WORK ABOUT THE FIVE-DIALS.*

"LONDON is quite empty! All London is out of town !" the phrase with which, in some form or other, those who still linger greet one another. And what of the tens of thousands, the hundreds of thousands, who never move a mile from their own door-step, to whom the sight of a green field would be like a glimpse into Para- dise, and the song of the thrush like a revelation ? Around us, at our very doors oftentimes, supplying our daily needs, is a vast seething population about which we know .comparatively nothing. The little volume before us introduces us to the interior of a few of the crowded heuses—it seems like irony to call them homes'.— which, through all the long July and August days, remain crowded still. We know nothing of the writer, who has chosen to write anonymously, but Carlyle, in a little word of preface, guarantees the accuracy of all the statements made ; and the writer herself says she has given unvarnished facts, merely altering names. Her special field of labour is in the crowded district of the Five- Dials. She gives the results of considerable personal experience, and though differing from her on one or two points, we think the suggestions she makes, on the whole, valuable, and worthy of close consideration ; while her narrative is, at the same time, full of points of lighter interest. "There are subjects here for a dozen novels," was our first exclamation, as we read one after another of her scenes from real life,—but graver thoughts will press themselves upon the attention of the thoughtful reader. It is many years since the present writer was first roused to study the social aspect of class differences in England closely, by the perusal of Yeast, that most remarkable and least read of all the writings of the late Charles Kingsley. Since then we have tome into pretty intimate contact with many of the poorest and most suffering, though not the most degraded or criminal, of the great, long-suffering, patient mass of our population ; have looked very carefully into philanthropic and legislative measures for the benefit of that population ; and while rejoicing over every fresh impulse given in the direction of compulsory education and its attendant, compulsory cleanliness, we are conVineed that the personal association and sympathy of the cultivated with the un- cultivated mind is the only real lever for raising and improving the latter. Believing as we do that Christianity will prove the dominant faith of the world, and that Christianity in its fruits means, that oppression shall cease, that all that militates against brotherhood cease, and righteousness and order reign, we believe that this will be hastened, not by Charity Organisation Societies, admirable as they are in their way, nor by compulsory education, essential as that has become, but by the number of those who, steeped in the spirit of Christ, shall go down into the arena, to hold out a helping hand to those still groping in the darkness below. It is friendliness that is needed, and it is the spirit of friendliness which stands in such danger at this time. We know that is a statement which will surprise many who are ready to exclaim, "Surely there never was a day when so much was done for the poor !" Perhaps not, but there was perhaps never a day when less was done with them. We cannot within our present limits stay to explain that sentence, but we are sure some will see its force. And the writer of the little book we are about to consider, arriving at the same conclusion, draws attention to the zeal with which we are accus- tomed now-a-days to preach a crusade (a valuable one, too) against pampering people by perpetual almsgiving, till we are more than half afraid of the acts of generous and simple kindli- ness which between so-called equals go so far to make up the sum of the pleasant things of life, but which a stern social creed would forbid towards the poor, lest they, forsooth ! should be injured thereby. We are no advocate for turning the district visitor into a relieving officer, or for doles of meat and tickets for soup, given at random, but we ask, in the words of the writer before us, "Why should the poor be deprived of the outcome of friendship which is such a joy to ourselves?" In that word " friend- ship " is the key to her success with those among whom she works. We believe a true test of the right rule in giving would be to give nothing you would not willingly in some form receive. The grace of knowing how to receive is a more uncommon one than that of knowing how to give, but we must pass to a closer examination of the little volume before us. As we read its re- cord of eases of semi-starvation, of overcrowded rooms, ill - ventilated alleys, ill-drainage, and polluted water,— " The little done doth vanish from the mind That forward sees, how much remains to do."

We read of one crowded district where a tank of drinking-water

• Work About the Fire-Dials. London: MacMillan and Co. 1878. was under an oil and tallow chandler's shop, and when fever came and the attention of the sanitary inspector was at last called

to the subject, at the bottom of the tank was found two inches of mud, the decomposing bodies of fourteen rats, soap, candles, and dead beetles ! Who shall say for how much drunkenness and human misery such a condition of things was answerable!

With regard to overcrowding, notwithstanding all that has been done, both in the way of legislative enactment, public-spirited benevolence, and private enterprise, the case is still bad enough to be a disgrace in a Christian, enlightened land. One spot, happily now condemned under the Artisans' Dwellings Act, but not yet demolished, is the small district, commonly called "the Bury," behind St. Martin's Lane. There, in one street, 500 feet in length, and fourteen courts, 3,000 persons are crowded. And the authority we are now quoting finds in the central parts of London rents so high and rooms so scarce that it is often impossible for father, mother, and perhaps a large family to possess more than one room.

It is worth while to look at an instance or two, if only to realise the full horror of the position. We have here narratives of one family, consisting of husband, wife, three working sons, a younger boy, and girl, all living in a single room, fourteen feet by thirteen,—the man kept at home permanently by a bad leg. In another case, the inspector tried to interfere because in one room husband and wife and eight sickly children and a family of rabbits were kept. Can

we wonder, adds the writer, that the father was unable to begin his day's work without a glass of spirits ? And yet that is but arguing in a circle, since probably the glass of spirits began the

poverty that accepted such miserable quarters. The principle and plan upon which the Waterlow Buildings are erected, appear on the

whole, the soundest and best; and we believe, stands the practical test which may apply to such an assertion, inasmuch as we believe them to be fairly remunerative. But while fully awake to the

misery and degradation caused by such overcrowding as we have described, the writer whose work we are considering fails, it seems to us, to see the way in which poverty touches some of the finer natures amongst the miserably poor. She records, as an instance of ingratitude and want of integrity occasionally to be met with, the story of a family she names "Lin." It is short, and we will give it in her own words :—

" I was asked to go and see a woman whose child bad just died, and on going into her room I found Mrs. Lin seated on the floor one bitter cold day in February. She was nursing a little child in front of a very small fire; her husband was a painter out of work, and had been with- out employment for some time. They had lost 'their home,' as the poor call it, meaning thereby their furniture and possessions, and the room was literally bare. The elder child had just died of want of sufficient food ; this was the opinion of the parish doctor, who had been called in too late, and who did not expect the other child would live. Some milk was allowed for the child by the parish doctor's order, but much besides milk was wanted which the parish authorities would not give. I provided her with all she wanted for the child, and looked after it constantly until it was out of danger. The man got a promise of work, and I lent him £1 to get his clothes and tools out of pawn,and he gave me his word to repay me in small weekly sums. Ho got work, and changed his house. I went there to seo Mrs. Lin, and to my sur- prise found the walls of her room hung with little pictures. I asked her bow she had got them ; and she said that when her husband had brought home his first week's wages on Saturday, she had spent three and sixpence in buying these pictures, as the room looked so uncom- fortable without them. She had not yet bought bad or bedding, and I should have said needed every necessary of life. I was not over- pleased, and said sho should have repaid me before buying luxuries. In her reply she said she saw no harm in getting the pictures first, as she could not live with bare walls ; and added that after all she was sorry I had come so often to see her in the other house, as it had only caused the neighbours to talk about her affairs. After that I discon- tinued my visits. I have met her sometimes since in the street, and she has tried to explain away what she had said; but I have taken no further interest in her."

To us there is something inexpressibly touching in the history of that bare room, with its walls hung with little pictures. Else- where, the writer can quote with considerable effect Hood's pathetic lines

"A wall so blank, my shadow I thank, For sometimes falling there."

But she cannot realise the half-mad desire which might seize sensitive though poverty-stricken natures to make those bare walls a little home-like, before even considering the so-called necessaries of life,—to them the pictures were more even than a bed ; and the sense that such a crave would not be understood, would be criticised and censured, with the latent feeling added on, that perhaps it was not justifiable by any code they could formulate, was sufficiently provocative of the outburst of bad- temper which, somehow, is the last thing the most honest friend of the poor is disposed to stand from them.

We have in this little volume a valuable chapter on the subject of nurses,—after all, one of the most difficult questions to deal with, as any one will know who has tried to procure a sick-nurse for a poor invalid without paying exorbitantly. There are, of course, hospitals, and there is now that most excellent hospital for women, Mrs. Garrett-Anderson's, 222 Marylebone Road ; but it is not for hospital cases that these nurses are wanted, but for the bedridden, and the victims of chronic rheumatism or other disease, who find themselves laid aside, and their homes ren- dered miserable, for want of skilled hands to minister.

The volume before us speaks of an excellent institution of nurses in Bloomsbury Square, where ladies trained to

nurse will go to any one needing them within a radius of three miles from the central home ; and we could wish to see such institutions multiplied, but they do not meet the entire case ; there is a species of self-devotion which seems at present beyond the endurance of those who kindly volunteer for such work, and that is, that they should consent for small stuns to regard themselves as paid. We have at present ladies as minister- ing angels, often truly such, and trained nurses asking from one to three guineas a week ; but we want skilful nurses willing to do the fatiguing, often repulsive, work undertaken now by "Sisters," at, say, a rate of from seven to ten shillings a week, or some sum which the labouring man shall find it not impossible to command. And while mentioning the question of nurses and hospitals, we may call attention to the demand for the multiplica- tion of those invaluable "homes," of which there are far too few, where discharged hospital patients may recover health and strength before returning to work. The volume before us suggests the inviting of such invalids, especially children, privately to country homes, where the run of the kitchen and the fields would be like a glimpse of Paradise. There are, of course, difficulties in the way of this sort of thing, but if the spirit of friendliness of which we have spoken existed more completely between the heads of households and their servants, it would be far easier to accomplish. The question of drunkenness, which underlies so much of the misery and disease with which we are called to do battle, is one very difficult to touch. In common with most of those now labouring among the poor, the writer with whose work we are concerned, advocates coffee-houses, as the great antidote to public- houses. And while we believe the movement to be one in the right direction and one which deserves hearty support, we do not believe it will be successful on any large scale till the real freedom of a club is attained, and the poor man, like his rich neighbour, can take coffee or alcohol, as it pleases him. The real experiment remains yet to be tried ; when the bar of every public-house offers tea and coffee side by side with beer and brandy, we may hope to see a real diminution in evils resulting from drunkenness. In the neighbourhood of the Seven Dials, a coffee-tavern has been opened on a very large scale. Working-men can come into it, and use the lower and upper rooms for breakfast and dinner ; they may bring their own food, have it cooked at the charge of one halfpenny—this seems to us a real boon—the cup of cocoa, coffee, or tea costing a penny, and these of really good quality ; the whole place is made thoroughly attractive, and is frequented by from 1,500 to 2,000 persons a day.

We can only touch one more point, and that an important one, the question of thrift. The Post-Office Savings' Bank has hitherto proved wholly inadequate to meet the necessities of the case. It is too complicated in its working to commend itself to those to whom the simplest rules of arithmetic are still a puzzle; it does

not help the saving of pennies, taking no sum under a shilling ; the sum, once put in, cannot be withdrawn with ease ; and greatest drawback of all, the Post Office is closed early. The National Penny Bank seems to supply all the defects of this system, and though it has only been established about two years and a half, more than £115,000 has been entered. The money can be withdrawn at any moment, and much which is entered repre- sents "small sums saved by children and grown-up people to be used at the Bank holiday." We cannot pursue this subject far- ther, but we heartily commend to our readers the little volume whose contents we have briefly indicated.