly and earnestlycall upon your lordship, and the other membersof the committee, to recommendan immediate stop to be put to the systemof contracting,now pursuedby the different Government departments,as being one of false economy, as a system most oppressiveto the poor, and being most injurious, in every way, to the best interestsof the country." In anotherplace the samegentlemansays:"I could refer to the screwing down of other things, but the above will be sufficient to show how cruelly the workpeopleemployedin making up this clothing are oppressed;and some of the men will tell you they are tired of life; and last week I found one man making a county police coat, who said his wife and child were out begging." With this introduction, I will now proceedto set forth the prices paid for the different articles of Army, Navy, Marine, Police, and Convict clothing, distinguishing between those that are paid, and those that ought to be paid to afford workmen even a bare subsistence. These have been furnished to me by an old-established firm, and the statementof the gentleman supplying them to me is this: - "The work is to be consideredas uncertain,even with the best workmen and workwomen. I have not found one that has not been at times without work. Thereforeif they are paid barely sufficient to keep body and soul togetherwhen labouring hard, think of their situation when they are without work! Many are obliged to work on the Sabbath, and many have told me," adds my informant, "that they are in the constanthabit of rising at four or five in the morning, and working till ten, eleven, or twelve at night." LIST OF PRICESPAID TO 1HE WORKPEOPLEBY TilE ARMY CL01HIERS AND CONTRACTORS,etc. ARMY SUPPLIES (NOT BY CONTRACT) 2o AND 3D REGIMENT OF GUARDS

Private's coat (without looping), takes 15 to 16 hours to make, 2s. to 2s. 6d. Lowest price that should be paid, 3s. to 3s. 4d. Private's trousers, take six hours, 6!d. to 8d. Lowest price that should be paid, lOd.

132

White kersey jacket, six hours, 6d. to 6!d. Lowest price that should be paid, lOd. INFANTRY PRIVATES' CLO'IHING (NOT BY CONTRACT)

Coats, 10 to 12 hours making, without the pocket, 1s. 2d. Lowest price that should be paid, 1s. 9d. to 2s. Pair of trousers, four-and-a-half to five hours' work, 6d. to 7d. Lowest price that should be paid, 9d. East India jacket, 9d. to 11d. Lowest price that should be paid, ls. 4d. RIFLE BRIGADE (NOT BY CONTRACT)

Coat, 1s. 9d. Lowest price that should be paid, 2s. 6d. Trousers,6!d. Lowest price that should be paid, 9d. 17'IH LANCERS (NOT BY CONTRACT)

Blue cloak, 2s. Cannot be made under 13 hours; the cloak used to be 2s. 6d., and not so well madeformerly. ARMY NECESSARIES (NOT BY CONTRACT)

Calico shirts, take seven or eight hours each (some take a day); can make two in a day of from 14 to 16 hours long. Highest price paid, 4!d. For 14 hours' work the maker gets 9d., and six days at 9d. gives 4s. 6d. for weekly earnings;out of this she has to pay 2s. per week for a room, for candles ld. per night, or 6d. per week; for coal, 6d. per week; and for thread for shirts, 4d. per week; so that she earns 1s. 2d. clear per week, supposingshe is fully employed, and that after working 14 to 16 hours each day. Lowest price that should be paid, lOd. to 1s. Summer trousers, six to seven hours, 7d. Lowest price that should be paid, lOd. to ls. Undressjacket, lOd. Lowest price that should be paid, 1s. 4d. Haversacks,coarseduck, ls. per dozen, near two hours' work to make one. Duck frocks, 2!d. to 3d.; can only make four in a long day. Four frocks 3d., yield 1s.; out of this deduct, thread Hd., candle ld., and we have the clear earningsper day 9td. Flannel shirts, 3d. to 4d. Can make four per day. Flanneldrawers,3d. Make two in a day. ARMY SUPPLIES (BY CONTRACT)

Great coat for the army and artillery, contracted for, first for the materials,and then for making up, under 1s. each,including cutting, etc., takes sevento eight hours to make one coat; some women can only make one in the day, say three in two days, paid at 5d. each: per week, 3s. 9d.; it will cost for thread 9d.; leaving for lodging, fire, candles,living, and clothes,3s. Od. ROYAL ARTILLERY (BY CONTRACT)

Private'scoat, 18 to 20 hours' work, nearly two days' work each, Is. 7d. and 1s. 8d. Lowest price that should be paid, 3s. 6d. to 4s. Od. Private's trousers, with scarlet stripes, take seven hours per pair, 6!d. Lowest price that should be paid, 1s. 2d. to 1s. 4d. [The poor people who work at this clothing are compelled to work almost all night to get food, and very frequently on the Sabbeth- the day of rest!] Great coat for Artillery, with strap behind, eight hours' work, 5~d. Lowest price that should be paid, 1s. 6d. to 2s. Od.

133 MILITARY PENSIONERS (BY CONTRACT)

Blue cloth coat, double-breasted,skirt sewn on, sleeveslined with brown holland, scarlet collar and cuffs, slash on sleeves,and two buttonholes on each, two pockets, three hooks and eyes on collar, paid 2s. 2d. Takes one day and a half to make. Lowest price that should be paid, 4s. 6d. to 5s. Blue cloth trousers,with red stripe, 6d. per pair; very bad. CLOTHING FOR CONVICTS {BY CONTRACT)

Jacket, double stitched, takes five hours to make each garment; thread, !d.; 3d. Lowest price that shouldbe paid, 9d. to ls. Trousers, ditto, four hours, 3d. Lowest price that should be paid, 9d. to ls. Waistcoat, ditto, two hours, ltd. Lowest price that should be paid, 4d. to 6d. Partly coloured overalls, two pair in 10 or 11 hours, 5d. Lowest price that should be paid, 9d. to Is. [Some of the people work from five o'clock in the morning until 10 at night.] CONVICTS' SHOES (BY CONTRACT)

Mr. Gotch, one of the most respectablemanufacturers,gave for making, per pair ls. 6d. Was given under the contract, ls. 2d. CONVICTS' SHIRTS (BY CONTRACT)

Mr. Pigott, contractor, gave for the making 2s. 3d. per dozen, or ltd. to 2d. each,to workwomen. CAPE OF GOOD HOPE CAVALRY (BY CONTRACT)

Blue cloth cloak, 2s. 3d. Takes a man from 13 to 14 hours to make. Man with assistanceof wife can make one in 11! hours. NAVY (ADMIRALTY CONTRACT)

Navy jackets take 18 hours to make. Fine blue cloth jackets, paid for each, 2s. 6d. to 2s. 8d. Lowest price that should be paid, 5s. to 6s. [If made from a shop, lOs. would be paid. A man making one of these had a large family, or he said he would rather walk the streets until he dropped,before he would take the work at such a price.] ROYAL MARINE CLOTHING (BY CONTRACT)

Private's coat and epaulettestake 13 or 15 hours to make each. Under former contractor, ls. ld., ls. 2d., and ls. 4d.; now about Is. 9d. Lowest price that should be paid, 3s. to 3s. 6d. Private's trousers, four to five hours, were paid, 2!d. and 3d.; now, 4d. and 4!d. Lowest price that shouldbe paid, 8d. to 9d. Waistcoat,4d. and 4!d. Lowest price that should be paid, IOd. Great coats,5d. Lowest price that should be paid, ls. to Is. 2d. [The workpeople find thread out of these prices, and have to work very long to get any food.] Duck trousers,2td. Shirts, 2td. POLICE (BY CONTRACT)

Blue coat, price paid for making, when first suppliedby Messrs.Hebbert and Co., ls. 6d.; reduced by them 6d. at a time, to 3s.; Messrs. Dolans in I844 gave 3s.; Messrs. Gilpin and Co., 2s. lOd. Lowest price that should be paid, 5s. to 6s.

134 [The coat takes 15 to 17 hours to make. Some can only make one in two days. I am informed that the price calculatedto be paid, when it was first provided, was 7s. Great coat paid for and reducedin the same manner.] Dress trousers,nine or 10 hours, 1s. 6d.; reducedto 1s. 2d. Lowest price that should be paid, 2s. 6d. to 3s. Od. Undress trousers, eight or nine hours, 1s. 2d.; reduced to !Od. Lowest price that should be paid, 2s. to 2s. 6d. Making the leather top and sides of the hat used to be paid 5d.; now 2td. Boots-Mr. Gotch, one of the best manufacturers,calculated 3!d. per pair more for the workmen than is paid now. RAILWAY (BY CONTRACT)

Flannel waistcoats (say for Birmingham Railway) each 2td. It takes four or five hours to make one of them. The people will only make them becauseemployed all the year round by the middlemen. For 15 hours' work the maker only gets 6!d. Great coats, 6d. Full seven hours' work in each. One person does not think they could make them in that time to make them well. Some take a day. Cord jackets,2s. 6d. to 2s. Take 15 hours each. Trousers,2s. Take nine hours each. Railway police trousers,Is. 6d. Take eight hours each. Cord waistcoats, with fustian sleevesand backs, Is. 9d. Take 12 hours' hard work. Fine thread, 1d.; and twist, ld.; making 1s. 7d. each clear. CUSTOM-HOUSE (BY CONTRACT) S. d. Tidewaiters' suits, blue cloth coat, same as gentleman's; 2! hours to make; two long days' work . . . 49 Blue cloth waistcoat,single-breasted;take six or seven hours to make 0 10 Blue cloth trousers;take eight or nine hours to make 18 The suit 6 10 [It will take a man, his wife, and child, a week to make two suits. The prices here given are those paid to the piece master. The price to maker is probably but 6s., if that.] Tidewaiter's jacket 26 Tidewaiter's waistcoat 610 Tidewaiter's trousers 19

44

[This is much worse work than the other suit. N.B. This price is paid by the warehouse;that given by piece master to workmen is probably under 4s.] EAST INDIA COMPANY (BY CONTRACT)

Calico shirts, well made, say seven to eight hours' work, paid 3td. Lowest price that should be paid, ls. [When the pattern was fixed, nine or 10 years ago, 8d. a shirt was paid from warehouse;now, only 4td.; and to maker as receive, 3td.; very likely it is lower now.] GOVERNORS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL (BY CONTRACT)

Linen shirts, one day to make, 2td. Coarsecalico shirts, hard work, one day to make, 2d.

135

I shall now in due order proceed to set before the public the "plain unvarnishedtales" of the operativesthemselves.The slight discrepanciesin price that the intelligent reader may discover, he will easily understandto arise from the fact of the different workpeople working for different houses,and of the sums paid by the clothiers being so various, that the gentleman alluded to above (Mr. Shaw) pays as much as 5d. more on the coat than any of the other clothiers. Again, I wish the reader to understandthat the following are the ordinary casesof the trade; they have, most assuredly,not been selectedfor the purpose. The first person whom I visited was a male hand, and on entering his house I certainly found more comforts about it than I had been led to expect. He lived in a back room built over a yard. It was nicely carpetted,and on one side to my astonishment,stood a grand piano. There were several pictures hanging against the walls, and a glass full of dahlias on the mantelpiece.I could tell, however, by the "wells" beneath the two large sofas that they were occasionally used as bedsteads,and the easy-chairin which I was requestedto take a seat was of so extravaganta size, that it was evident it was occasionallyput to the same purpose. I had been given to understandthat the man was in the habit of taking lodgers, and this in a measure accounted for the double duty assignedto the different articlesof furniture in the room. "I make the soldiers' trousers, the Foot Guards principally," said the man in answerto my questions,"gets 6d. a pair, and have to find thread. The thread costs, I should say myself, at the rate I buy it, about -!d. for a pair of trousers.Many have to pay more, becauseif they can't get a quarter of a pound they have to give a greater price for a single ounce. At that rate it will take a full pennyworth to make a pair. This is the usual way in which the workpeople buy their thread, becausethey cannot afford to get a larger quantity at a time. The trousers, therefore, averageabout 5d. each. Of course a fire must be kept for pressingthe trousers, and the expenseof this has again to be deductedfrom the price paid. I can make a pair in five hours, but there isn't one in a hundred can do this, and it will take a middling worker eight hours to finish one pair. But then I put the seamsout, and if I did them at home it would take me six hours to do all myself. Without the seamsI can do three pair a day. In summerI can do four, working very hard, and not being taken off for anything. I cannot get work always. Now I'm sitting still- have had nothing to do this five weeks of any consequence.At the best of times, when work

136

is very brisk, and in the summertime too, I never earn more than 8s. a week. This is the money I have for my work, and from this there is to be deductedthread for the sixteen pair, and cotton for the felling of the same,and this comesto about l6d., and the cost of fire may. with the wood and altogether, be taken at ls. Over and above all this, I have to pay ld. per pair for the stitching of the seams,and 9d. a week for a woman to fetch and take my work to and from the warehouse.So that altogetherthere is 4s. 5d. to be deductedfrom the 8s., and so leaving only 3s. 9d. as my earnings per week at the very best of times. For weeks and weeks I don't get anything. The work isn't to be had. The year before last I was standing still full twenty weeks-couldn't get work at all at no warehouse.Last year I had full eight weeks and nothing to do all the time; and this year I have been unemployeda full month at least. During the last five weeks I have only had fifteen pair to make. It is now sealingtime-that is the period when the different estimatesare given in - and we are always slack then. I never keep any account of my earnings. All I know is, when the money comesin it's as much as I can do to pay my way. Taking one week with another,I'm sure I do not average,throughoutthe year, more than 5s. a week at the very outside; and out of this there is a full half to be paid for expenses.There'sthe thread and the firing and the candles,all to be paid for. (The seamsI do not put out when I'm slack.) All this would come to a good half-crown, so that my clear earnings,taking one week with another,throughoutthe year, are 2s. 6d. per week. "If you were to ask me what I could make, quick as I am, and putting my seamsout-if I was full employed-I should say 12s. a week, including Sundays; and I am obliged to work more of Sundaysthan any other day. I scarceever have a Sundayto myself, for Saturdayis giving-out day, and they want them in on Monday morning. Monday's taking-in day (indeed, every other day is a giving-out day, and the day following a taking-in one). If we didn't take them in on Monday morning as directed, there would be no more work for us. If I was not to work on Sundays,I could get lOs. full work. But from this I should have to pay a penny per pair for the seams,and this would cost 2s. for the twenty-four I must make in the week to earn l2s.; and ls. 8d. for the twenty pair I must make to get lOs.; and the thread and cotton would be another penny per pair - that is, as much as the seams. Then there'sthe coals, and wood, and candles:thesewould come to 16d. or 18d. at least. This altogetherwould amount to 5s. 4d. to 5s. 6d. to be deductedfrom the 12s per week, and 4s. 6d. or 4s. 8d. from

137

the lOs. a week. So that if I was full of work, and kept at it from six in the morning till ten at night, and carried on all Sunday as well, I couldn't possibly earn more than 5s. 6d. to 5s. 8d. per week clear-leaving out Sundays,I might get 5s. 6d. to 5s. 8d. per week. This is the most that can be made in the trade. If you were to ask many workmen, they would say it is impossible to get as much done; but I'm one of the quickest hands at the business. The ordinary hands cannot make more than one pair of trousers in one day, which, deductingexpenses,would leave 5d., to say nothing of candles,for 14 hours' labour. But even at this rate they could not earn, with their seven days, 2s. lid., for they would lose at least in fetching the work and taking it home, which would bring their earningsto 2s. 7d. or 2s. 6d. a week, at the very outside. But this only at the briskesttime; and we are generallyupon an average about two months unemployed. One year we were twenty weeks without work. White trousers we don't have so much for- only 5d. a pair for them - and they take quite as much thread; and without you've a good fire you cannot work at them at all in the winter, they're so cold in the hand. If the prices were to be raised, the poor would have no work at all, for then the tailors would take them. I have never had more than 6d. for the Foot Guards. For the artillery, the gunners, I have had as much as 8d. - some are 7d.; but I would sooner make the foot guards at 6d., than the artillery at the higher price, becausethere is so much more work in them. At thoseat 6d. there has beena double cord put in within the last few years, and that has made it a great deal more trouble. You have to take two stitches where you used only to take only one; but the price never was raised. Never knew the price to be raised since I worked at it, and that's seven years ago. I get them from a person who gets them from the warehouse.These intermediate persons are called piece-masters,and they get a penny profit upon each garment, whether it be trousers, coats, or great coats, and the prices I have statedare those the piece-masterpays to me. They won't give them to such little handsas me. They give out a great quantity at a time, and must have them all in at a particular day - very often the next taking-in day. I fancy at one time they used to keep a stock by them; but of late years there have been so many alterations that they're afraid to do it. The piece-mastershave to give security-£50 I think it is- very often; and the single hands,before they can be taken on, must be recommended to the piece-master.Notwithstanding this, a great many of the garmentshave been pledged. At one time the pawnbrokers used to take them in before they was made up, but now I don't

138

think they will. The ones with the red stripes I am certain they won't. I have got my security down at the warehouse,but it takes so much time taking and fetching, and waiting while examined, that I prefer to work for a piece-masterrather than the warehousemen. If they're not properly done, the foreman will cut the seam right up, and send them back, and there'll be no money till they're finished. The foremen, generally, have no feeling about the poorthat's true. I'm sure they haven't. If the workpeople can treat them with what they like- and that's liquor- they'll pass the things quicker. The low prices I believe to arise from the very low prices the contractsare taken at. Well, sir, look here, the soldiers, I hear, give 8s. a pair for what we get 6d. for the making of. The cloth cannot cost them more than half-a-crown. If I was to get it, I could have it for that; but they must get it considerablyless from taking large quantities, which their money empowersthem to do. The trimmings, including button and pockets, would cost about 6d., and the red stripes 3d. more; so that 6d. making, 9d. trimming and stripes, and cloth 2s. 6d., altogether3s. 9d.; and the other 4s. 3d. is profit. The piece-master,out of this, gets 2d. a pair. This is their gains for taking them in and running the risk of people stealing the materials. The remaining 4s. ld. is the profit of the warehousemanand the other parties connected with the trade; so that I'm sure, if Government would take it into their hands. and give the clothes out themselves,the poor workpeople might have prices that would keep them from starving. If they was only so that with hard labour they could get double what they now earn, a person might live. Besides, they'd work, poor things, with so much more spirit. Now it's dreadful to hear them; so it is, sir. Many of them would sooner sit still and starve. It's uselessworking- it is- they cannot live by it, Jet them work till they drop yes, indeed, they must. To get 4s. a week clear by my business the women must slave both night and day; but really the prices are so bad they won't even pay to have a candleto work by; so that to work at night is only to lose one's time and money. We had better go to bed and starve at once, and that's what most all are doing who are at this kind of work. The general class of people who work at it are old personswho have been seen better days, and have nothing left but their needleto keep them, and who won't apply for relief- their pride won't let them-their feelings objects to it- they have a dread of becoming troublesome.The other parties are wives of labourers,and those who leave off shirt making to coming to this. There are many widows with young children, and they give them the seamsto do, and so manageto

139

prolong life, becausethey're afraid to die, and too honest to steal. The pressingpart, which is half the work, is not fit for any female to do. I don't know but very few young girls- they're most of them women with families as I've seen- poor, struggling widows a many of 'em." If, as you say, your clear earnings throughout the year, taking one week with another, are only 2s. 6d. a week, how do you manage to support life upon that sum? -"I couldn't do it- oh, dear no; I couldn't have held till now, nor even one month upon it. But the fact is, I let a part of my place to young men at 2s. a week, and for that I find them bed, candles,soap, towels, sheets,and the use of the sitting room and the fire; and that's my dependence. But one thing I must tell you, I can't go on with that much longer unless things alter, becauseI can't get my sheetsout of pledge to changethem, and my feather-bedI've beenobliged to pawn. I'll tell you, sir, I was a draper'sassistantformerly; lived in the first situations in London, Bath, and other places; but, of course, their salaries are small, and one is obliged to dress well on it. Well, I got a situation in the country, so that I might save something, which I could not do in town. I remainedin my country situation nearly two years, and saved close upon £50 in that time. This I allowed to remain in my master'shands,thinking it would be safe, so that I might not spendit. He broke, and I lost my whole. There was not money enough to pay the law expenses,or of course I should have had my money first, as a servant. Then I came back to London. I tried to get a situation, and found, as I was getting advanced in years, they preferred young men. Well, I couldn't starve; but I knew nothing that I could get a living at but as a draper's assistant,and that I couldn't get on account of my age. I can't tell you the distressof mind I was in, of course, for I was very anxious lest in my old age I should be left to want. We don't think of old age when we're young, I'm sorry to say. Where I was lodging then, a woman made soldiers' trousers, and as my hands were lissome, and I had occasion to use the needle frequently in the drapery trade, to tack the tickets on cloth and such like, why 1 thought I might get a crust by them. It was only living that I tried for, unless I'd tailor. I couldn't have done this, if it hadn't been from being accustomedto the needle. Well, I tried; and the man I did a few for was very pleasedwith 'em, and gave me some more. They was 3td. a pair convicts' trousers. I soon found that, at that price, I couldn't stop in the lodgings I had, and pay my way. I was paying 2s. 6d. a week. So I takes a cellar at Is. 6d., buys a little bit of canvas, and some straw; sleeps on the floor; had a

140

chair and table- that was all. Then the man I had done the trousers for took me to the City, and got me some better work. Re said I could do finer things. Then the warehousegave me as many as fifty pair of artillery trousers to make. Then I found I was living too far from my work; so I sells off my things for 4s. 6d.; comes to Holbom; there was two rooms to let at 3s. 6d., and I thought I could take a lodger at 2s.; a relation of mine promised kindly to lend me the beds, which they did, and I've paid for 'em, little by little, since then. After this I scrapedtogether, somehow or other-how I did it I don't know, but it come from God's goodness,I suppose-I got enough to buy anotherbed, and take another lodger at the same price. The only thing that we can make a little money of is beds; but at that you lose a good deal, as well as get. And so I went, and I am where I am now. I've four lodgers at present,but two of those I get nothing from, as they're out of situations, and they owe me a goodish sum now; but may be I shall have it all, or a good part, when they gets into work again. My two other lodgers pay me very well indeed; they bring me in my 4s. a week, and that pays my rent; and, thank God, I only owe one week. But if the work don't come in, I don't know what I shall do. A little while ago I had two brotherswith me ill, during the time of the cholera. I tried all I could to get them into the hospitals, but they was ill three weeks before I could. During that time I had to provide them with everything. One was obliged to have two clean shirts a day, and I was forced to pledge my feather bed, and sheets, and blankets, to keep them. I couldn't see them lost, and let them starve under my own roof. I got them at last out of the hospital, and they've gone into the country, and I've never even heard of them. They owe me altogether,for washing, living, lodging, and food, £2 13s. 9d. I think they're honest young men, and would pay me if they could. May be they're ashamedto write to me - yes, I dare say they are- for they were good young men-though I never had their money, I'll say that of them. They was gentlemen'sservants,and can't do much now. All this I shouldn't mind so much about if it wasn't for my bedding. I could get round if it wasn't for that. If I can't get my bedding back I must lose my lodgers. Their sheetshas been on now nearly three months, and I'm sure they can't stand it much longer-that they won't. To my own bed I've none at all! As for myself, I ain't had a clean shirt for this month. I really can't afford to pay for the washing. I've never been able to get any new clothes since I have been at the trade. Four-penceI gave for the very coat I've got on from a gentleman'sservant, and the other

141

things has been gave to me by asking, which is very painful. The greater part of the things you see about here don't belong to me. This piano, now, belonged to a young man, a lodger of mine. His father was a musician. The young man bought it for £3 15s. He got married, and wanted a chest of drawers for his wife (oh, good gracious! if he was to hear of this he'd kill me). Well, I passedmy word for the drawers, and he left this piano with me as security. That cat you see there now you'll say I have no businessto have, if I'm so poor. She costsme 3td. a week, as much as a half-quartern, and I grudge it, but a poor maiden lady, who's starving, brought her to me, and beggedme, with almost tears in her eyes, to take care of it for her, for she couldn't afford to give it a meal-she hadn't one for herself. She's a teacherof music, and I'm sure she's dying for want of food. She's just of of the hospital, and, oh dear, much too proud to go into the house. I wouldn't even say such a thing to her; it would break her heart. I know she'snever had anything but tea -tea, for months. She'sa relation of the Pitt family, and the composerof several piecesof sacredmusic, but the plates are in pawn for 4s., and she can't even do anything with that. She's lost all her teaching, and is now in want of even the commonestfood. I think the poor are not in such distress as personsin her circumstancesof life. If she's ashamed to apply to the parish, you may dependshe'sashamedto let anyone else know how badly she'soff. "The only extravaganceI have that I know of is my bird, and he costs me a farthing a week. Poor dickey! I shouldn't like to part with him. It's the only company I have. The cat I'm not very fond of. As for meat, I haven't had a taste of it for the last month." The statementof the man was of so extraordinarya nature,that, on leaving the house, I took the trouble to inquire into his character. His landlord informed me that he was one of the most worthy, benevolent,and eccentric men that he had ever known. He was punctual in the paymentsof his rent, and, indeed, a most sober, industrious, and exemplary person. The duplicates of the bedding the man himself showedme, and the person who directed me to his house spoke even more highly of him than did his landlord. I was now desirousto see a piece-master,in order that I might find out whether they really did make the amount of money that they were believed to do out of the workpeople's labour, and found the family in the lowest state of destitution. The party lived in a back-kitchenin a house over Waterloo-bridge.It was midday

142

when I got there, and the woman and her boy were dining off potatoesand some "rind" of bacon that her daughter, who was "in place," had given to her rather than it should be thrown away. "Poor people," said he, "you know is glad to get anything." Then, observing me notice the crockery, which was arrangedon a shelf in one cornersheadded"Ah, sir, you needn't look at my crockery ware. I'll show it to you," she said, taking down severalbasinsand jugs. They were all broken on one side, but turned the best side outwards. "There isn't a whole vesselin the place; only nobody would know but they were sound,you see,to look at 'ern. I get someof the army worksome of the common trousers.I has a penny a pair out of themthat's the only way of living I have, sir. I get a meal of victuals now and then from my landlady. I'm a piece-mistress.I get the work out of the warehouse,and give it to the workpeople. I has a penny a pair out of them. I has two-penceout of some- they are the sergeants.PerhapsI'd get 40 pair out in a week, perhaps 30 pair, and may be 10-when they has them I get them. Before my husbanddied I've had 100 pair out in a week. God bless thee, man, many people has more -they has them out by wholesale, these large hands. I've had none this fortnight and more- only one ten pair. Some one of them takes them away in cart-loads. The piece-makershave such bundlesof handsthey can get a good lot done. Oh, Lord, we never had £2 a week by it, nor £1 either. The pay's very bad, sir. The most my husbandever had one week by it was about £1. He had work out of four warehouses.Those that has plenty of work, and get the best, will make more by i t a good deal more. Where the piece-masterdraws £18 to £20 a week they must have a good profit out of that, and some of them draws more; but it's not all their own; they has their workpeople to pay out of that. So that the piece-mastermight draw £3 to £4 a week at the very best time- that's when the police-clothing is out. They gets more out of that than anything else; there isn't much by these pensionersat all. They get ld. upon a pair of trousers, some 2d., but that's for the police trousers, the dress ones. Upon the police coats they get 2d. some, and some 4d. out of the price, but now I believe its only 2d. out of them. What they gets out of the soldiers' jacketsI'm sure I can't say. We never had none of them. Out of the tide-waiters'coatswe ought to have 6d.; the warehousepaid 7s. 6d. for them. Out of the trouserswe used to have 2d.; the price the warehousepaid was ls. The waistcoat price was lOd. from the warehouse;we had nothing out of that. He usedto have 8s. 6d. for the suit, and he usedto pay 7s. 6d.

143

for it; so he got ls. out of them. Used to get nothing else. Used to have the pensioners'sometimes.Paid ls. 9d., and we had 3d. out of them. At the time my husbandlived we did pretty well. Was never out of work. If we hadn't it from one warehousewe had it fr':lm the others we worked for. He has been three years buried next Easter Sunday, and there's many a night since I've went to bed without my supper, myself and my children. Since then I've had nothing, only just a few odd trousersnow and then. I had to go into the workhouselast winter, myself and my children; I couldn't get a meal of victuals for them; and this winter I supposeI shall have to go into it again. If I haven't work I can't pay my rent. Three weeks ago I had only twenty pair to make, that's ls. 8d. for myself and boy to live upon (my other'sout in the Marine School), and my rent out of that is ls. 6d. My boy gets Is. 6d. a week besides this, and only for that I couldn't live at all. And that's drawed before it's earned. I'm obliged to go on credit for my things and pay with my boy's money, and glad to have it to pay. I call it a good week if I get forty pair of trousersto give out. That is 3s. 4d. to me, and upon that me and my boy must both live; and there was my other boy to do the same too when I had him. I occasionally get a bit of broken victuals from those that know me round about. I little thought I should be so miserable as I am. That fender is not mine, I borrowed it of my landlady; nor that saucepanneither; I got it to boil my potatoesin. Indeed, you may say, I very often want. We should be starvedentirely if it was not for my landlady, and that's the blessedtruth. I belongsto Lambeth parish, and they don't even give me a ha'p'orthout of it, not even a loaf of bread. It's often we're a day and two nights without food, me and my boys together. I never did treat a foreman with rum to get any work, nor did the man ever want it from me. I'll give every one his due. He has come to see me himself, and his wife, and lent me 2s. - I shall not belie any one-and often gave me a few pencewhen I cameinto the warehouse.It is not generally believed by us that the foremen are obliged to be treatedin order to get the work. I never heard of such a thing, and I'm sure I never did it. The reason why I've had so little lately is because I can't get it so well done as the others. The workpeoplewon't do as I tell 'em. Somemakesthem well, and more don't. My husband's security is at the warehousesyet. I can't tell you how much they're for, 'cause I never seed them. He was an honest, upright man. They often trusted him as much as £100. The workpeople misses him now, but nobody misseshim so much as I do. Then I could go clean and respectable,but now I don't know where to turn my

144

head for a meal of victuals this blessednight. The workpeople I never find making away with the work. I've lost nothing by them ever since my husbanddied. I didn't lose a garment since, thank God. My husbandused to take a security for the workpeoplefrom their landlord, but I don't. Can't say whether the piece-masters lose much by the workpeople. If they do, they has to pay for it. I didn't hear only of one pair of trousersbeing lost. My husband lost two jackets, and I had to pay so much a week for them, until they were cleared,after he died. If I'd got all the world, I haven't got a farthing of money, neither gold, silver, nor brass, nor a mouthful of victuals for myself or my boy for tonight but what's there in the plate (alluding to the remainderof the rind of bacon). I had only a pennyworth of potatoes,and that I shouldn't have had only the woman who gave me the rind gave me a pennyto get somewith (showingempty saucepan). The next worker I visited was one living in an attic in Saffronhill. The statementand condition of this woman was as dispiriting as that of the "piece-mistress." "This is for the Marines, on board ship. Don't you think they make the Marines very fine," said she, showing the trousersshe was making. "Well, I makes these for 5d. Ah, I wish you could have seenthe red jacketsthat I make for 8d., and a blue jacket for the East India Company,full lined and sixteen silk twist holes, for 8d. I can't do one a day, not myself, and I don't have it constant every day. I generally do the jackets, the trousers, and the drill jackets for the marine soldiers that goes on board the ship, and they're 4td. apiece. Why, there in each of them fourteen buttonholes worked with whitey-brown, and blue cuffs, blue collar, and blue epaulettes,all stitched and well-pressed. I might do one in seven hours; but I has to find my own thread, and that's td. a quarter of an ounce each jacket. The soldiers' great coats, with large capesand cuffs, and half lined, are only 5d. to me, and there are eleven button-holes to make in every one of them. I don't think I could do one in nine hours, they're such large ones. The men are five feet 11 and six foot and so on, and so I leave you to judge. Ah, they don't have the army work done as they used fourteen years ago. Then they paid more _money for 'em. It was 7d. a great coat then, but now, you know, they lower them always. Fourteenyears ago the jackets that I am doing now I used to get ls. 4d. for, and now they're 8d. It's the contract system you see, sir. Oh, yes, that's it. Anybody who'll take it for a few shillings less than anotheris sure to get it. And then it's lowered to us in course. I work for a piece-mistress.I think she gets about 7d. a

145

pair for thesetrousers,that I have 5d. for. She should not by rights have more than a penny profit. It wasn't so years ago. On a soldier's red coat it was no more than 2d. profit, and now I think it's about 3d.; so that the prices have come down to the poor workpeople, and the profits of the piece-mastershave gone up, and there's more work in the clothes besides.Why, sir, I tell you what I earnt last week. J was just a-castingit up. I earnt Is. 8d. I think it was Is. 4d. I earnt the week before. I can't recollect the week afore that, but I know it was very little. I don't think it was a shilling. Upon an average I can't make every week 3s. clear. No, I can't manageto get up to that. I hasn't done so for a length of time. I couldn't say I clear 2s. 6d. regularly, because I can't get the work. On Friday, at four o'clock, I'm obliged to take my work in, and then I get some more on Monday for the next week perhaps,for it's only a chance if there's any for me. I might, upon an average,earn 2s. clear all the year round, taking one week with another. My best work was the looping of the coats; but that's gone from me. When I looped them I had 7d., but now they only give 5d. Years ago the price was 8d. That's my little granddaughter,sir- my eldest son's daughterthat is. Her father has been dead thirteen months. He left four children-she'sthe eldest of them (the girl was about twelve)-all unprovided for. She fetches my errandsand sews me up a seamor two. I'm learning her the work. Her mother's got nothing at all for her to do. I couldn't live upon what I get if I didn't have a loaf now and then from the Scripture-readerthat visits round about here. I have one generally every week. If he has got it, he generally gives it to me. I live upon coffee. It's a wonder, aye, a very great wonder, that I've got any work now. There's generally a standstill at this time of the year, and when I get no work I don't know how I do. I get through the winter as well as I can. My doctor tells me I ought to have more than I do have; but what's the use of his saying that, when I can't get it? In the winter the people in my businessare generally very badly off. I have suffered dreadfully myself. I can say this- I've done for the soldier from his gaiters to his cap, and I should like the Queen to see the state I'm in. I wish she'd come, that's all. I've worked for both her uncles and her grandfather;and now, in my old age, I'm obliged to do anything I can get hold of to get a crust. As I get on in years, I find the work come harder and harder to me. Working upon the red, then upon the white, and now tonight acoming to the black-I know it makesmy old eyesache. I've worked from II yearsof age till I'm 62. My husband was a printer-a pressman.He's been

146

dead two years the 2nd of Decembernext. It was King William as put the white lace on. It used to be very handsomelace till then. I know it very well, for I was 15 weeks and never earnt a farden till it was settled." As I had been informed that the convict work was the worst paid of all labour, I was anxious to obtain an interview with one who got her living by it. She lived in a small back room on the first floor. I knocked at the door, but no one answered,though I had been told the woman was within. I knocked again and again, and, hearing no one stirring, I looked through the keyhole, and observedthat the key was inside the door. Fearing that some accident might have happenedto the poor old soul, I knocked once more, louder than ever. At last the door was opened,and a thin aged woman stood trembling nervously as she looked at me. She stammeredout with a gasp, "Oh! I beg pardon, but I thought it was the woman come for the shilling I owed her." I told her my errand, and she welcomedme in. There was no table in the room; but on a chair without a back there was an old tin tray, in which stood a cup of hot milkless tea, and a broken saucer,with some half-dozensmall potatoesin it. It was the poor soul's dinner. Some tea-leavesh_ad been given her, and she had boiled them up again to make something like a meal. She had not even a morsel of bread. In one corner of the room was a hay mattress,rolled up. With this sheslept on the floor. Shesaid, "I work at convict work, 'the greys;' some are half yellow and half brown, but they're all paid the sameprice. I makesthe whole suit. Gets 7td. for all of it- 3d. the jacket, 3d. the trousers,and ltd. the waistcoat,and finds my own threadout of that; they're all made with double 'whitey-brown.' I never reckoned it up, but I uses a good bit of thread when I'm a-making of 'em. Sometimes I gets an ounce, sometimeshalf an ounce. It takesabout an ounce and a half to the suit, and that would be 3d. at 2d. an ounce; and then they'll have them well pressed,which takes a good bit for firing. Yes, it does indeed. I am obliged to have a penny candle-a cheaper one I couldn't see with. It'll take me more than a day to make the suit. If I had the suit out now I could get them in tomorrow evening. There's full a day and a half's work in a suit. I works from nine in the morning till eleven at night." [Here a sharp-featuredwoman entered, and said she wished to speakwith the "convict worker" when she was alone. "She came," said the poor old thing when the woman had left, "becauseI owes her a shilling. I'm sure she can't have it, for I haven'tgot it. I borrowed it last week off her."] "In a day and a half," she con-

147

tinued, with a deep sigh, "deducting the cost of threadand candles for the suit (to say nothing of firing), I earns3td. -not 2d. a day. The other day I had to sell a cup and saucerfor a halfpenny, 'cause crockeryware'sso cheap-there was no handle to it, it's true-in order to get me a candle to work with. Sometimesfor weeks I don't make anything at all. One week, at convict work, I did earn as much as 3s. That's without deducting the cost of thread or candles,which is quite half. The convicts' clothes is all one price; no one gets any better wages than this; a few has less I believe. Some of the waistcoatsain't above five fardens-two-pence halfpenny the jackets-and trousers the same. I can't tell what I average,for sometimesI have work and sometimesI ain't. I could earn 3s. a week if I had as much as I could do, but I don't have it very often. I'm very often very idle. I can assureyou I've been trotting about today to seeafter a shilling job, and couldn't get it." [The same woman again made her appearanceat the door, and seeing me still there did not stop to say a word. "What a bother there is," said the convict-clothesmaker,"if a person owes a few halfpence. That's what made me keep the door locked."] "I suppose her mother has sent for the old shawl she lent me. I haven't no shawl to my back; no, as true as God I haven't; I haven't indeed! I'm two months idle in the courseof the year." She went on again, "Oh yes, more, more than that; I've been three months at one time, and didn't earn a halfpenny. That was when I lived up at the other house. There was no work at all. We was starving one against the other. I'm generally about a quarter part of my time standing still; yes, that I am, I can assureyou. About three shillings a week, I tell you, is what I generally earn at convict work when I'm fully employed; but then there's the expensesto be taken out of that. I've worked at the convict work for about fourteen or fifteen years-ever since my husband'sbeen dead. He died fourteen years ago last February. I've nobody else dependent upon me. I hadn't need to have, I'm sure. I hadn't a bit of work all last Friday and all last Saturday-no, not till Monday. I work for a piece-master.I don't know what profit the piece-mastergets. The convicts' great coats are 5d., and I can do about three of them in two days, and they will take about 1t oz. of thread, that's 3d.; so that in two days, at that work, I can earn one shilling clear, saying nothing of candles. That's much better work than the other." [The cat, almost as thin as its mistress,here came scratching for some of the potatoes.] "Yes, there's people much worse off than me, but they gets relief from the parish. They tell me at the union I am young enoughto work, and yet I am turned of 70.

148

I find it very hard- very hard, indeed; oh, that I do, I can assure you. I very often want. I wantedall last Sunday,for I had nothing at all then. I was a-bed till twelve o'"clock -lay a-bed 'cause I hadn't nothing to eat. There'smore young girls work at the trade now. A great quantity works at it 'causethey can see better than us. They couldn't get the dressesthey wears if they was virtuous. My husbandwas a file-cutter; he did pretty fairly. While he was alive I didn't want for anything, and since his death I've wanted very often; I've wanted so as I haven'thad a home to put my head into. Then I slept along with different friends, and they gave me a little bit, but they were nigh as.badoff as myself, and couldn't sparemuch. Trade is very bad now; there are a many of us starving; yes, indeed there is- the old peoplein particular; the younguns make it out other ways. I pays ls. 6d. rent. The things are my own, such as there is. I've no table; I was obliged to sell it; I've sold 'most everythingI've got; I can't sell no more, for there's none now that will fetch anything. I only wish I could get a shawl, to keep the cold off me when I takesmy work home-that's all." After this I saw, at the house of the man whom I had first visited, a decent woman in black, with a pale face, melancholy voice, and dark sunkenblack eyes. Shehad no hometo take me to. Her tale was as follows: "Ah, its wonderful how a poor personlives-but they don't live. My clear gains are about ls. 6d. a week. In the summertime it's better, becauseI don't want no candle-light. I work second-handed for the piece-master.I don't know what he makes. I've done the basting of the Sappersat 3d. a coat; the pockets are fully made, and the shoulder-strapsfully made, and for the basting of the trousersI get ld., and two button-holesworked in the waistband. Why they baste up only I don't know. Them I work for doesn't know. It would puzzle me to tell you how I do manageto live. I have nothing more than a cup of tea and a bit of dry bread twice a day, for the week round; and if I can get a red herring (three or four a penny), why it's as much as I can get. If I've got a bit better work, I may chanceto get a bit of meat-2d. or 3d. a pound. I've got no home at present.I was turned out-told I must leave-as I couldn't pay my rent, 'cause_I'vehad no work, and had nothing to pay it with. I'm living now with a neighbourin the same house where I had my room. She has allowed me to stop with her till I got a bit of work; for I can't pay any rent, and she gives me a little food - part of what she'sgot, poor woman! She's no more than a day's charing now and then, but she makesmore at that than I can at soldiers' clothes. The Is. 4d. that I had for

149

them two Sappers'jackets I bought three half-quarternloaves out of that, which we've eaten. All her family and myself shared together. I give her and them part, 'causeher family has had nothing. They're some days as short as I am myself; and the remainder of the Is. 4d. I paid to the chandler's-shopwoman. She was kind enough,when I told her I was so bad off, to let me have a little tea and sugar, and a candle, to the amount of Sd. My boy couldn't get a place, and I couldn't keep him; and he saysto me, 'Mother,' says he, 'you're so poor you can't keep me, and I don't like to idle about the streets; I shall go up and ask the relieving officer if he will give me an order to come in, and get me off to sea.' With that he went before the board on the Wednesday,and asked the gentlemenwould they have the goodnessof sending him on board o' ship. He told them he didn't want to stop in the workhouse, and so they'd the kindnessof sending him. Mr. Wilkes, the relieving officer, spoke to the guardians-went in when he went inand then he was a very nice lad - a very pretty-behavedlad-had a good character both indoors and outdoors, and the gentlemen sent him on board last Tuesday.They've bound him for five years in a collier. He lived 15 monthsin a fringe and tasselmanufactory. He was a very good boy to me. He did all this unbeknownto me. He went to the guardiansand spokehimself, without saying a word of it to me. He said he didn't like to be about doing nothing, so he'd go sailoring. On last SaturdayI was obligated to go and beg for a loaf of bread, for I'd sold to the very last thing I'd got. I've no work now, and I really do not know what to do. I had a cup of tea and a bit of bread with the person I am with, and to get that she had to send her lad's trousersto pawn for 9d. The work goes through so many hands, and all has got a profit on it, that such a person as me that makes is the sufferer. The people as I get it from has a good profit; they don't have to make it- it's me and other people that does so-and yet they can get a good living by it. They has the best of everything, as I can see, and never puts a stitch to the work; they get it from the warehouse. My husband has been dead about six years. He was a boot and shoe maker. I wanted for nothing when he was alive. I've had six children, and buried all but this one, and he's been a very honest upright boy; thank God! there's not one soul ever told me he has done wrong to them." The last of all I saw was one who stitched the seamsof trousers at ld. per pair. She came with the woman who had got her to his house, so that I might see her, and learn from her own lips how

150

destitute she was, told me that he could answer for her being a sober, honest,and hard-workingwoman. Shesaid"I stitch the legs of the trousers when there's any to do, but for these five weeks I haven't earned more than ls. 4d., for the party who gives them to me hasn't had any work himself to do. He gives me ld. a pair, and finds me the thread. Four pair is as much as I can do in the day, from six in the morning to six at night. I can't see by candle-light. It wouldn't pay me to have a candle for such work. The most I ever earnedwas 2s. in the week, and that my girl helped me to a good bit. Twenty-four pair is more than one hand can do. That's more than twelve months ago since I did as much as that. About ls. a week some weeks, and some weeks 9d., and some weeks 6d., and this week it will be 3d. (laugh). My husbandis living, and he's away from me three years this 25th of October last (crying). I never received a scrawl of writing or an account of him since he ran away and left me. He's an engineer,smith, and millwright. He makesthe chiselsfor chipping the stones.He left me with four children, one little girl ailing sadly-as ill as she could be at the time. One girl is 24, another girl is 22, my boy is 17, and my youngestis 16. They're all away from me but the youngest,and none of 'em any help to me-not a farthing. My girl is earning nothing, and we must have starved if I hadn't a few frocks of hers to pawn-them has done me for the last few days. I never recollect such bad times. I'm sure I don't know what we shall do unlessthe girl gets a place. If I got needlework,which I have been used to, I might get on a bit, but that I can't get. All the work I have is sewing the seamsof the soldiers' trousers, and that has failed me now. In the summer I went hop-picking, but I couldn't get any to do. I tried pea-picking, but that I couldn't get a day's work at. They generally keepson their old hands. My eldest daughter never helped me to a day's food, and she's been eleven years in service. My youngest girl hasn't got clothes to go to seek after a place. If I could get her a situation, it would be a great burden off my mind - ah, that it would- it would be the greatesthappinessI've known this long time. She's exposedto great temptationwhere she lives; still she's well-behavedas yet, thank God. The great reason why she can't get a situation is, becauseI've been obliged to make away with her gowns-yes, that I have. I could produce the tickets of them; and I have to keep her as long as she'sout, for she earnsnothing for me."

151

LETTER VIII Tuesday,November13, 1849

The facts that I have to set before the public in my presentcommunication are of so awful and tragic a characterthat I shall not even attempt to comment upon them. The miseries they reveal are so intense and overwhelming that, as with all deep emotions, they are beyond words. Let me, however, before proceeding to the more immediate subject of this letter, state as concisely as possible the sums allowed to the colonels of the different regimentsfor the clothing of the army, together with the sums paid by them for the same. I am anxious, from the unpleasantaspect of the transaction, to do this in as matter-of-fact a manner as I can. The information here given, be it observed, is all derived from the Government Report upon the appointmentsof the army and navy. First, of the sums allowed to the colonels. The clothing allowances,says the Report, are fixed annual rates borne on the establishmentof the regiment,as thus detailed:Cavalry Infantry Corporal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 . . .3. . . . . . £7 . . . .9 .2. . 6 Private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .0. . 3. . . . . . . 4. .19 . . .6. 4 Drummer or Trumpeter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 . . .3. . . 6 2 6 0 Sergeant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .£5. .19 . . . 0. . . . . . . 4. .19 . . .6. Theseratesare fixed by warrantsof 22nd and 30th July, 1830. I shall now append to the above the following statementas to the sums paid to, and profits taken by, the colonels, for the clothing of the men in their respectiveregiments:-

152 ESTIMATE OF mE ANNUAL COST OF CLOTIUNG, CAPS, AND ACCOUTREMENTS FOR A REGIMENT OF INFANTRY, FOR 1832; VIZ., CLOTIIING DELIVERED TO mE SOLDIER 1ST JANUARY, 1832, TO BE WORN TILL }ST JANUARY, 1833. Sergeants Corporals Drummers Privates Off-reckonings (or sums allowed to the colonels £ s. d. £ s. d. £ s. d. £ s. d. for clothing, caps, and accoutrementsper man) ... 7 9 2 4 19 6 4 19 6 2 6 0 Annual cost (or sums paid by the colonels for clothing, caps, and accoutrements per man) . . . 349 1 17 4 2 14 4 1 16 10 Profit per man to colonel . . . 4 4 5

322

252

0 9 2

At 41. 4s. 5d. for 43 sergeants At 31. 2s. 2d. for 36 corporals At 21. 5s. 2d. for 14 drummers At 9s. 2d. for 713 privates ...

£181 Ill 31 326

911 18 0 12 4 15 10

Deduct, extra for Staff and Band Total annual Profit to the Colonel ...

£651 16 1 37 0 0 £614 16 1

Here, then, we perceivethat £614 16s. ld. is the annual profit or "emolument" derived by each colonel of infantry. There are 105 infantry colonels, making in all upwardsof £64,000or 25 per cent., out of the £255,000allowed for the clothing of the infantry. After this the following answersof Sir R. Donkin, when before the Governmentcommittee,will be perefectlyintelligible: "Do you think the colonels of regiments would, in considerationof being exoneratedfrom their presentrisk and responsibility with respect to the clothing, be contentto receive400/. a year as a compensationfor their profit upon it? - I think certainly not. "Would they acceptof 5001. a year?-No, nor 600/.; whetherviewed in a pecuniaryway, or as connectedwith that feeling which we all have towards our corps." Let me now comparethe presentrate of profit with that of past years. This is easily ascertained;thus:"You are aware that the presentsystemhas existed for a very long period of time?-A very long period, considerably more than 100 years; it existed in QueenAnne's time. I believe the price of a suit of clothing allowed to the colonel in King William's time was the sameas it is now, that is, 2/. 6s. a suit." If, then, the clothing allowance has remained the same since the time of King William III, we are naturally led to inquire whether the expenditurefor the same has increasedor decreased in the sametime. The following table will tell us: -

I 53 STATEMENT OF TIIE COST OF A SUIT OF CLOTHING, INCLUDING TIIE CAP, FOR A SOLDIER OF AN INFANTRY REGIMENT, FOR TIIE FOLLOWING YEARS.

Year I792 I793 1794 1795 1796 I797 I798 I799 I800 I80I I802 I803 I804 I805 I806 I807 I808 I809 I810 I8ll I8I2

Cash

£2 0 8t 236

2 1 Ot 2 0 lOt

21 21

2t 2t

1 19 6

2 0 4 1 19 9

2 0 0 2 0 0

1 1 1 1 1 1 I I 1 1

18 18 18 18 17 17 I7 17 16 16

6 6 6 6

9

9 9

9

9 1

Year 1813 1814 1815 1816 1817 1818 1819 1820 I821 I822 I823 I824 1825 1826 I827 1828 1829 I830 1831 1832 1833

Cash

£1 16 1 1 19 1

233 233 1 19 10 1 19 10 1 19 10 1 19 10 1 17 7 1 17 6 1 16 0 1 l3 0 1 l3 0 1 14 0 1 12 9 1 12 9 1 ll 6 1 10 6 1 10 3 1 13 0 1 12 10

Mr. Pearse,the army clothier, tells the committee in the same report, that the price of the suit in 1832 was 17 per cent. less than that of 1815, the sum allowed having been the same for one hundredyears. Of the number of people engagedin making up articles of clothing for the army, and consequentlyof the fearful amount of misery induced by such means, Mr. Pearse enables us to form some faint idea: "What is the number of people employed in your establishment?-

It is impossible I could say; I should suppose,as to the common work-

ing people,many thousands.We have no meansof knowing the number, becausepersons(tailors) take from us the materials for a given number of garments,upon an estimatewhich we regulate; they get the garments made up in St. Giles's, and the lowest parts of London, at a rate so cheap that it would surprise persons. I should believe that as many as eight thousandpersonswere employedin that way."

I shall now in due order lay before the reader the operatives' version of the prices given in my last letter, so that he may have an opportunity of checking the one account by the other. The agreementbetweenthe two speakshighly for the honestyof both parties. I was conducted by one who knew the trade well to a hardworking woman living in one of the close fretid courts running out

154

of Gray's-inn-lane.Her statementwas as follows: - "I make the soldiers' trousersand jackets, and the undresswhite ones; also the police trousers, the railroad cord trousers and jackets, and the pensioners'trousers. For the police I get lOd. the undress, and Is. ld. the dressones. The one is a finer cloth than the other. They take one day each to make, from six in the morning to eight or nine at night. There'sthread to find and cotton, about ld. per pair. The soldiers' trousersare 6td. per pair. I can make two pair in a day, but it must be a very long day. I sew the seamsmyself. I don't put them out, like some. The undresswhite jackets are Sd. each, and they take as much thread as the trousers. I couldn't make two of those in a day. We don't like them. They're harder work than the trousers; then they must be kept so very clean; if we soil them, we're made to pay for 'em. The railroad cord trousers are Is., and they're all sewn with double thread. About half the thread is found us; so that there is about the same expense,only they're such hard work. It takes a full day to make a pair, and then your arm will ache primely, they're so very stiff. The railroad jackets are paid Is. 9d. for. They take nearly two days each to make; there's pockets inside and out. Two-pence has been took off them only lately. Before then, they used to be Is. lld., and some would pay 2s. I can't say what's the cause,except that some people will have more out of the poor than others. The soldiers have to pay Ss. for their trousers,and Ss. for their jackets- so I hears. The police dress trousers used to be Is. 3d., now they are Is. Id. The pensioners'trousers are 6d. a pair, but there's more work in them than in the regulation, owing to the broad stripe. One seam does with the double stripe, but the broad stripe requires two, and the price is the same. These take rather longer than the other trousers. The white duck trousersare Sd. a pair. They take about the same time making, or a little longer this cold weather, they're so hard. The soldiers' great coats are Sd. They take much longer to make than the trousers.Two handsmust work hard to make three coats in a day. The expensesfor trimmings is quite as much as for trousers. The soldiers' lavender summer trousersare 6td., and, if anything, more trouble; they're all double seams,and the sameexpensefor thread. The overalls for the horse soldiers are the worst of all; they take two hours longer to make than the others. Why, there'stwelve times round the crutch piece. Oh, that's the most scandalousestwork that ever was done! The seamshas all to be felled down the same as a flannel would have to be. Them are the worst work of all. Upon an average,at all kinds of work, I supposeI could earn Is. a day, if I had it to do,

155

but I can't get it. It's three weeks today since I had any work at all, and I very often stand still quite as long. It's not a farthing more than 3s. a week that I earn, take it all the year round; and out of that there's thread, candle, and firing to be taken away, and that comesto Is. a week for coal, candle, and wood, and 6d. for thread, leaving about Is. 6d. for my clear earnings,after working the whole week through. But that's better than nothing. My husband'slately been in the hospital. I was in first a month with the same complaint-inflammation of the lungs and fever. I thought it came on from this close room. My husband wanted things to strengthenhim after he came out of the hospital (he'd been there four weeks), and I couldn't give them to him out of my small earnings, and he was obliged to go into the workhouse. It was only six o'clock tonight that he came out. They gave him a shilling and a loaf of bread to bring home. I don't know that any personcan be much worse off than we are. I am sure I haven't anything that I could pledge. I've been obliged to pawn his tools, and if he was to go to work tomorrow he hasn't a tool that he could use. He can get a very good character.I may perhapschance to get a bit of meatoncea week-but that'sa godsend." She then took down a box, and opening it, said: - "There, sir; there is the things we have been obliged to make away with in the last twelve-month, merely to live. The last thing I pledgedwas his trowel- he's a mason, sir- to get some tea and sugar to take to him to the hospital. I got 9d. upon it. If he had employment, we should get on very comfortable.If it hadn't beenfor this illness we should havedone very well, him and me together." After this, I sought out one who worked at the postmen'sand mail-coachmen'scoats. He lived in an attic over a cats'-meatshop, in one of the purlieus of Drury-lane. The stenchon passingalong the passageof the house was almost overpowering,and the sound of my footstepsrouseda hundreddogs and puppies. As I was feeling my way at the bottom of the dark staircase,a boy, with his face blackened, and a banjo on his arm, passedme. This gave me an insight into the characterof the inmates. On reaching the man's room, I found it far more comfortable and cleanly than I had anticipated. He was sitting at work cross-leggedon a board, with the red cloth and threadall abouthim. "I've worked at 'post' work, both 'post' and 'mail,'" said the man, stitching away at a soldiers' coat. "You'll excuse me, sir, but I've been very ill lately. I'm obliged to do something; tho' just to get a crust of bread. I get 5s. for a mail coachman'sor mail guard'scoat-all is one-that is, for the coat and waistcoat

156

I gets 5s., I should say; and for the 'post' I has 4s. 8d. the coat and waistcoat. It's not everyone that can make them; they must be good hands, particularly for the 'mails.' There are no trousers, none that ever I seed. It will take me three days to make a coat and waistcoat, and I must work 14 hours every day to do that. There is nine yards of lace on a mail coat, and three and a half on a waistcoat, and that is all to be twice sewed over; so that it makes the coats and waistcoatsvery heavy. A great deal of work for a little money. The masterfinds a bit of silk and twist, and we find thread, which costs about 3d. for each garment, and it will cost me 1d. a night for candle (the coatsain't madein the summer time), and a penny only for firing, becauseI must have a little fire for myself. That brings it down to about 4s. 6d. in three daysyes, that's near it; and yet they're better than the work I am a-making on now, and this is for a masterwhat pays 5d. more for the coat than I'll get from any other warehouse- and that's Mr. Shaw. I receives 2s. 2d. for making the red coat altogether,looping and all, and from any other house I'd only get 1s. 9d. for the same work. I reckon I can earn at the post and mail work about 9s. clear per week, working 14 hours every day. There are many who can't get that. I'm a regular tailor. I've worked at the first shopsin London. At this red coat work, I considerthat I can make 7s. a week-that is, at my master'sprices and full work; but we can't always get it. Sometimeswe are walking about two days, and very often three days in the week; so that, lumping it all the year round, I don't think it would averagemore than 4s. to 4s. 6d. clear every week that I make. I live upon a cup of tea a day-no meat-can't afford it- can't get it. SometimesI can raise a red herring. My wife is ill, in the infirmary. She's been there five weeks. When she's out we can make a little more, becauseshe helps me. I give you as near as I can what I can earn myself; but when she helps me, we can do a little better. People'svery badly off generally in the trade. It is the evil of contracting, and the competition among the contractors that we suffers for. Man's labour goes to market, and then it's reduced. I work for a piecemaster. They get, I believe, 4d. out of these red coats. If I went to the warehousethey would not give it me. I'd have to give security to as much as £50 may be. The piece-mastersdo very well at it. They make as much as £5 or £10 a week by it. I've made firemen's coats as well. The present contractor pays only 3s. for 'em; the last used to give 5s. for the very same work. Each coat would take two days. You're compelledto put the samework into them now as before. The expenseswithout candle and firing are

157

about 2d. My earningsat them are, at the end of the week, about the sameas at these red coats. I'm very ill- more fit to be in the hospital than here." I then directed my steps to the neighbourhoodof Drury-lane, to see a poor woman who lived in an attic in one of the clos~st courts in that quarter. On the table was a quarter of an ounce of tea. Observing my eye to rest upon it, she told me it was all she took. "Sugar," she said, "I broke myself of long ago; I couldn't afford it. A cup of tea, a piece of bread,and an onion, is generally all I have for my dinner, and sometimesI haven't even an onion, and then I sopsmy bread." In answer to my questions,she said: - "I do 'the lopping.' The looping consistsin putting on the lace work down the front of the coats. I puts it on. That's my living; I wish it was not. It's a week tomorrow since I draw'd my needle. I get 5d. for the looping of each coat; that's the regular price. It's three hours' work to do one coat, and work fast to do it as it's done now. I'm a particular quick hand; and ordinary hands it would take four hours full to do it, becauseI knows them as takes that time. I have to find my own thread. It costs ltd. for a reel of cotton; that will do five coats. If I sit down between eight and nine in the morning, and work till twelve at night- I never entersmy bed afore -andthen rise between eight and nine again (that's the time I sit down to work on accountof doing my own affairs first), and then work on till eleven, I get my four coats done by that time, and some wouldn't get done till two. No, they couldn't, I can assureyou. At the end of that time I should have made four coats, coming to ls. 8d.; two-pence I have to pay out of this for marking, and ld. for the cotton, leaving ls. Sd. To see the work in 'em is dreadful. Oh, dear! And I can't sit all them hours without an extra cup of tea, and the candleswould come to ltd.; I burn out nearly two, that I do. I pressin the morning, and lets my fire out at night to save my coals, so that really I make in a day and a half ls. 3td., and I am thankful if I can get that. It's an hour's work going and coming, and waiting to be served at the piece-master's, so that at them long hours it takes me a day and a half hard work to get four coats looped, for which I make ls. 3td. clear. When I first touchedthis work I could do eight in the sametime, and be paid better; I had 7d. then insteadof 5d.; now the work in eachis nearly double in quantity, that it is. Let me work as hard as I can and no standstill, and have the work gave me when I go in, I can loop sixteen coats in a week, and that would bring me in Ss. 2d., and then all my own affairs must remain till Saturday

158

night, and I must never enter my bed till one o'clock each night in the week to do this. That is all I can get at the very best of times-that's quite true. SometimesI am standingstill for a fortnight's run. I've not draw'd my needle a week tomorrow. I've got these here, and I shall have my money on Saturday for them. I'm sure of my money, thank God! Reckoning my bad and my good time, taking the whole year round, there's so many standstills at our work, I'm sure I don't make 3s. a week clear. I've been working at this twelve years; I've worked ten years for one house. We used to have 7d. for what we get 5d. now. The causeof the price being reducedwas on accountof the pocket flaps being took off. We were much better paid when we had them on. I've got two boys both at work, one about fifteen, earning 3s. per week, and I have got him to keep and clothe. The week before last I bought him a top coat-it cost me 6s. - for fear he should be laid up, for he's such bad health. The other boy is eighteenyears, and earns 9s. a week. He's been in work about four months, and was out six weeks. At the same time I had no work. Oh, it was awful then! I had my rent going on. I have beenhere sevenyears. I don't owe anything here now. I have been paying Is. 6d. a week off a debt for bread and things I was obliged to get on credit then, through the both of us being out of employment." ["That's something after Dickens' style," said one of the boys to the other, in allusion to an article in Lloyd's Weekly Miscellany, that he was reading after his dinner. I requestedto look at the paper. The story that had taken the boy's fancy was entitled, "A Flaw in the Diamond. A Romanceof the Affections."] "This boy," continued the woman, "is only nine years of age, and him I have entirely to keep and find. He goes to the Shelton School; it's a charity. The school lets him have one coat and trousersand shoesand stockings every year. He wearsa pinafore now to savehis coat. It's a-hanging up there, for it is such a long while till the time comes round for his new one, that this coat would be quite shabbyin the winter if I did not do as much. Indeed I do strive very hard. The whole of us earn, when fully employed,from 14s. to 15s. a week; but I ain't half my time employed,and there are four of us to keep and clothe out of that. My eldest boy is like a hearty man to every meal. If he hadn't got me to managefor him, may be he'd spendall his earningsin mere food. I get my secondbread, and I go as far as Nassau-streetto get that-to save two or three halfpence.We use dripping with it. Butter we never have. A joint of meat none of us ever sees. The other day the meat cost me 3d. for the whole family- it was pieces. I never buy no other, and I've got enough

159

in the cupboard,out of what I had, to make a stew for tomorrow. My potatoesare three pound a penny. For everything I'm obliged to go a street or two away from home to savea farthing or a halfpenny. I go for my firing into Wild-street; there it's a halfpenny cheaper.I find it a dreadful hard time. Many, very many, are worse off than I am. What on earth should I do if it wasn't for them two boys? But then I can't expect to have them always, let them be ever so good. They won't long stop with me. When we're both out of a situation, we either starve or get in debt where we can, and then we're months struggling to pay it. Ah, sir, and it's a struggle that no one knows but the poor who strive to pay their way! No loopers are better, and most are worse off than I am, 'causeI'm sucha quick hand." During the courseof my investigationinto the condition of those who are dependentupon their needlefor their support, I had been so repeatedlyassuredthat the young girls were mostly compelled to resort to prostitution to eke out their subsistence,that I was anxious to test the truth of the statement.I had seen much want, but I had no idea of the intensity of the privations suffered by the needlewomenof London until I came to inquire into this part of the subject. But the poor creaturesshall speak for themselves. I should inform the reader, however, that I have made inquiries into the truth of the almost incredible statementshere given, and I can in most of the particularsat least vouch for the truth of the statement. Indeed, in one instance-that of the last case here recorded-I travelled nearly ten miles in order to obtain the characterof the young woman. The first case is that of a goodlooking girl. Her story is as follows: "I make moleskin trousers. I get 7d. and 8d. per pair. I can do two pairs in a day, and twelve, when there is full employment, in a week. But some weeks I have no work at all. I work from six in the morning to ten at night; that is what I call my day's work. When I am fully employed I get from 7s. to 8s. a week. My expensesout of that for twist, thread, and candlesare about ls. 6d. a week, leaving me about 6s. a week clear. But there'scoals to pay for out of this, and that's at the least 6d. more; so 5s. 6d. is the very outside of what I earn when I'm in full work. Lately I have been dreadfully slack; so we are every winter, all of us 'sloppers;' and that's the time when we wants the most money. The week before last I had but two pair to make all the week; so that I only earnt ls. clear. For this last month I'm sure I haven't done any more than that each week. Taking one week with another, all the year round, I don't make above 3s. clear money eachweek. I don't

160

work at any other kind of slop work. The trousers work is held to be the best paid of all. I give ls. a week rent. My father died when I was five years of age. My mother is a widow, upwards of 66 years of age, and seldom has a day's work. Generally once in the week she is employed pot-scouring-that is, cleaning publicans' pots. She is paid 4d. a dozen for that, and does about four dozen and a half, so that she gets about ls. 6d. in the day by it. For the rest she is independentupon me. I am 20 years of age the 25th of this month. We earn together,to keep the two of us, from 4s. 6d. to 5s. each week. Out of this we have to pay ls. rent, and there remains 3s. 6d. to 4s. to find us both in food and clothing. It is of course impossible for us to live upon it, and the consequenceis, I am obliged to go a bad way. I have been three years working at slop work. I was virtuous when I first went to work, and I remainedso till this last twelve-month. I struggledvery hard to keep myself chaste, but I found that I couldn't get food and clothing for myself and mother; so I took to live with a young man. He is turned 20. He is a tinman. He did promise to marry me, but his sister made mischief between me and him; so that parted us. I have not seen him now for about six months, and I can't say whether he will keep his promise or not. I am now pregnant by him, and expect to be confined in two months' time. He knows of my situation, and so does my mother. My mother believed me to be married to him. She knows otherwisenow. I was very fond of him, and had known him for two years before he seducedme. He could make 14s. a week. He told me if I came to live with him he'd take care I shouldn't want, and both mother and me had been very bad off before. He said, too, he'd make me his lawful wife, but I hardly cared so long as I could get food for myself and mother. Many young girls at the shop advised me to go wrong. They told me how comfortable they was off; they said they could get plenty to eat and drink, and good clothes. There isn't one young girl as can get her living by slop work. The masters all know this, but they wouldn't own to it of course. It stands to reason that no one can live, and pay rent, and find clothes, upon 3s. a week, which is the most they make clear, even the best hands, at the moleskin and cord trouserswork. The shirt work is worse and worse still. There'spoor people moved out of our house that was making td. shirts. I am satisfied there is not one young girl that works at slop work that is virtuous, and there are some thousandsin the trade. They may do very well if they have got mothersand fathers to find them a home and food, and to let them have what they earn for clothes; then they may be virtuous, but

161

not without. I've heard of numberswho have gone from slop work to the streetsaltogetherfor a living, and I shall be obligated to do the same thing myself, unless something better turns up for me. If I was never allowed to speak no more, it was the little money I got by my labour that led me to go wrong. Could I have honestly eamt enough to have subsistedupon, to find me in proper food and clothing, such as is necessary,I should not have gone astray; no, never. As it was, I fought againstit as long as I could-that I did - to the last. I hope to be able to get a ticket for a midwife; a party has promised me as much, and he says, if possible, he'll get me an order for a box of linen. My child will only increase my burdens, andif my young man won't support my child, I must go on the streets altogether. I know how horrible all this is. It would have been much better for me to have subsistedupon a dry crust and water rather than be as I am now. But no one knows the temptationsof us poor girls in want. Gentlefolks can never understandit. If I had beenborn a lady, it wouldn't have beenvery hard to have actedlike one. To be poor and to be honest,especially with young girls, is the hardeststruggleof all. There isn't one in a thousand that can get the better of it. I am ready to say again, that it was want, and nothing more, that made me transgress. If I had been better paid I should have done better. Young as I am, my life is a curse to me. If the Almighty would please to take me beforemy child is born, I shoulddie happy." The next were two "trousers hands," working for the same piece-mistress.I was assuredby the woman by whom they were employed, and whom I visited expresslyto make inquiries into the matter, that they were both hard-working and sober individuals. The first of these made the following extraordinarystatement:"I work at slop trousers,moleskin and cord-no cloth. There's handsfor jackets and handsfor waistcoatsall by themselves;every one gets their own employment.I'm a trousershand. I don't make army, navy, police, or railway things. Merely work for slopsellers. I work second-handed.The first-hand I work for employs only four. Sometimes she has more, but she's only four at ·present. She gets 6d., 7d., 8d., 9d., and IOd. per pair; 6d. is the lowest price paid by in the warehouse,and 1Od. the highest price. Them are the prices for moleskin and cord trousers. The party I works for is called a sweater.She gives us 4d. a pair all round, take the high with the low priced ones; that is, we have 4d. for the tenpenny trousers as well as for the sevenpennyones. If a pair of bespoke ones is given out to her, and she thinks they is done very nice, she'll give us 6d. for them. It takes from five to six hours to make

162

a pair of the trousers that we gets 4d. for, and work very quick. We must work from twelve to fourteen hours every day to make two pair; that is, allowing a little time to one's meals; and then we have to sweep and tidy our place up a little; so that we must work very hard to get two pair done in a day. She finds us thread. We make about 4s. a week, but we must work till nine or ten o'clock every night for that. We never make more than 4s., and very often less. If you go of an errand, or want a bit of bread, you lose time, and sometimesthe work comes out harder-it's more stubborn, and takes more time. I've known it like a bit of board. I make, I should say, taking one week with another, about 3s. 4d. a week. The sweaterfinds us our lodging; but we has to buy our candlesout of what we make, and they cost us about ld. each evening, or I should say 5d. a week. I earn clear just upon 3s.; that's about it. I find it very hard indeed to live upon that. We take our money every day-the 6d. or Sd., as the case may beand very often on Sunday we don't have anything. If we fall ill we're turned off. The sweater won't keep us with her not the secondday. I have been married. My husbandhas been deadseven year. I wish he wasn't. I have no children alive. I have buried three. I had two children alive when my husband died. The youngest was five and the other was seven. My husband was a soap-maker.He got £1 a week. I worked at the slop trade while he was alive. Our weekly earnings-his and mine together-was about 26s. The slop trade was better paid then than now, and what's more, I had the work on my own account. I was very happy and comfortable while he lived." [Here the woman burst out crying, and wiped her eyes with the corner of her old rusty shawl.] "I was always true to him while he was alive, so help me God! After his death I was penniless,with two young children. The only means I had of keeping myself and little ones was by the slop work; and that brought me in about 5s. 6d. a week first-hand. That was to keep me and my two boys. When my eldestboy died -and that was two year after his father-I couldn't afford to bury him. My sister paid for the funeral. I was very thankful to the Almighty when he took him from me, for I had not sufficient to feed him. He died of scarlatina. My second boy has only been dead five months. He died of the hooping cough. I loved him as I did my life; but I was glad he was took from me, for I know he's better now than I could have done for him. He could but have been brought up in the worst kind of poverty by me, and God only knows what might have becomeof him if he had lived. My security died five years ago, and then the house that I had been used to

163

work for refused to give me any more, so I was obligated to work for a sweater, and I have done so ever since. This was a heavy blow to me. I was getting about 5s. 6d. a week before then. The trouserswas better paid for at that time besides,and when I was obligated to work second-handedI couldn't get more than 4s. One of my boys was alive at this time, and we really could not live upon the money. I applied to the parish, and they wantedme to go into the house,but I knew if I did so they'd take my boy from me, and I'd suffer anything first. At times I was so badly off, me and my boy, that I was forced to resort to prostitution to keep us from starving. It was not until after my security died that I did this. Before that we could just live by my labour, but afterwardsit was impossiblefor me to get food and clothing for myself and child out of 4s. a week, which was all I could earn; so I was obligated to get a little more money in a way that I blush to mention to you. Up to the time of the death of my security, I can swear, before God, I was an honestwoman; and had the price I was paid for my labour been such that I could get a living by it, I would never have resorted to the streets for money. I am sorry to say there is too many personslike me in the trade- hundredsof married and single doing the same as I do, for the same reason. It's the ruin of us, body and soul -all owing to the low prices. Almost all that works for the sweatersdo the same thing. I know several that's very young living in that manner. It 'most drives 'em mad. They're hard-working industrious people, but they don't get sufficient price to have enough, no, not even of the coarsestvictuals; and if they got more, they wouldn't think of such a mode of life. They do their work in the day, and go out in the night. They say they can't have enough by their work, and must see what else they can get some money by. In this way they make their week's money come to about 6s. or 7s. -some more and some less. I don't know any that makesa practice of walking the streetsregularly of a night. They only go out when they're in distress.This is what I believe to be truth; and I can safely say as much in my conscience,and before God." The statementof the second trousers hand was equally awful. It ran as follows:"I work at the slop, make trousers-moleskin and cord-any sort of plain work. I work at the same place as the other woman works at, and for the same prices. I earn, like her, taking one week with another,about 3s. 4d., and taking off the candles,about 3s. every week. I have been married, but my husband'sbeen dead eleven year. I have had two children, but I've buried them. I've got

164

none at present. I had only one child alive at the time of my husband'sdeath-she was about a twelve-monthold when her father died. He was a ballast getter- he got the ballast out of the river for the ships. He worked for the Trinity Company. He used to earn a good bit of money at that time. Ballast work now is very indifferent. He used to get 30s. a week at the lowest. I worked at the slop trade before I was married, but not afterwards, until my husbanddied. We were very comfortable,my husbandand me. We had one room. He was rather given to a drop of drink. When he died he left me penniless,with a baby to keep. I was an honest woman up to the time of my husband'sdeath. I never did him wrong. I can lay my hand on my heart and say so. But since then the world has drove me about so, and poverty and trouble has forced me to do what I never did before. I have been drove about by my work being badly paid. I couldn't earn what would keep me. I have always worked second-handedsince my husband'sdeath, and the money I have got by my labour has not been enough to support me. I do the best I can with what little money I earn, and the rest I am obligatedto go to the streetsfor. That is true, though I says it as shouldn't. I can't get a rag to wear without flying to prostitution for it. My wages will barely find me in food. Indeed, I eat more than I earn, and I am obligated to make up my money in other ways. I know a great many women wt.> are situated in the same way as I am. We pretty well all share one fate in that respect-with the exception of those that's got husbandsto keep them. The young and middle-aged all do the same, as far as I know. There'sgood and bad in all, but with the most of 'em I'm sure they're drove to it- yes, that they are. I have frequently heard them regret that they are forced to go to the streetsto make out their living. Why, they said, they worked so hard for so little, that they might as well be on the streetsaltogether. I have known many who found it such a dreadful struggle to live by slop work, that they have left it and gone on to the streetsentirely. I know that the low prices that are paid by the slopsellersmakes women and girls prostitutes. I can answer for myself and several besides me; and had I been better paid, been merely able to live by my labour, I should have been still an honest and virtuous woman. For three or four years after my husband'sdeath, I struggledon, and kept true to his memory, but at last all my clotheswere gone, .. I actually could not make out and I was obliged to transgress victuals and clothestoo, and I had always beenused to be comfortable and appear respectablein my younger days. I know it's the lownessof the prices. SometimesI'm quite tired of my life. If those

165

who've taken to the streetsas a regular practice was to come back again to work, there'd be no chanceof a living for them; and if I was younger I should go on the streetsaltogethermyself. I often do say I wish I was younger. I think the women engagedat slop work get from 6s. to 7s. a week altogether. They cannot manage to do upon 3s., which is all that such as us can get by our labour. I speak only the truth, and I can honestly say so-that I can. Indeed, I shouldn't have told you all I have, if I didn't wish the whole truth and nothing but the truth to be known." The story which follows is perhapsone of the most tragic and touching romancesever read. I must confess that to myself the mental and bodily agony of the poor Magdalenewho relatedit was quite overpowering. She was a tall, fine-grown girl, with remarkably regular features. She told her tale with her face hidden in her hands, and sobbing so loud that it was with difficulty I could catch her words. As she held her hands before her eyes I could see the tears oozing betweenher fingers. Indeed I never remember to have witnessd such intensegrief. Her statementwas of so startling a nature, that I felt it due to the public to inquire into the characterof the girl. Though it was late at night, and the gentleman who had brought the case to me assuredme that he himself was able to corroboratealmost every word of the girl's story, still I felt that I should not be doing my duty to the office that had been entrusted to me if I allowed so pathetic and romantic a statementto go forth without using every meansto test the truth of what I had heard. Accordingly, being informed that the girl was in service, I made the best of my way not only to her present master,but also to the one she had left but a few monthsprevious. The gentlemanwho had brought her to me, willingly accompanied me thither. One of the parties lived at the east end of London, the other in the extreme suburbsof London. The result was well worth the journey. Both personsspoke in the highest terms of the girl's honesty,sobriety, and industry, and of her virtue in particular. With this preamblelet me proceedto tell her story in her own touching words:"I used to work at slop work- at the shirt work -the fine fullfronted white shirts; I got 2id. eachfor 'em. There were six buttonholes, four rows of stitching in the front, and the collars and wristbands stitched as well. By working from five o'clock in the morning till midnight eachnight I might be able to do sevenin the week. Thesewould bring me in 17td. for my whole week'slabour. Out of this the cotton must be taken, and that came to 2d. every week, and so left me 15td. to pay rent and living and buy candles

166

with. I was single, and received some little help from my friends; still it was impossible for me to live. I was forced to go out of a night to make out my living. I had a child, and it used to cry for food; so, as I could not get a living for him myself by my needle, I went into the streets,and made out a living that way. Sometimes there was no work for me, and then I was forced to depend entirely upon the streets for my food. On my soul I went to the streets solely to get a living for myself and child. If I had been able to get it otherwise I would not have done so. I am the daughterof a minister of the Gospel. My father was an Independent preacher,and I pledge my word, solemnly and sacredly, that it was the low price paid for my labour that drove me to prostitution. I often struggled against it, and many times have I taken my child into the streetsto beg, rather than I would bring shame upon myself and it any longer. I have made pincushionsand fancy articles- such as I could manageto scrapetogether- and taken them to the streets to sell, so that I might get an honest living, but I couldn't. SometimesI should be out all night in the rain, and sell nothing at all, me and my child together; and when we didn't get anything that way we used to sit in a shed, for I was too fatigued with my baby to stand, and I was so poor I couldn't have even a night's lodging upon credit. One night in the depth of winter his legs froze to my side. We sat down on the step of a door. I was trying to make my way to the workhouse, but was so weak I couldn't get on any farther. The snow was over my shoes. It had been snowing all day, and me and my boy out in it. We hadn't tastedany food since the morning before, and that I got in another person'sname. I was driven by positive starvation to say that they sent me when they did no such thing. All this time I was struggling to give up prostitution. I had many offers, but I refusedthem all. I had sworn to myself that I would keep from that mode of life for my boy's sake. A lady saw me sitting on the door-step,and took me into her house, and rubbed my child's legs with brandy. She gave us some food, both my child and me, but I was so far gone I couldn't eat. I got to the workhousethat night. I told them we were starving, but they refused to admit us without an order; so I went back to prostitution again for anothermonth. I couldn't get any work; I had no security. I couldn't even get a reference to find me work at second-hand.My character was quite gone. I was at length so disgustedwith my line of life that I got an order for the workhouse, and went in there for two years. The very minute we got inside the gate they took my child away from me, and allowed me to see it only once a month. At last I and another

167

left 'the house' to work at umbrella covering, so that we might have our children with us. For this work we had ls. a dozencovers, and we used to do between us from six to eight dozen a week. We could have done more, but the work wasn't to be had. I then made from 3s. to 4s. a week, and from that time I gave up prostitution. For the sake of my child I should not like my name to be known; but for the sake of other young girls, I can and will solemnly state that it was the smallnessof the price I got for my labour that drove me to prostitution as a meansof living. In my heart I hated it; my whole nature rebelled at it; and nobody but God knows how I struggled to give it up. I was only able to do so by getting work at something that was better paid. Had I remained at shirt-making, I must have been a prostitute to this day. I have taken my gown off my back and pledgedit, and gone in my petticoat-I had but one-rather than take to the streetsagain; but it was all in vain. We were starving still; and I robbed the young woman who lodged in the next room to me of a gown, in order to go out in the streetsonce more and get a crust. I left my child at home, wrappedin a bit of an old blanket while I went out. I brought home half-a-crown by my shame,and stoppedits cries for food for two days. My sufferings have been such, that three days before I first tried to get into the workhouseI made up my mind to commit suicide. I wrote the name of my boy and the addressof his aunts, and pinned them to his little shift, and left him in bed-for ever as I thought-and went to the Regent'spark to drown myself in the water near the road leading to St. John's-wood. I went there becauseI thought I was more sure of death. It was farther to jump. The policeman watched me, and asked me what I was doing. He thought I looked suspicious,and drove me from the park. That saved my life. My father died, thank God, when I was eight years old. My sisters are waistcoat hands, and both starving. I hardly know whether one is dead or not now. She is suffering from cancersbrought on by poor living. I am now living in service. I have been so for the last year and a half. I obtained a characterfrom a Christian gentleman,to whom I owe my salvation. I can solemnly assertsince I have been able to earn a sufficient living I have never once resorted to prostitution. My boy is still in the workhouse. I have been unable to save any money since I have been in service. My wagesare low, and I had scarcelyany clothes when I went there. If I had a girl of my own, I should believe I should be making a prostitute of her to put her to slop work. I am sure no girl can get a living at it without, and I say as much after thirteen years' experienceof

168

the business.I never knew one girl in the trade who was virtuous; most of them wished to be so, but were compelledto be otherwise for mere life."

169

IX Friday, November16, 1849 LEITER

I have lately devoted myself to investigating the incomings and condition of the Needlewomenof London generally. My object is, in the first place, to obtain an authentic list of the prices paid to the different artisans and labourers throughout the metropolis. It is curious that this should remain undone, and even untried, to the presentday. But so it is. Mr. Porter, in his "Progressof the Nation," tells us:"The most extensiveregister, in point of time, that we have of the rate of wages, is found in returns made to Parliament by Greenwich Hospital. Unfortunately, however, the descriptionsof artisansemployed in the establishmentare few, and their occupations come altogether under the description of skilled labour. Besidesthis, the returnsmadeup to 1805 are given only at intervals of five years, while the rates published are those paid to masters, who contract for the performanceof the work, and are not the sumsreceivedby the workmen. "No one, unlesshe have made the attemptto obtain information of this kind, can be aware of the difficulty opposedto his success. After many and long-continuedefforts to that end, it is not possible here to bring forward many authentic or continuous statementsof the ratesof wagesin this country." The chief difficulty which besets an undertaking of this characterlies in the indispositionof the tradesmen- and especially of those who are notorious for selling cheap, and, consequently, giving a less price to their workpeople-to make known the sums that they pay for the labour employed upon the different articles of manufacture in which they deal. I believe this is the main reason why such information remains to be acquired. To obtain it, the workpeople themselves must be sought out, and seen privately at their own homes. Another obstacleto the attainment of the information, is that workpeople are in general but poor

170

accountants.They are unusedto keep any account,either of their income or expenditure. Hence they have generally to trust to their memories for a statementof their earnings; and it is only with considerabledifficulty and cross-questioningthat one is able to obtain from them an accountof the expensesnecessarilyattendant upon their labour, and so, by deducting these from the price paid to them, to arrive at the amount of their clear earnings. Moreover, though I must confessI have met with far more truthfulness on the part of the operativethan on that of the employer, still I believe the workpeople are naturally disposed to imagine that they get less than they really do, even as the employer is inclined to fancy his workmen make more than are their real gains. I should, however, while speaking of the objection of employers generally to make known the prices paid to their workpeople, make honourable exception of Mr. Shaw, the army clothier. I have no doubt that there are many more actuated,like that gentleman, with a desire both to bring under the notice of the public the small sum of money paid for the labour of those they employ, as well as to increase-even at the expenseof their own profits - rather than lower the wages of their workpeople. But as yet I have not met with them. Wherever the labourer is worse paid, and there is consequentlythe greaternecessityfor the amountearnedto be madepublic, there, as with the superintendent of the London Docks, and the large slopseller alluded to in a former letter, do I find the greatestindisposition on the part of the employersto afford me the least assistance;as yet, I must in truth say, I have only found a disposition to mis-stateand mislead. However, the subject, I am well aware, is of far too great importance in a national point of view to be thwarted by individuals whose interest it is to keep the price of the labour market secret. The proprietors of The Morning Chronicle have undertaken to obtain, for the first time in this country, an account of the earnings of the workpeople of the metropolis; and if they fail, why, it shall not be for want of energyor zeal. It is difficult, in the present crude and indigested state of the material facts, to attempt to classify the different kinds of Arts or Labour. I purposedevoting my attention for the next two or three letters to the incomings and condition of those who derive their subsistencefrom the use of the needle. A large number of these artizans have already been visited and reported upon; but a large numberstill remain untouched. In my presentcommunicationI purposelaying before the public the intelligence I have gatheredrespectingthe Stay-stitchers,Shoe-

171

binders, Stock-makers, Cloak-makers, Upholsteresses,and Distressed Gentlewomen working at plain needlework in the metropolis. And first of the Stay-stitchers. Here I procured an introduction to one of the largest wholesale stay-makersin the City, in the hopes of obtaining some account of the trade. But I soon found that my time was wasted in so doing. The gentleman assuredme that there were scarcely any stay-stitchersresident in London. He could get his work done so cheapin the agricultural districts, owing to the number of people out of employ in those parts, that he had scarcely any done in town; and indeed he was loth to make the least communicationto me on the subject and object of my visit. Accordingly, finding it uselessseekingfor any information from the employer in this particular branchof business,I madethe best of my way to two workpeople, who had been engagedat the businessfor upwardsof twenty years. The following are their statements:"I work at stay-stitching. I've worked at it these thirty years; yes, that I have, full. Well, I can't-and work hard at the work I am now having-earn more than 7td. a day. Now, that is the kind of work," said she, drawing some drab jean ready marked for stitching, "and I can't do more than that pair and half another from seven in the morning till nine at night, and haven't time scarcely to get a meal in the meantime, and I get 5d. the pair, and if they run very large indeed I get no more. Why, sir, at the outside I can't do above nine pair a week, not if I've full employment. And nine pair a week at 5d. is 3s. 9d., and that's my earnings at the very outside, if I work fourteen hours every day for six days; and sorry I am to say I'm obliged to break into the Sabbathday to make out a living. They find me in thread, but I have to find candle, and they cost I td. a night now the nights are so long, or say I d. a night, or 6d. a week all the year round, so that my clear earningsat the very best are 3s. 3d. a week. If I had the work, perhapsI might manageas much as that all the year round, but I can't get it; the trade is particularly slack just now -I've been very slack for this last month. I've no book where I works-they pay me as I take it in. You see I've done four pair this week, in four days; and I shan't have more than two pair done by Saturday night; so that my earnings this week will be, for the six pair, at Sd. - 2s. 6d., or reckoning candles,2s. clear. Last week I did five pair, and they brought me in 2s. ld., or ls. 7d. clear. Taking one week with another,all the year round, I think I may say I earn 3s. a week, and that is to the full extent as much as I do; or, reckon-

172 ing candle, I can safely say I don't make more than 2s. 6d. clear all the twelve-month through. I'm just able to raise a cup of tea, and that's as much as I can do out of it. I have my work direct from the shop. They only employ the joumeywomenin the stay trade. There's plenty there round about Deptford and Greenwich that has the work out so many gross at a time, and employs a number of young women. Some of the old Greenwich pensioners work at stay-stitchingfor some of them. The parties has it down in bagfuls. I once used to have my work second-handedfrom a party as got it from the warehouse,and she employed, I think, about nine of us. She used to get 7d. and 8d. a pair at that, and she usedn'tto give us more than 2-!d. each pair; for the children's we usedn't to get more than Hd. It would take us three-partsof the day to 'em. All the stays were stitched with silk in that time; but that is, I suppose,five-and-twenty year ago. It's eighteenyear ago since I worked at Portsmouthfor a party who is now one of the largest wholesale dealersin London, and all he gave me was 2d. a pair. They was stitched with blue cotton. I don't think he gives even so much now down there. I worked for anotherparty, who gave me only seven fardens; but I was obligated to give the work back to him. I was starving as I am now, but I'm sure it was worse then. I can manageat least a cup of tea at present;but then I couldn't even get that. They are mostly stitched at Portsmouth now. They can get it done cheaperthere than what they can here, owing to the sailors' wives round about there I suppose.Yes, it must be something like that, for no one can get a living at it. The party as I spoke of, who is in the City, got on, I know, in this here way. He got a number of the poor people to work for him, and made 'em all put down Ss. eachbefore they had a stitch of work. Before you got work you must raise Ss. somehow. Well, the 5s. laid in his hands until such time as you wanted to leave him; if you worked for him for ten years it would be in his hands all the time. The reason why I was obliged to leave off working for him was that I wantedmy 5s. to make up some rent. My goods was threatenedto be taken. That 5s. I knew would save them, and I applied for it. It was on a Wednesdaywhen I did this, and I couldn't get it until the Saturday; he wouldn't give it me till then; so I lost my work of course,'causeI have 5s. more to leave. Well, it was by the number of 5s. that he got from the people in this mannerhe was able to launch and take a large establishment. He didn't care how many hands he took on so long as he had the 5s., and of course he had the interest of it all. Why, he had as many as three hundred poor people; aye, more. It was said he

173 had as many as seven hundredin his employ working out of doors, and from each he had 5s., and that was the causeof his uprisingthat it certainly was. The downfall of the stay businesswas all through him and another as lived close to him. They were the first to cut down the prices of the workpeople. They sent the work into the country, to get done in the cheapestway they could, and have always been lowering the prices of the poor people. Thirty years ago I have made as much as l7s. 5d. for my week's work. At the very commonestI could have made from 12s. to 14s. a week; and now the most I can make is 3s. 6d. Aye, that's to the full extent; and not that every week. It's about 25 year ago since the prices first beganto be cut down by the two parties I speakof. Up to that time the prices we had for stitching were about the same as those I had thirty years ago. Till then the prices had remained about the same. We could make a very tidy living out of it. But since the two parties began, the prices have been falling and falling, and we've been starving while he's been a-getting rich. Now all I get is 2s. 6d. a week clear, and that is to keep me and my family. I'm a married woman. My husbandis a plasterer,but has been out of work this two year. All he's earnedis 2s. for these last three months. Indeed, he's not worked for a regular master not this two years. They prefers young hands, and he's getting into years. He'll be sixty next September.He only gets a flying job now and then, and that's mostly from the landlord we live under. My eldest boy gets 5s. a week. My youngestgoes to school. Seven shillings a week is all we have to keep the four of us, pay rent and all. I pay 1s. 9d. a week for my room, and that leaves us 5s. 3d. for us four to maintain ourselvesupon, or live upon, if you can call it living. Yes, that's Is. 3-id. each a week, or not 2d. a day, to find us in food, firing, and raiment. Oh, God bless you, I am ready to drop sometimes,when I get up, I feel that faint and loss for really the common necessariesof life! I don't taste a bit of butcher's meat not from one month's end to another-no, nor half a pint of beer I don't get. My husbandis a soberman. I hadn't a pinch of snuff for two days, until a friend gave us a bit out of his box. It carne very acceptable,I can assure you; it quite revived me; that's all I'm extravagantin. I can't say but what I likes my pinch of snuff, but even that I can't get. We're never out from Monday morning till Saturday night. If I've got nothing to do, it's no use going and making an uproar about, for I'm very certain there's no one about here has got nothing to give me, and I'm very certain my opening my mouth won't fill theirs. And when I've got work, why I sits hard to it, and is glad to have it to do."

174

"My tale is just the sameas that person's,"said the secondworkwoman. "I can't tell you no more, except that I'm by myself; I've got no one to do nothing for me. And if it wasn't for that good woman giving me a lodging while the work's a-coming round, I don't know what I should do. I do the stay work. I worked for an old lady for twenty years at the stay work, and she'sgiven up her work through age. I can do any part of it, the seaming,goring, or trimming. The stitching I can do as well. The old lady I speak of had only bespoke work. She never kept no particular shop. I could earn very fair with her. For seaming and goring I was paid 3d. to 4d. a pair. It would take about three hours, I suppose, to seam and gore one pair; though it's impossible to tell exactly, the work differs so. Some of the stays have more gores and more seamsthan others. For trimming I used to get 5d. a pair for the common, and ls. for the best. But, blessyou, they won't give these prices now; no, nor near. At the warehousesthey give ls. to ls. 6d. for trimming a dozen pair now. I'm speakingof the common and the middling sort. The seamingand goring of the best is all done indoors; they won't give it out. And the seamingand goring they'll give you ls. to ls. 6d. for a dozen pair, the sameas the trimmings. It's generally the same price for the one as the other. When I could get my prices from the old lady, I could earn about 8s. or 9s. a week at seaming,and goring, and trimmings, take one week with another. At the warehouseprices I can't make above 3s. 6d. a week, or 3s., reckoning candles. To get that, I must work from seven till nine at night, and perhaps more. Lately, I have been engagedstitching. I can't get any other work. My earnings last week were ls. 6d. I was at no expense for candle-this good woman has let me have the use of her'n. I couldn't have lived at all if it hadn't been for her. The week before it was four pair I stitched, and that's ls. 8d. The week before that I can't recollect, but it's been much upon an averagelike this for some weeks. For this seven weeks I've been doing like that. This has been owing to the work being slack, and you see I've not had clothes to go and apply for work. They won't give you work at thesedon shops unless you goes respectable.They thinks you're going to make away with it. They'll scarcely condescendto give you an answer if you go any way shabbyto those places.I've had no regular work at all for this last twelve-month, and I couldn't tell you what my earningshas been. I think if I've got as much as 2s. a week, it is as much as I have, taking all the year round. Whenever this woman has work to spare, she gives it to me. Why, I was at work last June a-making gentlemen'sflannel waistcoatsfor a slop-house

175

at 2d. apiece, and all I could make at that was 4d. a day, work day and night as hard as I could. I had them second-handed.But the party as gave them to me had no more herself for them. Both her and her husbanddied of the cholera last July, and that's the reason why I had no more of that work. After that I took the typhus fever, and was laid up for two or three months with that, and after that I came here. I lived in this housea good many year, and she, knowing the state I was in, kindly took me in. Ah, sir, the poor is generally very kind to the poor. If we wasn't to help one another whatever would become of us! None of the gentlefolks ever comes to us. They knows a great deal more about the slaves of Jamaicathan they does about us. I am to pay her ls. a week when I'm able, but God knows when that will be again. We all have to sleep in this one room. We have three bedsstowed here every night -one on the bedstead,and two on the floor. She's kind enough to give me a cup of tea when she's got it, but sometimesshe ain't got it for herself, and so we're all forced to go without. My husband's been dead two years next January. I had somechildren, but they're no trouble to me. They'reall dead, thank God! Yes, indeed,I'm thankful that they are dead." The next class of needlewomenthat I visited were shoe-binders. I found three working together in one small close attic. I give their accountof their incomingsin their own words: "It's a very poor trade, indeed," said one of the hands."Ah! it's high time something was done for the people, for it's cruel work now. I make snow boots at present. I bind them-that is, I get them ready for the maker. The cloth and lining is cut out and given out by the warehouse. We have to stitch them together, make the button-holes,and sew on the binding and the buttons. I get sevenfarthings per pair, and find my own thread and cotton. That costs about a halfpenny per pair. We get about a penny farthing per pair clear when they are finished. It takes about three hours and a half to do one pair. We can't earn more than 2s. a week at our work. A person must work very hard to do three pair a day, but it's impossible to do that every day; and then there's thread and cotton to be found out of the 2s. a week, which leaves about ls. 6d. for our clear earnings. I'm up by six, and don't leave off till twelve or one, and then I can't do more than three pair. It takes twelve hours' continual work to do three pair. The rest of the time I must mind my children and my own affairs. I generally work about eighteenhours a day. We have beenworking at the snow boots now full two months. Never had a book till last week. [She produced book of employer.] Three, four, and four

176

pair, or eleven pair, were taken out last week, you see. Those I finished. And four and six pair I have had out this week, in all ten. Of this I have just done five pair since Monday. I do generally about nine pair in six days, and a little less than five pair in three days. The reason of my not having had a book is owing to my master'sdeath. His wife has recently taken to the business,and she has given books to all the handsemployed.I also bind common lasting women's side lace boots. By binding them I mean I make them up entirely, with the exception of the sole. I have to make sixteen eyelet holes, to stitch the lasting together, and to bind them. For this I get 3d. per pair. I have to buy silk and cotton. It costs about id. each pair of boots, td. for silk and td. for cotton. I clear about 2td. per pair. Can't do a pair in much less than four hours, or three pair a day at the very outside, to work hard the day through. But we can't keep that up. By the end of the week we seldom have more than eight pair done-for getting them out and taking them in all takes time; and eight pair at 2td. clear brings us in ls. 6d. a week as our weekly earnings. Out of this we have to pay candles,and they come to 6d. a week. I know I burn a penny candle every night. That makes our clear gains about ls. But it comes in handy. It's a few halfpence every day. We have constant employment at the warehouse. We're never standing still. I am a married woman. I've a very queer husband. He's a big drunkard. He's a sawyer. I'm sure if I have enough of him just to get me over Sunday,it's all that I do. I can't tell what my husbandgets a week. I never know what he earnsany more than a stranger. After he's paid the rent I might get perhaps4s. or 5s. of him, and that to keep me, him, and the child. Formerly I used to work at the boots in the country. Then the prices were much better. That's as much as twelve or thirteen years ago. The best 'luting' boots were ls. 6d. and some 2s. then; now I should get 5d. and 7d. for the same kind of work. I don't know what's the causeof the prices coming down. I find it very hard work to live. It isn't living. We've nothing but bread from one week's end to another. I know I shall have nothing to eat until I take my work in tomorrow morning." "I do the same work," said another of the women at work in the same room, "and get the same prices. [Produced book of employer.] I work for the same person." The account was one, four and four, or nine pair taken out last week, and four pair this. "The nine pair were finished by last Saturday night, and I shall have finished six pair tomorrow. They are paid the same, and the expensesare the same,so that my clear earningsare ls., deducting

177

candles. It's a good job we don't take snuff- neither snuff nor beer. I am a married woman, to my sorrow. My husband is a pewterer. I don't know what he gets a week. I only know I have very little of it. I have got three children. The eldest is ten, the second seven, and the youngest three. My husband brought me home about ls. last week after he had paid the rent, and that was to keep him, me, and two children. Sometimeshe ill-treats me. If he don't with his hand, I know he does with his tongue. He has the most dreadfullest tongue ever heard on. He drinks very hard. He's drunk wheneverhe's the money to be so. He's tipsy three or four times a week. I can assure you I have been obliged to live upon my two shillings. It is not living -it's only just enough to say you keep life together. I have, indeed, sir, a very hard time of it. I'm ready to run away, and leave it very often. If it wasn't for my children I should do it. I'm obliged to work all day to keep my children. If I take my work in in the morning, and get my Sd., that must keep me and my children all day, unless I can get a trifle of my husbandat night-time, and some days he don't bring any home. The girl's ten yearsold, and she'swith her grandmother. When I take my work in, the 'clipper' holds it up to the light to seeif any of the stitchesgape, and if so, he turns it on my hands." "J am a boot-binder,too," said the third "hand" employedthere; "but I get a better price for my work. I do the lasting, the cashmere, and the cloth boots. I get from 6d. to l s. per pair. I get 6d. for the cashmereand the lasting as well, and Is. for the best cloth boots, goloshed. A shilling pair will take me a whole day to do; and I can do two pair each day of the sixpenny ones. Out of this I have to pay 2d. for silk and cotton each day. I take generally6s. a week, and earn about Ss. clear; but then there are candles,and that's 6d. a week; so that 4s. 6d. is what I make, taking one week with another. I work about 13 hours each day. I have no book. My master gives me none. I work second-handed.I get the same price as the first hand does herself, only I don't go into the shop. I am a single woman. I pay ls. 6d. a week rent. I have everything to buy myself. I have been at the trade five years last August. I have worked for two houses in that time. The prices are the same to me as they were five years ago. I don't know that there are any boots paid higher than what I get. A shilling is the highest price that any shop gives, for binding boots. The tradeis very slack at present, and the prices are being lowered 3d. just now-ninepenny boots are being reduced to 6d. The fact is, I think they wants to have more profit out of the poor people-that's as near as possible. I can just pay my way. I never have any meat. Shoes

178 are td. a pair binding. We have to put them all togetherand bind them. A person may do about nine pair in a day of twelve hours; that would come to 6td., and then the expenseswould be about 2d. for silk and cotton for the nine pair-so that the clear earnings at this would be 4td. a day, or, deducting candle, about 3d. Children's leather boots are td. per pair, or sixpence per dozen. A person can do about 18 pair of these a day. These would come to 9d. The expensesfor thread and cotton would be about 2d. for the 18 pair, leaving 7d. a day, or 3s. 6d. a week, for the earnings, and deductingcandle,about 3s. clear." The next class of needlewomenthat I wended my way to were the Stock-makers-and here I found an instanceof filial affection and almost heroism that would be an honour to any station. The charactersof the parents,I should state, have been inquired into, and they are said to be worthy, hard-working, soberpeople:"I work at stock work. I have the work home. I work first-hand. I have 6d. a dozen for 'Albert ties,' 9d. to Is. a dozen for 'opera ties,' Is. 9d. a dozen for 'sham pleats,'or Albert stocks-thoseare the stocks with bows to them, and long ends. The 'Burlingtons'that is, the stocks without ends, and waterproof top and bottom to keep the perspiration from coming through-these are 2s. 3d. to 2s. 6d. a dozen. The 'Napier' stocks are 3s. 6d. to 4s. a dozen. The Napiers have long ends hemmed on both sides, with a knob in the centre. 'Aerial' ties are 6d. a dozen: they are the newfashioned ones lately come up. Of Albert ties, I can make about eighteenin twelve hours, or nine dozen a week. The expenseson these, including candle, cotton, and silk, would be Is. 9d., leaving 3s. 3d. a week clear. Of opera ties I could do about nine a day, or four dozen and a half at 9d. per dozen, or four dozen of those at a shilling, in the week; the expensesabout the same, or Is. 9d. a week, leaving 2s. 3d. to 2s. 6d. a week clear. The opera ties are worse than the Alberts, for though there's more money paid for 'em, there'smore work in 'em. We reckon to do about a dozen of the Albert stocks in about three days, or two dozen a week, at ls. 9d. a dozen, or 3s. 6d. a week. The expensesare about ls. 6d.; there's not so much cotton used in them; the clear earnings at these 2s. a week. Of the Burlingtons I couldn't do more than one dozen in three days, or two dozen per week, at 2s. to 2s. 3d. per dozen, making 4s. to 4s. 6d. for the week's earnings. The trimmings and candlescome to Is. 6d., leaving about 2s. 6d. to 3s. for the clear gains. We couldn't do more than eighteenNapiers in the week, at 3s. 6d. to 4s. the dozen. These would come to 5s. 3d. or 6s. The expensesof these, candle and all, would be 2s., leaving 4s.

179 for the clear gains for the week. Of the Aerials about one dozen could be done in a day or six dozen a week, at 6d., coming to 3s. The expensesare about ls., leaving 2s. for the clear gains for the week. The Napiersare about the best work with us, and the Aerials and the Albert stocks about the worst. I keep one hand myself, and a little girl. I pay the hand 3s. a week, and the little girl I pay nothing; she comeswith the other to learn. I give the hand her tea, and she brings her bread and butter. The expenseof the tea, sugar, milk, etc., for the week, would be about 6d., so that the hand I employ costs me 3s. 6d. I can earn, with the assistanceof the two hands, from 8s. to 9s. a week upon an average,clear of trimmings and candles; and deducting the expense of the hands, 3s. 6d., I make about 5s. clear of everything. These, I think, are my clear earnings all the year round. SometimesI get more by working extra hours. I have made as much as 7s. myself by my own hands in one week, but to get that I had to sit up about three nights out of the six; and some weeks I earn only Is. 2d., and some nothing at all; that is, when the work is slack. The work is generallyslack at Christmas time and in the middle of the summer, about three months each time; so that the trade is about six months brisk and six months slack in the course of the year. I rememberthe prices of the Napiers being 8s. 6d. a dozen. They're 3s. 6d. to 4s. now. The Albert stocks used to be 3s. 8d. to 4s. when they first cameup. They're 2s. to Is. 9d. now. The Burlingtons I had 5s. a dozen for. Now they're 2s. to 2s. 3d. The opera ties I had from 2s. to 3s. a dozen for. Now they're 9d. to ls. The Albert ties I had ls. 9d. for when they first came up. Now I have 6d. a dozen for the very same work. The Aerials I had ls. 3d. to Is. 6d. for, and they cut them out for me. Now I have 6d. a dozen for them. The Albert scarfs I had 2s. a dozen for only a month back, and now I have 9d. The prices have fallen considerablymore than one-half within this last year and a half. I had all those better prices that I have mentioned eighteen months ago. I can't say what is the cause. I believe it is owing to one hand having no work and going to underbid another. I myself know that one hand offered to work at a less price than I was getting, and that was the caus.eof my being reduced,9d. first, and then 6d. more per dozen in one article that I make. I took my work in on the Saturday,and my employer offered me ls. 3d. for what he had before been paying me 2s. a dozen. I told him I could not do the work at that price-I really could not live by it, when a personin the shop told the mastershe would take the work at that price. Since, they have reduced the same article to 9d. a dozen, and this has all been done within a

180

month. One of the causesof the cheap prices is, the master puts up a bill in his window to say that he wants hands, whether he does or no. This I believe is done, not becauseextra hands are wanted, but that the mastermay see how many people are out of work, and how cheaphe can get his work done. Thosethat will do it the cheapestand the best he employs, and those ~hat won't they may starve-or something worse. In the warehouseI work for there are about 50 hands, mostly young girls. There are some married women; but I believe thirty get money by other means. I know by their dressesthat they do not get the gowns they appear in out of stock work. I think it's about the same in every other house. I have a father and a mother dependenton my labour. I am nineteenyears old on the 28th of Februarynext. My mother occasionallyhelps me; but she is upwards of fifty, and cannot see at night, nor to work at black things. She broke a blood-vessel nearly seven years ago, and is not able to go out to a hard day's work. My father had an accident thirteen weeks ago next Friday. He was thrown out of a cart and broke his ribs, and pressedhis chest bone in. His chest is now bandagedup (showed it). He was a carter at a builder's before; but since his accidenthis mastertells him he is unfit for the work, and he is now wholly dependentupon me for support, and I struggle hard to keep him and mother from the workhouse. I was up for three weeks. I never took my clothes off nor went to bed for the whole of that time, so that I might support him and pay the doctor's bill. The only sleep I had during the whole of that time was with my head on the table. I was at work night and day; and now I find it very hard work to pay rent, support them, and keep myself respectable,without doing as the other girls do. I've been obliged to part with almost all my clothes to keep them. The doctor. said he was to have port wine, and I used to have to give him two gills every day. If I hadn't got rid of my clothes I couldn't have kept him alive. We have beenobliged to pledge one of our bedsfor £1 as well. But I hope to be able to get on still." The cloak, skirt, and ladies' night-cap maker is anotherclass of "hands" dependenton their needle for their living. The following may be taken as a fair averagestatementas to the usual earnings of personsengagedin this branch of business.The woman, I was informed by her landlord, was a hard-working, sober, and thrifty widow:"I am a widow with four children. My eldestis fourteen- is a boy-and the youngestis a girl, four and a half. My eldest boy earns 3s. a week. He is a news-boy. My secondboy is out at the

181

print-colouring business. He gets ls. 6d. a week. This is his first week of being employed. I have no other money corning in but what I get by my own needle. I am a cloakrnaker-that is, I make up mantles for a warehousein the City. My employer pays somewhat less than the other housesdo, becausehe suppliesother warehouseswho supply the linendrapers,and there are, consequently, three profits to come out of his goods, instead of two, as is the usual custom. I get from Std. to ls. 3d. eachfor suchas I generally make. I have had more -indeed, I have had as much as 5s. for some, but then they take me much longer to make; so that my earningsis no more at the high price work than it is at the low. Those mantles at std. are for children, and very common ones. The work is so flimsy that they pay equally as well as the best. I should say, with a little assistance,I could make two of those at Std. in a day. With my own single hand I could make one a day; that is, if I was to sit for long hours at it. Take one day with another, I sit, upon an average, at my work, from nine in the morning till eleven at night; often longer, seldom less. Fourteen hours is my usual day's labour. Out of the 8d. I find all the sewing materials; they come to about ld. a cloak. It will take about tlb. of cotton to a dozen mantles, besidescotton-cord and hooks-andeyes. I generally use 1tlb. of candles in a week, and that's 7td. I can make about six of the Std. mantles every week, and they'll come to 4s. 3d. Out of this there's 6d. for sewing materials, and 7td. for candles;so that at that work I can earn 3s. ltd. per week when I'm fully employed;and the 8-!d. mantleswill pay better than these I'm doing now. I can earn more money at the others. I get for those I am about now ls. 3d. each. The expensesare much about the same. I get about ls. 2d. clear each one I make. They are children's cloth mantles. It takes two "hands" to make one of them in a day. It would take me myself two days to make one. I have to sew eight yards of braid to every cloak, and it takes me an hour to do two yards of it. At this work I earn upon an average 7d. a day, or, deducting candles, I get a little less than 6d. clear, or 2s. lOtd. per week; that's about my earnings,taking one week with another. I sometimeshave ladies' mantles to do. For some in the same style as those I am now making I got 2s. 6d. But they didn't bring me in any more than the children's-rather less; indeed, I was obliged to throw them up. I couldn't get a living at 'em. I couldn't meet my payments any way, and it was in the. summer, too, when my expenseswere less. I had 3s. 6d. for the same style of mantle at first. But anotherhand offered to do them at 2s. 6d. each, and so my employersrefused to give me any more.

182

I found I couldn't get a living at those prices, so I gave it up. I was not the only one in the trade who couldn't do so. I knew several myself. The 2s. 6d. ones were made of the same stuff as the children's,only lined with silk and quilted. There were thirty-six yards of narrow braid on every cloak, and twelve yards of the Algerine made into a trimming. When I made them I had four hands at work besidesmyself. I gave ls. a day to three of them, and 8d. to the other. To one of the Is. handsI gave her tea as well. I put out the frills to braid, and paid lOd. a set for them. I had ten of these sets to braid in a week. I also put out the Algerine trimming, and paid 1!d. per yard for 40 yards. With this assistance I got in as many as ten cloaks in the week, and received for them 25s. Out of this my expenseswere 22s. for the wagesof the hands I employed,and 8s. 4d. for the making of the frills to the mantles, and 4s. 2d. for the Algerine braiding, amounting in all to 34s. 6d.; so that I lost upon the job 9s. 6d., and my own labour into the bargain. I know it almost broke my heart, for I worked so hard and didn't get nothing for it. I was forced to sell a pattern mantle for 17s. to pay my way that week. We are obliged to take a pattern of the mantle we can make to the warehousebefore we can get work. We have then to give a reference;but no securityis required if the referenceis approvedof. The highest given for the making of cloaks is 5s.; and though I have had a girl, to whom I paid Is. and her tea, hard at work with me upon them night and day, I couldn't make more than two in a week; indeed I could hardly finish them in that time. These mantles were embroidered.They had, one with another, 72 yards of the Russia braid worked in flowers on each cloak, they were lined with silk and quilted, and the cuffs were turned up with satin and quilted. My expensesfor silk were about 3d. a cloak, and candleswere about 5d. (the evenings were longer when I made them). For the two cloaks I got lOs., and out of this I had to pay 6s. to the girl I employed, and say 6d. a week, the cost of her tea, 6d. for silk for the two mantles, and 5d. for candles-in all 7s. 5d.; so that my clear earningsthat week were 2s. 7d., and for that I had to sit close to my work till I almost blinded myself at it. Indeed I do think if I had gone on at it till now I should have lost my eyesightaltogether.The prices paid by the shops at the West-end are much better; indeed, persons can get a comfortable living at the work there. Last summer I worked for a person on the first floor here, who had employment from some shops in Regent-street,and I made from 8s. to lOs. a week, and that was second-handed.She got more for her work of course. If I could have continued at that work I could

183

have got a very good living. I was happy enoughthen. When I can get a common living no one is happier than me. The shops that do not make up their own materialsare suppliedby the warehouses. But the shopscan get them quite as cheapfrom the warehousesas they can make up themselves,and it's less trouble to them; so they've most of 'em given over making them for themselves.Some shops employ hands who work for them at ls. a day and their tea; but I can't go out on account of my young family. I am obliged to work at home. Everything gets so reduced in price now, that it is hard to find out what to work at so as to get a living by it." She produced the account-bookof her employers when she was engagedsecond-handedfor a shop in Regent-street.Her earnings then were as follows: First week ... Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Seventh Eighth Ninth Tenth Eleventh Twelfth

... £0 0 0 0 0 0 0

88 67 88 19 5 11 10 10 5 12 0

0 67 0 84 0 63 0 72 0 13

Total Average earningsper week, 8s. 2!d.

£4 18 2

She then showed me the accountof the number of mantles that she had had out from the warehousewhich she had lately worked for. It was as under-with the exceptionof the sumswhich have beenaddedto show the total amountreceived. MANlLE WORK FOR WAREHOUSE

Aug. 4 Thirty-two at 3s. 6d. Six at 2s. 6d. Six at 2s. 6d. " Sept. 1 Six at 2s. 6d. 27 Two at5s. " Four at 5s. Oneat ls. Six at 1s. 6d. Six at 1s. 6d. Six at 1s. 6d. " 22 Twelve at 1s. 3d. Oct. Nov. 1 Twelve at 1s. 3d. 5 Twelve at ls. 3d.

"

Total

£5 12 0 15 0 15 0 15 010 1 0 0 1 0 9 0 9 0 9 0 15 0 15 0 15

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

£13 0 0

184

According to the above, the woman earned£13 in fifteen weeks. ''In order to get this," she said, "I employed two handsfor eight weeks, and before that I had four handsfor a fortnight; one hand for a fortnight. For three weeks I worked without any assistance.

Two hands for eight weeks, at 6s.........................£4 16 0 . . . .0. . . . . . 12 One hand for two weeks, at 6s. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 0 Three handsfor two weeks,at 6s. (and one hand for two weeks, at 4s.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 0. . . . . . . . . . . 2 4 Total expensesfor hands employed ............... - - - £7 12 0 For braiding frills, sixteensets,at lOd. . . . . . . . . . . . . 0. . .8. 4. . ........... . . .2. 8 Eight sets,at 4s. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ....... . 0 ............... Eight sets,at 4s. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 0. . .2. 8 Forty yards of trimmings, at ltd. ........................ 0 4 2 Total expensesfor frills and trimmings put out - - - 1 2 10 Fifteen weeks cotton, at 6d. .. . .... ....... . . ... . .. . .... . .. 0 7 6 Fifteen weeks candles,at 6d. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 0. . .7. 6. . . . . . . 0 15 0 Total expensesfor cotton and candles ............ ........... . . . .9. 10 Hence the expenseswere . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . £9

And this deducted from £13, the gross sum that she was paid for her work, gives us £3 lOs. 2d. for her clear earningsin fifteen weeks,averaging4s. 8d. per week. She then went on to say:-"My eldest boy brings in 3s., so that, added to the 4s. 8d. that I get a week, makes 7s. 8d. in all, to keep five of us. Now I shall have nothing from the warehouse not before next March; so that I shall have to seekfor some other employmenttill then. The slacks in the cloak businessoccur twice a year-that is to say, at the end of the winter and summer season.The winter slack begins in August, and lasts till October; so that there is half slack, and half brisk work. The other warehousespay a little bit better than mine. I have also worked at the skirt work- that is, making up the flounced skirts-thosethat are sold ready-madeat the shops. The first accountthat I showed you was for skirt and mantle work. I used to have Is. 3d. for the skirts that were braided down the front, and ls. 8d. for those with four flounces. I could earn lOs. a week regular at that, and not sit such long hours at it as I do now at the mantles. Indeed, if I had that sum coming in every week, I should be as happy and live as well as a person might want to live. I shouldn't crave for more than that. My husband'sbeen dead two years the 28th of December. He was a watch finisher, and ill for two years. Lately I've been doing very badly, and before I got my good work in the summer I was doing quite as bad. I have worked at cap-work as well. I've made ladies' nightcaps. I got ls. a dozen for the best, and 6td. a dozen for some." [She then produced another account book, of which the following is a copy: -1st week, 8s. 3d.; 2nd week,

185

6s. Otd.; 3rd, 6s. lld.; 4th, 6s. Otd.; 5th, 5s. 2d.; 6th, 5s. 6d.; 7th, 3s. 8d.; 8th, 3s. 4td. Expenses:1st week, 6s. 4d.; 2nd, 3s.; 3rd, 3s.; 4th, 3s.; 5th, 2s. 6d.; 6th, 2s. 6d. Hence her clear earningsat capmaking were-for the 1st week, ls. lld.; 2nd, 3s. Otd.; 3rd, 3s. lld.; 4th, 3s. otd.; 5th, 2s. 8d.; 6th, 3s.; 7th, 3s. 8d.; and 8th, 3s. 4d.; or an averageof 3s. ld. per week for eight weeks.] "Besides this, there was the candles,6d. a week (the cotton was found me). Indeed, I do find it very hard work to live. All of us have often to live the chief part of the week upon bread. I pay 2s. 6d. a week for rent. Thank God, I don't owe a farthing. [She produced her rent-book, which was paid up to last week.] I have nothing in pledge but a Bible that my mother bought me, and I would not part with it for worlds. It has been in pledge, with two Scripture Histories, these two years, for 3s. I pay 9d. a year interest upon them. I have also a tablecloth and a piece of merino stuff in pled5e for 3s. I was obliged to pledge them when I was out of work a fortnight- that was the only fortnight I have been out of work since my husband'sdeath. I've been out a day at a time, but never so long as that before or since. When the slack comes on, I try to turn my hand to anything I can get. I'm obliged to walk a number of miles-I'm sure, when I was last out, I walked half London through to find employment. It's very unpleasantworkthey speakso sharp. All I want is a top coat to keep my boy from the cold in the winter. He never was strong." I was referred to a person living in a court running out of Holborn, who was willing to give me the information I desired respecting the prices paid to the female hands engaged in the upholstery business. Her room was neatly furnished, and gave evidence of her calling. Before the windows were chintz curtains tastefully arranged,and in one corner of the room stood a small easy chair with a clean brown holland caseover it. On a side table were rangedlarge fragmentsof crystal and spar upon knitted mats or d'oyleys, and over the carpet was a clean grey crumb clothindeed, all was as neat and tasty as a personof limited means,and following such an employment,could possibly make it. The person herself was as far above the ordinary characterof workwomen, both in manner and appearance,as her home was superior to the usual run of untidy and tastelessdwellings belonging to the operatives. I found her very ready to answerall my questions."I am a widow," she said. "I have been so for five years. My husbandwas an upholsterer. I was left with one child twelve years old. My husband was in considerabledifficulty when he died. Since his death I have got my living by working with my needle at the

186 upholstery business.I make up curtains and carpets,and all sorts of cases, such as those for covering the furniture in drawingrooms. I also make up the bed furniture, and feather beds and mattressesas well. My present employer pays me for making up window curtains 2s. per pair. I have nothing to find. Upon an average I can make a pair of curtains in two days. I might do more of the plainer kind; but if the curtains are girnped, I shall do less. Taking one with the other, I can safely say I can make a pair of curtains in two days. It is impossible for me to give an estimate as to the cases, because furniture is of such various descriptions.We generallychargesuch things by the time they take us. It is the envelope that goes over the article of furniture, and protects the silk or satin that the chair, sofa, or ottoman may be covered with, that I call the case. These cases or overalls are generally of chintz or holland, and are made by females,and sewn together. The satin or damaskcover of the furniture itself is nailed on, and made by male hands.By working at casesfor twelve hours, I can make about Is. 6d. a day. I do my work always at home. There are some shopssend their work out, but the generalityhave it done at the shop. The wages given to the workwomen at the shop are from 9s. to 11s. per week, and the time of labour is twelve hours per day. I don't think any house gives less than 9s. to any one who understandsthe business,and 11s. I believe is the highest price to the workwomen in the upholstery business.Forewomen who hold responsiblesituationsof course get more-they get 12s. a week. For the making of caseswe who work at horne are paid by time and not by piece-work. The rate is I td. per hour. The general price that I am paid for sofa casescomesto 2s. each, and about 3s. if I cut them out-that's a fair average.Easy-chair casesI think I get about Is. 6d. for making, and 2s. 6d. each if I cut them out. Ottoman casesvary much in point of size. I don't suppose even a very large ottoman case would exceed Is. 6d.; there's less work in it. A small box ottoman for the centre of a room, I think I should get about 5d. for. I can earn about ls. 6d. a day at case work. For his carpets my employer pays 1td. per yard for sewing, but I find the thread. Indeed, I find the thread for everything I make, but that does not generally come to much. Carpet thread is a little more expensive.The thread for a carpet of 50 yards will cost about 4td. I can do about 25 yards a day at carpet work, but it's very hard work. Mattresscasesare from 6d. each up to Is., according to the sizes. Bed ticks are from 8d. up to ls. 2d., according to size. Pillow ticks are Id., and bolsters 2d. Window blinds are 3d. each, making. Bed furniture is lOs. for a

187

four-post bed. Arabians generally about 4s. French beds are from 2s. 6d. to 3s. I don't think there is anything else in our line of business worth mentioning. If I were fully employed, I could earn about 12s. a week, but a good deal of that arises from my having been in businessfor myself. An ordinary hand in the trade would, if she could get enough to do, make about lOs. a week. Those who do the work at home are seldom more than half their time employed, and those who work in the shops are discharged immediatelya slack occurs. There is more fluctuation in the upholstery businessthan in any other in London. It used not to be so; but of late years it has fluctuated extremely, from the competition in the trade. The linen-drapers have taken to supply furniture ready-made.There are many large houses who do a great trade in this way, and they sell at prices that the others cannot compete with. I think the slacks are in consequenceof the times and the generalwant of money. You see, personscan do without furniture when they run short, whereasthey must have other commodities. At one time I received from lOs. to 14s. weekly for my labour. I have had so much work that I have been obliged to have assistance to get it done in time. The upholstery line is a businessof great pressure.Five years back I made about 9s. a week upon an average throughout the year; but latterly the work has become so slack that for the last two years I have not earned4s. a week, taking one week with another; and for this last month my earnings have been nothing at all. I haven't had a stitch to do from my employer. My earningsfor this last year have been so trifling that I have been obliged to do many things I never did before. I have gone back dreadfully. I have been obliged to pledge my things, and borrow money to make up sums that must be paid. I must keep a home above my head. If it hadn't been for the Queen'sintended visit to the Coal Exchange,I don't know what I should have done. It was a little bit of help to me; but, at the same time, it doesn't free me from my difficulties. Still it carne like a Providence to me. I got about 35s. for what I did there. I was at work all Sunday. I was between a fortnight and three weeks engagedupon it. But I was not paid equal to what I did. I don't tell my affairs to everybody. It's quite enough for me to struggle by myself. I may feel a great many privations that I do not wish to be known. I got about 35s. in three weeks, and for that I had to work from eight in the morning till ten at night, and one entire Sunday. My presentemployer is not in the cheap trade. He is about a second-rateupholsterer.He pays to his workpeople the ordinary prices of the trade, neither above, nor below,

188

and is, I think, a fair-dealing man. When I have assistance,I pay ls. 6d. a day to those personswhom I employ. These, if active hands, might earn me as much as ls. 9d. in the day. You see, the upholsterywork is always in a drive. There is never any regularity about it. It must be done by a certain time, or the order would be countermanded.The female hands employed in the business are generally middle-agedpeople; there are not many young people employedin it. A great many are widows, but the majority are old maids. I do believe there are more old maids employed in the upholstery businessthan in any other. They are generally sober steady people; in fact, they wouldn't suit if they were not. The principal part is upon very expensivematerials- silk, satin, and velvets-so that it requires great care and nicety. I think there are a great many-yes, hundreds-a t the present time out of employment. You see, the cholera frightened families away from London, and there was no orders left to be done, or anything. But just now, the gentlefolks are returning to town, and business is reviving slightly at the West-end. Last summer the trade was no better than it has been this. It was very bad. The last two years have been dreadful years of businessin the upholstery line. The trade is so divided, that there ought to be employmentall the year round; indeed, it was so formerly. There were very few fluctuations then. I speakfrom twenty years' experienceof the business.In the winter time, when families were in town, there was generalemployment, owing to the fashionsaltering as much in upholsteryas they do in dress; and when the families at the West-endleft London in the summer, they usually gave orders to the upholstererto have their housesbeautified and the furniture done up in their absence. But for the last two years this has greatly decreased.Where there has been one house redecoratedthere have been thirty shut up. Eaton-square,Grosvenor-square,and all those that I have had a great deal of employmentfrom, have all been shut up; there has been nothing done. This has been the cause of a great deal of distressin the trade. I know of many casesof distressin my own circle. The prices paid to the workpeoplehave decreasedmaterially within the last five years,to the extentof one-halfin bed furniture. We are now paid lOs. for making up the furniture of a four-post bedstead,and formerly we used to have £1 for the very samething. The wages of the women working in the shops were 12s. a week till lately; now they are mostly 9s., though some are lls. Window curtains (plain) used to be 5s. per pair; now we have 2s.; and the price paid for making up the other articles has decreasedin very nearly the same proportion. I don't know the causeof this, unless

189

it be that there is less work to be done in the trade. I don't think it arises from an increaseof hands, but from a decreaseof work. The slacks occur much more often now than they did formerly. I think the hands are out of employ now one-third of their time throughout the year, there's such very great fluctuation in the business." This person promised to procure me, if possible, her work-book from the shop where she was employed. She was afraid, however, that her master might imagine she wanted if for a particular purpose, and withhold it from her. However, I requestedthat she would use her best endeavoursto obtain it- such documentsbeing most conclusive evidenceas to the prices paid to the workpeople, for the accountsare invariably made out in the employer'sown hand. As far as I myself have seen,there appearsto be a general disposition on the part of the mastersto keep the wages of the workpeople secret. As corroborative of the distressof the upholsteress,I saw severalduplicatesfor articles of clothing and bedding, mostly pledged within the present year: a few shillings had been raised upon some things last year; but these had been lost, owing to her inability to redeem them. She was highly spokenof by her friends and neighbours. I had seen all classesof needlewomenbut one. I had listened to the sufferings of the widow, the married woman, and the young unmarried girl, who strove to obtain an honest living by their needle. I had also heard, from their own lips, the history of the trials and fall of thosewho had beenreducedto literal beggaryand occasional prostitution by the low price given for their labour. Still it struck me that there was one other class of needlewomen whose misery and privations must be more acute than all. It was the distressedgentlewomen- persons who, having been brought up in ease and luxury, must feel their present privations doubly as acute as those who, in a measure,had been used to poverty from their very cradle. I was directed to one of this classwho was taking care of a large empty house at the west-endof the town. I was no soonerin the presenceof the poor family than I saw, by the manner of all present,how differently they had once beensituated.The lady herself was the type of the distressedgentlewoman.I could tell by the regularity of her featuresthat her family for many generations past had been unusedto labour for their living, and there was that neatnessand cleanlinessabout her costumeand appearancewhich invariably distinguish the lady from the labouring woman. Again, there was a gentlenessand a plaintivenessin the tone of her voice

190

that above all things mark the refinement of a woman's nature. The room in which the family lived, though more destitute of every article of furniture and comfort than any I had yet visited, was at least untainted by the atmosphereof poverty. I was no longer sickened with that overpowering smell that always hangs about the dwellings of the very poor. The home of the distressed gentlewomanconsistedliterally of four bare walls. There was no table, and only two chairs in the place. At the foot of the lady was an old travelling trunk, on which lay a few of the nightcapsthat she and her daughterswere occupied in making. One of the girls stood hemming by the window, and the other was seated in a comer of the room upon another trunk, busily engagedin the samemanner. Before the fender was a piece of old carpetingabout the size of a napkin. On the mantelpiecewere a few balls of cotton, a small tin box of papers,and a Bible and Prayer Book. This was literally all the property in the place. It was not difficult to tell, by the full black eyes, olive complexions, and sharp Murillo-like features of the daughters,that their father, at least, had been of Spanish extraction. The mother herself, too, had somewhatof a foreign look, though this I afterwardsdiscoveredarose from long residencewith her husbandabroad. It was not till now that I had found my duty in any way irksome to me; but I must confess,when I beganto stammerout the object of my visit to the distressedlady, I could not help feeling that my mission seemedlike an impertinence,and to betray a desire to pry into the miseriesof the poor that was wholly foreign to my intention. I could seeby the proud expressionof the gentlewoman's featuresthat she felt the privacy of her poverty had been violated by my presence,and I was some little while endeavouringto impress upon her that I had not come to her with the mean object of publishing to the world the distressof individuals, which I was well aware was made doubly bitter from the fear of its becoming known, even to their friends, much more to the public in general. At length I informed her that whatever she might communicate to me would be given to the public in such general terms, that it would be impossible to recognisethat she was the person alluded to. Upon this assuranceshe told me as follows:"I work at needleworkgenerally-I profess to do that; indeed that is what I have done ever since I have been a widow. But it is shocking payment. What I am engagedupon now is from a private lady. I haven't, as yet, made any charge. I don't know what the price will be; I did intend to ask 3d. each. The lady has been a great friend to me. I can't exactly say how long it will take me.

191

Personscall to look at the house, and I have interruptions. They are plain nightcapsthat I am making, and are for a lady of rank. Such persons generally, I think, give the least trouble for their work. I can't say how long they take me each to make. I've been very ill, and I've had the children to help me. I shouldn't like to say what I could not exactly count upon-it would be saying what wouldn't be true. I never made any before. There will be five when I have finished them all. There are three done, and this one I have in my hand is about half done. When was it we had them, my dear!" said the lady to her daughter,who stood sewing at the window. The young lady returnedno answer,and the mother continued, "I can't recollect when we had them, for we have been so much worried. Two or three times the thieves have attempted to get into the house. On last Wednesdaysomeonetried to open the street door, thinking the housewas empty. The fright has made me almost forget everything, I can assure you. Since Wednesday myself and my eldest daughter (the other goes to school) have done very nearly four of the nightcaps. But that is not by sitting to work at them continually. During that time we have made a flannel jacket as well. My daughter,indeed, made it, for I haven't been able, though of course I attended to it. The flannel jacket was for a shop. They would not have given me more than 8d., though it was lined inside with calico, and indeed was more like a coat. I found some part of the lining, though not the whole; there was a great deal of work in it- fourteen buttonholes-and I charged them Is. They demurred at the charge, and said if they sent me another they would only give lOd., for 8d. was their usual price. I made one of the sleeves, and my daughtermade the rest. We were engagedon it all the day. There were a great many seamsin it, and they must have beenneatly put out of hand, or else the people at the shop wouldn't have given me the price; nor indeed, would they give me any other work. Since Wednesdaymyself and my daughterhave made one flannel jacket and just upon four nightcaps;that's all; and they will come altogether to 2s. The lady won't put the price herself upon the nightcaps,and I feel timid in asking a price of a lady that's been a friend to me. Latterly I've had no work at all, only that which I got from an institution for distressedneedlewomen.They were children's chemises.I think I made seven. Didn't I?" she inquired of one of her daughters-"Yes, mamma," was the young lady's answer. "I ought to keep a book myself," the mother went on to say; "I used to do so of all the prices. I did the sevenchemisesin a fortnight, and got 7s. for them. I have also madewithin this time

192

one dozen white cravats for a shop; they are the wide corded muslin cut across, and the very largest. I have 6d. a dozen for hemming them, and had to find the cotton of course. I have often said I would never do any more of them: I thought they would never have been done, there was so much work in them. Myself and daughterhemmedthe dozenin a day. It was a day'svery hard work. It was really such very hard work that I cried over it, I was so ill, and we were wanting food so badly. That is all that myself and daughterhave done for this last month. During that time the two of us (my daughteris eighteen)have earned6d., and 7s., and 2s., making in all 9s. 6d. for four weeks, or 2s. 4!d. per week, to keep three of us. I have not been constantly employed all the month; I should say I have been half the time occupied.The nine and sixpencemay be fairly consideredas the earningsof the two of us, supposingwe had been fully occupied for a fortnight. My daughterand I have earnedat plain needleworka good deal more than that; but to get more we have scarcely time to eat. I have, with my daughter'slabour and my own, earnedas much as lOs.; but then such hard work injures the health. I should say an industrious quick hand might earn at plain needlework, taking one thing with another,3s. 6d. a week, if she were fully employed.But there is a great difficulty in getting work- oh yes, very great. The schools injure the trade greatly. Ladies give their work to the National Schools,and thus needlewomenwho have families to support are left without employment. That, I think, is the principal causeof the deficiency of work; and many othersI know consider so with me. I think that is also the causeof the prices being so low. Yes, I know it is, becauseladies will tell you plainly, I can have the work done cheaper at the school. Generally, the ladies are much harder as to their terms than the tradespeople;oh, yes, the tradespeopleusually show more lenity towards the needlewomen than the ladies. I know the mistressof an institution who refused some chemisesof a lady who wanted to have them made at 9d. She said she would not impose upon the poor workpeopleso much as to get them made at that price. Of course we could not have subsistedupon the 2s. 4!d. a week, which we have earnedfor the last four weeks. I have got many duplicatesin the house to show how we did live. I was obliged to take the blankets off the bed, and sleep with only a sheet to cover us. I sold my bedsteadfor 3s. 6d. to a person, who came herself and valued it. That very bedstead,not a month ago, I gave 8s. 6d. for. It was what they cal~ a cross-bedstead.Our bolster we were obliged to pledge. That was quite new; it cost 2s. 6d., and I pledged it for a shilling. Our

193

blankets, too, we pledged for ls. each; they cost me 6s. the pair; but I've taken one out since. Of course, now we sleep upon the floor. Our inside clothing we have also disposedof. Indeed, I will tell you, we are still without our clothing, both my daughterand myself; and I have chewedcamphorand drank warm water to stay my hunger. My pains from flatulence have beendreadful. We have often had no breakfast, and remained without food till night, all of us; and at last I have made up my mind to pledge my flannel petticoat, and get 6d. on that. Once we were so badly off that I sent for a person to come and pledge my bed. She pledgedit for half-a-crown. This person told a lady in the neighbourhoodwhat I had done, and the lady camein the eveningand brought me 5s., and with that the bed was redeemed.We all like to preservelife, sir. Life is sweet when we have a family, however much we may want. Needlework is such a precariousliving that we cannot subsist and clothe ourselvesby it. Even in the summer it cannot be done-I have tried- no, that it can't with plain needlework. What I want is a situation for my eldest daughter.She can speak Spanish,and she works well at her needle. I myself speakSpanish and French. You won't put that in the newspaper,will you?" she askedme. I told her I would insert nothing that she wished to keep secret. She said, "I am afraid they will guessit is I. I would rather starvethan it should be known who I am. I do not wish to be made a public spectacleof. I am not ashamedto be poor, understandfor I am so through no fault of my own; but my friends would be ashamedto have my poverty known." I told her I would do as she wished, and I assuredher that I had come there to alleviate rather than to aggravateher distress. After a little hesitation she consented to the publication of what she might communicateto me, and continued as follows:- "You may say my father was an officer in the English army, and my grandfatherwas an officer in the English army too. I have a brother-in-lawa clergyman. It's not in his power to assist me. My husbandwas an officer in the army as well, but he was in the foreign service. He has been dead five years. He left me penniless,with three children. My son is in the West Indies. He is doing well there: he is but young-he is only 17. He has £36 a year and his board. He assistedme last year. I was in hopes to have some assistancethis year. They only pay them now once a year, accordingto the last letter I had from him. I do feel it very hard that I, whose father and grandfatherhave servedthe country, should be left to suffer as I do. I don't consider, if you understandme, sir, that we have any merit or claim upon the Government;still I cannot but think it hard that the children

194

of those who have served their country so many years should be so destitute as we are. All we want is employment, and that we cannot get. Charity, indeed, is most irksome to us-we may well say that. I would never emigrateto where there is greateremployment-no, not as long as I live. My husband'sfamily were all very wealthy but they've lost nearly all in the revolutions abroad. I would not object to travel with a lady, but I could never say farewell for ever to my own country-that is what I think and feel. Before I came here I paid 4s. a week. I did not pay it all myself. (Here I was shown the letter of a lady high in rank, promising to be answerablefor her rent.) Now I pay no rent, and have not done so since the 19th September.The same good lady recommendedme to the house-agent,and he gave me this house to take care of. I do think it most cruel that in the midst of all our distressesand poverty persons must try to enter the house. I am sure they must come to take our lives - it cannot be for what we have! We are all alone here, without anyone to protect us, and we are very timid. Last night I was afraid to go to church, for I thought they would get into the premisesin our absence. Severaltimes late at night I have heard them put a false key into the door. Nobody knows what I suffer. Last Friday night-it must have been past midnight-I heard them knocking at the washhouse window, as if to take out the pane of glass, and I had the presenceof mind to throw up the window of this room. We sleep here on the floor. I called out, saying, 'Who is there?' Such was my fright, that I trembled all day on Saturday. I would rather go to the workhouse than stop here. But, of course, after all my struggles,I would not go there, no, though I am a destitutewidow! Thank God, I'm not in debt-that is a great consolationto me. I don't owe any persona penny." I hardly knew how to ask one whose narrative and mannerbore so plainly the impress of truth, for proofs of the authenticity of her statements;still I felt that it would not be right, without making some such inquiries, to allow the story of her sufferings to go forth to the world. I explained to her my wishes, and she very readily showed me such papersand official documentsas put her statement as to birth and the position of her husband utterly beyond a doubt She was afterwardskind enough,for the sake of others situated like herself, to let me see the duplicatesof the different articles that her poverty had compelled her to raise a meal upon. They told so awful a tale of want, that I begged permission to copy them. The articles pledged,and the sums lent upon them, were as

195

follows:- Gown, ls.; bed, ls.; petticoat and night-gown, ls.; gown, ls.; gown skirt, ls.; two books and apron, ls.; shawl, ls.; gown, ls.; umbrella, ls.; petticoat and shawl, ls.; bolster, ls.; petticoat and shift, ls.; ditto, 6d.; counterpane,2s.; cloak, 3s.; a whittle, 3s.; gown, 3s.; sheet and drawers, ls.; gown, ls.; petticoat, ls.; petticoat and piece of flannel, 9d.; wedding-ring, 2s. 6d. The lady also took me into the garden to show me the window by which the thieves had soughtto enter the houseat midnight. On the flagstones immediately beneathit, and which were green with damp and desolation,were the marksof men'shobnailedboots. It is but right, for the poor gentlewoman'ssake, that I should add that her statementhas beenfully investigatedand corroborated. She seems a lady in every way worthy of our deepest commiseration. As I had an introduction to another needlewoman,a maiden lady, who had been reducedfrom a position of great affluenceand comfort to one of absolute want, I thought it would be better to see her, so that the public might have a further insight into the distress of a class of personswho perhapssuffer not only more privations, but feel more acutely the pain of them, than any who depend upon their needle for their daily bread. At first sight the distress of the second gentlewomanwas not so apparentas that of the first - indeed, you would hardly have believed, from the neatnessof the room in which she lived, and the dressof the lady herself, that you were in the presenceof one absolutely in want of bread; and yet, from the bedding on the floor that was rolled up and covered over with a cloth in one corner of the room, the handful of fire, about the size of that in a smith's forge, that was smoulderingin the grate, and the thin face and pinched features of the gentlewomanherself, it was not very difficult to infer the distress that she was in. Moreover, it was plain, from the general sparenessand chilliness of the frame, that she was suffering from insufficient nutriment. Indeed,thereseemedto be little or no animal warmth in the body. Over her shoulderswas thrown an imitation Shetland shawl, evidently more for use than ornament. Her narrative was even more pathetic, for her comforts had once been greater,and her transition from extremewealth to extremepoverty had been more sudden, than the lady I had visited but a day or two before. "I live entirely by my needle," she said. "I do any plain work I can get. I make chemises,children's drawers, nightcaps, shirts, petticoatbodies,etc. I am a good needlewoman,and nothing comes amiss to me. I get for the chemisesls. 3d. if they're plain; and if

196

there's much stitching, ls. 6d. For children's drawers I have about 6d. or 8d. per pair; nightcaps, full trimmed, about lOd.; petticoat bodies, about ls. There'sa great deal of work in a petticoat body. If they're trimmed, I get ls. 6d. for them. For hemming pocket handkerchiefsI get td. a side, and ld. a side for towels. I work usually for private hands, and they, knowing my case, give me a better price than the ships would. Oh dear, yes, decidedly better! Last week I had two petticoat bodies; these I made from Friday to Wednesday,and earned3s. in three days. Everything was found me-cotton, tapes,and all; but, generallyspeaking,I have to find these myself. I had no more work to do in the week than that, and the three shillings is all I had to dependupon for that week. The week before last I had no work at all to do; but I sent into the bazaara doll that I had dressedsome time previously. For this I got ls. It cost me 4d., and I got 8d. out of it. It took me best part of a day to dress it. I also sent in an anti-macassar,which I knitted some time before, but could not disposeof. For this I got 2s.; the cotton for it cost me 8d., and it took me four days to make, becausethere was the bordering as well as the middle part. The d'oyley was made for me by a lady. For that I got 6d. at the bazaar.It was put in at ls., but nobody would give that price; so I took it off and made it 6d. According to this my income the week before last was 6d., 2s., and Is.- in all 3s. 6d.; and out of that my expenseswere 1s. My clear gains, therefore, were 2s. 6d., and to get that I had worked five days. The week before that I had nothing to do, and a friend kindly lent me some money while I went out to seek for some work. The week before that again, I had some silk cuffs to make for a warehouse.I had a dozen pair of them at 3s. I had to find cotton and silk, and these togethercost me 2d. That week I got 2s. 8d. I was employed three days of the time. The week before that I had nothing, and a friend in the house kindly allowed me to take my meals with her. I went round to the shops,and they told me they couldn't employ me -they had more hands than they had work for. Some little time back I had one chemise to make for a lady, and for this I got ls. 3d. I was very badly off at that time. I had to pledge almost all the wearing apparel I could spare-to put it all in to keep me-I couldn't starve. Blankets, counterpane,sheets;they all went. Table-cloths, gowns, stockings-in fact, everything I'd got, I was obliged to put away. If I worked for the shopsI should get much less than what I've stated. I dare say they wouldn't give more than ls. for a petticoat body, and ls. for a chemise,if that. Oh, they are very low, the prices! Now, I got, some time ago,'' she said-"it's about a

197

twelvemonth back-some habit-shirts; they were full trimmed down the front, and lace round the collar. I had to cut them out entirely, and the people only gave me 2s. 6d. for a dozen. Well, I beganthem about ten one day, and I had to sit up till two in the morning, and then I couldn't finish them till four the next daythere was so much work in them. I have now beenfive or six years engagedin needlework, doing it wheneverI could obtain it. Yes, I'm very anxious; I never let anything passme if I can get it. For the last year the outside that I have made in any one week is Ss. For many weeks I have done nothing-I could not get anything to do. I went round and almost beggedfor work - entreatedof the shops-but they said they hadn'tit. Taking one week with another, I may have madethrough the whole year from 2s to 2s. 6d. a week; but not more, I am certain. I know I have not made enough to pay my rent. I have been living, till the last few months,on a little money I made from keeping a school in the country. The trade is over-stocked. There are more hands than they have work to give to them. The charity schoolsdo a great deal of injury to us. They get almost all the work to do, and do it at such a price that we can't live by it. If I could make lOs. a week regularly, I could manage to live very comfortably. I could hardly do so for less, becausethere'scoal and rent and all to pay. I pay 3s. a week for my rent. Then, again, there'smy doctor's bill; and my doctor says my poor living is a principal cause of my illness. I suffer greatly from diseasedheart. I have been very differently circumstanced. If I can do any good to others by my statement,I shall be most happy to tell you all, for I know there are hundredslike myself, and where people have not been brought up to work, it is, oh, so different! My father was an East Indian. He was a native of Calcutta; but I was born in England. I was brought up in every comfort and luxury. My father was a man of large property. He had £140,000 in Ferguson'sbank when it failed in India. He died the week before the bank broke, and we heard of it for the first time when he was lying dead in the house. Will this be published? What! in the papers? Well, if there will be no name attachedto it, I do not mind, becauseI should not like my name to appear. My father was an officer in the Queen'sservice. ]t.fy mother was an Englishwoman,and living at the time of my father's death. My father died in England. We lost every sixpencewe had in the world by the failure of the bank. After that, I went alone into the country, and openeda day-school.For four years I kept on very well with it, until my health forsook me, and I was compelled to leave, unless,as the doctor told me, I wished to be buried

198

in the town. My mother is still living. She resideswith my brother abroad.He is an artist; but then he gets very little for his painting, and is wholly unable to assist me. I have articles in pledge to the amount of £2 lOs., perhapsa little more. If I had a piano I think I might give lessonsin music and singing; but then I have not the meansto get even a cheapone at a sale. For the last sevenyears I have been struggling hard to get a living. I've been to every shop and every place in London to seek work. Somesaid they had their own 'hands,' and they couldn't throw them out of employ; and others said they had more handsthan they could give employment to. I have often been four or five days together with a piece of dry bread and a little water to drink. Had my father been in the East India service, I should not have been left destitute; but owing to his having been in the Queen's,where there is nothing for the daughtersof officers, why, I am left as I am." This lady's statement has been confirmed. The duplicatesI had not the courage to ask to see.

199

LEITER

X

Tuesday,November20, 1849

In my last Letter, it may be remembered,I statedthat my primary object was to obtain, for the first time in this country, a list of the prices paid to the workpeople of London for their labour. I then describeda few of the difficulties besettingsuch a task. Of these there are two more important than all besides.One of theseis the objection of the employt::r generally to allow his profits to be known; for, of course, if he revealedthe amount that he pays in wages for the manufactureof the articles in which he deals, the price at which he sells these articles would easily enableothers to ascertainhis gains. The samedesire for secrecyis exhibited by all classesof "middlemen"-whetherknown by the nameof chambermasters,piece-masters,or sweaters.The seconddifficulty which I mentioned, arises not from any indisposition on the part of the workpeople to make known the sums they are paid for their labour-indeed they are generally as willing as their employers are unwilling to do so-but rather from their incapability to enter into the necessarycalculations. It should be borne in mind, that it is not an account of the earningsof any one week that is required- the averageweekly income of a particular classof operatives throughout the year is what I seek to ascertain.To arrive at this, however, demandsso long a series of accountsand reckonings, that the generality of workpeople are unable, without considerableassistance,to go through them. Henceit is impossible to come to any satisfactoryresult without a personalvisitation and cross-questioningof the operativesthemselves.Upon the character of these questions the soundnessof the conclusion of course depends,and I am thereforeanxious that the public should know how I proceedin the matter. My first inquiries are into the particular branch of the trade under investigation upon which the workman is engaged.I then requestto be informed whether theindividual has his or her work first or second-handed;that is to say, whether he or she obtains

200

it direct from the employer, or through the intervention of some chamber or piece-master.If the work comes to the operative in question second-handed, Ithen endeavourto find out the prices paid for the work itself to the first hand, as well as the number of workpeople that the first hand generally employs. This done, I seek to be informed whether the work of the individual I am visiting is piece or day-work. If day-work, I learn the usual hours of labour per day, and the rate of wages per week. If it be piecework, I request to be made acquaintedwith the prices paid for each description of work seriatim, the time that each particular article takes to make, and the number of hours that the party usually works per day. By these meansI arrive at the gross daily earnings.I then ascertainthe cost of trimmings, candles,and such other expensesas are necessaryto the completion of each particular article; and, deducting these from the gross gains per day, I find what are the cleardaily earningsof the individual in question. I then check this accountby obtaining from the workman a statement as to the numberof sucharticles that he can makein a week; and, deducting expenses,I see whether the clear weekly earnings agree with those of the clear daily ones. After this I request to know the amount of the earningsfor the last week; then those for the week before; and then those for the week before that. Beyond this point I find that the memory generallyfails. Out of the scores of operatives that I have now visited, I have found only one instance in which the workman keeps a regular account of his weekly gains. By the means above detailed I am enabled both to check and counter-checkthe statementfurnished to me in the first instance. To avoid, however, the possibility of error, I seek for a further proof-and that is the accountof the quantity of work given out to the workpeopleby the employer. This is generallyin the master's own handwriting; and it forms, when obtainable, the most conclusive evidence as to the amount of work done in the week by the workman; while, if extendingmany weeks back, it enablesme with easeto arrive at an averageresult. I regret to say, however, that such books are far from being invariably kept by employers. Some workpeople are paid immediately that the work is taken in, and no such account is required. However, it is but due to the characterof the workpeople to say, that in no one instancehave I yet discoveredthe least wilful misstatementas to the prices paid, or the total amount of their weekly earnings.It is true that sometimes the statementsof the day's earningsdo not immediatelytally with those of the week; but this I frequently find, on investigation,

201

to arise from the fact of their not having made any allowancefor the time lost in taking their work in, and getting a fresh supply out of the warehouse.As a class, I must say the workpeople that I have seen appear remarkably truthful, patient, and generous; indeed, every day teachesme that their virtues are wholly unknown to the world. Their intemperance,their improvidence, their want of cleanliness,and their occasionalwant of honesty, are all that come to our ears. As I said before, however, I doubt very much whether we should not be as improvident and intemperateif our incomesand comforts were as precariousas theirs. The vices of the poor appearto be the evils naturally fosteredby poverty- even as their virtues are such as want and suffering alone can beget. Their patienceis positively marvellous. Indeed, I have seenthis last week such contentment,under miseries and privations of the most appalling nature, as has made me look with absolutereverenceupon the poor affiicted things. I have beheld a stalwart man, with one half of his body dead-his whole side paralyzed,so that the means of subsistenceby labour were denied him; and his wife toiling day and night with her needle, and getting at the week's end but one shilling for her many hours' labour. I have sat with them in their wretched hovel, shivering, without a spark of fire in the grate, and the bleak air rushing in through every clink and crevice. I have been with them and their shoelesschildren at their Sundaydinner of boiled tea-leavesand dry bread, and I have heard the woman, with smiling lips, not only tell me, but show me, how contented she was with her lot, bearing the heavy burden with a meek and uncomplaining spirit, such as philosophy may dream of, but can never compass.The man and his wife were satisfied that it was the will of God they should be affiicted as they were, and they bowed their headsin reverendsubmissionto the law. "It may be hard to say why we are so sorely troubled as we are," said the heroic old dame, "but we are satisfiedit is all for the best." In my last letter I told the story of the poor stock-maker,who, for three weeks, had never laid down to rest, so that she might save her disabledparent from the workhouse. In the letter before that I had related the struggle of a girl to free herself from a life of vice which she had been driven into by sheer starvation; indeed, not a day of my life now passesbut I am eye-witness to some act of heroism and nobility, such as are unknown and unheard of among those who are well-to-do in the land. When I have obtained an account of the clear earningsof the workpeople during such times as they are fully employed, I seek to procure from them a statementof what they imagine to be their

202

weekly earnings, taking one week with another, throughout the year. Having got this, I then set about to discover how often in the course of the year they are "standing still," as they term it. I inquire into the number and duration of "the slacks." This done, I strive to obtain from the operative an average of the weekly earningsduring such times. I then make a calculation of the total of the workpeople'sgainswhen fully employedfor so many months, and when partially occupiedfor the remainderof the year. By this meansI am enabledto arrive at an averageof their weekly earnings throughout the whole year; and I then comparethis with the statement which I have previously received from them on the subject. It is seldom that I find much discrepancy.I finally check the whole accountof their earningsby a statementof their expenditure. I generally see their rent-book, and so learn the sum that they pay for rent; and I likewise get a detail of their mode and cost of living. Hence the readerwill perceivethat every meansare 'adopted to insure an accurateresult. Moreover, the characterof the informant is invariably inquired into, especiallywith regard to the truthfulness,industry, and sobrietyof the individual. I now proceed to state the results of my further investigation into the averageweekly earningsof the needlewomenof London. Those working at the lining and piecing of furs, it will be seen, are not so badly paid as many others. Of course, from the very nature of the business,the work is "slack" at certain periods and brisk at others; but still the wages are not, as in some trades, utterly below subsistencepoint when the work is brisk, and consequentlythey do not doom the workpeople to positive starvation immediately when the slack begins. The following statement of the earningsof two sistersmay be taken, I believe, as a fair average of the incomings of the needlewomengenerally employed in the business:"I and my sister work at the fur business.I am a widow, with three young children. The eldest is nine years old; he doesn'tlook so old as he is; but he's lame with a diseasedhip. The second is six: that's a boy; and the youngestis a girl four years old. I live here with my sister and mother. My mother is a widow. She hasn't anything to depend upon but the earningsof me and my sister. She is sixty-five. My father has been dead these thirteen years. that is, he He was a working furrier. He was a chamber-mastertook the work out from the furriers', and employedhandsto do it. He gave no security: it was not required. He had two women in the houseto sew, and employedtwo or three out of doors as well. He had about six handsin his employ. Sometimesmade£4 a week,

203

sometimes£2, according as the businesswas brisk or slack. After Christmashe was very often three monthswith nothing at all to do. But then the prices was very different to what they are now, and there was more work as well. My husband has been dead four years. He was a pocket-book maker. Sometimeshe made £2 a week, and £3, and sometimesas much as £4 a week. I am thirtythree years of age, and my sister is thirty-six. She is unmarried. She has been of great assistanceto me since I becamea widow. It was under very distressingcircumstancesthat I lost my husband. I was left entirely destitute. My husbandwas very much embarrassedat the time. He left his home and drowned himself. This little girl I have on my knee was born a fortnight after his death. I had then nothing to do but the fur business,which I had been brought up to by my father. Then me and my sister and my mother all worked together. Mother was then having work to do from the warehouse,but now she'snot able, neither could she get it if she was, there's so many out of employ. Now she takes care of the children while we are out at work. We do the lining of the victorines and the capes.We also do the lining of the muffs: being brought up in the businesswe can do almost any part that females do. We are paid by the dozen. Victorines are from ls. 6d. to 3s. a dozen lining. The materialsare all found us exceptthe cotton, and that costs about ld. the dozen victorines. We work fourteen or fifteen hours generally when we work at home. Working these hours we can line about twelve victorines at Is. 6d. in the day, or eight at 3s. a dozen, by sitting very close. We can do between three and four dozen of those at 3s. in the week, and about five dozen of those at ls. 6d.; so that at lining victorines we can earn from 7s. 6d. to 12s. a week. The capesare from 8d. to ls. 4d. each lining. We reckon we can do about two of those at 8d. in the day, and about two in two days of those at Is. 4d. At this we can earn about 8s. at the commonerones, and about 12s. at the better kind of ones. They generallydo not give the muffs out to be done. These used to be 4s. a dozen stuffing and lining. About three dozenmight be finished in the week; but that is what they used to be some years ago. There is the sewing of the skins together-that we do as well. The skins are cut and put together by the men, and females sew them. There are different prices for different furs. Musquashriding boas are about 2td. each boa. Victorines of the same fur are 2d.; muffs about the same. Squirrel is a little higher, about 3d. the boa. Sablesare about 5d. the boa. Ermine the same. Chinchilla about the same. We can make about five of the musquash boas, about four of the squirrel, and about three of the

204

more expensivefurs. At this we can earn from about ls. to ls. 3d. a day; at the presenttime ls. 3d. is the utmost, and we must have the best work to get that. Upon an average,at sewing the skins, we can earn about 6s. a week when we are fully employed at it. Each of us can earn this. The expenseswhen we are sewing are more than when we are lining. We use thread for sewing, and it comesto about 8d. every week; and when we are lining the cotton costsus about 6d. a week. At the sewing we can makeabout5s. 6d. a week clear, and at the lining from 7s. 6d. to lls. 6d. each of us. The lining work we reckon don't last more than six months every year. There hasn't been this last summermore than three months' work to be done. We are neither particular quick nor slow hands: we considerourselvesaveragehands.The lining work beginsabout May and ends about Novemberevery year. The sewing work lasts from about March till about December.During the brisk time we are in generalpretty full of work. Some seasonswe are more busy than others, but in generalduring the brisk time we earn what we have stated. Our work beginsabout the middle of March, and ends about the latter end of December.During these months I should say that we each of us earn, taking one week with another,about 8s. 6d. a week clear. During the slack time there is nothing at all for us to do at home. Then the only work is at the retail houses at the West-end, where hands are engaged"repairing." The pay for this is 8s. a week. Work begins there at half-past eight in the morning, and ends at half-past eight at night. We have no book. We haven't had any this last year. Where we have been working lately the proprietor of the warehousepays every week, as the work is taken in; but this is not the usual practice. We worked at home this last time from the beginningof the year to the latter end of September.From Christmastill April we had nothing at all to do; and after that our earningsaveragedabout 8s. 6d. a week each. Since Septemberwe have been engagedrepairing at a warehouse, where we have 8s. a week. This engagement,I think, will last till February; but it dependsgreatly on the weather. It's all according to what winter we have. After that I supposewe shall be a couple of months unemployed.The trade is much improved by dry frosty weather. There has been very little for us to do this year, on account of the alteration in the fashion. The victorines are not so much worn. They wear double furs, instead of those lined with silk. The riding boasare now more fashionable,and they require no lining, being double fur. The prices have fallen a great deal within the last five years. Every year it gets worse and worse. The prices have come down fully a shilling a dozen since 1845.

205

We could then earn with the samelabour 12s. where we now earn 8s. Every year we are generally three months standing still- that is the shortesttime. Then there is a slacknessbefore we get busy, and the same before the work finishes; so that altogetherwe may safely say that it's only for eight months in the year that we earn 8s. a week, and for the other four months we don't get more than 2s. a week upon an average.The last slack time we were obligated to part with almost everything we had; so that, taking the brisk and the slack, I think we earn about 6s. a week all the year round. We are not able to save anything during the brisk time, there are so many of us-six to live on 16s. We have not been able to get back what we lost during the last slack time. We have got full £3 or £4 worth of things in pledge. We were quite three months out of work - from Christmastill the end of March - and then our rent went back, and we haven'tbeenable to recoverit yet. We owe about six weeks now. We pay 4s. a week for this one room. All my children go to school. We have one thing in pledge for 8s. The most of the duplicatesis for 5s.-some are for 3s. We have no separatepurses. We work together and club our money together. My sister helps me to support my children. If it hadn't been for her I don't know what I should have done. She has made every sacrificeto assistme." In the same house that the two sisterslived who worked at lining the furs, there was a woman occupied in embroidering the letters and figures on the policemen'scoats. I found her with her young children in their bedgownsabout her, ready dressedfor bed. It was late in the evening when I visited her. She was the type of the better kind of labourer's wife- the mother, housewife, and workwoman all in one. The cheeksof the children were red and shiny with recent scrubbing. In her arms she held an infant, and by her side sat a good-looking boy in the dressof a parish school. By the fire sat her husband,a swarthy, big-bonedman. I told them the object of my visit, and was instantly welcomedto their hearth. In answerto questionsthey told me as follows: "I do the embroidery. I can work any part of the embroidery work, no matter what it is. I don't supposeanyone'sdoing good at the embroidery, for gracious knows where it's gone to! Then there'sthe tapestry,that's gone altogether.That was what I learnt. We used to serve seven years at our business. I embroider the policemen'scollars, and the railway guards'collars, and sometimes silk work- ls. to ls. 3d. the dress,what I used to have 5s. and 6s. for, and more than that. Why, they are paying now 2s. 6d. for cardinals that I've had 16s. for. I do the East India work for the

206

Calcutta police; and the Liverpool police, and Isle of Man police. I work for the Penitentiaryand the Model Prison. They are the officers' coats, and indeed I do for all the prisons that wear ornaments. I work for her Majesty's yachts. I have all my work from the contractor for the embroidery. He takes it from the clothier. The clothier knows nothing about our business;he gives it to the embroiderer, who gives it to me. There are no chamber-masters that I know of in our business.The contractortakes a very good shaking out of it before we has it. I get 6s. and 7s. a dozen for Metropolitan police dress-coatcollars. I can do five a day, but we generally reckon four an average day's work of twelve hours. I can earn about 12s. a week at it; indeed I can do more if I can get it. I have earned 29s. a week at it; but that was by getting up at four in the morning and working till ten at night; and besides,the work was much better paid for then. Then the collars was paid 8s. to 9s. a dozen; that was about five year ago. The other police are about the same; the railway and City both. The railway guards are according to the letters upon them. We are paid 4d. a dozen for the large letters. I could do about four dozen and a half a day. As they pay for that work now, a woman can't earn more than 2s. 2d. to about 2s. 6d. a day; but I've sat and earned 6s. a day at it; and that was for the small letters on the cap-bandsof the railway guards, and only having 2d. a band then. For the Calcutta police I get 6d. a collar, or from 6s. to 7s. a dozen. The Calcutta police are just the same work as the Metropolitan. I do just as many of one as the other. It's a white duck collar worked with blue cord. The Liverpool police has the bird called the liver, with a branch of olive in its mouth, and a single strap and number worked in white cord upon blue. Everything used is worsted. It's been arguedwe work with white cotton cord, but that's a mistake. They're 6s. a dozen, and take about the sameas the Metropolitan and the Isle of Man police. The ornamentof that is the sameas the Isle of Man halfpenny- three legs, boots and spurs. The price is the same as the Metropolitan, 6s. a dozen. I never knew them more, and they take about the same. The Penitentiaryis a small ring, somethingsimilar to the Fire Brigade. It's a small ring, and the number inside of it. They are 2d. apiece, to the best of my recollection. I can do about twelve of them a day. The Model Prison have oak leaves and acorns, with a coronet in the ring. They're worked in buff upon blue. Those I'm paid double for, lls. and 12s. a dozen; but then there'sa deal more work in them. The oak leavesand acorns requiresa good deal of shaping. When they were first done they were 18s. a dozen, and that was about five

207

or six yearsago. The Metropolitan Police, when they first cameup, were 16d. to 18d. a collar, and not done half so well as they are now. Dear me! there was no shape in them scarcely. The Fire Brigade is so badly paid-I think they offered me 1td. a collarthat I couldn't work at them at all. There'sthe Isle of Wight work; that's the entrance to the prison gate; we have to form all the stones,and the brickwork over the arch. They are 9d. each. I've had them three or four times, but I never had a great many. We can earn about the sameat that as at any other of the work. Some things I have to do are black cord worked upon blue, but I don't know what they are for; they've a small coronet in a ring. We work for the Irish police as well. It is the sameas the Metropolitan, without either figure or letter. They put metal in them when they get there. Then there'sall sort of crests that we work, you know-coats of arms and such like. They are mostly small orders, and don't run above fifty. We work for the ThamesPolice; that's the anchor, and like the Metropolitan. At all kinds of work about 2s. to 2s. 6d. is what I can earn a day, working twelve hours, or 12s. to 15s. a week. There's very few hands in our business, and we can't think what's becomeof the work. I never had a piece of work returned in my life, and I'm generally reckoned a very good hand at the business.There can't be more than 200 persons working at it. We likewise do the soldiers' grenadeson the collars of their coats. The general pay of them is 6s. a hundred; but I have never done any under 3s. 4d., becauseI wouldn't work upon scarlet cloth unless I had full price. I could do about 150 a week. I've worked at the embroideryand tapestry ever since I was thirteen years old. When I was first out of my time I could earn my l5s. to 16s. a week: that was before there was any regular police. Anyone can do tapestrynow from the Berlin patterns.There they are all drafted off, and I could give one of them to that child, and tell her to count her stitchesand match her colours, and she could do it as well as I could; but before that the design was merely drawn in outline, and we had to shadeit off accordingto our own judgment. I've seen 10 apprenticesgo away out of 12-weren't fit for the business.In those times it taught us both to paint and to draw, but now it's both painted and drawn for you. We never thought of giving a lesson in it under 5s. At that time the court waistcoatswere done-a good bit of money they used to fetch. They used to come to £1 and £1 lOs. They would take about four days to do; work was paid so well for at that time. They're quite gone now; indeed, the work seemsall gone together. I must go to Doctors'-commons, to see if I can find some grenades-though

208

that's the worst of the work. It's what I've sent back scores of times. But I must get something. A little while ago there was the embroideringof the gentlemen'sstocks; they was worked upon the hand, and the hand embroidery has ruined the frame embroidery altogether. At these I did very well; I could make £1 a week at them easy. I've got a frame nearly half as long as this room, that I supposeI shall never want again. You see, here's one of the frames-it's tied up, and no use. I've got three more, and had them all full. The causeof the stock work falling off was this: a man got a quantity of the girls out of the workhouse and put a few tidy hands to superintendthe business.There was a great deal of laughing and joking about that man, for he was a butcher by trade, and the idea of his starting in the embroideryline tickled everyone. He took 'em down to Cambridge-heath,and cut down the prices so low that fifty of us was forced to leave the business at once. The butchermade a failure of it, and the whole establishment was broke up, and that was the ruin of the hand-embroidery. Then there was another cheap hand, the son of a party in the trade. He undermindedhis father. He went to the warehousesand offered to do the work for less than half-price, and ruined it altogether. I believe he made a failure, too. Besidesthese another was going to have all the work. You see there was a good bit of money made at it then. This party sent me a shawl, a very welldrawn thing. It was honestly worth 4s. 6d. or 5s. to do. I had had more moneyfor the same.When I took it in, he had the impudence to offer me ls. ltd. for it. Well, this one madea failure of it, too and I have heard that his wife now is trying to pick up a bit of work anywhere. The military embroidery was very good indeed about three years ago. I had a great deal of it, so that I could have supportedmyself and four or five children very comfortable on it. I could always keep four frames full, and now I've nothing at all to do. Last Saturdayweek I took 5s. lOd., and that was eamt in a fortnight, and so on about the same for many months. My weekly earningsfor the whole of this year hasn't been more than 2s., take one week with another, and three years ago I used to make 15s. to 16s. a week regular, and that with perfect ease.As for the 'gold hands,' I know one that could sit and earn lOs. a day, and I don't think she knows what it is to see a bit of work now. I don't know what really has becomeof the work lately. All the embroidery hands are earning a mere trifle - 3s. one week and then 2s. - and many has called upon me to know what's the cause of it, becausethey know that I generallyused to be so full. Three times last week I sent that little boy to the warehousefor work,

209

and they said, 'sendin next week.' Where they'rea-doing the work, or how they're a-doing it, I can't tell. Whether·they're doing it in their housesor not, by young girls, I can't say; but there must be something like that, for you see as the new clothes comes round there's the work to be done, and someonemust do it. Perhaps they're a-doing it in the prisons, for there'smany a trade beencut up in that way; but it's a sad pity, for it was a very pretty, tasty, and clean business.My husbandis engagedin flushing the sewers; he gets£1 4s. a week regular." In reply to my questionsthe husbandsaid, "I've been at flushing four months now. I don't know how long it will last. There was a great many of us taken on owing to this cholera. Very likely I may be there for a year or two, but that I can't say. I've beenused to common sewer work for these last six or seven years, chiefly getting the ground ready for making new sewers. The last sewer I was working at was that sewerat Blackfriars-bridge.That played the deucewith me-that did. We pulled up an old sewerthat had been down upwards of 100 years, and under this there had formerly been a burying-ground. There we dug up, I should think, one day, about seven skulls; and as to leg-bones-oh, a tremendouslot of leg-bones, to be sure! I don't think men has got such leg-bones now. The stench was dreadful; in fact, we knocked off day-work, and was put on to night-work to hide it. After that bout I was ill at home for a week. Then I went to flushing. I like it very well, and hope it will continuea long while. The best part of my work is in plunging ditches, or cleansingthe open sewers. Some of them, though, are bad enough as to stenches." "I don't think it disagreeswith my husbandtho'," interposedthe wife, "for he eats about as much again at that work as he did at the other." "When we go plunging," the man continued, "we has long poles with a piece of wood at the end of them, and we stirs up the mud at the bottom of the ditches while the tide's a-going down. We have got slides at the end of the ditches, and we pulls these up and lets out the water, mud, and all, into the Thames." "Yes, for the people to drink," said the wife drily. "We're in the water a great deal," continuedthe man. "We can't walk along the sides of all of 'em. We have got great heavy boots. I go below ground flushing sometimes,but I'm under a very good ganger, and he generally takes care to let us have half our time above ground. The smell under ground is sometimesvery bad, but then we generally take a drop of rum first, and somethingto eat. It wouldn't do to go into it on an empty stomach,'causeit would get into our inside. But in some sewersthere's scarcely any smell

210

at all. We have lamps to work up. The sewers generally swarms with rats. I runs away from 'em, I don't like 'em. They in general gets away from us; but in case we comes·to a stunt end, where there's a wall and no place for 'em to get away, and we goes to touch 'em, they'll fly at us. They're some of 'em as big as goodsized kittens. One of our men caughthold of one the other day by the tail, and he found it trying to releaseitself, and the tail slipping through his fingers; so he put up his left hand to stop it, and the rat caught hold of his finger, and the man'sgot an arm now as big as his thigh. We generally, to flush, go and draw a slide up and let a flush of water down, and then we have iron rakers to loosen the stuff. We have got another way that we do it as well, that is to say, one man will stand here when the flush of water's coming down with a large board; then he lets the water rise to the top of this board, and then there's two or three of us on ahead, with shovels,looseningthe stuff - then he ups with this board, and lets a good heavy flush of water come down. Precioushard work it is, I can assureyou. I've had many a wet shirt. We stand up to our fork in the water, right to the top of our jack-boots, and sometimes over them." "Ah, I should think you often get over the top of yours, for you come home with your stockings wet enough, goodnessknows," cried his wife. "When there's a good flush of water coming d