Year: 1864

n Night III 1fOuoOus


The London Times has the following


account Of some night scenes IN Lon


don, curiously illustrative Of some 81 the
statements made by Kay, iii his work on


the " Social condition of English People :"


A few evenings ago, little before six
o'clock, when the darkness was heavy and
damp with that slow, ineessant November
rain which seems to creep under any
shelter, and to spread its cold touch bver
every part of the body, any unwilling.
passenger who had to pass at the back Of
the National Gallery would have noticed q
close crowd of more than forty persons
pressing round one of the doors Of st.
Martins Workhouse. He would have
found that they were waiting for the
opening of the casual ward with the hope
of obtaining nights shelter and little
food. If he had went up to them. he
would have seen them huddled together,
perhaps for mutual warmth and the con-.
solatory touch Of acknowledging. They
would have taken but little notice Of him
except that man on the outside circle
might glance uneasily at him. and edge.
away as if he did not like to be seen; and,
then, as though the qualm of d se1se Of
suspicion overpowered the humiliation Of
pauperism, he would move uneasily to-
wards the stranger, and half whisper ID d
deprecatory tone Of voice, al never did
this in my life before" He remains out
side, evidently ashamed to press into the
shivering circle but anything is better
than night spent on those damp and
muddy stones, and under that close and,
misty fog, and he must take his chance Of
admission even in the casual ward of a
workhouse. The rest talk quietly and in
hulf-frighlened way about the chance of
admission.


RECEIVING THE APPLICANTS.


The workhouse only admits, as rule,
twelve men and twelve women, and some
of them must have the door shut against
them The door is soon opened and all
their eyes are fastened on a burly, we'll
dressed, well-combed, well. brushed Off
cial, the greatest possible contrast to the
ring of paleness, squalor, and dirt outside.
He is well accustomed to this sort Of sight,
and there is quiet, business-fke cool
ness in his manner in strange contrast
with the eager imploring stare Of the
helpless faces below him. He surveys
the group carefully to see if there are, any
who have been there before, for it will not
do to allow the casual ward to become an
ordinary refuge for any one, and as he Is.
sure to have to. turn away some, be will,
admit those who. hare not been there,
before, 1t is too great a luxury to. be,
enjoyed by any one two nights running.
At last he makes sign, and one woman
passes in, and another, and another, UP toiS
a dozen or so, and then pale, weary hook
ing womangn with young features, bat
aged looking hair, is pushed on one side,
not roughly, but irresistibly, by his arm;
and her head drops back and her eyes
close despairingly as she falls away into
the rain and fog. Then he looks around
at the men, and admits a few of themi
pushing one OF two of them back WITH a
touch of roughness he hardly showed the
woman. "Don't tell me no lies" he says
sharply to, one who assures him, 81 wasn't
here last night sir" in tone which seems,
to imply that he knows why he is rejected
Fewer of them are admitted than of the
women, but there are still about dozen
and II half men and women outside: at
is very wet, sir,t says a ptteous woman's
vol II know it is wet" he says, as
though the circumstances were quite famil-.
lar to him. "but haven't room for all Of
YOU" After a word with the authorities
behind he admits one Of two more, and
then the door Is shut quietly, but flevita-'
bly,; and it is no good for those who re-,
main to look up any more at the light
abovethe door and hope for the warmth
within, and they turn their faces away to
the night