CHAPTER ELEVEN.
SIR RICHARD AND MR. BRISBANE DISCUSS, AND DI LISTENS.
"My dear sir," said Sir Richard Brandon, over a glass of sherry oneevening after dinner, to George Brisbane, Esquire of Lively Hall, "themanagement of the poor is a difficult, a very difficult subject to dealwith."
"It is, unquestionably," assented Brisbane, "so difficult, that I amafraid some of our legislators are unwilling to face it; but it ought tobe faced, for there is much to be done in the way of improving thepoor-laws, which at present tend to foster pauperism in the young, andbear heavily on the aged. Meanwhile, philanthropists find it necessaryto take up the case of the poor as a private enterprise."
"Pardon me, Brisbane, there I think you are in error. Everythingrequisite to afford relief to the poor is provided by the state. If thepoor will not take advantage of the provision, or the machinery is notwell oiled and worked by the officials, the remedy lies in greaterwisdom on the part of the poor, and supervision of officials--not infurther legislation. But what do you mean by our poor-laws bearingheavily on the aged?"
"I mean that the old people should be better cared for, simply becauseof their age. Great age is a sufficient argument of itself, I think,for throwing a veil of oblivion over the past, and extending charitywith a liberal, pitying hand, because of present distress, andirremediable infirmities. Whatever may be the truth with regard topaupers and workhouses in general, there ought to be a distinct refugefor the aged, which should be attractive--not repulsive, as at present--and age, without reference to character or antecedents, shouldconstitute the title to enter it. `God pity the aged poor,' is often myprayer, `and enable us to feel more for them in the dreary, pitifultermination of their career.'"
"But, my dear sir," returned Sir Richard, "you would have old pauperscrowding into such workhouses, or refuges as you call them, by thethousand."
"Well, better that they should do so than that they should die miserablyby thousands in filthy and empty rooms--sometimes without fire, or food,or physic, or a single word of kindness to ease their sad descent intothe grave."
"But, then, Brisbane, as I said, it is their own fault--they have theworkhouse to go to."
"But, then, as _I_ said, Sir Richard, the workhouse is rendered sorepulsive to them that they keep out of it as long as they can, and toooften keep out so long that it is too late, and their end is as I havedescribed. However, until things are better arranged, we must do whatwe can for them in a private way. Indeed Scripture teaches distinctlythe necessity for private charity, by such words as--`the poor ye havealways with you,' and, `blessed are they who consider the poor.' Don'tyou agree with me, Mr Welland?"
Stephen Welland--who, since the day of his accident, had become intimatewith Mr Brisbane and Sir Richard--replied that although deeplyinterested in the discussion going on, his knowledge of the subject wastoo slight to justify his holding any decided opinion.
"Take another glass of sherry," said Sir Richard, pushing the decantertowards the young man; "it will stir your brain and enable you to seeyour way more clearly through this knotty point."
"No more, thank you, Sir Richard."
"Come, come--fill your glass," said the knight; "you and I must set anexample of moderate drinking to Brisbane, as a counter-blast to hisBlue-Ribbonism."
Welland smiled and re-filled his glass.
"Nay, I never thrust my opinions on that point on people," saidBrisbane, with a laugh, "but if you _will_ draw the sword and challengeme, I won't refuse the combat!"
"No, no, Brisbane. Please spare us! I re-sheath the sword, and neednot that you should go all over it again. I quite understand that youare no bigot, that you think the Bible clearly permits and encouragestotal abstinence in certain circumstances, though it does not teach it;that, although a total abstainer yourself, you do not refuse to givedrink to your friends if they desire it--and all that sort of thing; butpray let it pass, and I won't offend again."
"Ah, Sir Richard, you are an unfair foe. You draw your sword to give mea wound through our young friend, and then sheath it before I can returnon you. However, you have stated my position so well that I forgive youand shake hands. But, to return to the matter of private charity, areyou aware how little suffices to support the poor--how very far the merecrumbs that fall from a rich man's table will go to sustain them I Now,just take the glass of wine which Welland has swallowed--against hisexpressed wish, observe, and merely to oblige you, Sir Richard. Itsvalue is, say, sixpence. Excuse me, I do not of course refer to itsreal value, but to its recognised restaurant-value! Well, I happenedthe other day to be at a meeting of old women at the `Beehive' inSpitalfields; there were some eighty or a hundred of them. With dimeyes and trembling fingers they were sewing garments for the boys whoare to be sent out to Canada. Such feeble workers could not findemployment elsewhere, but by liberal hearts a plan has been devisedwhereby many an aged one, past work, can earn a few pence. Twopence anhour is the pay. They are in the habit of meeting once a week for threehours, and thus earn sixpence. Many of these women, I may remark, aretrue Christians. I wondered how far such a sum would go, and how thepoor old things spent it. One woman sixty-three years of ageenlightened me. She was a feeble old creature, suffering from chronicrheumatism and a dislocated hip. When I questioned her she said--`Ihave difficulties indeed, but I tell my Father all. Sometimes, when I'mvery hungry and have nothing to eat, I tell Him, and I know He hears me,for He takes the feeling away, and it only leaves me a little faint.'
"`But how do you spend the sixpence that you earn here?' I asked.
"`Well, sir,' she said, `sometimes, when very hard-up, I spend part ofit this way:--I buy a hap'orth o' tea, a hap'orth o' sugar, a hap'ortho' drippin', a hap'orth o' wood and a penn'orth o' bread. Sometimeswhen better off than usual I get a heap of coals at a time, perhapsquarter of a hundredweight, because I save a farthing by getting thewhole quarter, an' that lasts me a long time, and wi' the farthing Imayhap treat myself to a drop o' milk. Sometimes, too, I buy mypenn'orth o' wood from the coopers and chop it myself, for I can make itgo further that way.'
"So, you see, Welland," continued Brisbane, "your glass of sherry wouldhave gone a long way in the domestic calculations of a poor old woman,who very likely once had sons who were as fond of her and as proud ofher, as you now are of your own mother."
"It is very sad that any class of human beings should be reduced to solow an ebb," returned the young man seriously.
"Yes, and it is very difficult," said Sir Richard, "to reduce one'smental action so as to fully understand the exact bearing of such minutemonetary arrangements, especially for one who is accustomed to regardthe subject of finance from a different standpoint."
"But the saddest thing of all to me, and the most difficult tounderstand," resumed Brisbane, "is the state of mind and feeling ofthose professing Christians, who, with ample means, give exceedinglylittle towards the alleviation of such distress, take little or nointerest in the condition of the poor, and allow as much waste in theirestablishments as would, if turned to account, become streamlets ofabsolute wealth to many of the destitute."
This latter remark was a thrust which told pretty severely on the host--all the more so, perhaps, that he knew Brisbane did not intend it as athrust at all, for he was utterly ignorant of the fact that his friendseldom gave anything away in charity, and even found it difficult to payhis way and make the two ends meet with his poor little five thousand ayear--for, you see, if a man has to keep up a fairly largeestablishment, with a town and country house, and have his yacht, and agood stable, and indulge in betting, and give frequent dinners, and takeshootings in Scotland, and amuse himself with jewellery, etcetera, why,he must pay for it, you know!
"The greatest trouble of these poor women, I found," continued Brisbane,"is their rent, which varies from 2 shillings to 3 shillings a week fortheir little rooms, and it is a constant struggle with them to keep outof `the House,' so greatly dreaded by the respectable poor. One of themto
ld me she had lately saved up a shilling with which she bought a pairof `specs,' and was greatly comforted thereby, for they helped herfading eyesight. I thought at the time what a deal of good might bedone and comfort given if people whose sight is changing would sendtheir disused spectacles to the home of Industry in Commercial Street,Spitalfields, for the poor. By the way, your sight must have changedmore than once, Sir Richard! Have you not a pair or two of disusedspectacles to spare?"
"Well, yes, I have a pair or two, but they have gold rims, which wouldbe rather incongruous on the noses of poor people, don't you think?"
"Oh! by no means. We could manage to convert the rims into blue steel,and leave something over for sugar and tea."
"Well, I'll send them," said Sir Richard with a laugh. "By the way, youmentioned a plan whereby those poor women were enabled to do usefulwork, although too old for much. What plan might that be?"
"It is a very simple plan," answered Brisbane, "and consists chiefly inthe work being apportioned according to ability. Worn garments and oddsand ends of stuff are sent to the Beehive from all parts of the countryby sympathising friends. These are heaped together in one corner of theroom where the poor old things work. Down before this mass of stuff areset certain of the company who have large constructive powers. Theseskilfully contrive, cut out, alter, and piece together all kinds ofclothing, including the house slippers and Glengarry caps worn by thelittle rescued boys. Even handkerchiefs and babies' long frocks areconjured out of a petticoat or muslin lining! The work, thus selectedand arranged, is put into the hands of those who, though not skilful inoriginating, have the plodding patience to carry out the designs of themore ingenious, and so garments are produced to cover the shiveringlimbs of any destitute child that may enter the Refuge as well as tocomplete the outfits of the little emigrants."
"Well, Brisbane, I freely confess," said Sir Richard, "that you haveroused a degree of interest in poor old women which I never felt before,and it does seem to me that we might do a good deal more for them withour mere superfluities and cast-off clothing. Do the old women receiveany food on these working nights besides the pence they earn?"
"No, I am sorry to say they do not--at least not usually. You see ittakes a hundred or more sixpences every Monday merely to keep thatsewing-class going, and more than once there has been a talk of closingit for want of funds, but the poor creatures have pleaded so pitifullythat they might still be allowed to attend, even though they should workat _half-price_, that it has been hitherto continued. You see it is amatter of no small moment for those women merely to spend three hours ina room with a good fire, besides which they delight in the hymns andprayers and the loving counsel and comfort they receive. It enablesthem to go out into the cold, even though hungry, with more heart andtrust in God as they limp slowly back again to their fireless grates andbare cupboards.
"The day on which I visited the place I could not bear the thought ofthis, so I gave a sovereign to let them have a good meal. Thissufficed. Large kettles are always kept in readiness for suchoccasions. These were put on immediately by the matron. The eldergirls in training on the floor above set to work to cut thick slices ofbread and butter, the tea urns were soon brought down, and in twentyminutes I had the satisfaction of seeing the whole hundred eatingheartily and enjoying a hot meal. My own soul was fed, too--for thewords came to me, `I was an hungered and ye gave me meat,' and one oldwoman, sitting near me, said, `I have a long walk home, and have beencasting over in my mind all the afternoon whether I could spare a pennyfor a cup of tea on the way. How good the Lord is to send this!'"
With large, round, glittering eyes and parted lips, and heightenedcolour and varying expression, sat little Di Brandon at her father'selbow, almost motionless, her little hands clasped tight, and utteringnever a word, but gazing intently at the speakers and drinking it allin, while sorrow, surprise, sympathy, indignation, and intense pitystirred her little heart to its very centre.
In the nursery she retailed it all over, with an eager face and rapidcommentary, to the sympathetic Mrs Screwbury, and finally, in bed,presided over millions of old women who made up mountains of oldgarments, devoured fields of buttered bread, and drank oceans ofsteaming tea!
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