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<h1>The Claims of Labour.</h1>
<p style="text-align: center">AN ESSAY ON THE<br />
DUTIES OF THE EMPLOYERS<br />
TO THE EMPLOYED.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">The Second Edition.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">to which is
added</span>,<br />
<span class="smcap">an essay on the means of improving the
health</span><br />
<span class="smcap">and increasing the comfort of the</span><br
/>
<span class="smcap">labouring classes</span>.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:w:william-pickering-claims-of-labour-p0b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Title page design"
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"Title page design"
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<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br />
WILLIAM PICKERING<br />
1845.</p>
<blockquote><p><!-- page ii--><a name="pageii"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. ii</span>&ldquo;There is formed in every thing
a double nature of good; the one, as every thing is a total or
substantive in itself; the other, as it is a part or member of a
greater body; whereof the latter is in degree the greater and the
worthier, because it tendeth to the conservation of a more
general form.&nbsp; Therefore we see the iron in particular
sympathy moveth to the loadstone; but yet if it exceed a certain
quantity, it forsaketh the affection to the loadstone, and like a
good patriot moveth to the earth, which is the region and country
of massy bodies.&nbsp; This double nature of good, and the
comparative thereof, is much more engraven upon man, if he
degenerate not; unto whom the conservation of duty to the public
ought to be much more precious than the conservation of life and
being: according to that memorable speech of Pompeius Magnus,
when being in commission of purveyance for a famine at Rome, and
being dissuaded with great vehemency and instance by his friends
about him, that he should not hazard himself to sea in an
extremity of weather, he said only to them, &lsquo;Necesse est ut
eam, non ut vivam.&rsquo;&nbsp; But it may be truly affirmed that
there was never any philosophy, religion, or other discipline,
which did so plainly and highly exalt the good which is
communicative, and depress the good which is private and
particular, as the Holy Faith; well declaring, that it was the
same God that gave the Christian law to men, who gave those laws
of nature to inanimate creatures that we spoke of
before.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Bacon&rsquo;s Advancement of
Learning</i>.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;And well may masters consider how easie a
transposition it had been for God, to have made him to mount into
the saddle that holds the stirrup; and him to sit down at the
table, who stands by with a trencher.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Fuller&rsquo;s Holy
State</i>.</p>
<h2><!-- page iii--><a name="pageiii"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. iii</span>TO HENRY TAYLOR, ESQ.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">My dear Taylor</span>,</p>
<p>I have great pleasure in dedicating this book to you, as I
know of no one who, both in his life and writings, has shown a
more profound and delicate care for the duties of the Employer to
the Employed.&nbsp; Pardon me, if following the practice of the
world, I see the author in his hero, and think I hear you
speaking, when Van Artevelde exclaims&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;A serviceable, faithful, thoughtful
friend,<br />
Is old Van Ryk, and of a humble nature,<br />
And yet with faculties and gifts of sense,<br />
Which place him justly on no lowly level&mdash;<br />
Why should I say a lowlier than my own,<br />
Or otherwise than as an equal use him?<br />
That with familiarity respect<br />
Doth slacken, is a word of common use.<br />
I never found it so.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p><!-- page iv--><a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
iv</span>I have had some peculiar advantages in writing upon this
subject.&nbsp; I should have been unobservant indeed, if, with
such masters as I have served under, I had not learnt something,
in regard to the duties of a great employer of labour, from
witnessing their ever-flowing courtesy; their care for those who
came within their sphere; their anxiety, as the heads of
departments, to recognize every exertion on the part of their
subordinates; and their ready sympathy with the poor and the
friendless, a sympathy which the vexations and harassments of
office, and all those things that tend to turn a man&rsquo;s
thoughts in upon himself, could never subdue.</p>
<p>But, happily, it is not only amongst the high in office that
such examples are to be found.&nbsp; The spirit, and even some of
the very modes of benevolent exertion which I have endeavoured to
recommend, have already been carried into practice, and I trust
may be frequently seen, in the conduct towards their dependents,
both of manufacturers and landed proprietors.</p>
<p>I must also say how much I owe to the excellent <!-- page
v--><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. v</span>Reports
which of late years have been presented to Parliament on subjects
connected with the welfare of the labouring classes.&nbsp; It is
to be regretted that these reports are not better known.&nbsp; I
have made frequent use of them, and hope that the quotations I
have given may induce my readers to turn to the original
sources.</p>
<p>With regard to the subject generally, it appears to me that
knowledge of the duties of an employer is every day becoming more
important.&nbsp; The tendency of modern society is to draw the
family circle within narrower and narrower limits.&nbsp; Those
amusements which used to be shared by all classes are becoming
less frequent: the great lord has put away his crowd of
retainers: the farmer, in most cases, does not live with his
labouring men: and the master has less sympathy and social
intercourse with his domestics.&nbsp; If this be so, if the
family circle is thus becoming narrower, the conduct of those in
domestic authority, having a more intense influence, has the more
need of being regulated by the highest sense of duty: and, with
respect to society in general, if the old bonds are <!-- page
vi--><a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
vi</span>loosened, other ties must be fostered in their
place.</p>
<p>You will not be likely to mistake my meaning, and to suppose
that I look back with any fond regret at the departure of the
feudal system, or that I should wish to bring the present
generation under its influence.&nbsp; Mankind does not so retrace
its steps.&nbsp; But still, though the course of our race is
onwards, the nature of man does not change.&nbsp; There is the
same need for protection and countenance on the one side, and for
reverence and attachment on the other, that there ever has been;
and the fact that society is in many respects more disconnected
than it used to be, renders it the more necessary to cultivate in
the most watchful manner every mode of strengthening the social
intercourse between rich and poor, between master and servant,
between the employers and the employed, in whatever rank they may
be.</p>
<p>I am afraid it may be said with justice, that both this letter
and the following Essay are &ldquo;sermoni propiora,&rdquo;
according to Charles Lamb&rsquo;s translation, &ldquo;properer
for a sermon:&rdquo; but it is impossible to dwell long on any
such <!-- page vii--><a name="pagevii"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. vii</span>subject as the one which I have
chosen, without having to appeal to the best motives of human
endeavour; and the shortest way even to the good which is of a
purely physical character lies often, I believe, through the
highest moral considerations.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">Believe me,<br />
My dear Taylor,<br />
Most truly yours,<br />
<span class="smcap">The Author</span>.</p>
<p>London, July 1, 1844.</p>
<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
1</span>THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR.</h2>
<h3>CHAPTER I.<br />
<span class="smcap">Masters and Men</span>.</h3>
<p>It is a thing so common, as almost to be ridiculous, for a man
to express self-distrust at the commencement of any attempt in
speech or writing.&nbsp; And yet, trite as this mode of beginning
is, its appropriateness makes each one use it as heartily as if
it were new and true for him, though it might have been a
common-place for others.&nbsp; When he glances hurriedly across
the wide extent of his subject, when he feels how inadequate his
expression will be even to his conception, and, at the same time,
has a yearning desire to bring his audience into the same mind
with himself, it is no wonder if he begins with a few,
hesitating, oft repeated, words about his <!-- page 2--><a
name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>own
insufficiency compared with the greatness of his subject.</p>
<p>Happily, I have not occasion to dwell much upon the importance
of the subject to which I am anxious to engage attention.&nbsp;
For a long time it has been gradually emerging from the darkness
in which it had been left.&nbsp; The claims of labour and the
rights of the humble and the poor have necessarily gained more of
the attention of mankind, as Christianity has developed
itself.&nbsp; That power was sure, in its gradual encroachments
upon the evil nature of man, to make its voice heard in this
matter.&nbsp; It is a voice which may come out of strange bodies,
such as systems of ethics, or of politics; but men may call it
what they please, it goes on doing its appointed work,
&ldquo;conquering and to conquer.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Persons of a thoughtful mind seeing closely the falsehood, the
folly, and the arrogance, of the age in which they live, are apt,
occasionally, to have a great contempt for it: and I doubt not
that many a man looks upon the present time as one of feebleness
and degeneracy.&nbsp; There are, however, signs of an <!-- page
3--><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
3</span>increased solicitude for the claims of labour, which of
itself is a thing of the highest promise, and more to be rejoiced
over than all the mechanical triumphs which both those who would
magnify, and those who would depreciate, the present age, would
be apt to point to as containing its especial significance and
merit.</p>
<p>But what do all these mechanical triumphs come to?&nbsp; It is
in vain that you have learned to move with double or treble the
velocity of your immediate predecessors: it is in vain that you
can show new modes of luxury, or new resources in art.&nbsp; The
inquiring historian will give these things their weight, but
will, nevertheless, persevere in asking how the great mass of the
people were fed, and clothed, and taught: and whether the
improvement in their condition corresponded at all with the
improvement of the condition of the middle and upper
classes.&nbsp; What a sorry answer any one, replying for this
age, would have to give him.&nbsp; Nor would it be enough,
indeed, if we could make a satisfactory reply to his questions
about the physical state of the people.&nbsp; We ought to be able
to say <!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
4</span>that the different orders of society were bound together
by links of gratitude and regard: that they were not like layers
of various coloured sand, but that they formed one solid whole of
masonry, each part having its relation of use and beauty to all
the others.</p>
<p>Certainly, if we look at the matter, we have not much to say
for ourselves, unless it be in that dawning of good intentions
which I have alluded to before.&nbsp; There is to be found in our
metropolis, in our great towns, and even in our rural districts,
an extent of squalid misery such as we are almost afraid to give
heed to, and which we are glad to forget as soon as we have read
or heard of it.&nbsp; It may be that our ancestors endured, it
may be that many savage tribes still endure, far more privation
than is to be found in the sufferings of our lowest class.&nbsp;
But the mind refuses to consider the two states as analogous, and
insists upon thinking that the state of physical and moral
degradation often found amongst our working classes, with the
arabesque of splendour and luxury which surrounds it, is a more
shocking thing to contemplate than a pressing scarcity of
provisions <!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 5</span>endured by a wandering horde of savage
men sunk in equal barbarism.&nbsp; When we follow men home, who
have been cooperating with other civilized men in continuous
labour throughout the livelong day, we should not, without
experience, expect to find their homes dreary, comfortless,
deformed with filth, such homes as poverty alone could not
make.&nbsp; Still less, when we gaze upon some pleasant looking
village, fair enough in outward seeming for poets&rsquo; songs to
celebrate, should we expect to find scarcity of fuel, scantiness
of food, prevalence of fever, the healthy huddled together with
the sick, decency outraged, and self-respect all gone.&nbsp; And
yet such sights, both in town and country, if not of habitual
occurrence, are at any rate sadly too numerous for us to pass
them by as rare and exceptional cases.</p>
<p>Is this then the inevitable nature of things?&nbsp; Has the
boasted civilization of the world led only to this?&nbsp; Do we
master the powers of nature only to let forth a new and fierce
torrent of social miseries upon us?&nbsp; Let not such thoughts
be ours.&nbsp; Pagans, the slaves of destiny, might well have
held them.&nbsp; But <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 6</span>we cannot doubt that the conditions of
labour, under which man holds the earth, express the mercy and
the goodness, no less than the judgment, of God.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Many benevolent persons feel, doubtless, very sensitively for
the sad condition of the labouring classes, and are anxiously
looking about for remedies to meet it.&nbsp; I would not speak
slightingly of any attempt in that direction.&nbsp; There are
problems in political economy, in government, and, perhaps, even
in the adaptation of machinery, which may be worked out with
signal service to the great cause of suffering humanity.&nbsp; It
is not my intention, however, to dwell upon such topics.&nbsp; My
object is to show what can be done with the means that are at the
present moment in every body&rsquo;s power.&nbsp; Many a man, who
is looking about for some specific, has in his hands the
immediate means of doing great good, which he would be ready
enough to employ, if he had but imagination to perceive that he
possessed them.&nbsp; My endeavour then will simply be to show
what can be <!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 7</span>done by the employers of labour in
their individual and private capacity.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>What an important relation is that of Master and Man!&nbsp;
How it pervades the world; ascending from the lowest gradation of
planter and slave through the states of master and servant,
landlord and labourer, manufacturer and artisan, till it comes to
the higher degrees of rule which one cultivated man has to
exercise over another in the performance of the greatest
functions.&nbsp; See, throughout, what difficulties and
temptations encumber this relation.&nbsp; How boundless is the
field of thought which it opens to us, how infinite the duties
which it contains, how complete an exercise it is for the whole
faculties of man.&nbsp; Observe what wretchedness is caused by a
misunderstanding of this relation in domestic matters.&nbsp; See
the selfish carelessness about the happiness of those around them
of men not ill-intentioned, nor unkind, perhaps, in their
dealings with the world in general, but lamentably unfit for the
management of a home.&nbsp; Then observe the effects of similar
<!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
8</span>mismanagement in dealing with a country.&nbsp; Look at
the listless loiterers about an Irish town: you would naturally
say to yourself, &ldquo;Surely this people have done all that
there can be for them to do.&rdquo;&nbsp; You walk out of the
town, and find the adjacent fields as listless-looking, and
neglected, as the men themselves.&nbsp; Think what a want there
must be of masters of labour, that those hands and these weeds
are not brought into closer contact.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>It may be said that the distressed condition of the labouring
classes is owing to temporary causes, and that good times, by
which is meant good wages, would remove a large part of the
evil.&nbsp; I confess it does not appear to me that a good
harvest or two, or ready customers on the other side of the
Atlantic, or the home demand that may arise from exhausted
stocks, or any other cause of that nature which is simply to end
in better wages, would of itself do all, or even any considerable
part, of what we should desire.&nbsp; I do not, for a moment,
mean to depreciate the good effects that would flow from an
increase of <!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 9</span>employment and better wages.&nbsp; But
still I imagine that there are many cases in which, if you were,
in ordinary times, to double the amount of wages, a very
inadequate proportion of good would follow.&nbsp; You have to
teach these poor people how to spend money: you have to give them
the opportunities of doing so to advantage: you have to provide a
system of education which shall not vary with every fluctuation
of trade: and to adopt such methods of working as shall make the
least possible disturbance of domestic ties.&nbsp; No sudden
influx of money will do all these things.&nbsp; In fact, whatever
part of this subject one takes up, one is perpetually brought
back to the conviction of the necessity which exists for an
earnest and practical application, on the part of the employing
class, of thought and labour for the welfare of those whom they
employ.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Some of my readers may think that I have spoken of the
distress of the labouring population in exaggerated terms.&nbsp;
Let them only read the details of it in the Report of 1842, on
the Sanitary Condition of the labouring <!-- page 10--><a
name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>population,
or in the Report of last year, on the condition of the children
and young persons employed in mines and manufactures.&nbsp; I
scarcely know what extracts to give of these direful reports,
that may briefly convey the state of things to those who have not
studied the subject.&nbsp; Shall I tell them of children ignorant
who Jesus Christ was; or of others who know no more of the
Lord&rsquo;s Prayer than the first words, &ldquo;Our
Father:&rdquo; and whose nightly prayers begin and end with those
two words?&nbsp; Shall I tell them of great towns in which one
half at least of the juvenile population is growing up without
education of any kind whatever?&nbsp; Shall I show that working
people are often permitted to pass their labour time, the half of
their lives, in mines, workshops, and manufactories, where an
atmosphere of a deleterious kind prevails: and this, too, not
from any invincible evil in the nature of the employment, but
from a careless or penurious neglect on the part of their
employers?&nbsp; Shall I go into a lengthened description of the
habitations of the poor which will show that they are often worse
housed than beasts of burden?&nbsp; Or <!-- page 11--><a
name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>need I depict
at large the dark stream of profligacy which overflows and burns
into those parts of the land where such Want and Ignorance
prevail?</p>
<p>How many of these evils might have been mitigated, if not
fully removed, had each generation of masters done but a small
part of its duty in the way of amelioration.&nbsp; But it was not
of such things that they were thinking.&nbsp; The thoughtless
cruelty in the world almost outweighs the rest.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why vex me with these things?&rdquo; exclaims the
general reader.&nbsp; &ldquo;Have we not enough of dismal
stories?&nbsp; It oppresses us to hear them.&nbsp; Let us hope
that something will occur to prevent such things in future.&nbsp;
But I am not a redresser of grievances.&nbsp; Let those who live
by the manufacturing system cure the evils incident to it.&nbsp;
Oh that there had never been such a thing as a manufacturing
system!&rdquo;&nbsp; With thoughts vague, recriminatory, and
despondent, as the foregoing, does many a man push from him all
consideration on the subject.&nbsp; It is so easy to despair: and
the largeness of a calamity is so ready a shelter for those who
<!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
12</span>have not heart enough to adventure any opposition to
it.</p>
<p>Thus, by dwelling upon the magnitude of the evils we long to
lessen, we are frightened and soothed into letting our benevolent
wishes remain as wishes only.&nbsp; But surely a man may find a
sphere small enough, as well as large enough, for him to act
in.&nbsp; In all other pursuits, we are obliged to limit the
number and extent of our objects, in order to give full effect to
our endeavours: and so it should be with benevolence.&nbsp; The
foolish sluggard stares hopelessly into the intricacies of the
forest, and thinks that it can never be reclaimed.&nbsp; The
wiser man, the labourer, begins at his corner of the wood, and
makes out a task for himself for each day.&nbsp; Let not our
imaginations be employed on one side only.&nbsp; Think, that
large as may appear the work to be done&mdash;so too the result
of any endeavour, however small in itself, may be of infinite
extent in the future.&nbsp; Nothing is lost.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>And why should we despair?&nbsp; A great nation is never in
extreme peril until it has lost its hopeful spirit.&nbsp; If, at
this moment, a <!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 13</span>foreign enemy were on the point of
invading us, how strenuous we should be: what moral energy would
instantly pervade us.&nbsp; Faster than the beacon lights could
give the intelligence from headland to headland; from city to
city would spread the national enthusiasm of a people that would
never admit the thought of being conquered.&nbsp; Trust me, these
domestic evils are foes not less worthy of our attention than any
foreign invaders.&nbsp; It seems to me, I must confess, a thing
far more to be dreaded, that any considerable part of our
population should be growing up in a state of absolute ignorance,
than would be the danger, not new to us, of the combined
hostility of the civilized world.&nbsp; Our trials, as a nation,
like our individual ones, are perpetually varied as the world
progresses.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The old order changeth, yielding place to
new,<br />
And God fulfils himself in many ways.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>We have not the same evils to contend with as our ancestors
had; but we need the same stoutness of heart that bore them
through the contest.&nbsp; The sudden growth of things, excellent
in themselves, entangles the feet of <!-- page 14--><a
name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>that
generation amongst whom they spring up.&nbsp; There may be
something, too, in the progress of human affairs like the coming
in of the tide, which, for each succeeding wave; often seems as
much of a retreat as an advance: but still the tide comes on.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>The settled state of things attendant upon peace, and an
unquestioned dynasty, is good, as it enables men to look more to
civil affairs; but it has, perhaps, a drawback in a certain
apathy which is wont to accompany it.&nbsp; The ordinary
arrangements of social life, for a long time uninterrupted by any
large calamity, appear to become hardened into certainties.&nbsp;
A similar course of argument would, on a large scale, apply not
only to this country, but to the world in general.&nbsp; Security
is the chief end of civilization, and as it progresses, the
fortunes of individuals are, upon the whole, made less liable to
derangement.&nbsp; This very security may tend to make men
careless of the welfare of others, and, as Bacon would express
it, may be noted as an impediment to benevolence.&nbsp; I have
often thought, whether in former times, when men <!-- page
15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
15</span>looked to those immediately around them as their body
guard against sudden and violent attacks, they ventured to show
as much ill-temper to those they lived with as you sometimes see
them do now, when assistance of all kinds is a purchasable
commodity.&nbsp; Considerations of this nature are particularly
applicable when addressed to persons living in a great capital
like London.&nbsp; All things that concern the nation, its joys,
its sorrows, and its successes, are transacted in this
metropolis; or, as one might more properly say, are represented
in transactions in this metropolis.&nbsp; But still this often
happens in such a manner as would be imperceptible even to people
of vast experience and observation.&nbsp; The countless impulses
which travel up from various directions to this absorbing centre
sometimes neutralize each other, and leave a comparative calm; or
they create so complex an agitation, that it may be next to
impossible for us to discern and estimate the component
forces.&nbsp; Hence the metropolis may not at times be
sufficiently susceptible in the case either of manufacturing or
agricultural distress, or of any colonial perturbation.&nbsp;
This <!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
16</span>metropolitan insensibility has some great advantages,
but it is well for us to observe the corresponding evil, and, as
far as may be, to guard our own hearts from being rendered
apathetic by its influence.</p>
<p>I do not seek to terrify any one into a care for the labouring
classes, by representing the danger to society of neglecting
them.&nbsp; It is certainly a fearful thing to think of large
masses of men being in that state of want and misery which leaves
them nothing to hazard; and who are likely to be without the
slightest reverence or love for the institutions around
them.&nbsp; Still it is not to any fear, grounded on such
considerations, that I would appeal.&nbsp; The flood-gates may be
strong enough to keep out the torrent for our time.&nbsp; These
things are not in our reckonings.&nbsp; Occasionally the
upheaving of the waves may frighten timid, selfish, men into
concessions which they would not otherwise have made; but those
whom I would seek to influence, are likely to court danger and
difficulty rather than to shun it.&nbsp; Nor would I even care to
disturb the purely selfish man by dwelling studiously on any
social dangers around us, <!-- page 17--><a
name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>or labouring
to discern in present disturbance or distress the seeds of
inevitable revolution.&nbsp; No, I would say to him, if it all
ends here,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;But here, upon this bank and shoal of
time,&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>you may have chosen wisely.&nbsp; It is true, there are
sources of happiness which you now know nothing of, and which may
be far beyond any selfish gratification you have ever
experienced.&nbsp; Indeed, it may be, that you cannot enjoy the
highest delights without sharing them, that they are not things
to be given out to each of us as individuals, now to this man,
then to that, but that they require a community of love.&nbsp;
But, at any rate, I do not wish to scare you into active and
useful exertion by indicating that you are, otherwise, in danger
of losing any of the good things of this world.</p>
<p>The great motive to appeal to, is not a man&rsquo;s
apprehension of personal loss or suffering, but his fear of
neglecting a sacred duty.&nbsp; And it will be found here, I
believe, as elsewhere, that the highest motives are those of the
most sustained efficiency.</p>
<p>But little as I would counsel despair, or <!-- page 18--><a
name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>encourage
apathy, or seek to influence by terror, it is not that I look to
the &ldquo;course of events,&rdquo; or any other rounded
collection of words, to do anything for us.&nbsp; What is this
&ldquo;course of events&rdquo; but the continuity of human
endeavour?&nbsp; And giving all due weight to the influence of
those general currents which attend the progress of opinions and
institutions, we must still allow largely for the effect of
individual character, and individual exertions.&nbsp; The main
direction that the stream will take is manifest enough perhaps;
but it may come down upon long tracts of level ground which it
will overspread quietly, or it may enter into some rocky channel
which will control it; or it may meet with some ineffectual mud
embankment which it will overthrow with devastation.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Putting aside then such phrases as &ldquo;course of
events,&rdquo; and the like, let us look to men.&nbsp; And whom
shall we look to first but the Masters of Thought?&nbsp; Surely
the true poet will do something to lift the burden of his own
age.&nbsp; What is the use of wondrous gifts of language, if they
are employed to enervate, <!-- page 19--><a
name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>and not to
ennoble, their hearers?&nbsp; What avails it to trim the lights
of history, if they are made to throw no brightness on the
present, or open no track into the future?&nbsp; And to employ
Imagination only in the service of Vanity, or Gain, is as if an
astronomer were to use his telescope to magnify the potherbs in
his kitchen garden.</p>
<p>Think what a glorious power is that of expression: and what
responsibility follows the man who possesses it.&nbsp; That grace
of language which can make even commonplace things beautiful,
throwing robes of the poorest texture into forms of
all-attractive loveliness: why does it not expend its genius on
materials that would be worthy of the artist?&nbsp; The great
interests of Man are before it, are crying for it, can absorb all
its endeavour, are, indeed, the noblest field for it.&nbsp; Think
of this&mdash;then think what a waste of high intellectual
endowments there has been in all ages from the meanest of
motives.&nbsp; But what wise man would not rather have the
harmless fame, which youths, on a holiday, scratch for themselves
upon the leaden roof of some cathedral tower, than enjoy the
undeniable <!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 20</span>renown of those who, with whatever
power, have written from slight or unworthy motives what may
prove a hindrance, rather than an aid, to the well-being of their
fellow-men?</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>But, passing from those who are often the real, though
unrecognized, rulers of their own age, and the despots of the
succeeding generation, let us turn to the ostensible and
immediate ruling powers.&nbsp; Assuredly the government may do
something towards removing part of the evils we have been
considering as connected with the system of labour.&nbsp; It
seems as if there were a want of more departments; and certainly
of many more able men.&nbsp; The progress of any social
improvement appears to depend too much on chance and
clamour.&nbsp; I do not suppose, for a moment, that we can have
the cut-and-dried executive, or legislative, arrangements that
belong to despotic governments; and it is, in some respects, a
wholesome fear that we have of the interference of
government.&nbsp; Still, we may recollect that England is not a
small <!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 21</span>state, nor an inactive one, where the
public energies are likely to be deadened, or overridden, by
activity on the part of the government, which might, perhaps,
with much safety undertake more than it has been wont to
do.&nbsp; One thing is certain, that it may do great good, if it
would but look out for men of ability to fill the offices at
present in its gift.&nbsp; No government need fear such a course
as destructive to its party interests.&nbsp; In appointing and
promoting the fittest men, you are likely to ensure more
gratitude than if you selected those, who being the creatures of
your kindness, could never, you imagine, be otherwise than most
grateful for it.&nbsp; Weak people are seldom much given to
gratitude: and even if they were, it is dearly that you purchase
their allegiance; for there are few things which, on the long
run, displease the public more than bad appointments.&nbsp; But,
putting aside the political expediency either way, it is really a
sacred duty in a statesman to choose fit agents.&nbsp; Observe
the whirlpool of folly that a weak man contrives to create round
him: and see, on the other hand, with <!-- page 22--><a
name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>what small
means, a wise man manages to have influence and respect, and
force, in whatever may be his sphere.</p>
<p>I have thought, for example, with regard to the Suppression of
the Slave Trade, that amongst all the devices that can be
suggested, one of the first things would be to tempt very
superior men, by large inducements, to take the judicial
situations in the Mixed Commissions, or any other appointments,
in slave-trading parts of the world.&nbsp; We may expect great
results whenever real ability is brought into personal contact
with the evils we wish it to overcome.</p>
<p>There is a matter connected with the functions of government
which seems to be worthy of notice; and that is, the distribution
of honours.&nbsp; These honours are part of the resources of the
state; and it is a most spendthrift thing to bestow them as they
frequently are bestowed.&nbsp; It is not merely that government
gives them unworthily: it absolutely plays with them; gives them,
as one might say, for the drollery of the thing, when it adds a
title to some foolish person, whose merits not even the Public
Orator at a university <!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 23</span>could discover.&nbsp; It is idle to
talk of such things being customary.&nbsp; A great minister would
not recommend his sovereign to confer honours on such people; and
sensible men would be glad to see that the resources of the
state, in all ways, were dealt with considerately.</p>
<p>The above reflections are not foreign to the main subject of
this essay; for a government, having at heart the improvement of
the labouring population, or any other social matter, might
direct the stream of honours towards those who were of service to
the state in this matter, and so might make the civic crown what
it was in ancient days.&nbsp; Not, however, that I mean to say
that the best men are to be swayed by these baubles.&nbsp; The
hope of reward is not the source of the highest endeavour.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>There is a class of persons who interest themselves so far in
the condition of the labouring population, as to bring forward
sad instances of suffering, and then to say, &ldquo;Our rich men
should look to these things.&rdquo;&nbsp; This kind of
benevolence delights to bring <!-- page 24--><a
name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>together, in
startling contrast, the condition of different classes, and then
to indulge in much moral reflection.&nbsp; Now riches are very
potent in their way; but a great heart is often more wanted than
a full purse.&nbsp; I speak it not in any disparagement of the
rich or great, when I say that we must not trust to them
alone.&nbsp; Amongst them are many who use their riches as
God&rsquo;s stewards; but the evils which we have to contend
against are to be met by a general impulse in the right direction
of people of all classes.&nbsp; There are instances where a
man&rsquo;s wealth enables him to set forth more distinctly to
the world&rsquo;s eye some work of benevolence, even to be the
pioneer in improvements, which persons of smaller fortunes could
scarcely have effected.&nbsp; In such a case great indeed is the
advantage of riches.&nbsp; But do not let us accustom our minds
to throw the burden of good works on the shoulders of any
particular class.&nbsp; God has not given a monopoly of
benevolence to the rich.</p>
<p>What I have just said about individual rich men, applies in
some measure to associations for benevolent purposes.&nbsp; They
are <!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
25</span>to be looked upon as accessories&mdash;sometimes very
useful ones&mdash;but they are not to be expected to supersede
private enterprise.&nbsp; A man should neither wait for them;
nor, when they exist, should he try to throw his duties upon
them, and indolently expect that they are to think and act in all
cases for him.&nbsp; Wherever a strong feeling on any subject
exists, societies will naturally spring up in connexion with
it.&nbsp; What such bodies have to do, is to direct their
energies to those parts of the matter in which it is especially
difficult for private enterprise to succeed.&nbsp; And private
individuals should be cautious of slackening their endeavours in
any good cause, merely because they are aware that some society
exists which has the same object in view.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>I come now to some member of that large class of persons who
are not rich, nor great employers of labour, nor in any station
of peculiar influence.&nbsp; He shudders as he reads those
startling instances of suffering or crime in which the distress
and ignorance of the labouring population will, occasionally,
break <!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 26</span>out into the notice of the
world.&nbsp; &ldquo;What can I do?&rdquo; he exclaims.&nbsp;
&ldquo;I feel with intensity the horrors I read of: but what can
one man do?&rdquo;&nbsp; I only ask him to study what he
feels.&nbsp; He is a citizen.&nbsp; He cannot be such an isolated
being as to have no influence.&nbsp; The conclusions which he
comes to, after mature reflection, will not be without their
weight.&nbsp; If individual citizens were anxious to form their
opinions with care, on those questions respecting which they will
have to vote and to act, there would be little need of organized
bodies of men to carry great measures into effect.&nbsp; The main
current of public opinion is made up of innumerable rills, so
small, perhaps, that a child might with its foot divert the
course of any one of them: but collected together they rush down
with a force that is irresistible.&nbsp; If those who have
actively to distribute the labour of the world knew that you, the
great mass of private men, regarded them not for their money, but
for their conduct to those in their employ, not for the portion
which they may contrive to get for themselves, but for the
well-being which they may give rise to, and regulate <!-- page
27--><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
27</span>amongst others; why then your thoughts would be motives
to them, urging them on in the right path.&nbsp; Besides, you
would not stop at thinking.&nbsp; The man who gives time and
thought to the welfare of others will seldom be found to grudge
them anything else.</p>
<p>Again, have not you, though not manufacturers, or
master-workmen, or owners of land, have not you dependents, in
whose behalf you may find exercise for the principles to which I
am convinced that study in this matter will lead you?&nbsp; Your
regard for servants is a case in point.&nbsp; And, moreover, you
may show in your ordinary, every day, dealings with the employers
of labour a considerateness for those under them, which may
awaken the employers to a more lively care themselves.&nbsp; Only
reflect on the duty: opportunities of testing the strength of
your resolves will not be wanting.</p>
<p>We sometimes feel thoroughly impressed by some good thought,
or just example, that we meet with in study or real life, but as
if we had no means of applying it.&nbsp; We cannot at once shape
for ourselves a course that shall embrace this newly acquired
wisdom.&nbsp; <!-- page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 28</span>Often it seems too grand for the
occasions of ordinary life; and we fear that we must keep it laid
up for some eventful day, as nice housewives their stateliest
furniture.&nbsp; However, if we keep it close to the heart, and
make but the least beginning with it, our infant practice leads
to something better, or grows into something ampler.&nbsp; In
real life there are no isolated points.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>You, who have but few dependents, or, perhaps, but one drudge
dependent upon you, whether as servant, apprentice, or hired
labourer, do not think that you have not an ample opportunity for
exercising the duties of an employer of labour.&nbsp; Do not
suppose that these duties belong to the great manufacturer with
the population of a small town in his own factory, or to the
landlord with vast territorial possessions, and that you have
nothing to do with them.&nbsp; The Searcher of all hearts may
make as ample a trial of you in your conduct to one poor
dependent, as of the man who is appointed to lead armies and
administer provinces.&nbsp; Nay, your treatment of some animal
entrusted to your care may <!-- page 29--><a
name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>be a history
as significant for you, as the chronicles of kings for
them.&nbsp; The moral experiments in the world may be tried with
the smallest quantities.</p>
<p>I cannot quit this part of the subject without alluding more
directly to the duties of the employers of domestic
servants.&nbsp; Of course the principles which should regulate
the conduct of masters and mistresses towards their servants, are
the same as those which should regulate the employers of labour
generally.&nbsp; But there are some peculiar circumstances which
need to be noticed in the application of these principles.&nbsp;
That, in this case, the employers and the employed are members of
one family, is a circumstance which intensifies the
relation.&nbsp; It is a sad thing for a man to pass the working
part of his day with an exacting, unkind, master: but still, if
the workman returns at evening to a home that is his own, there
is a sense of coming joy and freedom which may support him
throughout the weary hours of labour.&nbsp; But think what it
must be to share one&rsquo;s home with one&rsquo;s oppressor; to
have no recurring time when one is certain to be free from those
<!-- page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
30</span>harsh words, and unjust censures, which are almost more
than blows, aye even to those natures we are apt to fancy so
hardened to rebuke.&nbsp; Imagine the deadness of heart that must
prevail in that poor wretch who never hears the sweet words of
praise or of encouragement.&nbsp; Many masters of families, men
living in the rapid current of the world, who are subject to a
variety of impressions which, in their busy minds, are made and
effaced even in the course of a single day, can with difficulty
estimate the force of unkind words upon those whose monotonous
life leaves few opportunities of effacing any unwelcome
impression.&nbsp; There is nothing in which the aid of
imagination, that handmaid of charity, may be more advantageously
employed, than in considering the condition of domestic
servants.&nbsp; Let a man endeavour to realize it to himself, let
him think of its narrow sphere, of its unvarying nature, and he
will be careful not to throw in, unnecessarily, the trouble even
of a single harsh word, which may make so large a disturbance in
the shallow current of a domestic&rsquo;s hopes and joys.&nbsp;
How often, on the contrary, do you find that <!-- page 31--><a
name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>masters seem
to have no apprehension of the feelings of those under them, no
idea of any duties on their side beyond &ldquo;cash
payment,&rdquo; whereas the good, old, patriarchal feeling
towards your household is one which the mere introduction of
money wages has not by any means superseded, and which cannot, in
fact, be superseded.&nbsp; You would bear with lenity from a
child many things, for which, in a servant, you can find nothing
but the harshest names.&nbsp; Yet how often are these poor,
uneducated, creatures little better than children!&nbsp; You
talk, too, of ingratitude from them, when, if you reflected a
little, you would see that they do not understand your
benefits.&nbsp; It is hard enough sometimes to make benefits sink
into men&rsquo;s hearts, even when your good offices are
illustrated by much kindness of words and manner; but to expect
that servants should at once appreciate your care for them is
surely most unreasonable, especially if it is not accompanied by
a manifest regard and sympathy.&nbsp; You would not expect it, if
you saw the child-like relation in which they stand to you.</p>
<p>Another mode of viewing with charity the <!-- page 32--><a
name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>conduct of
domestic servants, is to imagine what manner of servant you would
make yourself, or any one of those whom in your own rank you
esteem and love.&nbsp; Do you not perceive, in almost every
character, some element which would occasionally make its
possessor fail in performing the duties of domestic
service?&nbsp; Do you find that faithfulness, accuracy,
diligence, and truth pervade the circle of your equals in such
abundance that you should be exorbitantly angry, the moment you
perceive a deficiency in such qualities amongst those who have
been but indifferently brought up, and who, perhaps, have early
imbibed those vices of their class, fear and falsehood; vices
which their employers can only hope to eradicate by a long course
of considerate kindness?</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>I do not speak of the conduct of masters and mistresses as an
easy matter: on the contrary, I believe that it is one of the
most difficult functions in life.&nbsp; If, however, men only saw
the difficulty, they would see the worthiness of trying to
overcome it.&nbsp; You observe a man becoming day by day richer,
<!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
33</span>or advancing in station, or increasing in professional
reputation, and you set him down as a successful man in
life.&nbsp; But, if his home is an ill-regulated one, where no
links of affection extend throughout the family, whose former
domestics (and he has had more of them than he can well remember)
look back upon their sojourn with him as one unblessed by kind
words or deeds, I contend that that man has not been
successful.&nbsp; Whatever good fortune he may have in the world,
it is to be remembered that he has always left one important
fortress untaken behind him.&nbsp; That man&rsquo;s life does not
surely read well whose benevolence has found no central
home.&nbsp; It may have sent forth rays in various directions,
but there should have been a warm focus of love&mdash;that home
nest which is formed round a good man&rsquo;s heart.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Having spoken of some of the duties of private persons, we
come now to the great employers of labour.&nbsp; Would that they
all saw the greatness of their position.&nbsp; Strange as it may
sound, they are the successors of the feudal barons, they it is
who lead thousands to <!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 34</span>peaceful conquests, and upon whom, in
great measure, depends the happiness of large masses of
mankind.&nbsp; As Mr. Carlyle says, &ldquo;The Leaders of
Industry, if Industry is ever to be led, are virtually the
Captains of the World; if there be no nobleness in them, there
will never be an Aristocracy more.&rdquo;&nbsp; Can a man, who
has this destiny entrusted to him, imagine that his vocation
consists merely in getting together a large lump of gold, and
then being off with it, to enjoy it, as he fancies, in some other
place: as if that which is but a small part of his business in
life, were all in all to him; as if indeed, the parable of the
talents were to be taken literally, and that a man should think
that he has done his part when he has made much gold and silver
out of little?&nbsp; If these men saw their position rightly,
what would be their objects, what their pleasures?&nbsp; Their
objects would not consist in foolish vyings with each other about
the grandeur or the glitter of life.&nbsp; But in directing the
employment of labour, they would find room for the exercise of
all the powers of their minds, of their best affections, and of
whatever was worthy in their ambition.&nbsp; <!-- page 35--><a
name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>Their
occupation, so far from being a limited sphere of action, is one
which may give scope to minds of the most various capacity.&nbsp;
While one man may undertake those obvious labours of benevolent
superintendence which are of immediate and pressing necessity,
another may devote himself to more remote and indirect methods of
improving the condition of those about him, which are often not
the less valuable because of their indirectness.&nbsp; In short,
it is evident that to lead the labour of large masses of people,
and to do that, not merely with a view to the greatest product of
commodities, but to the best interests of the producers, is a
matter which will sufficiently and worthily occupy men of the
strongest minds aided by all the attainments which cultivation
can bestow.</p>
<p>I do not wish to assert a principle larger than the occasion
demands: and I am, therefore unwilling to declare that we cannot
justly enter into a relation so meagre with our fellow-creatures,
as that of employing all their labour, and giving them nothing
but money in return.&nbsp; There might, perhaps, be a state of
society in which such a relation would not be <!-- page 36--><a
name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>culpable, a
state in which the great mass of the employed were cultivated and
considerate men; and where the common interests of master and man
were well understood.&nbsp; But we have not to deal with any such
imaginary case.&nbsp; So far from working men being the
considerate creatures we have just imagined them, it is
absolutely requisite to protect, in the most stringent manner,
the interests of the children against the parents, who are often
anxious to employ their little ones most immaturely.&nbsp; Nay
more&mdash;it is notorious that working men will frequently omit
to take even the slightest precaution in matters connected with
the preservation of their own lives.&nbsp; If these poor men do
not demand from you as Christians something more than mere money
wages, what do the injunctions about charity mean?&nbsp; If those
employed by you are not your neighbours, who are?</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>But, some great employer may exclaim: &ldquo;It is hard that
we the agents between the consumer and the producer should have
all the sacrifices to make, should have all the labouring
population thrown, as it were, on <!-- page 37--><a
name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>our
hands.&rdquo;&nbsp; In reply, I say that I have laid down no such
doctrine.&nbsp; I have urged the consumer to perform his duties,
and tried to point out to him what some of those duties
are.&nbsp; As a citizen, he may employ himself in understanding
this subject, and in directing others rightly; he may, in his
capacity of voter, or in his fair influence on voters, urge upon
the state its duty, and show, that as an individual, he would
gladly bear his share of any increased burdens which that duty
might entail upon the state.&nbsp; He may prove in many ways, as
a mere purchaser, his concern for the interests of the
producer.&nbsp; And there are, doubtless, occasions on which you,
the great employers of labour, may call upon him to make large
sacrifices of his money, his time, and his thoughts, for the
welfare of the labouring classes.&nbsp; His example and his
encouragement may cheer you on; and as a citizen, as an
instructor, as a neighbour, in all the capacities of life, he may
act and speak in a way that may indirectly, if not directly,
support your more manifest endeavours in the same good
cause.&nbsp; It is to no one class that I speak.&nbsp; We are all
bound to do something <!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 38</span>towards this good work.&nbsp; If,
hereafter, I go more into detail as regards the especial methods
of improving his work-people that a manufacturer might employ, it
is not that I wish to point out manufacturers as a class
especially deficient in right feelings towards those under
them.&nbsp; Far from it.&nbsp; Much of what I shall venture to
suggest has been learnt from what I have seen and heard, amongst
the manufacturers themselves.</p>
<h3><!-- page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
39</span>CHAPTER II.<br />
<span class="smcap">Social Government</span>.</h3>
<p>Supposing, reader, that whether you are manufacturer,
master-workman, owner of land, or private individual, you are now
thoroughly impressed with the duty of attending to the welfare of
your dependants; I proceed to make some general reflections which
may aid you in your outset, or sustain you in the progress, of
your endeavours.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>And, first, let me implore you not to delay that outset.&nbsp;
Make a beginning at once, at least in investigating the matters
to which I have striven to draw your attention.&nbsp; It is no
curious work of art that you have to take up; it requires no
nicety of apprehension; <!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 40</span>you can hardly begin wrongly, I do
not say in action, but in the preparation for action.&nbsp;
However little of each day you may be able to call your own for
this purpose, it is better to begin with that little than to wait
for some signal time of leisure.&nbsp; Routine encumbers us; our
days are frittered away by most minute employments that we cannot
control; and, when spare moments do occur, we are mostly
unprepared with any pursuits of our own to go on with.&nbsp;
Hence it is, that the most obvious evils go on, generation after
generation, people not having time, as they would say, to
interfere.&nbsp; Men are for ever putting off the concerns which
should be dearest to them to a &ldquo;more convenient
season,&rdquo; when, as they hope, there may be fewer trifles to
distract their attention: but a great work, which is to commence
in the heart, requires not to have the first stone laid for it,
with pomp, upon some holiday.&nbsp; It. is good to have made a
beginning upon it at any time.</p>
<p>The wisdom, or the folly, of delay is in most instances like
that of a traveller coming to a stream, and wishing to ford it,
yet continuing <!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 41</span>his journey along its banks: and
whether this is wise, or not, depends mainly on the simple fact,
of whether he is walking up to the source, or down to the
fall.&nbsp; The latter is apt to be the direction in the case of
our generous resolves: their difficulty widens as I we delay to
act upon them.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Throughout the progress of your work, there is nothing that
you will have more frequently to be mindful of than your views
with respect to self-advancement.&nbsp; To take one form of it,
the acquisition of money.&nbsp; Money, as Charles Lamb, a great
despiser of cant, observed, is not dross, but books, pictures,
wines, and many pleasant things.&nbsp; Still I suspect that money
is more sought after to gratify vanity, than to possess the means
of enjoying any of the above named pleasant things.&nbsp; Money
is so much desired, because it is a measure of success; so much
regretted, because we fancy the loss of it leaves us powerless
and contemptible.&nbsp; That kind of satire, therefore, which
delights to dwell upon the general subserviency to wealth is not
likely to make men less desirous of riches.&nbsp; <!-- page
42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>But a
man would be likely to estimate more reasonably the possession of
money and of all kinds of self-advancement, if he did but
perceive, that even a man&rsquo;s worldly success is not to be
measured by his success for himself alone, but by the result of
his endeavours for the great family of man.</p>
<p>There is a source of contemplation which nature affords us,
one, too, that is open to the dweller in crowded cities as well
as to the shepherd on Salisbury plain, and which might sometimes
suggest the foolishness of an inordinate love of money.&nbsp;
Consider the prospect which each unveiled night affords us,
telling of wonders such as we have hardly the units of
measurement to estimate; and then think how strange it is that we
should ever allow our petty personal possessions of to-day to
render us blind to the duties, which, alone, are the great
realities of life.&nbsp; There was some excuse, perhaps, for the
men of olden time, who looked upon this earth, the birth-place of
their gods, as no mean territory.&nbsp; That they should dote
upon terrestrial things was not to be wondered at.&nbsp; But what
is to be said for us who know that this <!-- page 43--><a
name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>small planet
is but a speck, as it were, from which we look out upon the
profusion of immensity.&nbsp; To think that a man, who knows
this, should nevertheless not hesitate to soil his soul, lying
here, cringing there, pursuing tortuous schemes of most corrupt
policy; or that he should ever suffer himself to be immersed,
innocently, if it may be so, in selfish, worldly pursuits,
forgetful of all else; when, at the best, it is but to win some
acres of this transitory earth, or to be noted as one who has
been successful for himself.&nbsp; The folly of the gambling
savage, who stakes his liberty against a handful of cowrie shells
is nothing to it.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Perhaps the next thing that is likely to divert you from
useful endeavours for the benefit of others is fear of criticism:
you do not know what the world will say: indeed, they may
pronounce you an enthusiast, which word, of itself, is an icy
blast of ridicule to a timid mind.&nbsp; You shudder at doing
anything unusual, and even hear by anticipation the laugh of your
particular friends.&nbsp; You are especially ashamed at appearing
to care for <!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 44</span>what those about you do not care
for.&nbsp; A laugh at your humanity, or your
&ldquo;theories,&rdquo; would disconcert you.&nbsp; You are
fearfully anxious that any project of benevolence you undertake
should succeed, not altogether on its own account, but because
your sagacity is embarked in it, and plentiful will be the gibes
at its failure, if it should fail.&nbsp; Put these fears
aside.&nbsp; All that is prominent, all that acts, must lay
itself open to shallow criticism.&nbsp; It has been said that in
no case of old age, however extreme, has the faculty for giving
advice been known to decay; depend upon it, that of criticism
flourishes in the most indolent, the most feeble, the most doting
minds.&nbsp; Let not the wheels of your endeavour be stayed by
accumulated rubbish of this kind.&nbsp; We are afraid of
responsibility, afraid of what people may say of us, afraid of
being alone in doing right: in short, the courage which is allied
to no passion&mdash;Christian courage as it may be
called&mdash;is in all ages and amongst all people, one of the
rarest possessions.</p>
<p>The fear of ridicule is the effeminacy of the soul.</p>
<p><!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
45</span>Great enterprises&mdash;and for you this attempt to make
your working men happier is a great enterprise&mdash;great
enterprises demand an habitual self-sacrifice in little things:
and, hard as it may be to keep fully in mind the enterprise
itself, it is often harder still to maintain a just sense of the
connection between it and these said trifling points of conduct,
which, perhaps, in any single instance, seem so slightly and so
remotely connected with it.&nbsp; But remember it is not always
over great impediments that men are liable to stumble most
fatally.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>You must not expect immediate and obvious gratitude to crown
your exertions.&nbsp; The benevolence that has not duty for its
stem, but merely springs from some affectionateness of nature,
must often languish, I fear, when it comes to count up its
returns in the way of grateful affection from those whom it has
toiled for.&nbsp; And yet the fault is often as much in the
impatience and unreasonable expectation of the benefactors, as in
any ingratitude on the part of the persons benefited.&nbsp; <!--
page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
46</span>If you must look for gratitude, at any rate consider
whether your exertions are likely to be fully understood at
present by those whom you have served; and whether it is not a
reversion, rather than an immediate return, that you should look
for&mdash;a reversion, too, in many cases to be realized only on
the death of the benefactor.&nbsp; Moreover, it is useless and
unreasonable to expect that any motives of gratitude will
uniformly modify for you the peculiar tempers and dispositions of
those whom you have served.&nbsp; Your benefits did not represent
a permanent state of mind: neither will their gratitude.&nbsp;
The sense of obligation, even in most faithful hearts, is often
dormant; but evil tempers answer quickly to the lightest
summons.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>In all your projects for the good of others, beware lest your
benevolence should have too much of a spirit of
interference.&nbsp; Consider what it is you want to
produce.&nbsp; Not an outward, passive, conformity to your
wishes, but something vital which shall generate the feelings and
habits you long to see manifested.&nbsp; You can clip a tree into
<!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
47</span>any form you please, but if you wish it to bear fruit
when it has been barren, you must attend to what is beneath the
surface, you must feed the roots.&nbsp; You must furnish it with
that nutriment, you must supply it with those opportunities of
sunshine, which will enable it to use its own energies.&nbsp; See
how the general course of the world is governed.&nbsp; How slowly
are those great improvements matured which our impatient nature
might expect to have been effected at a single stroke.&nbsp; What
tyrannies have been under the sun, things which we can hardly
read of without longing for some direct divine interference to
have taken place.&nbsp; Indeed, if other testimony were wanting,
the cruelties permitted on earth present an awful idea of the
general freedom of action entrusted to mankind.&nbsp; And can you
think that it is left for you to drill men suddenly into your
notions, or to produce moral ends by mere mechanical means?&nbsp;
You will avoid much of this foolish spirit if you are really
unselfish in your purposes; if, in dealing with those whom you
would benefit, you refer your operations to them as the centre,
and not to yourself, and the successes <!-- page 48--><a
name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>of your
plans.&nbsp; There is a noble passage in the history of the first
great Douglas, the &ldquo;good Lord James,&rdquo; who, just
before the battle of Bannockburn, seeing Randolph, his rival in
arms, with a small body of men, contending against a much
superior English force, rushed to his aid.&nbsp; &ldquo;The
little body of Randolph,&rdquo; says Sir Walter Scott, &ldquo;was
seen emerging like a rock in the waves, from which the English
cavalry were retreating on every side with broken ranks, like a
repelled tide.&nbsp; &lsquo;Hold and halt!&rsquo; said the
Douglas to his followers; &lsquo;we are come too late to aid
them; let us not lessen the victory they have won by affecting to
claim a share in it.&rsquo;&rdquo;&nbsp; It is the self-denying
nature of this chivalrous deed that I would apply to far other
circumstances.&nbsp; The interfering spirit, which I deprecate,
would come, not to consummate the victory, but to hinder it.</p>
<p>For similar reasons I would have you take care that you do not
adopt mere rules, and seek to impress them rigidly upon others,
as if they were general principles, which must at once be
suitable to all mankind.&nbsp; Do not imagine that your
individual threads of experience <!-- page 49--><a
name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>form a woven
garment of prudence, capable of fitting with exactness any member
of the whole human family.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>There are several ungenerous motives, of some subtlety, which
hide in the dark corners of the heart, and stand in the way of
benevolence.&nbsp; For instance, even in good minds, there is apt
to lurk some tinge of fear, or of dislike, at the prospect of an
undoubted amelioration of the lot of others coming too fast, as
these good people would say.&nbsp; Indeed, some persons find it
hard to reconcile themselves to the idea of others&rsquo; burdens
being readily removed, even when they themselves are making
exertions to remove them.</p>
<p>Another feeling to beware of, is that of envy, which, strange
as it seems, may sometimes arise upon the view of that very
prosperity, which the person, feeling envy, has helped to
create.&nbsp; The truth is, it is comparatively easy to avoid
being envious of the good fortune which was established before
our time, or which is out of our own sphere: but to be quite
pleased with the good fortune <!-- page 50--><a
name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>of those whom
we recollect in other circumstances, and who, perhaps, have been
accustomed to ask advice or assistance from us&mdash;that is the
trial.</p>
<p>Another ungenerous sentiment, similar to the foregoing, and
likely at times to prove a hindrance to benevolent exertion,
arises from the comparison of our own past lot with that of the
persons whose condition is sought to be improved.&nbsp; Most of
us have a little tendency to grudge them this amelioration.&nbsp;
We should shudder at the brutality of one, who, having attained
to power, is more cruel because he has suffered much himself,
(&ldquo;<i>eo immitior quia toleraverat</i>&rdquo;); but are we
not of a like spirit, if any dissatisfaction steals over our
minds at seeing others exempt from those sufferings, which in our
own career fell heavily upon us.&nbsp; It is difficult to
dislodge this kind of selfishness from the heart.&nbsp; Indeed,
there can hardly be a surer symptom of sound benevolence in a
man, than his taking pleasure in those paths being smoothened
which he will never have to traverse again: I do not say in
making them smoother&mdash;it is much easier to reconcile himself
to <!-- page 51--><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
51</span>that&mdash;but in their being made so without his
interference.</p>
<p>It would be well, indeed, if selfishness came into play on
those occasions only where self is really concerned.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>There is nothing which a wise employer will have more at heart
than to gain the confidence of those under him.&nbsp; The
essential requisites on his part are truth and kindness.&nbsp;
These qualities may, however, belong in a high degree to persons
who fail to gain the confidence of their dependents.&nbsp; In
domestic life, confidence may be prevented by fits of capricious
passion on the part of the ruling powers; and a man who, in all
important matters, acts justly and kindly towards his family, may
be deprived of their confidence by his weakness of temper in
little things.&nbsp; For instance, you meet with persons who fall
into a violent way of talking about all that offends them in
their dependents; and who express themselves with as much anger
about trivial inadvertencies as about serious moral
offences.&nbsp; In the course of the same day that they have
given way to some outbreak <!-- page 52--><a
name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>of temper,
they may act with great self-denial and watchful kindness; but
they can hardly expect their subordinates to be at ease with
them.&nbsp; Another defect which prevents confidence, is a
certain sterility of character, which does not allow of sympathy
with other people&rsquo;s fancies and pursuits.&nbsp; A man of
this character does not understand any likings but his own.&nbsp;
He will be kind to you, if you will be happy in his way; but he
has nothing but ridicule or coldness for any thing which does not
suit him.&nbsp; This imperfection of sympathy, which prevents an
equal from becoming a friend, may easily make a superior into a
despot.&nbsp; Indeed, I almost doubt whether the head of a family
does not do more mischief if he is unsympathetic, than even if he
were unjust.&nbsp; The triumph of domestic rule is for the
master&rsquo;s presence not to be felt as a restraint.</p>
<p>In a larger sphere than the domestic one, such as amongst the
employers of labour and their men, the same elements are required
on the part of the masters to produce confidence.&nbsp; Much
frankness also and decisiveness are required.&nbsp; The more
uneducated <!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 53</span>people are, the more suspicious they
are likely to be: and the best way of meeting this suspiciousness
is to have as few concealments as possible; for instance, not to
omit stating any motives relating to your own interest as master,
which may influence your conduct towards your men.</p>
<p>There is a class of persons brought into contact with the
employers of labour and their men, who might often do good
service to both, by endeavouring, when it is deserved, to inspire
the men with confidence in the kindly intentions of their
masters.&nbsp; This is a duty which belongs to the clergy and
professional men in manufacturing towns.&nbsp; There are many
things which a man cannot say for himself; and, as Bacon has
observed, it is one of the advantages of friendship, that it
provides some person to say these things for one.&nbsp; So, in
this case, it must often have a very good effect, when a
bystander, as it were, explains to the men the kind wishes and
endeavours of a master manufacturer, which explanation would come
with much less force and grace from the master himself.</p>
<p><!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
54</span>I now come to a subject bordering on the former, namely,
the political confidence of the operatives.&nbsp; I am afraid,
that, at present, there is a great distrust amongst them of
public men.&nbsp; This is not to be wondered at.&nbsp; Their
distrust is much fostered by the practice of imputing bad
motives, and calling ill names, so much the fashion in political
writing of all kinds.&nbsp; It is not a vice peculiar to this
age: indeed, I question whether political writing has ever, upon
the whole, been more well-bred and considerate than it is
now.&nbsp; But at all times the abusive style is the easiest mode
of writing, and the surest of sympathy.&nbsp; The skill to make,
and that to cure, a wound are different things; but the former is
the one which belongs to most people, and often attracts most
attention and encouragement.&nbsp; This, then, is one cause of
the distrust of the working classes, which will only be mitigated
by a higher tone of moral feeling on the part of the people
generally.&nbsp; Another cause is to be found in the unwise, if
not dishonest, conduct of public men.&nbsp; Look at the mode of
<!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
55</span>proceeding at elections.&nbsp; I put aside bribery,
intimidation, and the like, the wrongfulness of which I hope we
are all agreed upon; and I come to the intellectual part of the
business.&nbsp; Extreme opinions are put forth by the candidates,
often in violent and injurious language.&nbsp; Each strives to
keep studiously in the background any points of difference
between himself and the electing body.&nbsp; Electors are not
treated as rational beings; their prejudices and their
antipathies are petted as if they belonged to some despot whom it
was treason to contradict.&nbsp; Whereas, if ever there is a time
in his life when a man should weigh his words well, and when he
should gird himself up to speak with truth and courage, it is
when he is soliciting the suffrages of an electoral body.&nbsp;
That is the way to anticipate inconsistency; the crime of which
is more often in the hastiness of the first-formed opinion, than
in the change from it.&nbsp; What is called the inconsistency,
may be the redeeming part of the transaction.&nbsp; The candidate
is naturally tempted to fall in with the exact opinions that are
likely to ensure success, and to express <!-- page 56--><a
name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>them without
modification&mdash;in fact, for the sake of his present purpose,
to leave as little room for the exercise of his discretion as
possible.&nbsp; It is easy for him to make unconditional
assertions, when nothing is to be done upon them, but it is
another thing when he has to bring them into action.&nbsp; The
direction which he may wish to give to public affairs is likely
to be met by many other impulses; and then he may have to remain
consistent and useless, or to link himself to some friendly
impulse which brings him, however, into opposition to some of his
former broad and careless declarations.&nbsp; He has left himself
no room for using his judgment.&nbsp; Indeed, one does not see
very clearly why he takes his seat amongst men who are met to
deliberate.&nbsp; The evils that must arise from rash promises at
elections are so great, that it is fortunate when the topics
mooted on those occasions, form but a small part of those which
ultimately come under the consideration of the person elected;
and, as often happens, that important public matters come to be
discussed, which were not seen on the political horizon at the
election time.</p>
<p><!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
57</span>In addition to the distrust of individual legislators,
which is, probably, frequent amongst the poorer classes, there is
also, I suspect, a great distrust amongst them of the leading
parties in the state.&nbsp; They perceive the evils of party, and
see nothing on the other side.&nbsp; The meaning and intent of
party, the way in which by its means social good is often worked
out in a manner less harsh and abrupt, perhaps, than by any other
means that has hitherto been devised, are considerations probably
unknown to them.&nbsp; To address them upon such matters would be
thought absurd.&nbsp; It would be said, that philosophical
disquisitions on government are for the closet of the studious
man, but not for common people coming to perform a plain,
practical, duty.&nbsp; Great principles, however, are at the
foundation of all good action.&nbsp; Look to the divine
teaching.&nbsp; See how the highest things are addressed to all
classes.&nbsp; There is no esoteric philosophy there&mdash;one
thing to the initiated, and another to the outer populace.&nbsp;
And so I am persuaded in addressing the great masses of mankind
on other subjects, you can hardly be too profound, if you <!--
page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
58</span>contrive to express yourself without pedantry; you can
hardly put motives of too much generosity before them, if you do
so with complete sincerity and earnestness.&nbsp; All this is
very difficult, but what social remedies are not?&nbsp; They are
things to be toiled and bled for; and what is far more, you must
run the risk of ridicule, endure want of sympathy, have the
courage to utter unpalatable truths, and not unfrequently resist
the temptation of saying such things as are sure to elicit
immediate and hearty approbation.&nbsp; When a statesman has a
craving for present applause, it is an evil spirit always by his
side, but which springs up to its utmost height, and overshadows
him with its most baneful influence, at some of the most critical
periods of his career.</p>
<p>But, in addition to the want of confidence in public men
caused by malicious writing, or by their injudicious or dishonest
conduct as candidates, or by the ignorance amongst the operatives
of the good uses of party; is there not also a just want of
confidence arising from the mode in which party warfare has
sometimes been carried on in the <!-- page 59--><a
name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>legislative
body?&nbsp; Remember that it is possible to intrigue with
&ldquo;interests,&rdquo; as we call them, as well as with private
persons.&nbsp; The nice morality which would shudder at the
revelations of petty intrigue disclosed by the diary of a Bubb
Doddington, may urge on, and ride triumphantly, some popular cry,
the justice of which it has never paused to examine.&nbsp; There
are also such things as a factious opposition to the Government,
a selfish desertion from it, or a slavish obedience to it; which
things, the people in general, are not slow to note, and often
prone to attribute, even when there is no sufficient cause for
attributing them.&nbsp; But of all the things which tend to
separate the operatives from the governing classes, the most
effectual, perhaps, is the suspicion (oh, that we could say that
it was altogether an unjust one!) that laws are framed, or
maintained, which benefit those classes at the expense of their
poorer brethren.&nbsp; We think it a marvellous act of
malversation in a trustee, to benefit himself unjustly out of the
funds entrusted to his care.&nbsp; Wrongs of this kind may appear
to be diluted when the national prosperity is the trust-fund, and
the <!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
60</span>legislative body is the trustee.&nbsp; The largeness,
however, of the transaction, does not diminish the injustice of
it, although it may soothe the conscience, or partially excuse
the conduct of any individual member of the governing
class.&nbsp; By governing class, I do not merely mean the
legislative bodies, but I include the electing body, who are of
course equally guilty when they clamour for what they deem their
own peculiar interest, instead of calling for just laws.&nbsp;
And they may be sure, that when once the great mass of the people
are persuaded that the injustice which I have spoken of, is a
ruling principle in any government; that government, if it lives,
is henceforth based upon fear, and not upon affection.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p><!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
61</span>I shall now put down a few points of practice, which,
though they are classed together, have no other link than that
they all relate to our conduct in a family and towards
dependents.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>In social government, no less than in legislating for a state,
there should be constant reference to great principles, if only
from the exceeding difficulty of foreseeing, or appreciating, the
results in detail of any measure.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>It is a foolish thing when a man so guides himself, that it is
generally supposed in his family, and among his dependents, that
no arguments of theirs are likely to persuade him to alter his
views.&nbsp; Such a one may fancy that what he calls his firmness
is the main stay of his authority: but the obstinacy, which never
listens, is not less fatal than the facility which never listens
but to yield.&nbsp; If your rule has the reputation of not being
amenable to reason, it is liable to sudden convulsions and
headstrong distempers, or to <!-- page 62--><a
name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>unreasonable
cringings, in which your welfare, and that of those whom you
rule, are sacrificed to the apprehension of provoking your
self-will.&nbsp; Moreover, the fear of irrational opposition on
your part, often tempts those about you into taking up courses,
which, otherwise, they might have thrown aside upon reflection,
or after reasonable converse with you on the subject.&nbsp; You
may have, in the end, to oppose yourself sternly to the wishes of
those whom you would guide wisely; but at any rate give yourself
the chance of having, in the first instance, the full effect of
any forces in their own minds which may be on your side.&nbsp;
You cannot expect to have these useful allies, if your wont is to
be blindly obstinate, and to carry things, on all occasions, by
heavy-handed authority.&nbsp; The way in which expected
opposition acts in determining the mind, is not always by
creating immediate wilfulness: but a man, knowing that there is
sure to be objection made, in any particular quarter, to his
taking a course, respecting which he has not made up his own
mind, sets to work to put aside that <!-- page 63--><a
name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>contingent
obstacle to his freedom of action.&nbsp; In doing this, however,
he generates, as it were, a force in the opposite direction: in
arguing against contingent opposition, he is led to make
assertions which he is ashamed to draw back from; and so, in the
end, he fails to exercise an unbiassed judgment.&nbsp; I have
gone minutely into this matter; but it cannot be unimportant for
those who rule, to consider well the latent sources of human
motive.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>In addressing persons of inferior station, do not be prone to
suppose that there is much occasion for intellectual
condescension on your part: at any rate do not be careless in
what you say, as if any thing would do for them.&nbsp; Observe
the almost infinite fleetness of your own powers of thought, and
then consider whether it is likely that education has much to do
with this.&nbsp; Use simple language, but do not fear to put
substance in it: choose, if you like, common materials, but make
the best structure that you can of them: and be assured that
method and <!-- page 64--><a name="page64"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 64</span>logical order are not thrown away
upon any one.&nbsp; The rudest audience, as well as the most
refined, soon grows weary, I suspect, of protracted, driftless,
tautology.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Do not dwell more than you can help, upon the differences of
nature between yourself and those with whom you live.&nbsp;
Consider whether your own vanity is not too requiring.&nbsp; See
that others have not the same complaint to make of your
uncongeniality, that you are, perhaps, prone to make of
theirs.&nbsp; If you are, indeed, superior, reckon it as your
constant duty, to try and sympathize with those beneath you; to
mix with their pursuits, as far as you can, and thus, insensibly,
to elevate them.&nbsp; Perhaps there is no mind that will not
yield some return for your labour: it seems the dullest,
bleakest, rock, not earth enough to feed a nettle; yet up grows,
with culture, the majestic pine.</p>
<p>A want of sympathy leads to the greatest ignorance in the
intellect as well as in the heart.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Remember that your dependents have seldom <!-- page 65--><a
name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>a full power
of replying to you; and let the recollection of that make you
especially considerate in your dealings with them.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>When you find a lack of truth in those about you, consider
whether it may not arise from the furiousness of your own temper
which scares truth away from you: and reflect how fearful a part
the angry man may have in the sin of those falsehoods which
immoderate fear of him gives rise to.&nbsp; Such, I am afraid, is
the tyrannous nature of the human heart that we not only show,
but really feel, more anger at offence given us by those under
our power, than at any other cause whatever.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>It is a mistake to suppose that we necessarily become
indifferent to the faults and foibles of those with whom we live:
on the contrary, we sometimes grow more and more alive to them:
they seem, as it were, to create a corresponding soreness in
ourselves: and, knowing that they exist in the character, we are
apt to fancy that we perceive them even <!-- page 66--><a
name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>on occasions
when they are not in the least brought into play.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Do not be fond of the display of authority, or think that
there is anything grand in being obeyed with abject fear.&nbsp;
One certainly meets with persons who are vain of their
ill-temper, and of seeing how it keeps the people about them in
order; a species of vanity which they might share with any wild
animal at large.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>In reasoning with your dependants, do not allow yourself to
make broad assertions and careless conclusions, merely because
you are addressing inferiors.&nbsp; &ldquo;The Courts of Reason
recognise no difference of persons.&rdquo;&nbsp; And when you
wish to disabuse the minds of those entrusted to your guidance of
any thing which you are convinced is erroneous, do not attempt to
do so by unmeasured condemnation.&nbsp; It is seldom that a
secure answer is given to any theory, or system, except by one
who exhausts, and lays before you, the good in it.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p><!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
67</span>Let not your forgiveness be of that kind which may
almost be set down as forgetfulness.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>You must not always expect to hear a good explanation of a
man&rsquo;s reason for his conduct.&nbsp; In the first place, he
does not carry such things about with him in a producible shape;
some of them he has probably forgotten, although their influence
may still remain strongly upon his mind; and such as he does
give, are likely to be those which he thinks will have most
weight with the person to whom he is speaking.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>In giving way to selfish persons, remember that you cannot
sacrifice yourself alone.&nbsp; Any relation in which you may be
placed to them, especially if you are the superior, is not a
thing that concerns you only; but is, as it were, a trust for
society in general.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>It is hard to judge about quarrels, for the points on which
they openly break out have often no more to do with the real
grounds of difference than the place of a battle with the <!--
page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
68</span>cause of the war.&nbsp; Many a quarrel, after running
for a long time under ground, gushes forth with a vehemence which
seems unaccountable; and it is difficult to divine what lands it
has passed through in its hidden course.&nbsp; Any particular
outbreak cannot safely be taken as an index of the general
conduct of the parties towards each other.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Playfulness is a good means of softening social
distances.&nbsp; A stiff, grave, man is always in danger of being
feared too much.&nbsp; On the other hand, as the self-love of
many people is suspicious in the extreme, you must expect that
your most innocent playfulness will often be mistaken for
ridicule.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>It is a duty not to allow yourself to think of any living man,
still less to treat him, as if your hopes of his amendment were
utterly dead and gone.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>You must not be much surprised at the ingratitude of those to
whom you have given nothing but money.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p><!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
69</span>Once give your mind to suspicion, and there will be sure
to be food enough for it.&nbsp; In the stillest night, the air is
filled with sounds for the wakeful ear that is resolved to
listen.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>A misproud man resolves to abide by the evil words which he
has spoken in anger.&nbsp; This freezing of foam is wilfully
unnatural; and turns a brief madness into a settled insanity.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>A man of any wisdom, in domestic authority, so far from making
large claims to the love of those whom he rules, and exacting all
manner of observance as his due, will often think with fear how
unworthy he is of the affection even of the dullest and
least-gifted creature about him.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>In commenting on any error of an agent or dependant, beware of
making your own vexation, and not the real offence, the measure
of your blame.&nbsp; This is a most frequent source of injustice,
and one, moreover, which tends to prevent anything like
consistent training.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p><!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
70</span>The poor, the humble, and your dependants, will often be
afraid to ask their due from you: be the more mindful of it
yourself.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>With what degree of satisfaction do you feel that you could
meet those persons in a future state over whom you have any
influence now?&nbsp; Your heart&rsquo;s answer to this question
is somewhat of a test of your behaviour towards them.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>How ready we should often be to forgive those who are angry
with us, if we could only see how much of their anger arises from
vexation with themselves for having begun to be angry at all.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>I am not sorry to introduce a maxim, like the above, which
relates, perhaps, rather more to dependants than to those in
authority, and which claims a place among precepts on social
government, only as it may tend to promote social harmony and
peace.&nbsp; I have not attempted, throughout, to give any
account of the duties of dependants, <!-- page 71--><a
name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>which,
however, are easily inferred as supplementary to the duties of
masters.&nbsp; It is not to be supposed that any relation in life
is one-sided, that kindness is to be met by indifference, or that
loyalty to those who lead us is not a duty of the highest
order.&nbsp; But, fortunately, the proneness of men to regard
with favour those put in authority over them is very strong; and
I have but little fear of finding any large body of thoughtful
and kind masters suffering from permanent indifference, or
ingratitude, on the part of their dependants.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>I cannot close the chapter better than by entreating those,
who are endeavouring to carry on any system of benevolence, to be
very watchful in the management of details, and to strengthen
themselves against any feelings of disgust and weariness which
may encroach upon them, when their undertaking has lost the
attraction of novelty.&nbsp; Details are like the fibres at the
root of a tree: without their aid the tree would have but little
hold against the wind: they are the channels for its terrestrial
nutriment; they are its ties to earth, its home and birth-place;
and, insignificant <!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 72</span>as they seem, it could live almost
better without light than without them.&nbsp; Here it is that
practical wisdom comes in&mdash;that faculty, without which, the
greatest gifts may serve to make a noise and a flame, and nothing
more.&nbsp; It holds its object neither too near, nor too far
off; without exaggerating trifles, it can see that small things
may be essential to the successful application of great
principles; it is moderate in its expectations; does not imagine
that all men must be full of its projects; and holds its course
with calmness, with hope, and with humility.</p>
<p>You must not enter upon a career of usefulness without
expecting innumerable vexations and crosses to affect the details
of any project or system you may undertake.&nbsp; And when the
novelty of your purpose has somewhat worn off, and you have to
meet with the honest opposition of other minds, as well as to
contend against their vanity, their selfishness, and their
unreasonableness, it requires a high and full source for your
benevolence to flow from, if it would bear down these
annoyances.&nbsp; Even when they cannot dry up the stream, or
change its current, if you are <!-- page 73--><a
name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>not watchful
over yourself, they may make it flow more feebly.&nbsp; The very
prospect of success is to some minds a great temptation to make
them slacken their efforts.&nbsp; Throughout the course of our
pursuit, we are never, perhaps, so prone to be weary and to
repine, as when we begin to feel sure of ultimate success, but at
the same time to perceive, that a long and definite period must
elapse before the completion of our undertaking.</p>
<p>Against the many temptations that beset a man in such a
career, I do not believe that any good feeling, which stands upon
no other than mere human relations, will be found a sufficient
support.&nbsp; No sentimental benevolence will do; nor even, at
all times, a warm and earnest philanthropy: there must be the
inexorable sense of duty arising from a man&rsquo;s apprehension,
if but in a feeble degree, of his relation towards God, as well
as to his fellow man.</p>
<h3><!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
74</span>CHAPTER III.<br />
<span class="smcap">Labour in Factories</span><b>.</b></h3>
<p>The two former chapters have been given to the consideration
of the relation between the employer of labour and the labouring
man, and to general reflections upon the duties arising from that
relation.&nbsp; Let us now take a particular instance, the
employment of labour in manufactures for example, and go through
some of the more obvious points to which the master might in that
case direct his attention beneficially.</p>
<h4>1.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">The Mill</span>.</h4>
<p>It would seem an obvious thing enough, that when a man
collects a number of his fellow-men together to work for him, it
would be right to provide a sufficient supply of air for
them.&nbsp; <!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 75</span>But this does not appear to have been
considered as an axiom; and, in truth, we cannot much wonder at
this neglect, when we find that those who have to provide for the
amusement of men, and who would be likely, therefore to consult
the health and convenience of those whom they bring together,
should sedulously shut out the pure air, as if they disliked
letting anything in that did not pay for admission.&nbsp; In most
grievances, the people aggrieved are very sensible at the time of
the evil they are undergoing; which is not, however, the case
with those who suffer from an impure atmosphere.&nbsp; They are,
in general, almost unconscious of what they are enduring.&nbsp;
This makes it the more desirable, in the case we are considering,
that the manufacturer himself, or the government, or the
community at large, should be alive to the mischief arising from
want of ventilation in these crowded assemblages of men, and to
the absolute necessity of providing remedies for it.</p>
<p>This will not be an inappropriate place for saying something
about the non-interference principle.&nbsp; There is no doubt
that interference <!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 76</span>has often been most tyrannous and
absurd, that our ancestors, for instance, sometimes interfered
only to insist upon impossibilities, and that we may occasionally
do the same.&nbsp; But, on the other hand, the let-alone
principle proceeds upon the supposition, not only that every body
knows his own interest best, or if not, that his freedom of
action is of more importance than his acting wisely, which is
often true; but it also goes on to assume that every body knows
and will take just care of the welfare of others.&nbsp; Push
either principle to any great length; and you will find yourself
in the land of confusion and absurdity.&nbsp; In truth, I should
seldom like to say anything about the wisdom, or the folly, of
interference, until I knew exactly what it was about, and how far
you intended to interfere.&nbsp; It is one of those matters in
which it is especially desirable to keep in mind those maxims of
prudence, respecting the application of general rules to moral
questions, which Burke has handled so admirably.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Nothing universal,&rdquo; he observes, &ldquo;can be
rationally affirmed on any moral, or any political subject.&nbsp;
Pure metaphysical <!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 77</span>abstraction does not belong to these
matters.&nbsp; The lines of morality are not like ideal lines of
mathematicks.&nbsp; They are broad and deep as well as
long.&nbsp; They admit of exceptions; they demand
modifications.&nbsp; These exceptions and modifications are not
made by the process of logic, but by the rules of prudence.&nbsp;
Prudence is not only the first in rank of the virtues political
and moral, but she is the director, the regulator, the standard
of them all.&rdquo;&nbsp; To take a particular instance of
legislative interference, namely, the enactments about building
party-walls, can any one doubt that this interference has been
most beneficial?&nbsp; Does any one suppose that, without it, the
same good results would have been gained?&nbsp; Would the
prudence of private individuals ever have accomplished it?&nbsp;
Besides, I think it can hardly be denied that a state should have
a degree of providence for the general body, not to be expected
from private individuals, and which might compel them to do
things that would not consort with their interest even upon the
most enlarged views which they could take of it.&nbsp; The
financial affairs <!-- page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 78</span>of the nation are conducted with no
slight apparatus of intrusion and vexation.&nbsp; We endure this
patiently: indeed, in many cases, it is difficult to see how it
could be obviated.&nbsp; Surely we may submit to some simple
sanitary regulations, especially of that kind which may be
compared to indirect taxation, requiring to be attended to only
by a certain class of persons of daily experience in the
matter.&nbsp; Such are regulations with respect to building,
which need to be looked to in the first instance; and then the
results of them remain for ever afterwards a great gain to public
health and morals.&nbsp; I am speaking now rather of the question
of annoyance, than of loss, from legislative interference.&nbsp;
Of course, in this matter of building, it is easy to perceive
that limits must carefully be put to the extent of interference
with a view to keeping down the expense.&nbsp; If this is not
done, the whole purpose of the regulations may be defeated.&nbsp;
But even in this, it is possible to be too nice with respect to
interfering with what are called the rights of property, or too
much afraid of creating an artificial dearness <!-- page 79--><a
name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>by
regulations, many of which will in the end be found to be a great
saving.</p>
<p>But to resume the subject of the Mill.&nbsp; Each branch of
manufactures has its peculiar dangers and disadvantages; and it
behoves the master to be frequently directing his attention to
remedy the peculiar evils of his manufacture.&nbsp; He is to be
the pioneer to find out for his men ways of avoiding these
evils.&nbsp; It cannot be his duty to study only how to make his
fabric cheaper, and not to take any pains to see how it can be
made to cost less of human life.&nbsp; However, if a man has once
got a just view of his position as an employer of labour, he will
not need to be urged in this matter, but must see at once that
the health of his men is one of the first things for him to look
to.&nbsp; What would you think of a commander who was careless of
the health of his army, merely because he had an indefinite power
of recruiting?&nbsp; In a thickly-peopled country like this, an
employer of labour, if his work does not require much skill, can
generally get any number of men to serve him, which would be a
strange reason, <!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 80</span>however, for making the health of
anyone amongst those whom he does employ less precious in his
eyes.&nbsp; Human labour may be ever so abundant, but human life
cannot be cheap.</p>
<p>While we are talking of the Mill, it may be well to observe
that the system of piecework, when it is done by a man with
children under him, is likely to be made too severe work for
them.&nbsp; It is a hard fate, indeed, for children to be always
under the eye of one whose interest it is to get as much work out
of them as possible.&nbsp; The above remarks, however, apply even
more to piece-work done at home than at the mill.</p>
<p>The next thing to be mentioned in connexion with the Mill is
the time of labour.&nbsp; This is a great question, embracing
many considerations which it would be quite foreign to my purpose
to enter upon here.&nbsp; But I may observe that there is much in
this matter which might be done by the masters, individually, and
collectively.&nbsp; They have to consider how the time that they
may get for the recreation of their men is to be
apportioned.&nbsp; For instance, whether it is better to give it
<!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
81</span>in whole days, or by half-days, or to spread it over the
ordinary days of work.&nbsp; These are questions that cannot be
answered without much thought and knowledge respecting the social
habits of the labouring people.</p>
<p>All that we have addressed to the manufacturer on the subject
of his Mill, applies even more cogently to the minor
superintendent of labour and his workshop.&nbsp; There, the evils
complained of are often far greater.&nbsp; Ventilation is less
attended to; less pains are taken to diminish the peculiar
dangers of the craft; the hours of labour are more numerous; and
the children sometimes exposed to cruelties utterly unheard of in
factories.&nbsp; Read the evidence respecting the employment of
milliners, and you will wish that dresses could be made up, as
well as the materials made for them, in factories.&nbsp; Alas!
what a striking instance the treatment of these poor milliner
girls is of the neglect of duty on the part of employers: I mean
of those who immediately superintend this branch of labour, and
of those who cause it.&nbsp; Had the former been the least aware
of their responsibility, would they have hesitated <!-- page
82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>to
remonstrate against the unreasonable orders of their
customers?&nbsp; And, as for the latter, for the ladies who
expect such orders to be complied with, how sublimely
inconsiderate of the comfort of those beneath them they must have
become.&nbsp; I repeat it again: the careless cruelty in the
world almost outweighs the rest.</p>
<h4>2.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">The School-room</span>.</h4>
<p>Some manufacturer may think that this branch of the matter
does not belong to him, as he does not employ children of the age
which makes it incumbent upon him by law to have anything to do
with their schooling.&nbsp; But I would venture to suggest that
it is a matter which belongs to all of us, and, especially, to
those who are able to pay attention to the habits of large masses
of people, put, as it were, under their care.&nbsp; Suppose that
there had been no such thing in the world&rsquo;s history as a
decline and fall of the Roman Empire.&nbsp; In the course of
time, though we should probably have had our Domitians and our
Neros, we might have delighted in a modern Trajan or an <!-- page
83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
83</span>Antonine.&nbsp; Under such a man, the progress of
letters, having proceeded in any thing like the manner that it
has done, we should have had some general system of national
education, which, after the Roman fashion of completeness, would
have traversed the state, with iron step, doubtless even to the
remote ends of barbarian Britain.&nbsp; To say that this would
not have been a signal benefit to mankind would be idle: what we
have to say against the despotic system is, that it absorbs
private virtue, and suppresses private endeavour; that though it
may create better machines, it certainly makes worse men.&nbsp;
Now then to bring these imaginings home; for they do concern us
closely.&nbsp; My readers are, to a certain extent, educated;
they will have gained by living in a free state; but if they
continue to neglect the welfare of the great mass, in respect of
education, can they say that this, the first layer of the nation,
the &ldquo;turba Remi,&rdquo; might not almost wish, if they
could comprehend the question, to live under a despot who would
educate them, rather than with free men who do not?&nbsp; Are we
to enjoy the singular <!-- page 84--><a name="page84"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 84</span>freedom of speech and action, which
we do enjoy in this country, and to expect to have no sacrifice
to make for it?&nbsp; Is liberty, the first of possessions, to
have no duties corresponding to its invaluable rights?&nbsp; And,
in fine, ought it not to be some drawback on the enjoyment of our
own freedom, if a doubt can come across our minds whether a vast
mass of our fellow citizens might not be the better for living
under a despotic government?&nbsp; These are very serious
questions; and the sooner we are able, with a good conscience, to
give a satisfactory answer to them, the better.&nbsp; Till that
time, let no man in this country say that the education of the
people is nothing to him.</p>
<p>But how strange it is that men should require to be urged to
this good work of education.&nbsp; The causing children to be
taught is a thing so full of joy, of love, of hope, that one
wonders how such a gladsome path of benevolence could ever have
been unfrequented.&nbsp; The delight of educating is like that of
cultivating near the fruitful Nile, where seed time and harvest
come so close together.&nbsp; And when one looks forward to <!--
page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
85</span>the indefinite extension that any efforts in this
direction may probably enjoy, one is apt to feel as if nothing
else were important, and to be inclined to expend all one&rsquo;s
energies in this one course.&nbsp; Indeed, it is hard to estimate
the enormous benefit of enabling a man to commune with the most
exalted minds of all time, to read the most significant records
of all ages, to find that others have felt and seen and suffered
as himself, to extend his sympathy with his brother-man, his
insight into nature, his knowledge of the ways of God.&nbsp; Now
the above is but a poor description of what the humblest
education offers.</p>
<p>Let us now consider the subject of &ldquo;the
school-room&rdquo; more in detail.&nbsp; And, the first remark I
have to make, is, that we should perpetually recal to mind the
nature of our own thoughts, and sensations, at the early periods
of life in which those are whom we are trying to educate.&nbsp;
This will make us careful not to weary children with those things
which we long to impress most upon them.&nbsp; The repetition of
words, whatever they may contain, is often like the succession of
waves in a receding tide, which makes less <!-- page 86--><a
name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>of an inroad
at each pulsation.&nbsp; It is different when an idea, or state
of feeling, is repeated by conduct of various kinds: that is most
impressive.&nbsp; If a child, for instance, is brought up where
there is a pervading idea of any kind, manifested as it will be
in many ways, the idea is introduced again and again without
wearisomeness, and the child imbibes it unconsciously.&nbsp; But
mere maxims, embracing this idea, would very likely have gained
no additional influence with him from being constantly repeated:
that is, at the time; for, in after years, the maxims may,
perhaps, fasten upon his mind with a peculiar strength, simply
from their having been often repeated to him at an early period
of his life.&nbsp; But at present this repetition may be of
immense disservice.&nbsp; You cannot continue to produce the same
effect by words, that you did on first using them; and often you
go on hammering about a thing until you loosen what was fast in
the first instance.&nbsp; It is well to keep such reflections
steadily in mind as regards religious instruction for the young,
and, especially, as regards religious services for them.&nbsp; Go
back to your own <!-- page 87--><a name="page87"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 87</span>youth, and recollect how little
command of attention you had yourself, how volatile you were, how
anxious to escape all tedium, how weary of words, how apt to
dislike routine.&nbsp; Then see whether you make sufficient
allowance for these feelings in dealing with the young; and
whether it might not be possible to give them the same holy
precepts, to communicate the same extent, or nearly so, of
religious instruction, and yet to ensure their love for the
times, and places, and circumstances, of this
communication.&nbsp; You must allow that you do a very dangerous
thing indeed, when you make that wearisome which you wish to be
most loved.&nbsp; I must confess that it has often struck me,
that we insist upon too much religious attendance from children
of a tender age; and, considering what we know of the impatience
of the human mind, I cannot but think that such a system is often
most prejudicial.&nbsp; I say these things with much hesitation,
and some fear of being misunderstood; and I do not venture to
enter into details, or to presume to say what should be the exact
course in so difficult a question.&nbsp; What I wish, is to <!--
page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
88</span>draw the attention of those engaged in instruction to a
point of view which may sometimes escape them, or which they may
be tempted to neglect for the sake of appearances, the household
gods of this generation.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>There is one maxim which those who superintend schools should
ponder well; and that is, that the best things to be learnt are
those which the children cannot be examined upon.&nbsp; One
cannot but fear that the masters will be apt to think
school-proficiency all in all; and that the founders and
supporters of schools will, occasionally, be tempted by vanity to
take most interest in those things which give most opportunity
for display.&nbsp; Yet the slightest inferiority of moral tone in
a school would be ill compensated for by an expertness, almost
marvellous, in dealing with figures; or a knowledge of names,
things, and places, which may well confound the grown-up
bystander.&nbsp; That school would in reality be the one to be
proud of, where order was thoroughly maintained with the least
admixture of fear; where you would have most chance of meeting
<!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
89</span>with truthful replies from the children in a matter
where such replies would criminate themselves: and where you
would find the most kindly feeling to each other prevalent
throughout.&nbsp; Yet these are things not to be seen on show
days, that cannot be got up for exhibition, that require
unwearied supervision on the part of masters and benefactors,
that will never be attempted but by those who, themselves, feel
deeply the superiority of moral excellence to all else.&nbsp;
Such teachers will see how the kindness of children to each other
may be encouraged.&nbsp; They will take more notice of a
good-natured thing than a clever one.&nbsp; They will show, how
much, even in the minutest trifles, truth and fortitude weigh
with them.&nbsp; They will be careful not to stimulate an
unwholesome craving for praise in their pupils.&nbsp; They will
look not only to the thing done, but also to the mode and spirit
of doing it.&nbsp; That this spirit and mode may be the means of
generating and guiding future endeavour will be a main object
with such instructors.&nbsp; The dignity of labour, the
independence of thrift, the greatness of contentment, will be
themes dwelt <!-- page 90--><a name="page90"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 90</span>upon by them, in their loving
foresight for the future welfare of the infant labourers
entrusted to their care.&nbsp; To endear holy things to these
little ones would delight such teachers far more than to instil
the utmost proficiency in any critical or historical knowledge of
the sacred writings.&nbsp; Not that the two things are in the
least degree incompatible.&nbsp; Far from it, indeed!&nbsp; All I
mean to insist on is, that such teachers will perceive what are
the great objects of culture: and how subservient even the best
knowledge is to the apprehension of duty.&nbsp; They will see,
too, more clearly the necessity of bearing in mind the
pre-eminence of moral and religious culture, when they reflect
that many of their pupils come from places which cannot be called
homes, where scarcely anything like parental love sustains or
informs them, and where, perhaps, confusion, discontent, and
domestic turbulence prevail.</p>
<p>We may remark, as bearing upon this subject, that singing
lessons should be greatly encouraged in schools.&nbsp; There are
several merits connected with this mode of instruction.&nbsp; It
employs many together, and gives a <!-- page 91--><a
name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>feeling of
communion; it is not much mixed up with emulation; the tenderest
and highest sentiments may be unostentatiously impressed by its
means, for you can introduce in songs such things as you could
not lecture upon; then it gives somewhat of a cultivated taste,
and an additional topic of social interest, even to those who do
not make much proficiency; while to others, who have a natural
ability for it, it may form an innocent and engaging pursuit
throughout their lives.</p>
<p>With respect to the intellectual part of teaching, I have not
much to say: and it is a branch of the subject which has engaged,
and is engaging, the attention of men who are much more capable
of speaking about it than I am.&nbsp; The only thing which it
occurs to me to mention is, that one would like to see a great
deal of manual teaching, with a view not only to the future
profit, but also to the future pleasure and instruction of the
children.&nbsp; When you think that many of them will be
artisans, whose only occupation, perhaps, will be to perform some
one process of manufactures, requiring next to no thought or
skill, it becomes the more necessary to <!-- page 92--><a
name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>educate their
hands as well as their heads.&nbsp; Man is an animal very fond of
construction of any sort; and a wise teacher, knowing the
happiness that flows from handiwork, will seize upon
opportunities for teaching even the most trivial accomplishments
of a manual kind.&nbsp; They will come in, hereafter, to
embellish a man&rsquo;s home, and to endear it to him.&nbsp; They
will occupy time that would, otherwise, be ill spent.&nbsp; And,
besides, there are many persons whose cleverness lies only in
this way; and you have to teach them this or nothing.</p>
<h4>3.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">The Playground</span>.</h4>
<p>This is a place quite as important as the school-room.&nbsp;
Here it is, that a large part of the moral cultivation may be
carried on.&nbsp; It is a great object to humanize the conduct of
children to each other at play times without interfering with
them, or controlling them, too much.&nbsp; But we have, before,
gone over the motives which should actuate a teacher in his moral
guidance; and it needs only to remark, that the playground is a
place where <!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 93</span>that guidance is eminently required;
and where the exigencies for it are most easily discerned.</p>
<p>Those games should not be overlooked which are of a manly
kind, and likely to be continued in after life.&nbsp; This brings
us naturally to think of the playgrounds for children of a larger
growth.&nbsp; Hitherto there has been a sad deficiency in this
matter in our manufacturing towns, and almost everywhere
else.&nbsp; Can any thing be more lamentable to contemplate than
a dull, grim, and vicious population, whose only amusement is
sensuality?&nbsp; Yet, what can we expect, if we provide no means
whatever of recreation; if we never share our own pleasures with
our poorer brethren; and if the public buildings which invite
them in their brief hours of leisure are chiefly gin
palaces?&nbsp; As for our cathedrals and great churches, we
mostly have them well locked up, for fear any one should steal in
and say a prayer, or contemplate a noble work of art, without
paying for it: and we shut people up by thousands in dense towns
with no outlets to the country, but those which are guarded on
each side <!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 94</span>by dusty hedges.&nbsp; Now an open
space near a town is one of nature&rsquo;s churches: and it is an
imperative duty to provide such things.&nbsp; Nor, indeed, should
we stop at giving breathing places to crowded multitudes in great
towns.&nbsp; To provide cheap locomotion, as a means of social
improvement, should be ever in the minds of legislators and other
influential persons.&nbsp; Blunders in legislating about
railroads, and absurd expenditure in making them, are a far
greater public detriment than they may seem at first sight.&nbsp;
Again, without interfering too much, or attempting to force a
&ldquo;Book of Sports&rdquo; upon the people, who in that case,
would be resolutely dull and lugubrious, the benevolent employer
of labour might exert himself in many ways to encourage healthful
and instructive amusements amongst his men.&nbsp; He might give
prizes for athletic excellence or skill.&nbsp; He might aid in
establishing zoological gardens, or music-meetings, or
exhibitions of pictures, or mechanics&rsquo; institutes.&nbsp;
These are things in which some of the great employers of labour
have already set him the example.&nbsp; Let him remember how much
his workpeople are deprived <!-- page 95--><a
name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>of by being
almost confined to one spot; and let him be the more anxious to
enlarge their minds by inducing them to take interest in any
thing which may prevent the &ldquo;ignorant present,&rdquo; and
its low cares, from absorbing all their attention.&nbsp; He has
very likely some pursuit, or some art, in which he takes especial
pleasure himself, and which gives to his leisure, perhaps, its
greatest charm: he may be sure that there are many of his people
who could be made to share in some degree that pleasure, or
pursuit, with him.&nbsp; It is a large, a sure, and certainly a
most pleasurable beneficence, to provide for the poor such
opportunities of recreation, or means of amusement, as I have
mentioned above.&nbsp; Neither can it be set down as at all a
trifling matter.&nbsp; Depend upon it, that man has not made any
great progress in humanity who does not care for the leisure
hours and amusements of his fellow-men.</p>
<p>While we are upon this matter, I will mention something which
borders closely upon it, though it applies to the consumer rather
than the manufacturer.&nbsp; Most men would think it much, if it
were brought home <!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 96</span>to them, that from any carelessness
of theirs, some person had suffered unnecessary imprisonment, if
only for a day.&nbsp; And yet any one, who encourages
unreasonably late hours of business, does what he can to uphold a
system of needless confinement, depriving thousands of that
healthful change of pursuit which is one of the main aliments
both for body and soul, and leaving little time or opportunity
for any thing to grow up in their minds beyond the rudest and
most trivial cares and objects.</p>
<h4>4.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">The Workman&rsquo;s
Home</span>.</h4>
<p>That the workman should have a home, which, however humble it
may be, should yet afford room and scope for the decencies, if
not for some of the comforts and refinements of civilized life,
is manifestly essential, if we wish to preserve the great body of
the people from a state of savageness.&nbsp; There is an
important and original remark on this subject in the Hand Loom
Weavers Report of 1841:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The man who dines for 6d. and clothes
himself during the year for &pound;5. is probably as healthily
fed, and as <!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 97</span>healthily clad, as if his dinner cost
two guineas a day, and his dress &pound;200 a year.&nbsp; But
this is not the case with respect to habitation.&nbsp; Every
increase of accommodation, from the corner of a cellar to a
mansion, renders the dwelling more healthy, and, to a
considerable extent, the size and goodness of the dwelling tends
to render its inmates more civilized.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Indeed, if civilization does not show itself in a man&rsquo;s
home, where else is it likely to take much root with him?&nbsp;
Make his home comfortable, and you do more towards making him a
steady and careful citizen, than you could by any other
means.&nbsp; Now only look around, and see how entirely this has
been neglected, at least, until within a recent date.&nbsp; Our
workers are toiling all day long, or, if they have leisure, it is
mostly accompanied by pecuniary distress: and can you expect in
either case that they will busy themselves about those primary
structural arrangements without which it is scarcely possible to
have a comfortable home?&nbsp; Many of the things, too, which are
needful for this end, require capital, or, at least, such
conjoint enterprise as can hardly be expected from the
poor.&nbsp; Take any individual workman.&nbsp; Suppose there is
defective drainage in his street, or, <!-- page 98--><a
name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>as often
happens, no drainage at all, what can one such man do, even if at
all alive to the evil?&nbsp; When you consider the dependent
condition of the labouring classes, and how little time they have
for domestic arrangements of any kind, does it not behove the
employer of labour to endeavour that his workmen should have
opportunities of getting places to live in, fit for human beings
in a civilized country?&nbsp; I use the phrase &ldquo;employer of
labour,&rdquo; in its widest sense; and at once say, that there
are many things bearing upon the comfort of the habitations of
the poor, which both the local authorities and the imperial
government ought to look to.&nbsp; Is there not a strange mockery
in the fact, stated in the Sanitary Report, that &ldquo;the
annual slaughter in England and Wales from preventible causes of
typhus which attacks persons in the vigour of life, appears to be
double the amount of what was suffered by the allied armies in
the battle of Waterloo?&rdquo;&nbsp; Must we not say again that
the careless cruelty of the world almost outweighs the rest?</p>
<p>I have hitherto abstained from vexing my <!-- page 99--><a
name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>readers with
details; nor do I wish now to do more than draw their attention
to a few extracts from public documents respecting the
habitations of the poor.&nbsp; I take the following from the Hand
Loom Weavers&rsquo; Report in 1841.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The First Annual Report of the
Registrar-General, showed for the year 1838 a variation of the
annual mortality in different districts of the metropolis,
amounting to 100 per cent.; a difference nearly equal to that
which exists between the most healthy and the least healthy
portions of the world.&nbsp; The inquiries instituted at the same
time by the Poor Law Commissioners into the physical causes of
fever in the metropolis, have traced the comparative mortality of
the unhealthy districts principally to the presence of
impurities, the want of ventilation, and the bad construction of
houses.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The following extracts from Dr. Southwood Smith&rsquo;s
Report on Bethnal Green and Whitechapel, show both the causes and
the intensity of the evil.</p>
<p>&lsquo;It appears,&rsquo; says Dr. Southwood Smith,
&lsquo;that in many parts of Bethnal Green and Whitechapel, fever
of a malignant and fatal character is always more or less
prevalent.&nbsp; In some streets it has recently prevailed in
almost every house; in some courts in every house; and in some
few instances in every room in every house.&nbsp; Cases are
recorded in which every member of a family has been attacked in
succession, of whom in every such case several have died; some
whole families have been swept away.&nbsp; Instances are detailed
<!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
100</span>in which there have been found in one small room six
persons lying ill of fever together; I have myself seen this,
four in one bed, and two in another.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>&lsquo;The room of a fever patient in a small and heated
apartment in London, with no perflation of fresh air, is
perfectly analogous to a standing pool in Ethiopia full of bodies
of dead locusts.&nbsp; The poison generated in both cases is the
same; the difference is merely in the degree of its
potency.&nbsp; Nature with her burning sun, her stilled and pent
up wind, her stagnant and teeming marsh, manufactures plague on a
large and fearful scale.&nbsp; Poverty in her hut, covered with
her rags, surrounded with her filth, striving with all her might
to keep out the pure air and to increase the heat, imitates
nature but too successfully: the process and the product are the
same; the only difference is in the magnitude of the result.</p>
<p>&lsquo;But the magnitude of the result in London, if that
magnitude be estimated by the numbers attacked, is not
slight.&nbsp; From returns received from the Bethnal Green and
Whitechapel Unions it appears that during the last year there
occurred of fever cases,</p>
</blockquote>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>In the Bethnal Green Union</p>
</td>
<td><p>2,084</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>In the Whitechapel Union</p>
</td>
<td><p>2,557</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">Total</p>
</td>
<td><p>4,641</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>The state of things described above by Dr. Southwood Smith is
by no means confined to the metropolis; nor, even, is it to be
seen in its worst form there.&nbsp; Mr. Chadwick says, <!-- page
101--><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
101</span>&ldquo;the most wretched of the stationary population
of which I have been able to obtain any account, or that I have
ever seen, was that which I saw in company with Dr. Arnott, and
others, in the wynds of Edinburgh and Glasgow.&rdquo;&nbsp; I
forbear to add their detailed report, which, as regards Glasgow
especially, represents a loathsome state of filth and
wretchedness.&nbsp; If we go now to the manufacturing towns of
England, the evidence is of a similar character.&nbsp; &ldquo;The
following extract,&rdquo; says the Sanitary Report, &ldquo;is
descriptive of the condition of large classes of tenements in the
manufacturing towns of Lancashire.&nbsp; It is from the report of
Mr. Pearson, the medical officer of the Wigan Union.&rdquo;</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;From the few observations which I have been
enabled to make respecting the causes of fever during the two
months which I have held the situation of house-surgeon to the
Dispensary, I am inclined to consider the filthy condition of the
town as being the most prominent source.&nbsp; Many of the
streets are unpaved and almost covered with stagnant water, which
lodges in numerous large holes which exist upon their surface,
and into which the inhabitants throw all kinds of rejected animal
and vegetable matters, which then undergo decay and emit the most
poisonous exhalations.&nbsp; <!-- page 102--><a
name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>These
matters are often allowed, from the filthy habits of the
inhabitants of these districts, many of whom, especially the poor
Irish, are utterly regardless both of personal and domestic
cleanliness, to accumulate to an immense extent, and thus become
prolific sources of malaria, rendering the atmosphere an active
poison.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Dr. Edward Knight, speaking of some parts of the town of
Stafford, says,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;These parts of the town are without
drainage, the houses, which are private property, are built
without any regard to situation or ventilation, and constructed
in a manner to ensure the greatest return at the least possible
outlay.&nbsp; The accommodation in them does not extend beyond
two rooms; these are small, and, for the most part, the families
work in the day-time in the same room in which they sleep, to
save fuel.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There is not any provision made for refuse dirt, which,
as the least trouble, is thrown down in front of the houses, and
there left to putrefy.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Mr. William Rayner, the medical officer of the Heaton Norris
district of the Stockport Union, thus describes a part of that
town:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;There are forty-four houses in the two
rows, and twenty-two cellars, all of the same size.&nbsp; The
cellars are let off as separate dwellings; these are dark, damp,
and very low, not more that six feet between the ceiling and
floor.&nbsp; The street between the two rows is seven yards wide,
in the centre of which is the common gutter, or more properly
sink, into which all sorts of <!-- page 103--><a
name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>refuse is
thrown; it is a foot in depth.&nbsp; Thus there is always a
quantity of putrefying matter contaminating the air.&nbsp; At the
end of the rows is a pool of water very shallow and stagnant, and
a few yards further, a part of the town&rsquo;s gas works.&nbsp;
In many of these dwellings there are four persons in one
bed.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>We might have hoped that country districts at least would have
been free from the evils occasioned by contracted building, want
of ventilation, want of drainage, and the like; but this is far
indeed from being the case.&nbsp; The following is from the
report of Mr. Aaron Little, the medical officer of the Chippenham
Union:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The parish of Colerne, which, upon a
cursory view, any person (unacquainted with its peculiarities)
would pronounce to be the most healthy village in England, is in
fact the most unhealthy.&nbsp; From its commanding position
(being situated upon a high hill) it has an appearance of health
and cheerfulness which delights the eye of the traveller, who
commands a view of it from the Great Western road; but this
impression is immediately removed on entering at any point of the
town.&nbsp; The filth, the dilapidated buildings, the squalid
appearance of the majority of the lower orders, have a sickening
effect upon the stranger who first visits this place.&nbsp;
During three years&rsquo; attendance on the poor of this
district, I have never known the small pox, scarlatina, or the
typhus fever to be absent.&nbsp; The situation <!-- page 104--><a
name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>is damp,
and the buildings unhealthy, and the inhabitants themselves
inclined to be of dirty habits.&nbsp; There is also a great want
of drainage.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Mr. John Fox, the medical officer of the Cerne Union,
Dorsetshire, gives the following evidence:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;In many of the cottages, where synochus
prevailed, the beds stood on the ground-floor, which was damp
three parts of the year; scarcely one had a fire place in the
bed-room, and one had a single small pane of glass stuck in the
mud wall as its only window, with a large heap of wet and dirty
potatoes in one corner.&nbsp; Persons living in such cottages are
generally very poor, very dirty, and usually in rags; living
almost wholly on bread and potatoes, scarcely ever tasting animal
food, and consequently highly susceptible of disease and very
unable to contend with it.&nbsp; I am quite sure if such persons
were placed in good, comfortable, clean cottages, the improvement
in themselves and children would soon be visible, and the
exceptions would only be found in a few of the poorest and most
wretched, who perhaps had been born in a mud hovel, and had lived
in one the first thirty years of their lives.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Mr. James Gane, the medical officer of the Uxbridge Union,
says,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;I attribute the prevalence of diseases of
an epidemic character, which exists so much more among the poor
than among the rich, to be, from the want of better <!-- page
105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
105</span>accommodation as residence, (their dwellings instead of
being built of solid materials are complete shells of mud on a
spot of waste land the most swampy in the parish; this is to be
met with almost everywhere in rural districts) to the want of
better clothing, being better fed, more attention paid to the
cleanliness of their dwellings, and less congregated
together.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Mr. Thomas H. Smith, the medical officer of the Bromley Union,
states:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;My attention was first directed to the
sources of malaria in this district and neighbourhood when
cholera became epidemic.&nbsp; I then partially inspected the
dwellings of the poor, and have recently completed the
survey.&nbsp; It is almost incredible that so many sources of
malaria should exist in a rural district.&nbsp; A total absence
of all provisions for effectual drainage around cottages is the
most prominent source of malaria; throughout the whole district
there is scarcely an attempt at it.&nbsp; The refuse vegetable
and animal matters are also thrown by the cottagers in heaps near
their dwellings to decompose; are sometimes not removed, except
at very long intervals; and are always permitted to remain
sufficiently long to accumulate in some quantity.&nbsp; Pigsties
are generally near the dwellings, and are always surrounded by
decomposing matters.&nbsp; These constitute some of the many
sources of malaria, and peculiarly deserve attention as being
easily remedied, and yet, as it were, cherished.&nbsp; The
effects of malaria are strikingly exemplified in parts of this
district.&nbsp; There are localities from which fever is seldom
long absent; and I find spots where the spasmodic <!-- page
106--><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
106</span>cholera located itself are also the chosen resorts of
continued fever.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It appears from the Sanitary Report, from which I have made
the above extracts, and which was presented to Parliament in
1842, that there were then 8000 inhabited cellars at Liverpool;
and that the occupants were estimated at from 35,000 to
40,000.&nbsp; Liverpool is called a prosperous town.&nbsp; People
point with admiration to its docks, and its warehouses, and speak
of its wealth and grandeur in high terms.&nbsp; But such
prosperity, like the victory of Pyrrhus, is apt to suggest the
idea of ruin.&nbsp; Thirty-five thousand people living in
cellars!&nbsp; Surely such things as these demonstrate the
necessity there is for making great exertions to provide fit
habitations for the poor.&nbsp; Each year there is required in
Great Britain, according to the Sanitary Report, an increase of
59,000 new tenements, &ldquo;a number equal to that of two new
towns such as Manchester proper, which has 32,310 houses, and
Birmingham, which has 27,268 houses.&rdquo;&nbsp; In these large
increments of building, is it not essential that there should be
some care for the health and <!-- page 107--><a
name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>the morals
of the people?&nbsp; Is it not a question which even in a selfish
point of view affects the whole empire?</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>I am aware that there are great difficulties in the way of any
general measure for regulating buildings.&nbsp; The first
difficulty which occurs, one which, of itself, forms a limit to
building regulations, is, that if you carry them beyond a certain
extent, the poorer classes are driven, by the increased expense,
from the occupation of cottages to that of rooms, which would be
anything but a gain.&nbsp; Besides, it is obvious, on other
accounts, that any regulations with respect to building must be
introduced with great care, especially in an old country, and
where the buildings, which you would be most anxious to modify,
are those which will be erected in the immediate vicinity of
ground already densely covered with houses.&nbsp; The Liverpool
Improvement Act affords a curious instance of, what appears to
me, absurd and impatient legislation on the subject of
building.&nbsp; By some of its provisions a certain description
of cellar in that town will be thrown out of <!-- page 108--><a
name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>occupation
on a given day.&nbsp; Now, where are the inhabitants of these
cellars to go to?&nbsp; You might as well legislate that no food
except of a certain quality should be sold; but it does not seem
likely that this would secure the maintenance of the population
so legislated upon.&nbsp; Inconsiderate measures of this kind
occasionally put even wise interference out of countenance.&nbsp;
Still, I must contend that much good may be done by some simple
building regulations of a sanitary nature.&nbsp; Much may be done
indirectly, all of which is nearly sure to be good.&nbsp; For
instance, it is very desirable to lower the taxation upon
building materials.&nbsp; Then, again, wherever the window-tax
can be modified, with a view to benefit the dwellings of the
poor, it should be done.&nbsp; Mr. Biers, a witness examined
before the Select Committee in 1842 on Building Regulations,
says,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The preamble of this Act (the Bill, I
believe, then under consideration) sets out that it is for the
purpose of preventing disease and giving better ventilation; now,
it would much increase the advantages of poor people if a rider
or addition was made to the 17th section, for the purpose of
giving a better ventilation without being liable to the
tax-gatherer.&nbsp; I have <!-- page 109--><a
name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>added to
this section, &lsquo;And, for the purpose of promoting health and
better ventilation, it is provided, that all window-lights or
casements, not being between the outside brick or stone reveals
of greater dimensions than one foot wide and three feet high,
shall not be assessed to the window duties, whether the same be
glazed or not, provided the room or appurtenance is not used for
a sleeping or dwelling apartment.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
<p><i>Viscount Sandon</i>.&nbsp; This is not for inhabited
cellars?&nbsp; No, it is to promote the ventilation of any part
that is not an inhabited room; larders and cellars and
out-appurtenances of houses.&nbsp; I used to put in the buildings
I am now erecting what are termed lancet lights, for the
ventilating the cellars, larders, &amp;c.; and, previous to the
late survey, these lancet lights were never taken; but so
stringent were the orders from the tax-board on the late survey,
that if they found a gimlet-hole they would take it.</p>
<p><i>Chairman</i>.&nbsp; Were they glazed?&mdash;Yes.</p>
<p>If they were not glazed, but made of wire, how would that
be?&mdash;Then they can take them, unless the word
&lsquo;Dairy&rsquo; or &lsquo;Cheese-room&rsquo; is written over
them; I have now been obliged to reduce three of those lancet
lights, and do not get the ventilation.&nbsp; It is as much or
more concern to the poor than it is to the rich, that they should
have a proper ventilation; and there have been many windows
stopped up (which ought not to have been taken) in consequence of
the recent survey, and which I am sure the Legislature never
intended should be taken.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>But, in addition to these indirect methods for improving
buildings, it is surely not beyond <!-- page 110--><a
name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>our
legislative ability to devise some very simple regulations, at
least of that kind which are to have a prospective
application.&nbsp; I do not like to speak confidently about the
merits of the Government Bill, introduced this session, because
it requires so much technical knowledge to judge of these
matters; but the main provisions for back-yards or open spaces
attached to dwelling houses, and for the areas to lowermost
rooms, appear to me well considered.&nbsp; This Bill applies only
to the metropolis.&nbsp; The working, however, of local
improvement Acts may afford the best kind of evidence to prepare
a general measure upon.&nbsp; When the subject was considered in
Committee in 1842, the Corporation of London sent a witness who
showed that if a certain regulation, embodied in the Bill they
were then considering, were carried into effect, it would, in
some instances, not only injure property, but prevent
improvement.&nbsp; Partial objections of this nature, which after
all may be very slight things, often prevent most useful measures
from being carried.&nbsp; But why should there not be a
discretionary power vested somewhere to relax any provision
which, in <!-- page 111--><a name="page111"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 111</span>particular cases, might be found
harsh or inapplicable?&nbsp; This power might be given to a
central office, or to local boards of health.&nbsp; Any
suggestion of this kind is liable to objections; and the truth
is, that to introduce sanitary provisions into a state of things
not prepared for them, must at first be a matter cumbered with
difficulties; but, as Lord Lyndhurst has said, &ldquo;a
difficulty is a thing to be overcome.&rdquo;&nbsp; Mr. Carlyle
has pointed out what a wonderful production a soldier is, still
more a body of them, and all the apparatus by which they are kept
in working order.&nbsp; And, as he goes on to argue, governments
could not exist if this human fighting machine were not in good
keeping, and, therefore, it is well cared for at all times.&nbsp;
Now if governments did but perceive the importance of some
regulation for the dwellings of the poor, if they looked at it
only as a matter of finance (for, eventually, the state pays for
all disease and distress), it is probable they would put their
shoulders to the wheel, and get it out of the difficulty, at
least as far as their fair share of the matter goes.</p>
<p>Again, the more difficulty there is in legislating <!-- page
112--><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>on
this subject, and especially if it can be shown that there is
difficulty connected with it of a kind almost insuperable by mere
legislative efforts, the more there remains for private
individuals to do.&nbsp; I cannot believe but that human
ingenuity, in some form or other, will be able to surmount the
evil in question.&nbsp; The difference of expense in building a
row of small cottages, back to back, which it will be hard to
ventilate, and which must be without the most obvious household
requisites, and that of building a row of cottages each of which
shall have a yard at the back, will be about 22 per cent. upon
the outlay.&nbsp; Where one would cost &pound;100, which is a
good price for the lowest class cottages, the other would cost
&pound;122.&nbsp; This calculation is independent of the cost of
the additional land which would be required.&nbsp; It is
melancholy to think that this &pound;22, and the price of the
additional land must, in thousands of cases, have determined the
health and morality of the inmates.&nbsp; I do not mean to say
that this pecuniary difference is a slight matter, but still I do
think it is somehow or other to be provided for.&nbsp; There is
always this to be <!-- page 113--><a name="page113"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 113</span>considered, that the better the
tenement, the more it will be cared for.&nbsp; In the same
Committee I have mentioned before, the Town Clerk of Leeds is
asked:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Would not the building of the better kind
of cottages always secure the best
tenants?&mdash;Unquestionably.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And the person who invested the property in buildings
of that kind would rather take six per cent. of good tenants than
seven per cent. of bad ones?&mdash;Yes; we have a number of
instances in Leeds.&nbsp; There is a gentleman named Croysdill,
who has 200 or 300 cottages; he receives the lowest rents on an
average of any large proprietor of cottages, and they are
unquestionably the most comfortable dwellings, and the best
occupied.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It may be a strong thing to say, but I can conceive it
possible, in a Christian country, for a man to restrain himself
from making the utmost profit out of his possessions.&nbsp; I can
imagine, for instance, an owner of land in a town being unwilling
to demand such a price for it, as would prevent the cottages of
the labouring people from being built with those comforts and
conveniences upon which civilization may almost be said to
depend.&nbsp; A man may think that there is some responsibility
attached to ownership; and he may not like to be in any way
accessory to the <!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 114</span>building of such habitations for the
poor as he thoroughly disapproves of.&nbsp; And if the owner of
land feels this, still more may the capitalist who undertakes to
build upon it.&nbsp; It may be a satisfactory thing to collect in
any way much money; but I think, on the other hand, that most men
have a great pleasure in doing anything well, in a workmanlike
and stable manner.&nbsp; And, strange as it may seem, it is very
possible that motives of profit and loss may not be the only ones
which have led to such miserable building, as is often to be seen
in the houses of the poor.&nbsp; People have not thought about
the matter.&nbsp; If they had seen the merit of building good
houses of a small kind, I think that in many cases, the
additional money required would not have stood in the way.&nbsp;
In the Select Committee of 1842, the following questions are
asked of a witness from Liverpool:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Is Liverpool a town which has a
considerable quantity of land which may be made available for the
purpose of erecting houses?&mdash;There is a good deal of land in
the suburbs.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The corporation possess a good deal of land?&mdash;They
do.</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 115--><a
name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>* * * *
*</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Have you had under your consideration the
provisions of what is called Lord Normanby&rsquo;s Act, by which
it is forbidden to build houses back to back?&mdash;Yes.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What were the reasons which induced the Corporation of
Liverpool not to object to houses being so built?&mdash;If houses
were not to be built back to back there would be a great
sacrifice of land.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I do not bring this evidence forward to censure that
corporation, but rather to excuse private persons in some
measure, by showing the general unconcern and ignorance about the
subject.&nbsp; It appears that even a corporate body, who might
be expected to discern the value of public health and morals, and
not to be subdued by the prospect of immediate and apparent gain,
have at least not made any endeavour to introduce a good system
of building cottages for the poor of their own town.&nbsp; Not
that they, probably, were in the slightest degree, more mercenary
than other men; but it is only an instance to show how little
attention has hitherto been given to this subject.</p>
<p>There is at present in the metropolis, a Society for
&ldquo;improving the dwellings of the <!-- page 116--><a
name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>industrious
classes;&rdquo; but what is one society?&nbsp; This is a matter
which ought to interest the owners of property, and the employers
of labour, throughout the country.&nbsp; Such a society as the
one named may do great good by building model houses, making
scientific investigations, and frequently laying before the
public information on the subject.&nbsp; But the proper division
of labour, as it seems to me, would be that the state should give
every legislative facility for contemplated improvements in the
way of building, should encourage all researches into the
subject, and be ready to enforce by law such regulations as,
without any great intrusion upon private property, might secure
for small houses those primary requisites without which it cannot
be expected that they will be anything but nests of
disease.&nbsp; In fact the state might, eventually, so order the
matter that builders should not merely build such houses as the
poor would take, for there is nothing in the way of a shelter
which they will refuse to occupy, but such as ought to be let to
them, with due care at least for the public health.&nbsp; The
local authorities should take upon themselves, <!-- page 117--><a
name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>the
lighting, cleansing, paving, supplying with water, and the
like.&nbsp; For private individuals there remains the most
important part of the task, namely, the building of an improved
class of small houses.&nbsp; In this good work the employers of
labour may be expected to come prominently forward.&nbsp; Many a
man will speculate in all kinds of remote undertakings; and it
will never occur to him that one of the most admirable uses to
which he might put his spare capital, would be to provide fit
dwelling places for the labouring population around him.&nbsp; He
is not asked to build alms houses.&nbsp; On the contrary, let him
take care to ensure, as far as he can, a good return for the
outlay, in order to avoid what may, possibly, be an unjust
interference with other men&rsquo;s property; and also, and
chiefly, that his building for the poor may not end in an
isolated act of benevolence, but may indicate a mode of employing
capital likely to be followed by others.&nbsp; In the present
state of things, the rents of small houses are disproportionately
high because of the difficulty and uncertainty of collecting the
rents for them; but by any improvement you introduce into <!--
page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
118</span>the habits of the occupiers of such houses, you make
this difficulty and uncertainty less; and thereby diminish
rents.&nbsp; And thus, in this case, as in many others, physical
and moral improvement go on acting and reacting upon each
other.&nbsp; It is likely, too, that these poor people will pay
with readiness and punctuality even a higher rent, if it be for a
really good tenement, than a small one for a place which they
must inhabit in the midst of filth, discomfort, and disease, and
therefore with carelessness and penury.&nbsp; Besides; the rents
they pay now, will be found, I believe, sufficient to reimburse
the capitalist for an outlay which would suffice to build
tenements of a superior description to the present ones.</p>
<p>I do not mean to say that the beginners of such a system of
employing capital might not have a great deal to contend with:
and it is to their benevolence, and not to any money motives,
that I would mainly appeal.&nbsp; The devout feeling which in
former days raised august cathedrals throughout the land, might
find an employment to the full as religious in building a humble
row of cottages, <!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 119</span>if they tell of honour to the great
Creator, in care for those whom he has bidden us to care for, and
are thus silently dedicated, as it were, to His name.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>The allotment system has not hitherto, I believe, been tried
to any extent in the manufacturing districts.&nbsp; Mr. James
Marshall, and Mr. Gott, of Leeds have begun to try it; but I
think it is but recently; and that there has not yet been time to
ascertain the result of the system.&nbsp; I cannot but think,
however, that it will be found more beneficial in manufacturing,
than even in rural, districts.&nbsp; Let us enumerate some of the
probable advantages.&nbsp; It would form an additional means of
support&mdash;it would tend to endear home to the working
man&mdash;it would provide a pleasing change of employment for
him in good times&mdash;it would render him not so listless when
out of work&mdash;and it would give him knowledge, an additional
topic of conversation, and an interest in various things which he
might never, otherwise, have felt the least concern for.&nbsp;
Moreover, it amuses and occupies the little ones in a family; and
it leaves less <!-- page 120--><a name="page120"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 120</span>temptation for parents to employ
children too early, in factories or workshops, when they can find
something else for them to do which may be profitable.&nbsp; In
this respect, indeed, any improvement in domestic comfort, or any
additional domestic pursuit, is likely to be beneficial, as it
enlarges the sphere of household duties, and creates more reasons
for the wife and children being left at home.&nbsp; Again, as
there is hard labour to be done in a garden, this allotment
system might occasionally prevent the sense of an almost
unnatural dependence being so much exhibited, or felt, when the
children are employed in some factory, and the grown up people
are not.&nbsp; This is one of the greatest evils that at present
attend the state of manufactures.&nbsp; Some of the advantages
which I have reckoned above, as likely to be connected with the
allotment system, are trifling things; but small impulses, all
tending one way, may lead to great results.&nbsp; The main
objection which, I suppose, will be taken, is that to make
allotments in crowded districts is scarcely practicable.&nbsp;
Some beginning, however, has been made at a place so crowded <!--
page 121--><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
121</span>as Leeds, and at any rate, in any future building
arrangements, room might be left for allotments of land, which
would also secure many advantages with respect to the sanitary
condition of the people.&nbsp; It may be remarked, too, that any
manufacturer, who possessed cottages with allotments to them,
would have an easy mode of rewarding good behaviour.&nbsp; Such
cottages would be eagerly sought after by the men, and might be
given, in preference, to those of good character.</p>
<p>Is all this romantic?&nbsp; Is it inevitable that the suburbs
of a manufacturing town must consist of dense masses of squalid
habitations, unblest by a proper supply of air, light, or water;
undrained, uncleansed, and unswept; enjoying only that portion of
civilization which the presence of the police declares; and
presenting a scene which the better orders hurry by with
disgust?&nbsp; Or, on the contrary may we not, without giving
ourselves up to Utopian dreams, imagine that we might enter the
busy resorts of traffic through extensive suburbs consisting of
cottages with their bits of land; and see, as we came along,
symptoms everywhere around of housewifely <!-- page 122--><a
name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
122</span>occupations, and of homes which their humble owners
might often think of with pleasure during their day&rsquo;s
labour, looking forward to their return at evening with
delight.&nbsp; The richer classes, even those low down in the
scale of wealth, mostly struggle to secure some portion of
country air for themselves: surely they might do their best to
provide for the working man something like a change from the
atmosphere of the factory, or workshop, in which he must pass the
greatest part of his day throughout the whole year.</p>
<p>Against what I have said above, it may be urged that it would
prevent the workman from living near his work.&nbsp; In many
cases this may be an inconvenience; but I do not imagine that, in
general, it can be proved to be an insurmountable, or even a very
serious objection.&nbsp; Turning again to the evidence of the
Town Clerk of Leeds before the Building Committee, I find the
following:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;<i>Lord Ashley</i>.&nbsp; I have been told
by several builders in London, that in consequence of the
improvements in the metropolis, great numbers of people have been
driven to the out-skirts of the town; but they found in the
out-skirts of the town an excellent house for less money than
when they lived in miserable lodgings <!-- page 123--><a
name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>in the
heart of the town; is this consistent with your experience in
Leeds?&mdash;Quite consistent.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And no hardship to themselves?&mdash;The distance of
going to work is the objection; but we find the poor people will
for twenty years walk two or three miles in a morning to their
work at six o&rsquo;clock, and seem no worse for it.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<h4>V.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">The Town</span>.</h4>
<p>It will not be a matter unworthy the attention of a great
employer of labour, to improve and embellish the town where his
work is carried on.&nbsp; It is his duty to have some care for
its public buildings, and its institutions.&nbsp; They are means
for improving, sometimes by manifest benefits, sometimes by
silent influence, the condition of his men.&nbsp; Surely if the
employers of labour felt any thing like a home affection for the
towns where they live, they could not leave them in the rude,
unadorned state in which so many of them are.&nbsp; And where is
a man&rsquo;s home, if not where he can do most good; where he
spends the best part of his life; where he directs the labour,
perhaps, of thousands, and absolutely by his own exertion may
affect <!-- page 124--><a name="page124"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 124</span>the condition of the rising
generation?&nbsp; If such a man could see the many links of duty
done, or duty disregarded, that connect him with the spot where
he works, let it be ever so dark, squalid, and repulsive, he
would still say that it was a great part of his home, and not
indulge too fondly in the idea of sunny meadows and beautiful
villas, to be enjoyed in some secure, golden, retirement.&nbsp;
He would take an interest in the erection of churches, hospitals,
buildings for the display of art, or indeed, in any institutions
that would further his great work by elevating the sentiments, or
improving the physical condition, of his men.&nbsp; The
establishment of public baths would be another matter worthy of
his attention.&nbsp; At these baths the poor might be admitted on
payment of a small fee to cover the expense of attendants.&nbsp;
The Romans, induced by social or political motives, had their
public baths, to which citizens were admitted; who formed,
however, but a small part of their people: surely higher motives
might prevail with us to have similar baths, which should be open
to all our population.&nbsp; While we are speaking of
institutions of various kinds, <!-- page 125--><a
name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>we must not
omit Monts de Pi&eacute;t&eacute;, or Loan Societies, which may
enable the poor man to get small advances on reasonable
terms.&nbsp; It will not be enough to establish such things as we
have spoken of: there is yet harder work to be done in the
management of them.&nbsp; All charitable institutions require
vigorous attention; and the better kind of men must not shrink
from the public business which they are the fittest to
transact.&nbsp; If founders or benefactors were the only people
needed, one generation might monopolize the beneficence of all
time; but charitable institutions require for ever duty to be
done by living men.&nbsp; And, as I have intimated before, it is
in giving thought and labour, that we may often make the greatest
and the most profitable sacrifices for the good of others.&nbsp;
But to go back to mere embellishment&mdash;it is very apt to go
hand in hand with material improvements.&nbsp; Besides, it raises
a higher standard.&nbsp; It declares that there is something
besides food and clothing.&nbsp; It may create, perhaps, the love
of beauty and order in minds that now seem sunk in sense.&nbsp;
At any rate it may do so in a coming generation.&nbsp; <!-- page
126--><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
126</span>And it is not a little matter if it attach the
wealthier classes to these towns.&nbsp; This naturally brings me
to a subject of which I think the reader will, on consideration,
see the importance.&nbsp; I have heard it said, and thought, it a
far-seeing remark, that one of the greatest benefits which could
be conferred on manufacturing towns, would be to purify them from
smoke, on the ground that the wealthier classes would then have
less objection to reside in their vicinity: and, especially, that
those who constitute the natural aristocracy of the place, would
not be so much tempted to remove themselves from the spot where
their fortunes had grown up.</p>
<p>Dr. Cooke Taylor, in his letters to the Archbishop of Dublin,
speaking of the parts of Manchester which &ldquo;have been
abandoned to the poorest grade of all,&rdquo; says,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Your Grace is aware that to some extent
Dublin is similarly divided into the city of the rich and the
city of the poor; but I know that many respectable and wealthy
manufacturers reside in the liberties of Dublin, while the
smoke-nuisance drives every body from the township of Manchester
who can possibly find means of renting a house
elsewhere.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Now is the doing away of this smoke a sort <!-- page 127--><a
name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>of
chimerical and Quixotic undertaking?&nbsp; Not in the
least.&nbsp; The experiments appear to be decisive upon this
point; and had there been a reasonable care for the health,
beauty, and cleanliness of the towns where their work is carried
on, the manufacturers would long ago have contrived, I believe,
that there should be no such thing as opaque smoke issuing from
their chimneys.&nbsp; Count Rumford says in his essays,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;I never view from a distance, as I come
into town, this black cloud which hangs over London without
wishing to be able to compute the immense number of chaldrons of
coals of which it is composed; for could this be ascertained, I
am persuaded so striking a fact would awaken the curiosity, and
excite the astonishment, of all ranks of the inhabitants, and
<i>perhaps</i> turn their minds to an object of economy to which
they have hitherto paid little attention.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The essay from which this extract is made was published in
1796: what would the Count say now?&nbsp; I believe the
calculation which he was thinking of has been made.&nbsp; At any
rate a near approximation might be; for I am told, on scientific
authority, that &ldquo;the actual quantity of smoke hanging any
day over London is the fourth part of the fuel <!-- page 128--><a
name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>consumed on
that day.&rdquo;&nbsp; Mr. Cubitt, the great builder, in an
examination before the House of Commons, quoted by the Sanitary
Report, thus expresses himself on this subject:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;With respect to manufactories, here are a
great number driven by competition to work in the cheapest way
they can.&nbsp; A man puts up a steam-engine, and sends out an
immense quantity of smoke; perhaps he creates a great deal of
foul and bad gas; that is all let loose.&nbsp; Where his returns
are &pound;1000 a month, if he would spend &pound;5 a month more,
he would make that completely harmless; but he says, &lsquo;I am
not bound to do that,&rsquo; and therefore he works as cheaply as
he can, and the public suffer to an extent beyond all
calculation.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To show how little loss is to be apprehended from regulations
abating this nuisance, the Sanitary Report cites the authority
of</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Mr. Ewart, the Inspector of Machinery to
the Admiralty, residing at Her Majesty&rsquo;s Dockyard at
Woolwich, where the chimney of the manufactory under his
immediate superintendence, regulated according to his directions,
offers an example of the little smoke that need be occasioned
from steam-engine furnaces if care be exercised.&nbsp; He states
that no peculiar machinery is used; the stoker or fire-keeper is
only required to exercise care in not throwing on too much coal
at once, and to open the furnace door in such slight degree <!--
page 129--><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
129</span>as to admit occasionally the small proportion of
atmospheric air requisite to effect complete combustion.&nbsp;
Mr. Ewart also states that if the fire be properly managed, there
will be a saving of fuel.&nbsp; The extent of smoke denotes the
extent to which the combustion is incomplete.&nbsp; The chimney
belonging to the manufactory of Mr. Peter Fairbairn, engineer at
Leeds, also presents an example and a contrast to the chimneys of
nearly all the other manufactories which overcast that
town.&nbsp; On each side of it is a chimney belonging to another
manufactory, pouring out dense clouds of smoke; whilst the
chimney at Mr. Fairbairn&rsquo;s manufactory presents the
appearance of no greater quantity of smoke than of some private
houses.&nbsp; Mr. Fairbairn stated, in answer to inquiries upon
this subject, that he uses what is called Stanley&rsquo;s feeding
machinery, which graduates the supply of coal so as to produce
nearly complete combustion.&nbsp; After the fire is once lighted,
little remains to the ignorance or the carelessness of the
stoker.&nbsp; Mr. Fairbairn also states that his consumption of
fuel in his steam-engine furnaces, in comparison with that of his
immediate neighbours, is proportionately less.&nbsp; The engine
belonging to the cotton-mills of Mr. Thomas Ashton, of Hyde, near
Stockport, affords to the people of that town an example of the
extent to which, by a little care, they might be relieved of the
thick cloud of smoke by which the district is oppressed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;At a meeting of manufacturers and others, held at
Leeds, for the suppression of the nuisance of the smoke of
furnaces, and to discuss the various plans for abating it, the
resolution was unanimously adopted, &lsquo;That in the opinion of
this meeting the smoke arising from <!-- page 130--><a
name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
130</span>steam-engine fires and furnaces can be consumed, and
that, too, without injury to the boilers, and with a saving of
fuel.&nbsp; Notice of legal proceedings being given against
Messrs. Meux, the brewers in London, for a nuisance arising from
the chimneys of two furnaces, they found that by using anthracite
coal they abated the nuisance to the neighbourhood, and saved
&pound;200 per annum.&nbsp; The West Middlesex Water Company, by
diminishing the smoke of their furnaces saved 1000 per
annum.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>But, putting aside the consideration of any pecuniary benefit
to be gained, I think it would not be unreasonable to say that no
considerate owner of a factory would wait for public regulations
in this matter, but would, himself, be anxious to prevent his
occupation from being injurious to his neighbours.&nbsp; In a
manufacturing town, a man may find some excuse, though a most
futile one, in the consideration that it would be of no use for
him alone to consume his smoke, when there are hundreds of others
over whom he has no influence to persuade them to follow his
example.&nbsp; But you sometimes see one of these foul-mouthed
chimneys blackening a neighbourhood generally free from such
things, and it does not seem to occur to the <!-- page 131--><a
name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>owner of
the chimney that he is doing any thing wrong, provided he is
legally secure.&nbsp; Probably he gives away in the course of the
year such a sum as would put up an apparatus which would modify,
if not altogether remove, the smoke.&nbsp; Let him not think that
charity consists only in giving away something: I doubt whether
he can find any work of benevolence more useful to his
neighbourhood and to society in general, than putting a stop to
this nuisance of his own creation.&nbsp; I am not inclined to
rest my case against it on the ground of health alone; though I
believe, with the Sanitary Commissioners, that it would be found
much more injurious than is generally imagined.&nbsp; When you
find that flowers and shrubs will not endure a certain
atmosphere, it is a very significant hint to the human creature
to remove out of that neighbourhood.&nbsp; But independently of
the question of health, this nuisance of smoke may be condemned
simply on the ground of the waste and injury which it
occasions.&nbsp; And what is to be said on the other side?&nbsp;
What can any man allege in its favour?&nbsp; Our ancestors, who
had glimmerings occasionally, held that</p>
<blockquote><p><!-- page 132--><a name="page132"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 132</span>&ldquo;Si homme fait candells deins
un vill, per qui il cause un noysom sent al inhabitants, uncore
ceo nest ascun nusans car le needfulness de eux dispensera ove le
noisomness del smell.&rdquo;&nbsp; (2 Rolls Abr. 139.)</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This is quoted in a grave public document (the Sanitary
Report): had we met with it elsewhere, we might have concluded
that it came from that chronicle in which Mr. Sidney Smith found
the account which he gives of the meeting of the clergy at
Dordrecht.&nbsp; I quote it, however, to show how wisely our
ancestors directed their attention in this instance.&nbsp; If
they had been begrimed with smoke as we are, and, upon inquiry,
had found that there was no &ldquo;needfulness&rdquo; to back the
&ldquo;noisomeness,&rdquo; it is probable they would have dealt
with it in their most summary manner.&nbsp; Whereas I fear that
Mr. Mackinnon&rsquo;s &ldquo;Smoke Prohibition&rdquo; Bill,
amidst the hubbub of legislation, has great difficulty in finding
the attention which it really deserves.&nbsp; The truth is, this
smoke nuisance is one of the most curious instances how little
pains men will take to rid themselves from evils which attack
them only indirectly.&nbsp; If the pecuniary injury done to the
inhabitants <!-- page 133--><a name="page133"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 133</span>of great towns by smoke could only
be put in the form of a smoke rate, what unwearied agitation
there would be against it.&nbsp; But surely we ought not to view
with less hostility, because of its silent noxiousness, a thing
which injures the health of our children, if not of people of all
ages, disfigures our public buildings, creates uncleanliness and
gives an excuse for it, affects in some degree the spirits of all
persons who live under it, renders manufacturing towns less
welcome places of residence for the higher classes (which is what
brings it in connexion with the subject of this Essay); and is,
thereby, peculiarly injurious to the labouring population.&nbsp;
If these pages should survive to any future age, it will excite a
smile in some curious reader to see how urgent I have endeavoured
to be about a matter which will then be so
obvious&mdash;&ldquo;What strange barbarous times they must have
been,&rdquo; he will say to himself: &ldquo;wisdom of our
ancestors, forsooth!&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Far-off reader,&rdquo;
if there be such an entity, &ldquo;do not presume: thou hast thy
smoke too.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>In connexion with the subject of &ldquo;the <!-- page 134--><a
name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
134</span>town,&rdquo; it may be well to go a little into the
matter of sewerage, which almost, above all things, demands the
attention of those who care for the health of the labouring
population, indeed, for the health of rich or poor.</p>
<p>This subject is admirably treated in a section of the Sanitary
Report of 1842, under the head of &ldquo;Arrangements for public
health, external to the residences.&rdquo;&nbsp; It is now almost
a trite thing to show how closely connected imperfect sewerage is
with disease.&nbsp; Scientific men will tell you that you may
track a fever along the windings of an open drain.&nbsp; The
Sanitary Report mentions that,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;In the evidence given before the Committee
of the House of Commons, which received evidence on the subject
in 1834, one medical witness stated, that of all cases of severe
typhus that he had seen, eight-tenths were either in houses of
which the drains from the sewers were untrapped, or which, being
trapped, were situated opposite gully-holes; and he mentioned
instances where servants sleeping in the lower rooms of houses
were invariably attacked with fever.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The above is a good instance to show how necessary it is to
have some general measures on these matters of building and
drainage.&nbsp; The expense of trapping a gully-drain is about
<!-- page 135--><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
135</span>&pound;3; at least that is what, I understand, the
Commissioners of Sewers are willing to do it for.&nbsp; Now is it
likely that any poor man, having one of these nuisances before
his door, will go to such an expense to have it prevented.&nbsp;
It is probable that it would be very good economy for him to do
so, even if his whole savings amounted only to &pound;3.&nbsp;
But we all know that few men are far-thinking enough to invest
much of their capital in a thing which makes so little show as
pure air.&nbsp; What do you find amongst the rich?&nbsp; Go
through the great squares, where, in one night, a man will lavish
on some entertainment what would almost purify his neighbourhood,
and you will often find the same evils there, though in a
different degree, that you have met with in the most crowded
parts of the town.&nbsp; If the rich and great have so little
care about what comes</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Betwixt the wind and their
nobility&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>you can hardly expect persons, whose perception in such
matters is much less nice, to have any care at all.&nbsp; It is
evident that the health of towns requires to be watched by <!--
page 136--><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
136</span>scientific men, and improvements constantly urged on by
persons who take an especial interest in the subject.&nbsp; If I
were a despot, I would soon have a band of Arnotts, Chadwicks,
Southwood Smiths, Smiths of Deanston, Joneses, and the like; and
one should have gratified a wiser ambition than Augustus if one
could say of any great town, Sordidam inveni, purgatam
reliqui.</p>
<p>The supply of water is of course one of the chief means for
the purification of a town.&nbsp; It is at present, I fear,
grievously neglected throughout the country.&nbsp; The Sanitary
Report draws attention to the mode of supplying water to Bath,
and gas to Manchester: and adduces the latter as an instance
&ldquo;of the practicability of obtaining supplies for the common
benefit of a town without the agency of private
companies.&rdquo;&nbsp; And Mr. Chadwick, after a lengthened
investigation into the subject which will well repay perusal,
thus concludes:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;I venture to add, as the expression of an
opinion founded on communications from all parts of the kingdom,
that as a highly important sanitary measure connected with any
general building regulations, whether <!-- page 137--><a
name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>for
villages or for any class of towns, arrangements should be made
for all houses to be supplied with good water, and should be
prescribed as being as essential to cleanliness and health as the
possession of a roof or of due space; that for this purpose, and
in places where the supplies are not at present satisfactory,
power should be vested in the most eligible local administrative
body, which will generally be found to be that having charge of
cleansing and structural arrangements, to procure proper supplies
for the cleansing of the streets, for sewerage, for protection
against fires, as well as for domestic use.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It is possible that some of my readers may think that the
wretched state of ventilation, drainage, and building, which I
have been commenting upon, is mainly to be accounted for by
poverty.&nbsp; It belongs, they may say, to an old country; it is
the long accumulated neglect of ages; it embodies the many
vicissitudes of trade which Great Britain has felt; it is a thing
which the people would remedy for themselves, if you could only
give them more employment and better wages.&nbsp; In answer to
this I will refer to an authority quoted by Mr. Chadwick in his
Essay on the &ldquo;Pressure and Progress of the Causes of
Mortality,&rdquo; read before the Statistical Society in
1843.</p>
<blockquote><p><!-- page 138--><a name="page138"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 138</span>&ldquo;In abundance of employment,
in high wages, and the chief circumstances commonly reputed as
elements of prosperity of the labouring classes, the city of New
York is deemed pre-eminent.&nbsp; I have been favoured with a
copy of &lsquo;<i>The Annual Report of the Interments in the City
and County of New York for the Year</i> 1842,&rsquo; presented to
the Common Council by Dr. John Griscom, the city inspector, in
which it may be seen how little those circumstances have hitherto
preserved large masses of people from physical depression.&nbsp;
He has stepped out of the routine to examine on the spot the
circumstances attendant on the mortality which the figures
represent.&nbsp; He finds that upwards of 33,000 of the
population of that city live in cellars, courts, and alleys, of
which 6618 are dwellers in cellars.&nbsp; &lsquo;Many,&rsquo; he
states, &lsquo;of these back places are so constructed as to cut
off all circulation of air, the line of houses being across the
entrance, forming a <i>cul de sac</i>, while those in which the
line is parallel with, and at one side of the entrance, are
rather more favourably situated, but still excluded from any
general visitation of air in currents.&nbsp; As to the influence
of these localities upon the health and lives of the inmates,
there is, and can be, no dispute; but few are aware of the
dreadful extent of the disease and suffering to be found in
them.&nbsp; In the damp, dark, and chilly cellars, fevers,
rheumatism, contagious and inflammatory disorders, affections of
the lungs, skin, and eyes, and numerous others, are rife, and too
often successfully combat the skill of the physician and the
benevolence of strangers.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I speak now of the influence of the locality
merely.&nbsp; The degraded habits of life, the degenerate morals,
the <!-- page 139--><a name="page139"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 139</span>confined and crowded apartments, and
insufficient food, of those who live in more elevated rooms,
comparatively beyond the reach of the exhalations of the soil,
engender a different train of diseases, sufficiently distressing
to contemplate; but the addition to all these causes of the foul
influences of the incessant moisture and more confined air of
under-ground rooms, is productive of evils which humanity cannot
regard without shuddering.&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He gives instances where the cellar population had been
ravaged by fever, whilst the population occupying the upper
apartments of the same houses were untouched.&nbsp; In respect to
the condition of these places, he cites the testimony of a
physician, who states that, &lsquo;frequently in searching for a
patient living in the same cellar, my attention has been
attracted to the place by a peculiar and nauseous effluvium
issuing from the door, indicative of the nature and condition of
the inmates.&rsquo;&nbsp; A main cause of this is the filthy
external state of the dwellings and defective street cleansing
and defective supplies of water, which, except that no provision
is made for laying it on the houses of the poorer classes, is
about to be remedied by a superior public provision.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>After considering this account of the State of New York, it
will hardly do to say, that, even under favourable circumstances,
you can leave the great mass of the people to take care of those
structural arrangements with regard to their habitations, which
only the <!-- page 140--><a name="page140"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 140</span>scientific research of modern times
has taught any persons to regard with due attention.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>We have now gone over some of the principal places where the
employer of labour may find scope for benevolent exertion.&nbsp;
It has been a most inartificial division of the subject, but
still one that may be retained in the memory, which is a strange
creature, not always to be bound by logic, but led along by
minute ties of association, among which those of place are very
strong and clinging.&nbsp; I now venture to discuss a branch of
the subject which can hardly be referred to any particular spot,
unless, indeed, I were to name the manufacturer&rsquo;s own house
as the fit ground for it: I mean the social intercourse between
the employers and the employed.&nbsp; Some persons will, perhaps,
be startled at the phrase; hardly, however, those who have come
thus far with me.&nbsp; By social intercourse I do not merely
mean that which will naturally take place in the ordinary
charities, such as visiting the sick, managing clothing
societies, and the like: but that intercourse which includes an
interchange of thought, an occasional community <!-- page
141--><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>of
pursuit, and an opportunity of indirect instruction; which may be
frequent and extensive enough to avoid the evil effects of a
sense of perpetual condescension on one side, and timidity on the
other; and which may give the employer some chance at least of
learning the general wants and wishes of his people, and also of
appreciating their individual characters.</p>
<p>This matter is not an easy one.&nbsp; It requires tact,
patience, discretion, and the application of several of the
maxims mentioned in the preceding chapter.&nbsp; I am not sure
however, that it is any sacrifice whatever in the way of
pleasure.&nbsp; The manufacturer&rsquo;s family who occasionally
give an evening to social intercourse with their people, will
not, perhaps, find that evening less amusing than many that they
may pass with their equals.</p>
<p>The advantage, to the rising generation of working people, of
some intercourse with their betters, would be very great.&nbsp; I
must here quote the authority of one who has fully expressed in
action the benevolent views which he has indicated in the
following words.&nbsp; &ldquo;No humble cottage youth or maiden
will <!-- page 142--><a name="page142"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 142</span>ever acquire the charm of pleasing
manners by rules, or lectures, or sermons, or legislation, or any
other of those abortive means by which we from time to time
endeavour to change poor human nature, if they are not permitted
to <i>see</i> what they are taught they should practise, and to
hold intercourse with those whose manners are superior to their
own.&rdquo;&nbsp; This intercourse will probably lead to
something like accomplishments among the young people.&nbsp; Some
of them will profit more than others from the manners and
accomplishments which they will observe.&nbsp; And such
differences will create a higher order of love among the working
people.&nbsp; The manners of one sex will become different from
the manners of the other; and the difference of individuals in
each sex will be brought into play.&nbsp; All this is favourable
to morality.&nbsp; When people work at the same kind of work,
have no different pursuits to call out the different qualities of
the two sexes, and have all of them manners of the same rude
stamp, you can hardly expect that there will be much to ennoble
them in their affections.</p>
<p><!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
143</span>But, in themselves, the accomplishments and
acquirements, which working people may attain from social
intercourse with their betters, are great things.&nbsp; The same
kind-hearted employer, whom I have quoted before, speaks thus
upon the subject.&nbsp; &ldquo;Another point which has appeared
to me of great importance is to provide as many resources as
possible of interest and amusement for their leisure hours;
something to which they may return with renewed relish when their
daily work is done; which may render their homes cheerful and
happy, and may afford subjects of thought, conversation and
pursuit among them.&rdquo;&nbsp; Moreover, a habit of attention,
and even scientific modes of thought, are often called out in
young people when they are learning some game.&nbsp; Besides to
do anything, or know anything, which is harmless, is
beneficial.&nbsp; A man will not be a worse workman because he
can play at cricket, or at chess; or because he is a good
draughtsman, or can touch some musical instrument with
skill.&nbsp; He is likely to have more self-respect, and to be a
better citizen.&nbsp; He cannot succeed in anything <!-- page
144--><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
144</span>without attention and endurance.&nbsp; And these are
the qualities which will enable him to behave reasonably in the
vicissitudes of trade, or to prepare as much as possible against
them.</p>
<p>In the Report on the condition of children and young persons
employed in Mines and Manufactures, there is some remarkable
evidence given by a man who had himself risen from the state of
life which he describes.&nbsp; It leads us to perceive the great
good which any improvement in the domestic accomplishments of the
women might be expected to produce.&nbsp; He says,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Children during their childhood toil
throughout the day, acquiring not the least domestic instruction
to fit them for wives and mothers.&nbsp; I will name one
instance; and this applies to the general condition of females
doomed to, and brought up amongst, shop-work.&nbsp; My mother
worked in a manufactory from a very early age.&nbsp; She was
clever and industrious; and, moreover, she had the reputation of
being virtuous.&nbsp; She was regarded as an excellent match for
a working man.&nbsp; She was married early.&nbsp; She became the
mother of eleven children: I am the eldest.&nbsp; To the best of
her ability she performed the important duties of a wife and
mother.&nbsp; She was lamentably deficient in domestic knowledge;
in that most important of all human instruction, how to make the
home and the fireside <!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 145</span>to possess a charm for her husband
and children, she had never received one single lesson.&nbsp; She
had children apace.&nbsp; As she recovered from her lying-in, so
she went to work, the babe being brought to her at stated times
to receive nourishment.&nbsp; As the family increased, so any
thing like comfort disappeared altogether.&nbsp; The power to
make home cheerful and comfortable was never given to her.&nbsp;
She knew not the value of cherishing in my father&rsquo;s mind a
love of domestic objects.&nbsp; Not one moment&rsquo;s happiness
did I ever see under my father&rsquo;s roof.&nbsp; All this
dismal state of things I can distinctly trace to the entire and
perfect absence of all training and instruction to my
mother.&nbsp; He became intemperate; and his intemperance made
her necessitous.&nbsp; She made many efforts to abstain from
shop-work; but her pecuniary necessities forced her back into the
shop.&nbsp; The family was large, and every moment was required
at home.&nbsp; I have known her, after the close of a hard
day&rsquo;s work, sit up nearly all night for several nights
together washing and mending of clothes.&nbsp; My father could
have no comfort here.&nbsp; These domestic obligations, which in
a well-regulated house (even in that of a working man, where
there are prudence and good management) would be done so as not
to annoy the husband, to my father were a source of annoyance;
and he, from an ignorant and mistaken notion, sought comfort in
an alehouse.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My mother&rsquo;s ignorance of household duties; my
father&rsquo;s consequent irritability and intemperance; the
frightful poverty; the constant quarrelling; the pernicious
example to my brothers and sisters; the bad effect upon the
future conduct of my brothers; one <!-- page 146--><a
name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>and all of
us being forced out to work so young that our feeble earnings
would produce only 1<i>s.</i> a-week; cold and hunger, and the
innumerable sufferings of my childhood, crowd upon my mind and
overpower me.&nbsp; They keep alive a deep anxiety for the
emancipation of the thousands of families in this great town and
neighbourhood, who are in a similar state of horrible
misery.&nbsp; My own experience tells me that the instruction of
the females in the work of a house, in teaching them to produce
cheerfulness and comfort at the fireside, would prevent a great
amount of misery and crime.&nbsp; There would be fewer drunken
husbands and disobedient children.&nbsp; As a working man, within
my own observation, female education is disgracefully
neglected.&nbsp; I attach more importance to it than to any thing
else.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This evidence is the more significant, because, one sees that
the poor woman had the material of character out of which the
most engaging qualities might have been formed.&nbsp; Let her
have seen better things in early life, and even if her schooling
had been somewhat deficient, had she but enjoyed the advantage of
such social intercourse with her betters as we are now
considering, that poor woman might have been a source of joy and
hope to her family, instead of a centre of repulsion.</p>
<p>Dr. Cooke Taylor, in his &ldquo;Tour in the Manufacturing
Districts,&rdquo; has given a table, <!-- page 147--><a
name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>which I
subjoin, &ldquo;showing the degree of instruction, age, and sex;
of the persons taken into custody, summarily convicted, or held
to bail, and tried and convicted, in Manchester, in the year
1841.&rdquo;&nbsp; The table was formed on statistical details
furnished by Sir Charles Shaw.&nbsp; It shows a state of facts
which has been deduced from other tables of a like nature, but
the facts are of such moment, that they can hardly be kept too
much in mind; especially when we consider that there are large
towns in which, as I have said before, half at least of the
juvenile population is growing up without education of any kind
whatever. <a name="citation147"></a><a href="#footnote147"
class="citation">[147]</a>&nbsp; If such are the favourable
results even of that small and superficial education, which by
the way I would rather call instruction than education, described
in the second and third headings of the table, what may we not
expect from a training where the youth or maiden finds in her
employers not only instructors, but friends and occasional
companions?&nbsp; What store of labour on the part of judges,
jailors, and policemen, must be saved by even a few of such
employers.</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p><!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 148</span></p>
</td>
<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center">TOTAL IN THE YEAR
1841.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="8"><p style="text-align: center">Degree of
Instruction</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td colspan="3"><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">1.&nbsp; Neither
Read nor Write.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">2.&nbsp; Read only
or Read &amp; Write imperfectly.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">3.&nbsp; Read and
Write well.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">4.&nbsp; Superior
Instruction.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p>M. &amp; F.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Fem.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>1st Class</p>
</td>
<td><p>Taken into Custody</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">13345</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9925</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">3420</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4901</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2070</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">3944</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1218</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">873</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">119</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">207</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">13</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>2nd Class</p>
</td>
<td><p>Summarily Convicted or held to Bail</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2138</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1661</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">447</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">795</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">265</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">660</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">198</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">193</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">14</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">13</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">. .</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>3rd Class</p>
</td>
<td><p>Tried and Convicted</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">24</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">645</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">179</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">277</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">100</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">276</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">72</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">82</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">7</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">. .</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td colspan="19"><p style="text-align: center">AGES.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>Under 10 Years of age.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>10 Years, &amp; under 15.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>15 Years, &amp; under 20.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>20 Years, &amp; under 25.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>25 Years, &amp; under 30.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>30 Years, &amp; under 40.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>40 Years, &amp; under 50.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>50 Years &amp; under 60.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>60 Years, &amp; upwards.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Fem.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Male.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Fem.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>1st Class</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">62</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">681</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">83</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1581</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">656</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2425</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">909</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1805</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">755</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1775</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">582</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1018</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">284</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">422</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">85</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">156</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">60</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>2nd Class</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">. .</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">151</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">17</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">302</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">84</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">418</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">150</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">264</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">93</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">327</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">75</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">129</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">39</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">49</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">14</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">17</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">5</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>3rd Class</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">. .</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">. .</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">30</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">150</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">54</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">196</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">61</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">97</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">21</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">109</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">25</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">43</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">11</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">15</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
149</span>Some persons may object to encouraging anything like
refinement amongst the operatives; and others, who would hardly
object in open terms, find it difficult to reconcile themselves
to the idea of it.&nbsp; Whatever there is in this repugnance
that arises from any selfish motive should be instantly cast
aside.&nbsp; Do not let us be meanly afraid that the classes
below us will tread too closely on our heels.&nbsp; What a
disgrace it is, if, with our much larger opportunities of
leisure, with professions that demand a perpetual exercise of the
intellectual faculties, we cannot preserve, on the average, an
intellectual superiority fully equivalent to the difference of
rank and station.&nbsp; Let the vast tracts now left barren smile
with cultivation: the happier lands, which the rivers of
civilization have enriched for ages, will still maintain their
supremacy.&nbsp; And remember this, that every insight you give
the humbler classes into the vast expanse of knowledge, you give
them the means of estimating with a deference founded on reason,
those persons who do possess knowledge of any kind.&nbsp; Let us
have faith that knowledge must in the long run lead to good; and
let us not fancy that our <!-- page 150--><a
name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>prosperity
as a class depends upon the ignorance of those beneath us.&nbsp;
Has not our partial enlightenment taught us in some measure to be
reconciled to the fact of there being classes above us?&nbsp; And
why should we fear that knowledge, which smoothes so many of the
rugged things in life, should be found unavailing to soften the
inequalities of social distinction?&nbsp; It is the ignorant
barbarians who can pluck the Roman Senate by the beard; and who,
in the depth of savageness, can see nothing in sex, age, station,
or office, to demand their veneration.&nbsp; Make the men around
you more rational, more instructed, more helpful, more hopeful
creatures if you can; above all things treat them justly: and I
think you may put aside any apprehension of disturbing the
economy of the various orders of the state.&nbsp; And if it can
be so disturbed, let it be.</p>
<p>What I have said above is not drawn from airy fancies of my
own.&nbsp; Such things as I have suggested, have been done.&nbsp;
I could mention one man, who might not, however, thank me for
naming him, who has devoted himself to the social improvement of
his <!-- page 151--><a name="page151"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 151</span>working people: and, without such an
example, I should never, perhaps, have thought of, or ventured to
put forward, the above suggestions with respect to the social
intercourse between masters and men.&nbsp; It is the same
benevolent manufacturer from whose letters to Mr. Horner I have
made extracts before.&nbsp; The general system on which he has
acted may be best explained in his own words.&nbsp; &ldquo;In all
plans for the education of the labouring classes my object would
be <i>not to raise any individuals among them above their
condition</i>, <i>but to elevate the condition itself</i>.&nbsp;
For I am not one of those who think that the highest ambition of
a working man should be to rise above the station in which
Providence has placed him, or that he should be taught to believe
that because the humblest, it is therefore the least happy and
desirable condition of humanity.&nbsp; This is, indeed, a very
common notion among the working classes of the people, and a very
natural one; and it has been encouraged by many of their
superiors, who have interested themselves in the cause of popular
improvement, and have undertaken to direct and <!-- page 152--><a
name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>stimulate
their exertions.&nbsp; Examples have constantly been held up of
men who by unusual ability and proficiency in some branch of
science had raised themselves above the condition of their birth,
and risen to eminence and wealth; and these instances have been
dwelt upon and repeated, in a manner, that, whether intentionally
or not, produces the impression that positive and scientific
knowledge is the summum bonum of human education, and that to
rise above our station in life, should be the great object of our
exertion.&nbsp; This is not my creed.&nbsp; I am satisfied that
it is an erroneous one, in <i>any</i> system of education for
<i>any</i> class of men.&nbsp; Our object ought to be, not to
produce a few clever individuals, distinguished above their
fellows by their comparative superiority, but to make the great
mass of individuals on whom we are operating, virtuous, sensible,
well-informed, and well-bred men.&rdquo;&nbsp; And again he
states that his object is &ldquo;to show to his people and to
others, that there is nothing in the nature of their employment,
or in the condition of their humble lot, that condemns them to be
rough, vulgar, ignorant, <!-- page 153--><a
name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>miserable,
or poor:&mdash;that there is nothing in either that forbids them
to be well-bred&mdash;well-informed, well-mannered&mdash;and
surrounded by every comfort and enjoyment that can make life
happy;&mdash;in short, to ascertain and to prove what the
condition of this class of people might be made&mdash;what <i>it
ought to be</i> made&mdash;what is the interest of all parties
that <i>it should be</i> made.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Before concluding this chapter, I must say a few more words on
the general subject of interference.&nbsp; No one can be more
averse than I am to unnecessary interference, or more ready to
perceive the many evils which attend it.&nbsp; There is, however,
the danger of carrying non-interference into inhumanity.&nbsp;
Mankind are so accustomed to the idea that government mainly
consists in coercion, that they sometimes find it difficult to
consider interference, even as applied to benevolent
undertakings, and for social government, in any other than a bad
light.&nbsp; But take the rule of a father, which is the type of
all good government, that under which the divine jurisdiction
<!-- page 154--><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
154</span>has been graciously expressed to us.&nbsp; Consider how
a wise father will act as regards interference.&nbsp; His anxiety
will not be to drag his child along, undeviatingly, in the wake
of his own experience; but rather, to endue him with that
knowledge of the chart and compass, and that habitual observation
of the stars, which will enable the child, himself, to steer
safely over the great waters.&nbsp; Such a father will not be
unreasonably solicitous to assimilate his son&rsquo;s character
or purposes to his own.&nbsp; He will not fall into the error of
supposing that experience is altogether a transferable
commodity.&nbsp; The greatest good which he designs for his son
will, perhaps, be that which he can give him indirectly, and
which he may never speak to the youth about.&nbsp; He will seek
to surround him with good opportunities and favourable means: and
even when he interferes more directly, he will endeavour, in the
first instance, to lead rather than to compel, so that some room
for choice may still be left.&nbsp; Not thinking that his own
power, his own dignity, his own advantage are the chief objects
for him to look to, his imagination will often be with those whom
<!-- page 155--><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
155</span>he rules; and he will thus be able to look at his own
conduct with their eyes, not with his.&nbsp; This, alone, will
keep him from a multiplicity of errors.&nbsp; Now the same
principles, actuated by the same kind of love, should be at the
bottom of all social government.&nbsp; I believe that we shall be
better able in practice to place wise limits to interference by
regulating and enlightening the animus which prompts it, than by
laying down rules for its action determined upon abstract
considerations.&nbsp; The attempt to fix such rules is not to be
despised; but if the persons, or society, about to interfere on
any occasion, desired a good object from right motives, I think
they would have the best chance of keeping themselves from using
wrong means.&nbsp; In many cases, an unwise interference takes
place from a partial apprehension of the good to be aimed at:
enlarge and exalt the object; let it not be one-sided; and
probably the mode of attaining it will partake largely of the
wisdom shown in the choice of it.&nbsp; If, for instance, a
government saw that it had to encourage, not only judicious
physical arrangements, but mental and moral development, amongst
those <!-- page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 156</span>whom it governs, it would be very
cautious of suppressing, or interfering with, any good thing
which the people would accomplish for themselves.&nbsp; The same
with a private individual, an employer of labour for instance, if
he values the independence of character and action in those whom
he employs, he will be careful in all his benevolent measures, to
leave room for their energy to work.&nbsp; What does he want to
produce?&nbsp; Something vital, not something mechanical.&nbsp;
It is often a deficiency of benevolence, and not an overflow,
that makes people interfering in a bad sense.&nbsp; Frequently
the same spirit which would make a man a tyrant in government,
would make him a busy-body, a meddler, or a pedantic formalist,
in the relations of ordinary life.&nbsp; I have taken the
instance of father and son, which might be supposed by many as
one in which extreme interference was not only justifiable, but
requisite.&nbsp; In stating how necessary it is even there to be
very careful as regards the extent and mode of interference, I
leave my readers to estimate how essential it must be in all
other cases where the relation is not of that closely connected
character.&nbsp; <!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 157</span>I believe that the parental relation
will be found the best model on which to form the duties of the
employer to the employed; calling, as it does, for active
exertion, requiring the most watchful tenderness, and yet limited
by the strictest rules of prudence from intrenching on that
freedom of thought and action which is necessary for all
spontaneous development.</p>
<h3><!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 158</span>CHAPTER IV.<br />
<span class="smcap">Sources of Benevolence</span>.</h3>
<p>There is a common phrase which is likely to become a most
powerful antagonist to any arguments that have been put forward
in the foregoing pages: and I think it would be good policy for
me to commence the attack, and endeavour to expose its weakness
in the first instance.&nbsp; If you propose any experiment for
remedying an evil, it is nearly sure to be observed that your
plan is well enough in theory, but that it is not
practical.&nbsp; Under that insidious word
&ldquo;practical&rdquo; lurk many meanings.&nbsp; People are apt
to think that a thing is not practical, unless it <i>has</i> been
tried, is immediate in its operation, or has some selfish end in
view.&nbsp; Many who do not include, either avowedly, or really,
the two latter meanings, incline, almost unconsciously <!-- page
159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
159</span>perhaps, to adopt the former, and think that a plan, of
which the effects are not foreknown, cannot be practical.&nbsp;
Every new thing, from Christianity downwards, has been suspected,
and slighted, by such minds.&nbsp; All that is greatest in
science, art, or song, has met with a chilling reception from
them.&nbsp; When this apprehensive timidity of theirs is joined
to a cold or selfish spirit, you can at best expect an Epicurean
deportment from them.&nbsp; Warming themselves in the sun of
their own prosperity, they soothe their consciences by saying how
little can be done for the unfed, shivering, multitude around
them.&nbsp; Such men may think that it is practical wisdom to
make life as palatable as it can be, taking no responsibility
that can be avoided, and shutting out assiduously the
consideration of other men&rsquo;s troubles from their
minds.&nbsp; Such, however, is not the wisdom inculcated in that
religion which, as Goethe well says, is grounded on
&ldquo;Reverence for what is under us,&rdquo; and which teaches
us &ldquo;to recognize humility and poverty, mockery and despite,
disgrace and wretchedness, suffering and death, as things
divine.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
160</span>There is a class of men utterly different from those
above alluded to, who, far from entertaining any Epicurean
sentiments, are prone to view with fear the good things of this
world.&nbsp; And, indeed, seeing the multiform suffering which is
intertwined with every variety of human life, a man in present
ease and well-being may naturally feel as if he had not his share
of what is hard to be endured.&nbsp; The fanatic may seek a
refuge from prosperity, or strive to elevate his own nature, by
self-inflicted tortures; but one, who adds wisdom to sensibility,
finds in his own well-being an additional motive for benevolent
exertions.&nbsp; It is surely bad management when a man does not
make a large part of his self-sacrifices subservient to the
welfare of his fellow-men.&nbsp; In active life nothing avails
more than self-denial; and there its trials are varying and
multifarious: but ascetics, by placing their favourite virtue in
retirement, made it dwindle down into one form only of
self-restraint.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>I suppose there are few readers of history who have not
occasionally turned from its <!-- page 161--><a
name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>pages with
disgust, confusion, a craving for any grounds of disbelief, and a
melancholy darkness of soul.&nbsp; It can hardly be otherwise,
when you read, for instance, of the colossal brutalities of the
Roman Emperors, many of whom indulged in a sportive cruelty to
their fellow men, which reminds one of children with
insects.&nbsp; When you find, again, some mighty Master of the
World, renowned for valour, and for prudence, one of those
emphatically called the &ldquo;Good&rdquo; Emperors, kindly
presenting hundreds of men to kill each other for the amusement
of the Roman multitude&mdash;when you are told that that
multitude contained, what may have been for that age, good men,
and gentle women&mdash;when, passing lower down the turbid stream
of the recorded past, you read of Popes and Cardinals,
Inquisitors and Bishops, men who must have heard from time to
time some portions of the holy words of mercy and of love, when
you find them, I say, counselling and plotting and executing, the
foulest deeds of blood&mdash;when, descending lower still, you
approach those days when law became the tyrant&rsquo;s favourite
scourge, and you find the <!-- page 162--><a
name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>legal slave
telling his master how he has interrogated some poor wretch
&ldquo;in torture, before torture, after torture, and between
torture&rdquo;&mdash;when you have some insight into what that
thing torture was, by contrasting the hand-writing of the
distracted sufferer before and after his examination&mdash;when,
to your surprise, you read that these very victims of
persecution, were themselves restless and dissatisfied, unless
they could direct the arm of power against another persecuted
race&mdash;and when, coming to your own day, you find that men,
separated from you by distance, though not by time, can show the
utmost recklessness of human life, if differently coloured from
their own.&nbsp; Pondering over these things, your heart may well
seek comfort in the thought that these tyrants were, or are, rude
men, of iron frame, ready to inflict, ready themselves to
suffer.&nbsp; It is not so.&nbsp; A Nero clings to his own life
with abject solicitude.&nbsp; A Louis the Eleventh, who could
keep other men in cages, wearies Heaven with prayers, and Earth
with strange devices, to preserve his own grotesque
existence.&nbsp; A James the First, who can sanction at the
least, if not <!-- page 163--><a name="page163"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 163</span>direct, the torture to be applied to
a poor, old, clergyman, was yet in the main a soft-hearted man,
can feel most tenderly for a broken limb of any favourite, have
an anxious affection for &ldquo;Steenie and Baby Charles,&rdquo;
and an undoubted, and provident, regard for his own
&ldquo;sacred&rdquo; person.&nbsp; What shall we say, too, of
that Chancellor of his, a man, like his master, of a soft heart,
full of the widest humanity, and yet, as far as we know,
unconscious of the horror of those ill doings transacted in his
own great presence?&nbsp; Why is it that I recall these
things?&nbsp; Why do I bring forward what many of us, forgetting
the iron weight with which the sentiments of his age press down
even upon the mightiest genius, might look upon as a humiliating
circumstance far greater than it is, in the life of a man we
ought all to love so much?&nbsp; Is history a thing done away
with, or is not the past for ever in the present?&nbsp; And is it
not but too probable that we ourselves are occasionally guilty of
things which, for our lights, are as sad aberrations as those
which, in reading of the past, we have dwelt upon with the
profoundest pity, and turned away from in <!-- page 164--><a
name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
164</span>overwhelming amazement?&nbsp; Are we quite sure that
none of the vices of tyranny rest with us; and that we
individually, or nationally, have not to answer for any
carelessness of human life or for any indifference to human
suffering?</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>What is it that has put a stop to many of the obvious
atrocities I allude to as disgracing the page of history?&nbsp;
The introduction of some great idea, the recognition, probably,
in some distinct form of the command &ldquo;to do unto others as
you would they should do unto you.&rdquo;&nbsp; And this is what
is wanted with regard to the relation of the employer and
employed.&nbsp; Once let the minds even of a few men be imbued
with an ampler view of this relation, and it is scarcely possible
to estimate the good that may follow.&nbsp; Around that just idea
what civilization may not grow up!&nbsp; You gaze at the lofty
cathedral in the midst of narrow streets and squalid buildings,
but all welcome to your sight as the places where miserable men
first found sanctuary; you pass on and look with pleasure at the
rich shops and comfortable dwellings; <!-- page 165--><a
name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>and then
you find yourself amongst ample streets, stately squares, and the
palaces of the great, with their columns and their statues: and
if then you turn your thoughts to the complex varieties of modern
life, and the progress of civilization and humanity, may you not
see the same thing there; how all that is good, and merciful, and
holy, is to be traced up to some cathedral truths, at first
little understood, just restraining rude men from bloody deeds,
and then gradually extending into daily life, being woven into
our familiar thoughts, and shedding light, and security, and
sanctity, around us?&nbsp; And, as the traveller&rsquo;s first
impulse, when he rises in the morning after his journey, is to
catch a glimpse of that famous building which must ever be the
thing most worthy of note in the city; so, in your travels, would
you not look first for these cathedral truths, and delight to
recognize their beneficent influence wherever you may meet with
anything that is good in man?</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>And now, reader, I have come to the close of this Essay.&nbsp;
I do not assert that I have <!-- page 166--><a
name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>brought
forward any specific, or even any new remedy of a partial nature,
for the evils I have enumerated.&nbsp; Indeed I have not feared
to reiterate hacknied truths.&nbsp; But you may be sure, that if
you do not find yourself recurring again and again to the most
ordinary maxims, you do not draw your observations from real
life.&nbsp; Oh, if we could but begin by believing and acting
upon some of the veriest common places!&nbsp; But it is with pain
and grief that we come to understand our first copy-book
sentences.&nbsp; As to the facts, too, on which I have grounded
my reasonings, they are mostly well known, or might be so; for I
have been content to follow other men&rsquo;s steps, and so
assist in wearing a pathway for the public mind.&nbsp; I am well
aware that I have left untouched many matters bearing closely on
the subject, more closely, perhaps, some of my readers will
think, than the topics I have taken.&nbsp; In the fields,
however, of politics, and political economy, there are many
reapers: and the part of the subject which I have chosen seemed
to me of sufficient importance to be considered by itself.&nbsp;
I know that in much of what I have said, I have <!-- page
167--><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
167</span>touched with an unpractised hand, upon matters which
some of those who are great employers of labour will have
examined and mastered thoroughly.&nbsp; Still, let them remember,
that it is one thing to criticise, and another to act.&nbsp;
Their very familiarity with the subject may render them dull to
the means of doing good which their position affords them.&nbsp;
We pass much of our time in thinking what we might do if we were
somewhat different from what we are; and the duties appropriate
to our present position invite our attention in vain.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>To others I may say, there is nothing in these pages, perhaps,
that will exactly point out the path most fitting for you to
take; still I cannot but think that so many have been indicated,
that you will have no difficulty in finding some one that may
lead to the main object if your heart is set upon it.&nbsp; If
you throw but a mite into the treasury of good will which ought
to exist between the employers and the employed, you do something
towards relieving one of the great burdens of this age, possibly
of all ages; you aid in cementing together the various orders
<!-- page 168--><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
168</span>of the state; you are one of those who anticipate
revolutions by doing some little part of their duty towards the
men of their own time; and, if you want any reward to allure you
on, you will find it in the increased affection towards your
fellows which you will always have, when you have endeavoured to
be just to them.</p>
<p>But I would wish to put more solemn considerations before
you.&nbsp; Ask yourself, if making all allowance for the
difference of times and countries, you think that the payment of
poor rates, of itself, fulfils the command to visit the sick,
clothe the naked, and feed the hungry.&nbsp; Depend upon it, our
duties, however they may be varied by the different circumstances
of different periods, cannot be satisfied by any thing that the
state demands of us, or can do for us.&nbsp; We have each, from
the highest to the lowest, a circle of dependents.&nbsp; We say
that Kings are God&rsquo;s Vicegerents upon earth: but almost
every human being has at one time or other of his life, a portion
of the happiness of those around him in his power, which might
make him tremble, if he did but see it in all its fullness.&nbsp;
But at <!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 169</span>any rate, the relation of master and
man is a matter of manifest and large importance.&nbsp; It
pervades all societies, and affects the growth and security of
states in the most remarkable and pregnant manner; it requires
the nicest care; gives exercise to the highest moral qualities;
has a large part in civil life; a larger part in domestic life;
and our conduct in it will surely be no mean portion of the
account which we shall have to render in the life that is to
come.</p>
<h3><!-- page 173--><a name="page173"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 173</span>APPENDIX.</h3>
<p>According to tables of which Mr. Grainger states that he has
ascertained the general accuracy, the proportionate numbers among
the working-classes in the Birmingham district at present
receiving education are as follows:&mdash;Out of a population of
180,000 persons,</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>10,902 or 6.05 per cent. attend day or evening schools
only;</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>4,141 or 2.30 per cent. attend both day or evening and
Sunday-schools;</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>12,616 or 7.01 per cent. attend a Sunday-school only;
making a total of</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>27,659 or 15.36 per cent. of the population attending
schools of some kind or other.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>Of this number&mdash;</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>5,835 are under 5 or above 15 years of age; leaving</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>21,824 children between the ages of 5 and 15 attending
school in the borough of Birmingham at the time the schools were
visited.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>According to the population abstracts of 1821 and 1831,
one-fourth of the total population consists of children between
these ages.&nbsp; Hence it would appear, that of the 45,000
between the ages of 5 and 15 in the borough of
Birmingham&mdash;</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p><!-- page 174--><a name="page174"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 174</span>21,824 or 48.5 per cent. were
receiving instruction in day and Sunday-schools; and</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>23,176 or 51.5 per cent. were not found receiving
instruction in either day or Sunday-schools within the borough of
Birmingham.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p style="text-align: right">(Grainger, Evidence: App.&nbsp; Pt.
I., p. <i>f</i> 185, 1. 13.)</p>
<p>In the Wolverhampton district, including the neighbouring
towns of Willenhall, Bilston, Wednesfield, Sedgley, Darlaston,
and also in the towns of Dudley, Walsall, Wednesbury, and
Stourbridge, though there are many day-schools, yet the chief
means relied on for the education of the working classes are
Sunday-schools.&nbsp; In the Collegiate Church district in the
town of Wolverhampton, containing a population of from 16,000 to
20,000 persons, there is no National or British School.&nbsp;
There is not a single school, reading-room, or lending library
attached to any of the manufactories, foundries, or other works,
with one exception near Wednesbury; there are no evening-schools,
and there is only one industrial school in these districts,
namely, at Wednesbury.&nbsp; It is stated in evidence that the
great majority of the children receive no education at all; that
not one half of them go even to the Sunday-schools, and that
those who do go to these schools seldom attend them with
regularity.&nbsp; Throughout the whole of these districts, the
proportion that can read is represented as being unusually small;
some who stated that they could read, when examined, were found
unable to read a word; and out of 41 witnesses under eighteen
years of age examined at Darlaston, only four could write their
names.&nbsp; (Horne, Report: App. Pt. II., p. Q 16, ss. 182 <i>et
seq.</i>)</p>
<p>&ldquo;The number of children on the books at the different
schools in Sheffield, comprising every description of
schools,&rdquo; says Mr. Symons, &ldquo;was made the subject <!--
page 175--><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
175</span>of minute and accurate inquiry in 1838, by the Rev.
Thomas Sutton, the vicar; and I have reason to believe that no
material difference has taken place in the amount of scholars
taught at the &lsquo;common&rsquo; and &lsquo;middling&rsquo;
private day-schools since Mr. Sutton&rsquo;s census was
made.&rdquo;&nbsp; From this census it appears that the maximum
number of children on the books of the different day-schools,
including the infant-schools, is 800; but on a personal
examination of these schools by the Sub-Commissioner, he states
that a large proportion, no less than 26.47 per cent. out of the
total number on the books, must be deducted as being continually
absent.&nbsp; &ldquo;Assuming,&rdquo; therefore, he continues,
&ldquo;that the schools thus estimated are a criterion of the
rest (and they are certainly superior), the number who attend the
schools out of the 8000 on the books is only 5869.&nbsp; Of the
number present at the schools visited, when probably the least
instructed were absent, it appears that 45.83 per cent. were
unable to read fairly, and that 63.43 per cent. could not write
fairly.&nbsp; Taking this as an index to the education of the
total number on the books, it results that, of the whole 8000,
4333 only can read fairly, and 2925 only can write fairly, or, in
other terms, have attained an elemental education.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The population of Sheffield <i>parish</i> is computed to be
123,000.&nbsp; Of this number it is assumed that at least
one-fifth will consist of children between the ages of three and
thirteen.&nbsp; There will be therefore 24,600.&nbsp; Of these
more than two-thirds will be of the working classes: at least
16,500, then, of these classes are of an age at which they ought
to be receiving education at day-schools; yet little more than
one-third of this number, viz. one only out of 2.8 attend
day-schools.&nbsp; It is impossible to ascertain what proportion
of those who do <!-- page 176--><a name="page176"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 176</span>not attend day-schools can read or
write; but as it is certain that they are less instructed by at
least one-half, I have every reason to believe that, out of the
total 16,500 working class children, not above 6,500 can read
fairly.&nbsp; Among the older youths there is still less
education, for they have had more time to forget the little they
were formerly taught.&nbsp; This estimate is so thoroughly
corroborated by the most trustworthy evidence I have received,
that I entertain the belief that two-thirds of the working class
children and young persons are growing up in a state of
ignorance, and are unable to read.&nbsp; On the books of the
Sunday-schools there were during the last year 2258, of which the
average attendance was only 1708.&nbsp; From this it appears that
24.40 per cent. or nearly a quarter, are absent of the whole
number on the books of the Sunday-schools.&nbsp; (Report: App.
Pt. I. pp. E 18 <i>et seq</i>. ss. 136, 138, 144&ndash;148, 150,
151.)</p>
<p>In the returns from the Warrington district it is stated that
nearly three-fourths of the children can read; but the
Sub-Commissioner reports that of this number nine-tenths can only
give the sound of a few monosyllables; that they have just
acquired so much knowledge in the Sunday-schools, and that they
will probably attain to little more during their lives.&nbsp;
(Austin, Report: App.&nbsp; Pt.&nbsp; II. p.&nbsp; M 19, ss. 125
<i>et seq.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Report on the Physical and Moral Condition of the Children
and young Persons employed in Mines and Manufactures</i>.</p>
<h2><!-- page 177--><a name="page177"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 177</span>II.&nbsp; AN ESSAY ON THE MEANS OF
IMPROVING THE HEALTH AND INCREASING THE COMFORT OF THE LABOURING
CLASSES.</h2>
<p><!-- page 178--><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
178</span>This Essay is chiefly based on evidence respecting the
condition of the labouring classes in towns.&nbsp; It is not,
however, necessary, on that account, to consider the subject as
applying to those classes only.&nbsp; There is good reason to
believe that the state of the agricultural labourers does not
differ much, at least in kind, from that of the working people in
towns.&nbsp; The remedies for the evils in both are of the same
nature; and whatever results are arrived at with respect to the
health of towns may generally be adapted, without much
difficulty, to the wants of the rural population.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">London,<br />
Feb. 6, 1845.</p>
<h3><!-- page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 179</span>CHAP.&nbsp; I.<br />
<span class="smcap">Distress amongst the labouring
Classes</span>.</h3>
<p>Knowing that there is an element of decay in any
over-statement, I was very anxious, in the former Essay, to avoid
even the least exaggeration in describing the distressed state of
the labouring people.&nbsp; This anxiety was, in that case,
needless.&nbsp; An elaborate Report has since been published by
the Health of Towns Commission; and the evidence there given more
than bears out the statements which I then made.</p>
<p><!-- page 180--><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
180</span>Indeed, the condition of a large part of the labouring
classes, as seen in this Report, is evidently one which endangers
the existence amongst them of economy, decency, or
morality.&nbsp; You may there see how more than savage is savage
life led in a great city.&nbsp; Dr. Southwood Smith in his
evidence says,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The experiment has been long tried on a
large scale with a dreadful success, affording the demonstration
that if, from early infancy, you allow human beings to live like
brutes, you can degrade them down to their level, leaving them
scarcely more intellect, and no feelings and affections proper to
human minds and hearts.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>He mentions that it has happened to him, in his visits to the
poor, as Physician to the Eastern Dispensary, to be unable to
stay in the room, even to write the prescription.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;What must it be,&rdquo; he adds, &ldquo;to
live in such an atmosphere, and to go through the process of
disease in it?&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In another place he says,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;You cannot in fact cure.&nbsp; As long as
the poor remain in the situations which produce their disease,
the proper remedies for such disease cannot be applied to
them.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p><!-- page 181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
181</span>This state of things, too, according to the same
authority, is advancing on us:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Whatever may be the cause, the fact is
certain, that at the present time an epidemic is prevailing,
which lays prostrate the powers of life more rapidly and
completely than any other epidemic that has appeared for a long
series of years.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The experienced student of history, reading of long wars,
looks for their consummation in the coming pestilence.&nbsp;
Gathering itself up, now from the ravaged territory, now from the
beleaguered town, now from the carnage of the battle field, this
awful form arises at last in its full strength, and rushing over
the world, leaves far behind man&rsquo;s puny efforts at
extermination.&nbsp; We have a domestic pestilence, it seems,
dwelling with us; and if we look into the causes of that, shall
we find less to blame, or less to mourn over, than in the insane
wars which are the more acknowledged heralds of this swift
destruction?&nbsp; But, to return to detail.&nbsp; Mr. Toynbee,
one of the surgeons of the St. George&rsquo;s and the St.
James&rsquo;s Dispensary, tells us:</p>
<blockquote><p><!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 182</span>&ldquo;In the class of patients to
our dispensary, nearly all the families have but a single room
each, and a very great number have only one bed to each
family.&nbsp; The state of things in respect to morals, as well
as health, I sometimes find to be terrible.&nbsp; I am now
attending one family, where the father, about 50, the mother
about the same age, a grown up son about 20, in a consumption,
and a daughter about 17, who has scrofulous affection of the jaw
and throat, for which I am attending her, and a child, all sleep
in the same bed in a room where the father and three or four
other men work during the day as tailors, and they frequently
work there late at night with candles.&nbsp; I am also treating,
at this present time, a woman with paralysis of the lower
extremities, the wife of the assistant to a stable-keeper, whose
eldest son, the son by a former wife, and a girl of 11 or 12
years of age, all sleep in the same bed!&nbsp; In another case
which I am attending in one room, there are a man and his wife, a
grown up daughter, a boy of 16, and a girl of 13; the boy has
scrofulous ulcers in the neck; the father, though only of the age
of 49, suffers from extreme debility and a broken
constitution.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The medical officer of the Whitechapel Union says,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;I know of few instances where there is more
than one room to a family.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Mr. Austin, an architect, gives us the following <!-- page
183--><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
183</span>description of Snow&rsquo;s Rents, Westminster, which
is but one instance &ldquo;among many worse,&rdquo; of the state
of things produced simply by the want, as he expresses it, of
&ldquo;proper structural arrangement and control.&rdquo;</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;This court is of considerable width,
upwards of 20 feet, but the houses are mostly without yards, and
the refuse, when become intolerable inside the houses, is
deposited in the court itself, the whole centre being a pool of
black stagnant filth, that accumulates from time to time, and is
left to decompose and infect the whole neighbourhood.&nbsp;
Ventilation, or rather a healthy state of the atmosphere is
impossible.&nbsp; What little disturbance of the air does take
place, would appear only to render its state more
intolerable.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Being asked what the condition of this court is with regard to
drainage and the supply of water, he says,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;There are none whatever there.&nbsp; In wet
weather, when the water attains a certain height In the court, it
finds its way into an open, black, pestilence-breathing ditch in
a neighbouring court; but in the ordinary state of things the
whole centre of this place is one mass of wet decomposing filth,
that lies undisturbed for weeks, from which, so dreadful is the
effluvia at times arising, that in the tenants&rsquo; own words,
&lsquo;they <!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 184</span>are often ready to faint, it&rsquo;s
so bad!&rsquo;&nbsp; The supply of water consists in this: that
16 houses are accommodated with one stand pipe in the
court!&nbsp; On the principal cleaning day, Sunday, the water is
on for about five minutes, and it is on also for three days in
the week for one half hour, and so great is the rush to obtain a
modicum before it is turned off, that perpetual quarrelling and
disturbance is the result.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>If we go now from the Metropolis to some of the great towns,
we find, substantially, the same account, varied by the special
circumstances of each place.&nbsp; Liverpool, which we will look
at next, is probably the worst.&nbsp; An official enumeration of
the court and cellar population of that town was made two years
ago, from which it appeared that 55,534 persons, more than
one-third of the working classes, inhabited courts; and 20,168
persons lived in cellars.&nbsp; There are also cellars in the
courts containing probably 2000 inhabitants.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;With regard to the <i>character</i> of
these courts, 629, or nearly one-third, were closed at both ends;
875, or less than one-half, were open at one end; and only 478,
or less than one-fourth, open at both ends.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The cellars are 10 or 12 feet square; generally
flagged,&mdash;<!-- page 185--><a name="page185"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 185</span>but frequently having only the bare
earth for a floor,&mdash;and sometimes less than six feet in
height.&nbsp; There is frequently no window, so that light and
air can gain access to the cellar only by the door, the top of
which is often not higher than the level of the street.&nbsp; In
such cellars, ventilation is out of the question.&nbsp; They are
of course dark; and from the defective drainage, they are also
very generally damp.&nbsp; There is sometimes a back-cellar, used
as a sleeping apartment, having no direct communication with the
external atmosphere, and deriving its scanty supply of light and
air solely from the front apartment.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The above extract, and the numbers of the court and cellar
population, are taken from Dr. Duncan&rsquo;s evidence.&nbsp; He
thinks, from extensive data in his possession, that the numbers,
as given in this enumeration, are under the mark.&nbsp; And it is
suggested that, possibly, casual lodgers have been omitted.&nbsp;
Dr. Duncan then gives some further details which enable us more
fully to understand what dog-holes these cellars are.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Of the entire number of cellars, 1617 have
the back apartment I have mentioned; while of 5297 whose
measurements are given, 1771, or one-third, are from five to six
feet deep,&mdash;2324 are from four to five feet, <!-- page
186--><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
186</span>and 1202 from three to four feet below the level of the
street: 5273, or more than five-sixths, have no windows to the
front; and 2429, or about 44 per cent. are reported as being
either damp or wet.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In cellars of this kind there are sometimes 30 human beings,
sometimes more, &ldquo;furnished,&rdquo; as Dr. Duncan tells us,
&ldquo;with a supply of air sufficient for the wants of only
seven.&rdquo;&nbsp; Occasionally, in this Report, there are
scenes described in a circumstantial, Dutch-picture way which the
most vigorous imagination, priding itself on its ingenuity in
depicting wretchedness, would hardly have conceived.&nbsp; Take
the following instance from the evidence of Mr. Holme of
Liverpool.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Some time ago I visited a poor woman in
distress, the wife of a labouring man.&nbsp; She had been
confined only a few days, and herself and infant were lying on
straw in a vault through the outer cellar, with a clay floor,
impervious to water.&nbsp; There was no light nor ventilation in
it, and the air was dreadful.&nbsp; <i>I had to walk on bricks
across the floor to reach her bed-side</i>, <i>as the floor
itself was flooded with stagnant water</i>.&nbsp; This is by no
means an extraordinary case, for I have witnessed scenes equally
wretched; and it is only necessary to go into Crosby-street,
Freemason&rsquo;s row, <!-- page 187--><a
name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>and many
cross streets out of Vauxhall-road, to find hordes of poor
creatures living in cellars, which are almost as bad and
offensive as charnel houses.&nbsp; In Freemason&rsquo;s-row I
found, about two years ago, a court of houses, the floors of
which were below the public street, and the area of the whole
court was a floating mass of putrefied animal and vegetable
matter, so dreadfully offensive that I was obliged to make a
precipitate retreat.&nbsp; Yet the whole of the houses were
inhabited!&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Think what materials for every species of comfort and luxury,
are perpetually circulating through Liverpool.&nbsp; If there had
not been, for many a day, a sad neglect of supervision on the
part of the employers, and great improvidence on that of the
employed, we should not see the third part of the working
population of such a town immersed in the most abject
wretchedness, and all this wealth passing through and leaving so
little of the comforts of life in the active hands through which
it has passed.&nbsp; It may be said, however, that a considerable
part of the population of Liverpool is immigrant, and
Irish.&nbsp; Turn then to Nottingham, or York, or Preston, it is
the <!-- page 188--><a name="page188"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 188</span>same story.&nbsp; Mr. Hawksley, the
engineer, says of Nottingham:</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;With few exceptions the houses of
Nottingham and its vicinity are laid out either in narrow
streets, or more commonly are built in confined courts and
alleys, the entrance to which is usually through a tunnel from 30
to 36 inches wide, about 8 feet high, and from 25 to 30 feet
long, so that purification by the direct action of the air and
solar light is in the great majority of these cases perfectly
impracticable.&nbsp; Upwards of 7000 houses are erected <i>back
to back and side to side</i>, and are of course by this injurious
arrangement deprived of the means of adequate ventilation and
decent privacy.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Dr. Laycock says of York,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;From these inquiries it appears that in the
parish of St. Dennis, in which strict accuracy was observed, from
8 to 11 persons slept in one room in 4&frac12; per cent. of the
families resident there; in 7&frac12; per cent. from 6 to 8
persons slept in one room; of the total 2195 families visited by
the district visitors, 26 per cent. had one room only for all
purposes.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The Rev. Mr. Clay gives an account of an examination of a part
of Preston,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The streets, courts, and yards examined
contain about 422 dwellings, inhabited at the time of the inquiry
by 2400 persons sleeping in 852 beds, i.e. an average of <!--
page 189--><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
189</span>5.68 inhabitants to each house, and 2.8 persons to each
bed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;In 84 cases 4 persons slept in the same bed.<br />
&bdquo; 28 &bdquo; 5 <br />
&bdquo; 13 &bdquo; 6<br />
&bdquo; 3 &bdquo; 7<br />
&bdquo; 1 &bdquo; 8</p>
<p>&ldquo;And, in addition, a family of 8 on bed stocks covered
with a little straw.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The results of statistical investigations, with respect to the
duration of life, are in unison with the inferences that we
should naturally make from the facts before us.&nbsp; Dr. Laycock
shows us that in York, in the best drained parishes, where the
population to the square rood is 27, and the mean altitude above
the sea in feet is 50, the mean age at death is 35.32; in
intermediate parishes, where the population is denser and the
altitude less, the mean age at death is 27.29; in the worst
drained, worst ventilated, and lowest situated parishes, the mean
age at death is 22.57.&nbsp; He mentions a fact well worth
noticing, that the cholera in 1832 broke out in the court called
&ldquo;the Hagworm&rsquo;s nest,&rdquo; which is in the same spot
<!-- page 190--><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
190</span>where the pestilences of 1551 and 1604 had dwelt.&nbsp;
Surely, in these last two hundred years, we might have drained
and ventilated a locality which experience had shown to be so
attractive to epidemics.&nbsp; The Rev. Mr. Clay has furnished a
table, subjoined in the Appendix, showing the progressive
diminution of vitality in the respective classes of gentry,
tradesmen, and operatives, at Preston.&nbsp; Dr. Duncan says
respecting the mortality of Liverpool,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;While in Rodney Street and Abercromby
Wards, with upwards of 30,000 inhabitants, the mortality is below
that of Birmingham&mdash;the most favoured in this respect of the
large towns in England&mdash;in Vauxhall Ward, with a nearly
equal amount of population, the mortality exceeds that which
prevails in tropical regions. * * * * * 177 persons die annually
in Vauxhall Ward for every 100 dying out of an equal amount of
population in Rodney Street and Abercromby Wards.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Vauxhall Ward is where the greater number of inhabitants dwell
in cellars.&nbsp; Well may Dr. Duncan, in commenting on this
difference of mortality in Vauxhall Ward and Rodney Street,
declare that it is a fact &ldquo;sufficient <!-- page 191--><a
name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>to arouse
the attention and stimulate the exertions of the most
indifferent.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>The average age at death in the following classes is made out
from all the deaths which took place in the Suburban, the Rural,
and the Town districts of Sheffield in the three years, 1839,
1840, and 1841:</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>Gentry, professional persons, and their families</p>
</td>
<td><p>47.21</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Tradesmen and their families</p>
</td>
<td><p>27.18</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">Artisans,
Labourers, and their families</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>A.&nbsp; Employed in different kinds of trade and
handicraft common to all places</p>
</td>
<td><p>21.57</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>B.&nbsp; Employed in the various descriptions of
manufacture pursued in Sheffield and its neighbourhood</p>
</td>
<td><p>19.34</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Persons whose condition in life is undescribed</p>
</td>
<td><p>15.04</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Paupers in the Workhouse</p>
</td>
<td><p>25.51</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Farmers and their families</p>
</td>
<td><p>37.64</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Agricultural Labourers and their families</p>
</td>
<td><p>30.89</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>In considering such statistics, the premature death of these
poor people is not the saddest thing which presents itself to us,
but the unhealthy, ineffectual, uncared-for, uncaring life which
is the necessary concommitant of such a rapid rate of
mortality.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p><!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
192</span>Since the publication of the preceding Essay, Mr.
Pusey&rsquo;s &ldquo;Poor in Scotland,&rdquo; an abstract which
has brought the evidence taken before the Scotch Poor Law
Commission within short compass, has been published.&nbsp; This
evidence is of a nature that cannot be passed by.&nbsp; We may
think that such details are wearisome, but we must listen to
them, if we would learn the magnitude of the evil.&nbsp; It is no
use proceeding without a sufficient substratum of facts.&nbsp;
Turning then to this abstract, we find one minister in Edinburgh
saying,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;I visited a part of my parish on Friday
last, and in all the houses I found persons destitute of food,
and completely destitute of fuel; without an article of
furniture; without beds or bedding, the inmates lying on
straw.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Another tells the Commissioners,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;the allowance generally made, is not
sufficient to keep them (the outdoor pensioners) in existence at
the lowest possible rate of living.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>A third says</p>
<blockquote><p><!-- page 193--><a name="page193"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 193</span>&ldquo;I have often trembled when I
have gone at the call of duty to visit the receptacles of
wretchedness, because I felt that I could not relieve the misery
which I must look upon; and in such cases, nothing but a sense of
duty could compel me to go and visit the poor.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>And a fourth minister mentions that his poor parishioners had
stated to him</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;that they regarded themselves as outcasts
from the sympathy of their fellow-men.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It also appears from Dr. Alison&rsquo;s evidence that this
distress is increasing.&nbsp; You read of Glasgow, always
fruitful in extreme instances of misery, that in one of the
private poor-houses, 22 children were found, all afflicted with
fever, and occupying a room <i>about fourteen feet
square</i>.&nbsp; The Superintendent of the Glasgow Police,
speaking of a district in the centre of the town, says</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;These places are filled by a population of
many thousands of miserable creatures.&nbsp; The houses in which
they live are altogether unfit for human beings, and every
apartment is filled with a promiscuous crowd of men, women and
children, in a state of filth and misery.&nbsp; In many of the
houses there is scarcely any ventilation.&nbsp; Dunghills lie in
the vicinity of the dwellings, and from <!-- page 194--><a
name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>the
extremely defective sewerage, filth of every kind constantly
accumulates.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Touching the immediate object of the enquiry, the relief of
paupers, we find that Humanity having gone with cold and cautious
steps (giving 4<i>s.</i> a month, sometimes, to fathers and
mothers of families) through the Southern and middle regions of
Scotland, becomes in the Highlands nearly petrified: at
&ldquo;the utmost&rdquo; is only able to divide amongst
&ldquo;the impotent poor about 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> a-head for
the whole year.&rdquo;&nbsp; I dare say many things may be urged
against this, as against all other evidence&mdash;a bit picked
off here, another pruned off there&mdash;this statement modified,
that a little explained.&nbsp; Do what you will: this evidence,
like that of the Health of Towns Commission, remains a sad
memorial of negligence on the part of the governing and employing
classes.</p>
<p>It may be said that the improvidence of the labouring people
themselves is a large item in the account of the causes of their
distress.&nbsp; I do not contend that it is not, nor <!-- page
195--><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
195</span>even that it is not the largest; and, indeed, it would
be very rash to assert that this class has, alone, been innocent
of the causes of its own distress.&nbsp; But whatever part of
their improvidence is something in addition to the improvidence
of ordinary mortals, belongs, I believe, to their want of
education and of guidance.&nbsp; It is, therefore, only putting
the matter one step further off, to say that their distress is
mainly caused by their improvidence, when so much of their
improvidence is the fruit of their unguided ignorance.&nbsp;
However true it may be, that moral remedies are the most wanted,
we must not forget that such remedies can only be worked out by
living men; and that it is to the most educated in heart and mind
that we must turn first, to elicit and to spread any moral
regeneration.&nbsp; Besides, there is a state of physical
degradation, not unfrequent in our lowest classes, where, if
moral good were sown, it could hardly be expected to grow, or
even to maintain its existence.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p><!-- page 196--><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
196</span>The extracts given in the foregoing pages present some
of the salient points which these new materials afford of the
distressed state of the labouring classes.&nbsp; It is a part of
the subject requiring to be dwelt upon; for I believe there are
many persons in this country who, however cultivated in other
respects, are totally unaware of the condition of that first
material of a state, the labouring population, aye even of that
portion of it within a few streets of their own residences.</p>
<p>Indeed, everybody is likely at some time or other to have
great doubts about this distress which is so much talked
of.&nbsp; We walk through the metropolis in the midst of activity
and splendour: we go into the country and see there a healthful
and happy appearance as we pass briskly along: and we naturally
think that there must be great exaggeration in what we have heard
about the distressed condition of the people.&nbsp; But we forget
that Misery is a most shrinking unobtrusive creature.&nbsp; It
cowers out of sight.&nbsp; We may walk <!-- page 197--><a
name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>along the
great thoroughfares of life without seeing more than the
distorted shadow of it which mendicancy indicates.&nbsp; A little
thought, however, will soon bring the matter home to us.&nbsp; It
has been remarked of some great town, that there are as many
people living there in courts and cellars, or at least in the
state of destitution which that mode of life would represent, as
the whole adult male population of London, above the rank of
labourers, artisans, and tradesmen.&nbsp; Probably we should form
the most inadequate estimate of this court and cellar population,
even after a long sojourn in the town.&nbsp; Now ponder over the
fact.&nbsp; Think of all the persons in London coming within the
above description whom you know by sight.&nbsp; Think how small a
part that is of the class in question, how you pass by throngs of
men in that rank every day without recognizing a single
person.&nbsp; Then reflect that a number of people as great as
the whole of this class may be found in one town exhausting the
dregs of destitution.&nbsp; When we have once appreciated <!--
page 198--><a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
198</span>the matter rightly, the difficulty of discerning, from
casual inspection, the amount of distress, will only seem to us
an additional element of misfortune.&nbsp; We shall perceive in
this quiescence and obscurity only another cause of regret and
another incitement to exertion.</p>
<h3><!-- page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 199</span>CHAP. II.<br />
<span class="smcap">Remedies and Reflections suggested by the
Health of Towns Report</span>.</h3>
<p>Having now made ourselves to some extent aware of the distress
existing amongst the labouring classes, we will consider the main
branches of physical improvement discussed in the Health of Towns
Report.</p>
<h4>1.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">Ventilation</span>.</h4>
<p>I put this first, being convinced that it is the most
essential.&nbsp; It is but recently that any of us have
approximated to a right appreciation of the value of pure
air.&nbsp; But look for a moment at one of those great forest
<!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
200</span>trees; and then reflect that all that knotted and
gnarled bulk has been mainly formed out of air.&nbsp; We, in our
gross conceptions, were wont to think that the fatness of the
earth was the tree&rsquo;s chief source of nourishment.&nbsp; But
it is not so.&nbsp; In some cases this is almost perceptible to
the eye, for we see the towering pine springing from a soil
manifestly of the scantiest nutritive power.&nbsp; When we once
apprehend how large a constituent part, air is, of bodies
inanimate and animate, of our own for instance, we shall be more
easily convinced of the danger of living in an impure
atmosphere.</p>
<p>And whether it agree with our preconceived notions or not, the
evidence on this point is quite conclusive.&nbsp; The volumes of
the Health of Towns Report teem with instances of the mischief of
insufficient ventilation.&nbsp; It is one body of facts moving in
one uniform direction.&nbsp; Dr. Guy noticed that, in a building
where there was a communication between the stories, disease
increased in regular gradations, floor by floor, as the air was
more and more vitiated, the employment of the <!-- page 201--><a
name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>men being
the same.&nbsp; But it is needless to quote instances of what is
so evident.&nbsp; With respect to the remedies, these are as
simple as the evils to be cured are great.&nbsp; For instance,
there was a lodging house in Glasgow where fever resided;
&ldquo;but by making an opening from the top of each room,
through a channel of communication to an air pump, common to all
the channels, the disease disappeared altogether.&rdquo;&nbsp;
Other modes of ventilation are suggested in the Report; and one
very simple device introduced by Mr. Toynbee, a perforated zinc
plate fixed in the window-pane furthest from the fire or the bed,
has been found of signal benefit.&nbsp; I shall take another
opportunity of saying more upon the subject of ventilation.&nbsp;
Of all the sanitary remedies, it is the most in our power.&nbsp;
And I am inclined to believe that half per cent. of the annual
outlay of London, that is ten shillings in every hundred pounds,
spent only for one year in improvements connected with
ventilation, would diminish the sickness of London by one
fourth.</p>
<h4><!-- page 202--><a name="page202"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 202</span>2.&nbsp; <span
class="smcap">Sewerage</span><b>.</b></h4>
<p>Melancholy as the state of this department is shown to be;
destructive annually, I fear, of thousands of lives; it is almost
impossible not to be amused at the grotesque absurdity with which
it has been managed.&nbsp; One can imagine how Swift might have
introduced the subject in Grildrig&rsquo;s conversations with the
King of Brobdingnag.&nbsp; &ldquo;The King asked me more about
our &lsquo;dots&rsquo; of houses, as his Majesty was pleased to
call them; and how we removed the scum and filth from those
little &lsquo;ant-heaps&rsquo; which we called great towns.&nbsp;
I answered that our custom was to have a long brick tube, which
we called a sewer, in the middle of our streets, where we kept a
sufficient supply of filth till it fermented, and the foul air
was then distributed by gratings at short intervals all over the
town. <a name="citation202"></a><a href="#footnote202"
class="citation">[202]</a>&nbsp; I also <!-- page 203--><a
name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>told his
Majesty, that to superintend these tubes, we chose men not from
any particular knowledge of the subject, which was extremely
difficult, but impartially, as one may say; and that the opinions
of these men were final, and the laws by which they acted
irrevocable.&nbsp; I also added that if we had adopted the mode
of making these tubes which our philosophers would have
recommended, (but that we were a practical people) we might have
saved in a few years a quarter of a million of our golden
coins.&nbsp; &lsquo;Spangles,&rsquo; said His Majesty, who had
lately seen me weighing one of the golden likenesses of our
beloved Queen against a Brobdingnag spangle that had fallen from
the dress of some maid of honour.&nbsp; Spangles or not, I
replied, they were very dear to us, dearer than body and soul to
some, so that we <!-- page 204--><a name="page204"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 204</span>were wont to say when a man died,
that he died &lsquo;worth so much,&rsquo; by which we meant so
many gold coins or spangles, at which His Majesty laughed
heartily.&nbsp; I then went on to tell the King, of our river
Thames, that it was wider than His Majesty could stride, that we
were very proud of it, and drank from it, and that all these
tubes led into it, and their contents were washed to and fro by
the tide before the city; and, then, my good Glumdalclitch seeing
that I had talked a long time and was much wearied, took me up
and put me into my box and carried me away.&nbsp; But not before
I had heard the King speak of my dear country in a way which gave
me great pain.&nbsp; &lsquo;Insufferable little wretches,&rsquo;
His Majesty was pleased to say, &lsquo;as foolish when they are
living at peace at home as when they are going out to kill other
little creatures abroad,&rsquo; with more that was like this, and
not fit for me to repeat.&rdquo;</p>
<p>In sober seriousness, this subject of sewerage has been most
absurdly neglected.&nbsp; I <!-- page 205--><a
name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>do not
blame any particular class or body of men.&nbsp; Parliament has
been repeatedly applied to in the matter, but nothing has been
done, as it was a subject of no public interest, though it is
probable, if the truth were known, that in those Sessions in
which the subject was mooted, there were few questions of equal
significance before the House.&nbsp; There are excellent
suggestions in the Health of Towns Report for improvement in the
original construction of sewers, for their ventilation, for their
being flushed, for making the curves at which the side sewers
ought to be connected with the main trunks, for a better system
of house drainage, respecting which Mr. Dyce Guthrie has given
most valuable evidence, for the doing away with unnecessary gully
drains, and for conducting all the contents of these sewers, not
into our much loved river, but far away from the town, where they
can do no mischief, and will be of some use.&nbsp; This is not a
simple matter like ventilation; and what is proposed involves
large undertakings.&nbsp; Still it is of immense and growing
importance, and <!-- page 206--><a name="page206"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 206</span>should be resolutely begun at once,
seeing that every day adds to the difficulty which will have to
be overcome.</p>
<h4>3.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">Supply of Water</span>.</h4>
<p>This is an essential part of any large system of sanitary
improvement, and one that does not present very great
difficulty.&nbsp; The principal facts which I collect from the
Report are, that the expense of transmission is inconsiderable,
and consequently that we may have water from a distant source;
that the plan of constant supply seems to be the best; that this
constant supply, under a high pressure, could be thrown over the
highest buildings in case of fire, that it could be used for
baths, public fountains, and watering and cleansing streets; that
it could be supplied at 1<i>d.</i> or 1&frac12;<i>d.</i> a week
to the houses of the poor, and for this that they might have any
quantity they chose to take.&nbsp; At present the labour of
bringing water entirely prevents cleanliness in many of the more
squalid parts <!-- page 207--><a name="page207"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 207</span>of the town: and the advantage of a
constant and unlimited supply would be almost incalculable.&nbsp;
There appears to be some difficulty in applying the principle of
competition to the supply of water; for the multiplication of
water companies has in some instances only produced mischief to
the public.&nbsp; I would suggest to the political economist
whether there may not be some spheres too limited for
competition.&nbsp; But these are questions which I cannot afford
at present to dwell upon.</p>
<h4>4.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">Building of Houses</span>.</h4>
<p>In considering this branch of the subject, the first thing
that occurs is the absolute necessity of getting sufficient space
to build upon.&nbsp; Other improvements may follow; but almost
all of them will be defective, if this primary requisite be
wanting.&nbsp; Hence it is of such importance to combat the
notion that people must live near their work.&nbsp; It is a great
convenience, no doubt.&nbsp; But the question is <!-- page
208--><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
208</span>not of living near their work, but of dying, or being
perpetually ill, near it.&nbsp; Mr. Holland has made a
calculation from which it appears, that in some parts of the town
of Chorlton-upon-Medlock, in a family of five individuals,
&ldquo;there will be on the average about 50 days a year more
sickness <i>due to the insalubrity of the
dwellings</i>.&rdquo;&nbsp; To avoid this additional illness, it
is surely worth while for working men to live even at a
considerable distance from their work.&nbsp; Indeed I think two
or three miles is not such a distance as should prevent
them.&nbsp; Besides, is it not probable that, in many instances,
the work would come to them?</p>
<p>Supposing that new building takes place, whether from the
poorer classes tending more to the suburban districts, or from
the dense parts of towns being rebuilt, much might be done by
modifying, if not repealing, the window tax and the tax on
bricks.</p>
<p>With respect to the next point, the laying out of the ground,
there are most valuable suggestions given by Mr. Austin in the
Health of <!-- page 209--><a name="page209"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 209</span>Towns Report.&nbsp; The result of
his evidence is, that the average rental paid now in Snow&rsquo;s
Fields, a place which I have endeavoured to make the reader
acquainted with before, would return upwards of 10 per cent. upon
money laid out in making a substantial set of buildings to occupy
the place of the present hovels; and that these new houses should
have &ldquo;every structural arrangement requisite to render them
healthy and comfortable dwellings.&rdquo;&nbsp; I have only to
add on this subject, that it would be of the utmost advantage in
any new buildings, and especially for small houses, likely to be
built by small capitalists, that there should be a survey made of
every town, and its suburbs, with &lsquo;contours of equal
altitude.&rsquo; <a name="citation209"></a><a href="#footnote209"
class="citation">[209]</a>&nbsp; As things <!-- page 210--><a
name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>are managed
at present, people building without any reference to a general
scale, or any connexion with each other (the non-interference
principle carried to its utmost length) the greatest difficulties
in the way of sanitary improvement are introduced where there
need have been none.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>The main branches of sanitary improvement touched upon by the
Report are enumerated above.&nbsp; There are, however, some
general results and principles which demand our especial
attention.</p>
<p>In the first place it seems to be universally true that
economy goes hand in hand with sanitary improvement.&nbsp; So
beneficently is the physical world constructed, that our labour
<!-- page 211--><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
211</span>for sanitary ends is eminently productive.&nbsp; The
order of Providence points out that men should live in
cleanliness and comfort which we laboriously and expensively
contravene.&nbsp; In the Appendix I subjoin a table drawn up by
Mr. Clay, showing in detail the saving produced by sanitary
measures.&nbsp; I may notice, as bearing on the point of economy,
that there is concurrent evidence showing an excessive rate of
mortality to be accompanied by excessive reproduction.&nbsp;
Consequently, the result of the present defective state of
sanitary arrangements is, that a disproportionate number of
sickly and helpless persons of all ages, but chiefly children,
are thrown upon the state to be provided for.&nbsp; If this were
to occur in a small community it would be fatal.&nbsp; In a great
state it is not more felt than a calamitous war, or an adverse
commercial treaty.&nbsp; But it requires a continued attention as
great as that which those more noisy calamities are able to
ensure for themselves while they are in immediate agitation.</p>
<p><!-- page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
212</span>Secondly, it is stated that the seats of disease are
the seats of crime, a result that we should naturally expect.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Again, it appears from many instances that what we are wont to
call the improvements in great towns are apt to be attended by an
increase of discomfort to the poor.&nbsp; To them, the opening of
thoroughfares through densely crowded districts, in the
displacement which it creates, is an immediate aggravation of
distress.&nbsp; Considering this, ought we not to endeavour that
improvements for the rich and the poor should go on
simultaneously?&nbsp; It is a hard measure to destroy any
considerable quantity of house property appropriated to the
working classes, and thereby to raise their rents and densify
their population, without making any attempt to supply the vacuum
thus created in that market.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>It is stated by Dr. Arnott &ldquo;that nearly half of the
accidental illnesses that occur <!-- page 213--><a
name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 213</span>among the
lower classes might be prevented by proper public
management:&rdquo; a statement which the general body of
evidence, I think, confirms.&nbsp; Now, consider this
result.&nbsp; Think what one night of high fever is: then think
that numbers around you are nightly suffering this, from causes
which the most simple sanitary regulations would obviate at
once.&nbsp; When you are wearied with statistical details, vexed
with the difficulty of trying to make men do any thing for
themselves, disgusted with demagogues playing upon the
wretchedness of the poor, then think of some such signal fact as
this; and you will cheerfully, again, gird up yourself to fight,
as heretofore, against evils which are not to be conquered
without many kinds of endurance as well as many forms of
endeavour.</p>
<p>I do not wish to raise a senseless moan over human
suffering.&nbsp; Pain is to be borne stoutly, nor always looked
on with unfriendly eye.&nbsp; But surely we need not create it in
this wholesale fashion; and then say that <!-- page 214--><a
name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>that which
is a warning and a penalty, is but wholesome discipline, to be
regarded with Mussulman indifference.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>I come now to what seems to me the most important result
obtained in the whole course of the elaborate evidence taken
before the Health of Towns Commission.&nbsp; It appears not only
that distress can exist with a high rate of wages, without
apparently any fault on the part of the sufferers; <a
name="citation214a"></a><a href="#footnote214a"
class="citation">[214a]</a> but, actually, that in some
instances, <i>there is an increase of sickness with an increase
of wages</i>. <a name="citation214b"></a><a href="#footnote214b"
class="citation">[214b]</a>&nbsp; The medical officer of the
Spitalfields&rsquo; District states that the weavers have
generally less fever when they are out of work.&nbsp; This
statement is confirmed by testimony of a like nature from
Paisley, Glasgow, and Manchester.&nbsp; It is one of the most
significant facts <!-- page 215--><a name="page215"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 215</span>that has struggled into upper
air.&nbsp; We talk of the increase of the wealth of
nations&mdash;it may be attended by an increase of misery and
mortality, and the production of additional thousands of
unhealthy, parentless, neglected human beings.&nbsp; It may only
lead to a larger growth of human weeds.&nbsp; The explanation of
the matter is simple.&nbsp; Dr. Southwood Smith tells us that
&ldquo;Fever is the disease of adolescence and
manhood.&rdquo;&nbsp; Now, wretched as the dwelling houses of the
poor are, <i>their places of work are frequently still worse</i>.
<a name="citation215a"></a><a href="#footnote215a"
class="citation">[215a]</a>&nbsp; Consequently, with an increase
of work, there comes an increase of fever from working in
ill-ventilated rooms, an increase of poor-rates, <a
name="citation215b"></a><a href="#footnote215b"
class="citation">[215b]</a> and an especial increase of orphanage
and widowhood, as the fever chiefly seizes upon persons in the
prime of life.&nbsp; And a large part of this increase is <!--
page 216--><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
216</span>thus distinctly brought home to neglect, or ignorance,
on the part of the employers of labour.&nbsp; Surely, as soon as
they are made cognizant of this matter, they will at once hasten
to correct it.&nbsp; In the appendix to this work there is a
letter from Dr. Arnott, giving an account of the causes of
defective ventilation, and the remedies for it.&nbsp; We can no
longer say that the evil is one which requires more knowledge
than we possess to master it.&nbsp; Science, which cannot
hitherto be said to have done much for the poor, now comes to
render them signal service.&nbsp; It is for us to use the
knowledge, thus adapted to our hands, for a purpose which Bacon
describes as one of the highest ends of all knowledge, &ldquo;the
relief of man&rsquo;s estate.&rdquo;&nbsp; Consider the awful
possibility that we may at some future time fully appreciate the
results of our doings upon earth.&nbsp; Imagine an employer of
labour having before him, in one picture as it were, groups of
wretched beings, followed by a still more deteriorated race, with
their vices and their sufferings expressed in some material,
palpable <!-- page 217--><a name="page217"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 217</span>form&mdash;all his own handiwork in
it brought out&mdash;and at the end, to console him, some heaps
of money.&nbsp; If he had but a vision of these things by night,
while yet on earth, such an all-embracing vision as comes upon a
drowning man!&nbsp; Then imagine him to awake to life.&nbsp; You
would not then find that he knew methods of ensuring to his
workmen fresh air, but lacked energy, or care, to adventure any
thing for them.&nbsp; Talk not to me of money, he would
say&mdash;Money-making may be one of the conditions of
continuance in this matter that I have taken in hand, but on no
account the one great object.&nbsp; Indeed, if a man cannot make
some good fabric by good means, he would perform a nobler part,
as Mr. Carlyle would tell us, in retiring from the contest, and
saying at once that the nature of things is too hard for
him.&nbsp; He is far, far, better conquered in that way, than
obstructing the road by work badly done, or adding to the
world&rsquo;s difficulties by inhumanity.</p>
<p><!-- page 218--><a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
218</span>What I have given is but an outline of the Health of
Towns Report; and I would fain persuade my readers to turn to the
original itself.&nbsp; Some delight in harrowing tales of
fiction: here are scenes indicated, if not absolutely depicted,
which may exercise the tenderest sympathies.&nbsp; Others are
ever bending over the pages of history: here, in these
descriptions of the life of the poor, are sources of information
respecting the well-being of nations, which history, much given
to tell only of the doings of the great, has been strangely
silent upon.&nbsp; For the man of science, for the moral
philosopher, or even for the curious observer of the ways of the
world, this Report is full of interesting materials.&nbsp; But it
is not as a source of pleasurable emotion that our attention
should be called to it.&nbsp; It is because without the study of
such works, we cannot be sure of doing good in the matter.&nbsp;
If there is anything that requires thought and experience, it is
the exercise of Charity in such a complicated system as modern
life.&nbsp; Indeed, there is scarcely anything to be done wisely
in <!-- page 219--><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
219</span>it without knowledge.&nbsp; And I believe it would be
better, for instance, that people should read this Health of
Towns Report, than that they should subscribe liberally to
carrying out even those suggestions which are recommended by men
who have thought upon these subjects.&nbsp; There is no end to
the quickening power of knowledge; but mere individual, rootless
acts of benevolence are soon added up.</p>
<p>There is not the less necessity for this knowledge, because
public attention is in some measure awakened to the duties of the
employers of labour.&nbsp; I do not know a more alarming sight
than a number of people rushing to be benevolent without
thought.&nbsp; In any general impulse, there are at least as many
thoughtless as wise persons excited by it: the latter may be
saved from doing very foolish things by an instinct of sagacity;
but for the great mass of mankind, the facts require to be
clearly stated and the inferences carefully drawn for them, if
they are to be prevented from wasting their benevolent impulses
upon foolish or mischievous undertakings.</p>
<h3><!-- page 220--><a name="page220"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 220</span>CHAP. III.<br />
<span class="smcap">By what Means the Remedies may be
effected</span>.</h3>
<p>Certainly, whether built upon sufficient information or not,
there is at the present time a strong feeling that something must
be done to improve the condition of the labouring classes.&nbsp;
The question is, how to direct this feeling&mdash;where to urge,
where to restrain it; and to what to limit its exertions.&nbsp;
An inane desire for originality in such matters is wholly to be
discouraged.&nbsp; People must not dislike taking up what others
have begun.&nbsp; Of the various modes of improving the sanitary
condition of the labouring classes, each has some peculiar
claim.&nbsp; Ventilation is so easy, and at the same time so
effective, that <!-- page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 221</span>it seems a pity not to begin at once
upon that.&nbsp; Again, structural arrangements connected with
the sewerage of great towns are pressing matters, because, like
the purchase of the Sybil&rsquo;s books, you have less for your
money, the longer you delay.&nbsp; These two things and the
supply of water seem to me the first points to be attacked; but a
prudent man will endeavour to fall in with what others are doing,
if it coincides with his direction, and he can thereby hasten on,
not exactly his own methods, but the main result which he has in
hand.</p>
<p>There is one conclusion which most persons who have thought on
these subjects seem inclined to come to&mdash;namely, that a
Department of Public Health is imperatively wanted, as the duties
to be performed in this respect are greater than can be thrown
upon the Home Secretary.&nbsp; I venture to suggest one or two
things which it might be well to consider in the formation of
such a Department.&nbsp; It should not be a mere Medical Board
under one of the great branches of the Executive; <!-- page
222--><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
222</span>but an entirely independent Department.&nbsp; It will
thus have a much firmer voice in Parliament, and elsewhere.&nbsp;
Scientific knowledge, as well as legal and medical, should be at
its daily command.&nbsp; I lay much stress upon the first, and
for this reason.&nbsp; Medical men, who are not especially
scientific, are apt, I suspect, to be &ldquo;shut up in
measureless content&rdquo; with the old ways of going on.&nbsp;
Their knowledge becomes stereotyped.&nbsp; And as, in such a
Department, the aid of the latest discoveries is wanted, it is
better to rely upon those whose especial business it is to be
acquainted with them.&nbsp; All departments and institutions are
liable to become hardened, and to lose their elasticity.&nbsp; It
is particularly desirable that this should be avoided in a
Department for the Public Health; and, therefore, great care
should be taken in the constitution of it, to ensure sufficient
vitality, and admit sufficient variety of opinion, or it would be
better to trust to getting each special work done by new
hands.&nbsp; The change of political chiefs, a thing frequent
enough in <!-- page 223--><a name="page223"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 223</span>modern times, will ensure some of
that diversity of mind which is one of the main inducements for
lodging power in a Commission or a Board.</p>
<p>It is a great question what authority should be entrusted by
this central body to Municipalities or local bodies.&nbsp; They
should certainly have the utmost that can discreetly be given to
them.&nbsp; It does not do to say that, hitherto, they have been
totally blind to their duty in this matter.&nbsp; So have other
people been.&nbsp; The great principle of an admixture of
centralization with local authority should not be lost sight of
without urgent reasons.&nbsp; That any reform should be
undertaken in sanitary measures betokens an improved state of
moral feeling.&nbsp; The feeling amongst the most influential
classes which produces the legislative reform may be expected to
go lower down&mdash;indeed, the reform has already, in all
probability, found some of its most useful supporters in a lower
class&mdash;and therefore we may expect to find fit persons to
work in the lower executive departments.&nbsp; It is not <!--
page 224--><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
224</span>fair to go back and assume that the old state of
feeling exists&mdash;in fact, that the parchment law is changed,
and not the people.&nbsp; This might be so in a despotic
government, but not here.&nbsp; It is an oversight, when, in such
cases, a general improvement is not calculated upon.</p>
<p>One of the first things that might be attempted in the
legislative way is Smoke Prohibition.&nbsp; It is exactly a
matter for the interference of the state.&nbsp; The Athenian in
the comedy, wearied of war, concludes a separate peace with the
enemy for himself, his wife, his children, and his servant; and
forthwith raises a jovial stave to Bacchus.&nbsp; Now all
sensible people would not only be glad to enter into amicable
relations with Smoke, but would even be content to pay a good sum
for protection against the incursions from factory chimnies and
other nuisances in their neighbourhood.&nbsp; But there is no
possibility of making such private treaties.&nbsp; The common
undistinguishable air is vitiated: and we ask the State, for the
sake of the common <!-- page 225--><a name="page225"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 225</span>weal, to see this matter
righted.&nbsp; It has been long before the public; and there is
sufficient evidence to legislate at once upon.&nbsp; At any rate,
if Mr. Mackinnon&rsquo;s bill is referred to a Committee, it
ought to be upon the understanding that the suggestions of the
Committee shall be forthwith and earnestly considered, with a
view to instant legislation.&nbsp; If the Committee were to make
an excursion into the smoke-manufacturing parts of the
Metropolis, they would see here and there factory chimnies from
which less smoke issues than from private houses.&nbsp; This
seems to be conclusive.&nbsp; They will not find, I think, that
these smokeless chimnies belong to unimportant factories.&nbsp;
Now, if the nuisance can be cured in one case, why not in
all?&nbsp; Here we have new and stately public buildings, in the
East and the West of the town, which only a few of us, for a
short time, will see in their pristine purity.&nbsp; If we cannot
appreciate the mischief which this smoke does to ourselves, let
us have some regard for the public buildings.&nbsp; Consider,
too, at what an immense outlay we purchase <!-- page 226--><a
name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>this canopy
of smoke.&nbsp; Certainly at hundreds of thousands a year in
London alone.&nbsp; We have, therefore, made an investment in
smoke of some millions of money.&nbsp; If we had but the
resources to spend upon public improvements, which have thus been
worse than wasted, we should need no other contribution.&nbsp;
Moreover, the proposed restrictions in the case of smoke would
not only be beneficial to the public, but profitable to the
individual: and the more one considers the subject, the more
astonished one is, that they should not long ago have been
enacted.</p>
<p>But the truth is, we are quite callous to nuisances.&nbsp; A
public prosecutor of nuisances is more wanted than a public
prosecutor of crime.&nbsp; And this is one of the things that
would naturally come under the supervision of a Department of
Health.&nbsp; I find, from the Health of Towns Report, that it is
proposed to permit the continuance of sundry noxious trades in
London for thirty years, and then they are to be carried on under
certain restrictions.&nbsp; It cannot be said that <!-- page
227--><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
227</span>this is selfish legislation: the present generation may
inhale its fill of gas and vitriol; but our grandchildren will
imbibe &ldquo;under certain restrictions&rdquo; only that
quantity which is requisite to balance the pleasures of a city
life.&nbsp; At Lyons there is a long line of huge stumps of trees
bordering on the river.&nbsp; The traveller, naturally enough,
supposes that this is the record of some civil commotion; but, on
inquiry, he finds that the fumes of an adjacent vitriol
manufactory have in their silent way levelled these magnificent
trees as completely as if it had been done by the most effective
cannonade.&nbsp; If we could but see in some such palpable manner
how many human beings are stunted by these nuisances, we should
proceed in their expulsion with somewhat of the vigour which it
deserves.&nbsp; Imagine, if only for one day, we could enjoy a
more than lynx-like faculty, and could see, not merely through
rocks, but into air, what an impressive sight it would be in this
Metropolis.&nbsp; Here, a heavy layer of carbonic acid gas from
our chimnies&mdash;<!-- page 228--><a name="page228"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 228</span>there, an uprising of sulphuretted
hydrogen from our drains&mdash;and the noxious breath of many
factories visible in all its varieties of emanation.&nbsp; After
one such insight, we should need no more Sanitary Reports to
stimulate our exertions.&nbsp; But it is only our want of
imagination that prevents us from apprehending now the state of
the atmosphere.&nbsp; Science demonstrates the presence of all
that I have pictured, and far more.</p>
<p>Great resistance might, perhaps, be made, if large measures
were to be taken for the removal of noxious trades from great
towns.&nbsp; In many cases, where rapid measures would be harsh
and unjust, it would be well worth while for the community to buy
the absence of these unpleasant neighbours, resolutely shutting
the gates against the incoming of any similar nuisances for the
future.&nbsp; On the other hand, mere clamour about the rights of
property and the injustice of interference must be firmly
resisted.&nbsp; This clamour has been made in all times.&nbsp;
Indeed, men seldom raise <!-- page 229--><a
name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>a more
indignant outcry than when they are prevented from doing some
injury to their neighbours.&nbsp; How the feudal barons must have
chafed, when deprived of the right of hanging in their own
baronies: how cruel it doubtless seemed to the monopolists of
olden times, when some &ldquo;factious&rdquo; House of Commons
summoned to its bar the Sir Giles Overreaches, and made them
disgorge their plunder; how planters in all climes storm, if you
but touch the question of loosening the fetters of their
slaves.&nbsp; And so, in these minor matters, when the community,
at last awake to its interest, forbids some injurious practice to
go on any longer, it is natural that those who have profited by
it, and who, blinded by self-interest, still share the former
inertness of the public, should find it hard to submit quietly
and good-naturedly to have any restrictive regulations put upon
their callings.&nbsp; And where the public can smooth this in any
way, they ought to do so; not grudging even large outlay, so that
the nuisances in question be speedily and effectually <!-- page
230--><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
230</span>removed.&nbsp; The money spent by the community on
sanitary purposes is likely to be the most reproductive part of
its expenditure, and especially beneficial to the poorer classes
who, for the most part, live near these nuisances, and have few
means of resisting their noxious influence.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>After discussing what might be done by legislation, we come
naturally to consider what might be done by Associations for
benevolent purposes.&nbsp; However inadequate such Associations
may be as an equivalent for individual exertion, there are,
doubtless, many occasions on which they may come in most
effectively; doing that which individuals can hardly
undertake.&nbsp; In London, for instance, an association that
would give us an elaborate Survey of the town, would accomplish a
most benevolent purpose, and not be in any danger of interfering
unwisely with social relations.&nbsp; The same may be said of our
other towns, for, I believe, there is not one of them possessing
a Survey fit to be used for building and sanitary
improvements.&nbsp; Again, there are certain <!-- page 231--><a
name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>fields at
Battersea at present unbuilt upon, close to the river, one of
those spots near the metropolis that ought to be secured at once
for purposes of public health and amusement: if a Society will do
that for us, they will accomplish a noble work.&nbsp; Happily,
the necessity for public parks is beginning to be
appreciated.&nbsp; These are the fortifications which we should
make about our towns.&nbsp; Would that, on every side of the
Metropolis, we could see such scenes as this so touchingly
described by Goethe.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Turn round, and from this height look back
upon<br />
The town: from its black dungeon gate forth pours,<br />
In thousand parties, the gay multitude,<br />
All happy, all indulging in the sunshine!<br />
All celebrating the Lord&rsquo;s resurrection,<br />
And in themselves exhibiting, as &rsquo;twere<br />
A resurrection too&mdash;so changed are they,<br />
So raised above themselves.&nbsp; From chambers damp<br />
Of poor mean houses&mdash;from consuming toil<br />
Laborious&mdash;from the work-yard and the shop&mdash;<br />
From the imprisonment of walls and roofs,<br />
And the oppression of confining streets,<br />
And from the solemn twilight of dim churches&mdash;<br />
All are abroad&mdash;all happy in the sun.&rdquo;</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Anster&rsquo;s Faust</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
232</span>Many other excellent enterprises might be suggested
which societies are peculiarly fitted to undertake.&nbsp; I must
own that I think they are best occupied in such matters as will
not require perpetual looking after, which when they are once
done are wholly done, such as the formation of a park, the making
of a survey, the collection of materials for a legislative
measure, and the like.&nbsp; These bodies are called in for an
exigency, and we should be able to contemplate a time when their
functions will cease; or at least when their main work will be
done.</p>
<p>Other limits in their choice of objects might be
suggested.&nbsp; For instance, it is desirable that they should
address themselves, in preference, to such purposes as may
benefit people indirectly; or such as concern the public as a
body rather than distressed individuals of the public; or that
aim at supplying wants which the people benefited are not likely
in the first instance to estimate themselves.&nbsp; Such is the
supply of air, light, and the means of cleanliness.&nbsp; There
is small <!-- page 233--><a name="page233"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 233</span>danger of corrupting industry by
giving any extent of facilities for washing. <a
name="citation233"></a><a href="#footnote233"
class="citation">[233]</a></p>
<p>While we are on this subject, we must not pass over the
societies which have started up in connexion with our immediate
object.&nbsp; These &ldquo;Baths and Washhouses for the
Poor&rdquo; are an admirable charity, obvious to very little of
the danger which is apt to threaten benevolent
undertakings.&nbsp; It would, however, <!-- page 234--><a
name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 234</span>be a most
serious drawback on their utility, if they were to render people
indifferent to the much greater scheme of giving a constant
supply of water at home.&nbsp; With respect to the building
associations for the improvement of the houses of the poor, their
efforts, as it seems to me, will be most advantageously directed,
not in building houses, but in buying and preparing ground, and
letting it out to the individual builder upon conditions
compelling the desired structural arrangements.&nbsp; In this way
they may immensely extend the sphere of their usefulness.&nbsp;
It is not by limiting their profit, and so insisting upon proving
their benevolence, but by giving birth to the greatest amount of
beneficial exertion on the part of individuals, that they may do
most good.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>We come now to consider what may be done by individual
exertion.&nbsp; Here it is, that by far the largest field is open
for endeavour: here, that neglect is most injurious.&nbsp; Many a
man who subscribes largely to charities, <!-- page 235--><a
name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span>has created
more objects for them, than he has furnished them with means to
relieve, if he has neglected but a little his duties as an
employer of labour, or an owner of property.&nbsp; This mischief
arises from considering charity as something separated from the
rest of our transactions; whereas a wise man weaves it in with
them, and finds the first exercise for it in matters that grow
out of his nearest social relations, as parent, master of a
household, employer of labour, and the like.</p>
<p>The more we look into the question, the more weight, I think,
we shall attach to individual exertion.&nbsp; Take it in all its
branches.&nbsp; Consider the most remarkable impulse ever given
to the energies of Europe&mdash;the Crusades.&nbsp; It was an
aggregate of individual impulses.&nbsp; Every strong and
enterprising man felt that it was a matter which concerned his
own soul.&nbsp; It was not only that he was to cause something to
be done for the great object, but, if possible, he was to do it
himself.&nbsp; A Crusade against Misery is called <!-- page
236--><a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
236</span>for now; and it will only be carried on successfully by
there being many persons who are ready to throw their own life
and energy into the enterprise.&nbsp; Mere mercenary aid alone
will never do it.</p>
<p>Look, moreover, at what one man can do.&nbsp; A Chatham
springs into power, and we are told that down to the lowest
depths of office a pulsation is felt which shows that there is a
heart once more at the summit of affairs.&nbsp; The distant
sentinel walks with a firmer tread on the banks of the Ebro,
having heard that the Duke has arrived at head quarters.&nbsp;
So, throughout.&nbsp; Every where you find individual energy the
sustaining power.&nbsp; See, in public offices, how it is the two
or three efficient men who carry on the business.&nbsp; It is
when some individuals subscribe largely in time, thought, and
energy, to any benevolent association that it is most like to
prosper&mdash;for then it most resembles one powerful devoted
man.&nbsp; The adding up of many men&rsquo;s indolence will not
do.&nbsp; You think, perhaps, listless man of rank or wealth,
that your order <!-- page 237--><a name="page237"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 237</span>sustains you.&nbsp; Short time would
it do so, but for the worthy individuals who belong to it, and
who, at the full length of the lever, are able to sustain a
weight which would throw the worthless, weightless men into air
in a minute.</p>
<p>In the above cases it has been one man wielding much power;
but in the efforts that are wanted to arrest the evils which we
have been considering, the humblest amongst us has a large sphere
of action.&nbsp; A provident labouring man, for example, is a
blessing to his family and to his neighbours; and is thus doing
what he best can, to relieve even national distress.</p>
<p>It is a total mistake to bring, as it were, all the misery and
misfortune together, and say, now find me a remedy large as the
evil, to meet it.&nbsp; Resolve the evil into its original
component parts.&nbsp; Imagine that there had been no such thing
as the squandering, drinking, absentee Irish landlords we read of
in the last generation&mdash;do you suppose that we should have
as many inhabitants <!-- page 238--><a name="page238"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 238</span>in St. Giles&rsquo;s, and the
Liverpool cellars, to look after now?&nbsp; So, with the English
landlords and manufacturers of that time, see what a subtraction
from the general mass of difficult material there would have
been, if those men had done their duty.&nbsp; But you will say we
are still talking of bodies.&nbsp; Imagine, then, that during the
last generation there had been the energetic efforts of
individuals in these bodies, that there are now, directed to the
welfare of the people under them.&nbsp; It would, no doubt, have
been a great easement of the present difficulty.&nbsp; Any body
who does his duty to his dependents keeps a certain number out of
the vortex; and his example is nearly sure to be followed, if he
acts in an inoffensive, modest fashion.&nbsp; Dr. Arnott has
shown what great things may be done in the way of ventilation by
individual employers.&nbsp; See what benefit would arise if only
some few builders, taking to heart the present miserable
accommodation for the poor, which few know better than they do,
would, in their building enterprises, speculate also in houses of
the <!-- page 239--><a name="page239"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 239</span>smaller kind, and take a pride in
doing the utmost for them.</p>
<p>One might easily multiply instances where individual exertion
would come in; but each man must in some measure find out the fit
sphere of action for him.&nbsp; &ldquo;The Statesman&rdquo; tells
us that the real wealth of a state is the number of
&ldquo;serviceable&rdquo; minds in it.&nbsp; The object of a good
citizen should be to make himself part of this wealth.&nbsp; Let
him aid where he can in benevolent associations, if well assured
of their utility, and at the same time mindful of the duty of
private endeavour; but do not let him think that he is to wait
for the State&rsquo;s interference, or for co-operation of any
kind.&nbsp; I do not say that such aids are to be despised, but
that they are not to be waited for, and that the means of social
improvement are in every body&rsquo;s hands.&nbsp; For warfare,
men are formed in masses, and scientific arrangement is the soul
of their proceedings.&nbsp; But industrial conquests and,
especially, the conquests of benevolence, are often made, here
somewhat <!-- page 240--><a name="page240"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 240</span>and there somewhat, individual
effort struggling up in a thousand free ways.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>The individual freedom which we possess is a great reason for
individual exertion.&nbsp; How large that freedom is, it needs
but a slight acquaintance with the past to estimate.&nbsp;
Through what ages have we not toiled to the conviction that
people should not be burnt for their opinions.&nbsp; The lightest
word about dignities, the slightest claim to freedom of thought
or speech upon those matters which, perhaps, angelic natures
would hardly venture to pronounce upon, even the wayward play of
morbid imagination, were not unlikely in former times to lead to
signal punishments.&nbsp; A man might almost in his sleep commit
treason, or heresy, or witchcraft.&nbsp; The most cautious,
official-spoken man amongst us, if carried back on a sudden to
the days of Henry the Eighth, would, at the end of the first
week, be pursued by a general hue and cry from the authorities,
civil and ecclesiastical, for his high and heinous words <!--
page 241--><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
241</span>against King, Church, and State.&nbsp; While now,
Alfred Tennyson justly describes our country as</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The land, where girt with friends or
foes,<br />
A man may say the thing he will.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>There is danger of our losing this freedom if we neglect the
duties which it imposes.&nbsp; But I have resolved to avoid
dwelling upon dangers, and would rather appeal to other
motives.&nbsp; The triumph for a nation so individually free as
ours, would be to show that the possible benefits of despotism
belonged to it&mdash;that there should be paternal government
without injurious control&mdash;that those things should
ultimately be attained by the exertions of many which a despot
can devise and execute at once, but which his successor may, with
like facility, efface.&nbsp; Whereas what is gained for many by
many, is not easily got back.&nbsp; It must be vast embankments
indeed which could compel that sea to give up its conquests.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p><!-- page 242--><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
242</span>We have now gone through the principal means by which
social remedies may be effected: there comes the consideration
within what limits these means should be applied.&nbsp; The
subject of interference is a most difficult one.&nbsp; We are
greatly mistaken, however, if we suppose that the difficulty is
confined to Government interference.&nbsp; Who does not know of
extreme mischief arising from over-guidance in social relations
as well as in state affairs?&nbsp; The inherent difficulty with
respect to any interference, is a matter which we have to get
over in innumerable transactions throughout our lives.&nbsp; The
way in which, as before said, it appears to me it should be met,
is principally by enlightenment as to the purposes of
interference.&nbsp; Look at the causes which are so often found
to render interference mischievous.&nbsp; The governing power is
anxious to exalt itself; instead of giving life and energy,
wishes only to absorb them.&nbsp; Or it is bent upon having some
outward thing done, careless of the principles on which it is
done, or <!-- page 243--><a name="page243"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 243</span>of the mode and spirit of doing
it.&nbsp; Hence, in public affairs, things may be carried which
have only a show of goodness, but in reality are full of danger;
and in private life, there arise formality, hypocrisy, and all
kinds of surface actions.&nbsp; Or, again, the governing power is
fond of much and minute interference, instead of, as Burke
advises, employing means &ldquo;few, unfrequent, and
strong.&rdquo;&nbsp; There may also be another error, when from
over-tenderness, or want of knowledge, the authority in question
suffers those under its influence to lean on it, when they are
strong enough to walk by themselves.&nbsp; All these errors are
general ones, which require to be guarded against in the
education of a child, as well as in the government of a
state.&nbsp; All of them, too, have their root in an insufficient
appreciation of the value of free effort.&nbsp; But when this is
once attained, the interfering party will see that his efforts
should mainly be enabling ones: that he may come as an ally to
those engaged in a contest too great for their ability; but that
<!-- page 244--><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
244</span>he is not to weaken prowess by unneeded meddling.&nbsp;
It may be said that this is vague.&nbsp; I am content to be vague
upon a point where, I believe, the greatest thinkers will be very
cautious of laying down precise rules.&nbsp; Look at what Burke
says with regard to state interference&mdash;that it should
confine itself to what is &ldquo;truly and properly publick, to
the publick peace, to the publick safety, to the publick order,
to the publick prosperity.&rdquo;&nbsp; How large a scope do
those words &ldquo;publick prosperity&rdquo; afford.&nbsp;
Besides, the transactions, in which we want to ascertain just
limits for our interference, are so numerous, and so various,
that they are not to be met but by an inconceivable multiplicity
of rules.&nbsp; Such rules may embody much experience, but they
seldom exhaust the subject which they treat of; and there is the
danger of our suffering them to enslave, instead of merely to
guide, our judgments.&nbsp; And then, on some critical occasion,
when the exception, and not the rule, is in accordance with the
principle on which the rule has been formed, we <!-- page
245--><a name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
245</span>may commit the greatest folly in keeping to what we
fancy the landmarks of sagacity and experience.&nbsp; Instead,
therefore, of laying down any abstract rules, I will only observe
that a prim&acirc; facie reluctance to all interference is most
reasonable, and perhaps as necessary in the social world, as
friction is in the physical world, in order to prevent every
unguided impulse from having its full mechanical effect: that,
nevertheless, interference must often be resorted to: and that
the best security for acting wisely in any particular case, is
not to suffer ourselves to be narrowly circumscribed by rules,
but at the same time to be very cautious of attempting any mere
present good, of getting notions of our own rapidly carried into
action, at the expense of that freedom and moral effort which are
the surest foundations of all progress.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>We were considering, above, the claim which our individual
freedom makes on our individual exertion for the good of
others.&nbsp; But this freedom must in some degree be <!-- page
246--><a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
246</span>limited in order to produce its best results; and
amongst them, to secure the greatest amount of such individual
exertion.&nbsp; We know the restraint that must exist upon all,
if all are to enjoy equal freedom.&nbsp; The freedom of one is
not to be a terror to another.&nbsp; Law is based upon this
obvious principle.&nbsp; But there are other circumstances also,
in which individuals will find support and comfort in the general
freedom being circumscribed by some interference on the part of
the state or other bodies.&nbsp; Such a case occurs when the
great majority of some class of private individuals would
willingly submit to wise regulations for the general good, but
cannot do so without great sacrifice, because of the selfish
recusancy of some few amongst them.&nbsp; Here is a juncture at
which the State might interfere to enable individuals to carry
out their benevolent intentions.&nbsp; But one of the main
reasons for some degree of interference from the State or other
authorized bodies, in matters connected with our present subject,
is that, otherwise, the responsibilities of individuals <!-- page
247--><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
247</span>would be left overwhelming.&nbsp; It is to be
remembered by those who would restrain such interference within
the narrowest possible bounds, that they by so much increase
individual responsibility.&nbsp; Responsibility can, happily, by
no scheme, be made to vanish.&nbsp; Wherever a signal evil
exists, a duty lies somewhere to attack it.&nbsp; Suppose a
district, for instance, in which the state of mortality is
excessive, a mortality clearly traceable to the want of sanitary
regulations.&nbsp; In a despotic government it may be enough to
mention this to the central body.&nbsp; In a free state, where
the duties of a citizen come in, more is required from the
individual; and if there is no fit body of any kind to appeal to
in such a case, the burden lies upon all men acquainted with the
facts, to endeavour conjointly, or separately, to remove the
evil.&nbsp; While, on the one hand, we must beware of introducing
such interference, whether coming from the State or other bodies,
as might paralyse individual exertion, we must at the same time
remember that the weight to be <!-- page 248--><a
name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 248</span>removed may
be left overwhelmingly disproportionate to individual effort, or
even to conjoint effort, if unauthorized, both of which may thus
be stiffened by despair into inaction.</p>
<p>In the instance we have just been considering, we must not say
that the people immediately interested in removing the evil will
do so themselves.&nbsp; It is part of the hypothesis that they
will not.&nbsp; Ages have passed by, and they have not.&nbsp;
They do not know what is evil.&nbsp; It has been observed that
savages are rarely civilized by efforts of their own.&nbsp; A
vessel from civilized parts comes and finds them savages.&nbsp; A
generation passes away.&nbsp; Another vessel comes, how
differently propelled, how differently constructed; manned by
sailors who have different costume, food, ways of speech and
habits from the former ones; but they are able to recognize at
once the savages described by their forefathers.&nbsp; These have
not changed.&nbsp; The account of them is as exact as if it were
written yesterday.&nbsp; In such a land, we must not look for
<!-- page 249--><a name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
249</span>the germ of improvement amongst the miserable
inhabitants themselves.&nbsp; It must come from without, brought
thither by hopeful, all-sympathizing enterprize.</p>
<h3><!-- page 250--><a name="page250"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 250</span>CHAP.&nbsp; IV.<br />
<span class="smcap">In what Spirit the Remedies are to be
effected</span>.</h3>
<p>Whenever the condition of the labouring people becomes a
general topic, some erroneous modes of discussing it arise which
deserve notice.&nbsp; In the first place, there is a matter
which, in all our friendly efforts for the working classes, we
must not forget, and that is, to make these efforts with
kindliness to other classes.&nbsp; The abuse of other people is
an easy mode of showing our own benevolence, more easy than
profitable.&nbsp; To alleviate the distress of the poor may be no
gain, if, in the process, we aggravate the envies and jealousies
which may be their especial temptation.&nbsp; The spirit to be
wished <!-- page 251--><a name="page251"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 251</span>for is sympathy; and that will not
be produced by needless reproaches.&nbsp; Besides, it is such
foolish injustice to lay the blame of the present state of things
on any one class.&nbsp; It is unpractical, unphilosophical, and
inconsistent with history.&nbsp; If we must select any class, do
not let us turn to the wealthy, whom, perhaps, we think of
first.&nbsp; They have, in no time that I am aware of, been the
pre-eminent rulers of the world.&nbsp; The thinkers and writers,
they are the governing class.&nbsp; There is no doubt that the
rich and great have in most cases a large sphere of usefulness
open to them; and they are fatally blind, if they neglect
it.&nbsp; That is, however, rather a matter for them to think of,
than for those who are under them.&nbsp; And I feel quite certain
that the evils we are now, as a nation, beginning to be sensitive
to, are such as may be more fairly attributed to the nation, in
its collective capacity, than to any one class, or even to any
one generation.&nbsp; I notice the error of the opposite opinion,
believing it to be a signal hindrance to improvement.&nbsp; <!--
page 252--><a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
252</span>Let us not begin a great work with bitterness.&nbsp; I
am not, however, for the slightest concealment of the truth, and
can well understand the righteous indignation that will break out
at witnessing the instances of careless cruelty to be seen
daily.&nbsp; Still, this is not to be done by a systematic and
undistinguishing attack upon any one class: if it requires a bold
hand, it requires a just one also, under a reasonable restraint
of humility.&nbsp; I suspect that those men, if any, who have a
right to cast the first stone at their neighbour in this matter
will be among the last persons to do so.</p>
<p>It is a grievous thing to see literature made a vehicle for
encouraging the enmity of class to class.&nbsp; Yet this,
unhappily, is not unfrequent now.&nbsp; Some great man summed up
the nature of French novels by calling them the Literature of
Despair: the kind of writing that I deprecate may be called the
Literature of Envy.&nbsp; It would be extreme injustice to say
that the writers themselves are actuated by an envious or
malignant spirit.&nbsp; <!-- page 253--><a
name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 253</span>It is often
mere carelessness on their part, or ignorance of the subject, or
a want of skill in representing what they do know.&nbsp; You
would never imagine from their writings that some of the most
self-denying persons, and of those who exert themselves most for
the poor, are to be found amongst the rich and the well-born,
including of course the great Employers of labour.&nbsp; Such
writers like to throw their influence, as they might say, into
the weaker scale.&nbsp; But that is not the proper way of looking
at the matter.&nbsp; Their business is not to balance class
against class, but to unite all classes into one harmonious
whole.&nbsp; I think if they saw the ungenerous nature of their
proceedings, that alone would stop them.&nbsp; They should
recollect that literature may fawn upon the masses as well as on
the aristocracy: and in these days the temptation is in the
former direction.&nbsp; But what is most grievous in this kind of
writing, is the mischief it may do to the working people
themselves.&nbsp; If you have their true welfare at heart, you
will not only <!-- page 254--><a name="page254"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 254</span>care for their being fed and
clothed; but you will be anxious not to encourage unreasonable
expectations in them, not to make them ungrateful or
greedy-minded.&nbsp; Above all, you will be solicitous to
preserve some self-reliance in them.&nbsp; You will be careful
not to let them think that their condition can be wholly changed
without exertion of their own.&nbsp; You would not desire to have
it so changed.&nbsp; Once elevate your ideal of what you wish to
happen amongst the labouring population; and you will not easily
admit anything in your writings that may injure their moral or
their mental character, even if you thought it might hasten some
physical benefit for them.&nbsp; That is the way to make your
genius most serviceable to mankind.&nbsp; Depend upon it, honest
and bold things require to be said to the lower as well as to the
higher classes; and the former are in these times much less
likely to have such things addressed to them.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>In the same way that we are fond of laying the neglect, and
the duty, of exertion upon <!-- page 255--><a
name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>some class,
even on our own, rather than on our especial selves, we are much
given to look for something new which, in a magical manner, is to
settle the whole difficulty.&nbsp; But when people look for a
novelty of this kind, what do they mean?&nbsp; Some moral
novelty?&nbsp; The Christian religion has been eighteen hundred
years before the world, and have we exhausted the morality in
that?&nbsp; Some political novelty?&nbsp; We are surely the
nation, whose constitution, whatever may be said against it, has
been most wrought and tempered by diverse thought and
action.&nbsp; Some novelty in art or science?&nbsp; Where has man
attained to a greater mastery over matter than in this
iron-shearing country?&nbsp; The utmost that one age can be
expected to do in the way of discovery is but little; and that
little by few men.&nbsp; Let us sit down and make use of what we
have.&nbsp; The stock out of which national welfare might be
formed lies in huge, unworked-up masses before us.&nbsp; Social
improvement depends upon general moral improvement.&nbsp; Moral
improvement mostly comes, <!-- page 256--><a
name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 256</span>and at
least is most safely looked for, not in the way of acquisition
but of development.&nbsp; Now, as regards the conduct of the
various classes of the state to each other, we do not want any
new theory about it, but only to develop that kindly feeling
which is already in the world between like and like, which makes
a parent, for instance, so kind even to the faults of his
children.&nbsp; We want that feeling carried over all the
obstructions of imperfect sympathy which hedge it in now.&nbsp;
This will be done by both classes knowing more of each
other.&nbsp; One of the great reasons for the education of the
people is, that even educating them a little enables rich and
poor to understand each other better&mdash;in fact, to live more
harmoniously together.&nbsp; If our sympathies were duly
enlightened and enlarged, we should find that we did not need one
doctrine for our conduct to friends, another for our conduct to
dependents, and another for our conduct to neighbours.&nbsp; One
spirit would suffice to guide us rightly in all these
relations.&nbsp; The uninstructed man looking <!-- page 257--><a
name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 257</span>around him
on the universe, and seeing a wonderful variety of appearances,
is inclined to imagine that there are numberless laws and
substances essentially different, little knowing from how few of
either the profusion of beauty in the world is formed.&nbsp; But
the creative energy of what we call Nature, dealing with few
substances, breaks out into every form and colour of
loveliness.&nbsp; Here, we have the dainty floweret which I would
compare to the graceful kindnesses passing among equals; there,
the rich corn-field like the substantial benefits which the wise
master-worker confers on those around him; here again, the
far-spreading oak which, with its welcome depth of shade, may
remind us of the duties of protection and favour due from the
great to the humble; and there, the marriage of the vine to the
elm, a similitude for social and domestic affection.&nbsp; The
kindnesses to which I have compared these various products of
Nature, are also of one spirit, and may be worked out with few
materials.&nbsp; Indeed, one man may in his life manifest them
<!-- page 258--><a name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
258</span>all.&nbsp; No new discovery, no separate teaching, for
each branch of this divine knowledge, is needed.</p>
<p>I do not say that there may not be physical discoveries, or
legislative measures, which may greatly aid in improving the
condition of the labouring classes.&nbsp; But, if we observe how
new things come, in our own life for instance, or in the course
of history, we shall find that they seldom come in the direction
in which we are looking out for them.&nbsp; They fall behind us;
and, while we are gazing about for the novelty, it has come down
and has mingled with the crowd of old things, and we did not know
it.&nbsp; Let us begin working on the old and obvious
foundations, and we shall be most ready to make use of what new
aid may come, if we do not find an almost inexhaustible novelty
in what we deemed so commonplace.&nbsp; There is no way of
burnishing up old truths like acting upon them.</p>
<p>You may rely upon it that it is one of the most unwholesome
and unworkmanlike states of mind to be looking about for, and
relying <!-- page 259--><a name="page259"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 259</span>upon, some great change which is all
of a sudden to put you into a position to do your duty in a
signal manner.&nbsp; Duty is done upon truisms.</p>
<p>But let discoveries in morals or in physics have come; suppose
any extent of political amelioration you please; and grant that
the more outward evils have been conquered by combined
effort.&nbsp; Let our drains flow like rivulets, and imagine that
light and air permeate those dwellings which now moulder in a
loathsome obscurity.&nbsp; Let the poor be cared for in their
health, their amusements, their education, and their
labour.&nbsp; Still the great work for an employer of labour
remains for ever to be renewed; that which consists in the daily
intercourse of life, in that perpetual exercise of care and
kindness concerning those small things which, small as they may
be, are nevertheless the chief part of men&rsquo;s lives.&nbsp;
Perhaps the greatest possible amelioration of the human lot is to
be found in the improvement of our notions of the duties of
master to man.&nbsp; It were hard to say what <!-- page 260--><a
name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 260</span>could be
named as an equivalent for even a slight improvement in that
respect, seeing that there is no day in which millions upon
millions of transactions do not come within its limits.&nbsp; If
this relation were but a little improved, with what a different
mind would the great mass of men go to their work in the morning,
from the slave who toils amid rice fields in Georgia to the serf
in Lithuanian forests.&nbsp; Nor would those far above the
extremes of serfdom fail to reap a large part of the
benefit.&nbsp; It cannot be argued that civilization renders men
independent: it often fastens but more firmly the fetters of
servitude&mdash;at least it binds them upon limbs more easy to be
galled.&nbsp; Its tendency is to give harsh words the power of
blows.&nbsp; Consider what a thing it is to be master.&nbsp; To
have the king-like privilege of addressing others first, to
comment for ever on their conduct, while you are free from any
reciprocal animadversion.&nbsp; Think what an immeasurable
difference it must make, whether your subordinate feels that all
he does is sure to be taken for the <!-- page 261--><a
name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 261</span>best, that
he will meet with continual graciousness, that he has a master
who is good lord and brother to him: or whether he lives in
constant doubt, timidity, and discomfort, with a restless desire
of escape ever uppermost in his mind.&nbsp; I do not apply this
only to the ordinary relation of master and servant.&nbsp; You
sometimes see the most cruel use made even of a slight social
superiority, where the cruelty is enhanced by the education and
other advantages of the suffering party.&nbsp; To say nothing of
Christianity, there is the greatest want of chivalry in such
proceedings, in whatever rank they take place, whether from
masters to servants, employers to employed, or in those more
delicately constituted relationships just alluded to.&nbsp; In
all our intercourse with those who have not a full power of
replying to us, instead of being the less restrained on this
account, which is the case with most of us, the weakness on the
other side ought to be an irresistible claim to gentleness on
ours.&nbsp; The same applies when what is naturally the weaker,
being <!-- page 262--><a name="page262"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 262</span>guarded by social conventionalities
on its side, is in reality the stronger, and is tempted into
insolence, thus abusing the humanity of the world.&nbsp; But, let
us turn from the abuse of power, and see what it is when wielded
by discerning hands.&nbsp; It is like a healthful atmosphere to
all within its boundaries.&nbsp; Other benefits come and go, but
this is inhaled at every breath, and forms the life of the man
who lives under it.&nbsp; It is a perpetual harmony to him,
&ldquo;songs without words,&rdquo; while he is at his work.&nbsp;
One of the most striking instances we have had in modern times of
this just temperament of a master was to be noted in Sir Walter
Scott.&nbsp; The people dependent upon him were happier, I
imagine, than you could have made them, if you had made them
independent.&nbsp; If you could have distributed, as it were,
Scott&rsquo;s worldly prosperity, you cannot easily conceive that
it would have produced more good than when it fell full on him,
and was forthwith radiated to all around him.&nbsp; You may say
that this was partly the result of genius.&nbsp; Be it so.&nbsp;
Genius is, by <!-- page 263--><a name="page263"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 263</span>the definition of it, one of the
highest gifts.&nbsp; If, with humble means, we can produce some
of its effects, it is great gain.&nbsp; Without, however, wishing
to depreciate the attaching influence of genius, we must, I
think, attribute much of this admirable bearing in Scott to an
essential kindliness of nature and a deep sense of
humanity.&nbsp; If he had possessed no peculiar gifts of
expression or imagination, and quietly followed the vocation of
his father, a writer to the Signet, he would have been loved in
his office as he was on his estate; and old clerks would have
been Laidlaws and Tom Purdies to him.&nbsp; Scott would under any
circumstances have insisted on being loved: he would have been
&ldquo;a good lord and brother&rdquo; to any man or set of men
over whom he had the least control.&nbsp; You cannot make out
that true graciousness of his to be a mere love of feudal
usages.&nbsp; It is the best thing that remains of him, better
than all his writings, if, indeed, it were not visible throughout
them.</p>
<p>The duties of master to man are the more important, because,
however much the relation <!-- page 264--><a
name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 264</span>may vary in
its outward form, it will not be mapped down as in this or that
latitude, but remains as pervading as the air.&nbsp; We may have
brought down the word charity to its most abject sense,
considering what is but the husk of it to be the innermost
kernel.&nbsp; Mere symbols of it may go on.&nbsp; In times, when
few things were further apart than charity and papal sway, the
popes still went through the form of washing poor men&rsquo;s
feet.&nbsp; But that symbol has a wondrous significance&mdash;the
depth of service which is due from all masters, the humble
charity which should ever accompany true lordship and
dominion.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>When considering in what spirit our remedies should be
attempted, one of the most important things to be urged is, that
it should be in a spirit of hopefulness.</p>
<p>In one of Dr. Arnold&rsquo;s letters there is the following
passage.&nbsp; &ldquo;&lsquo;Too late,&rsquo; however, are the
words which I should be inclined to affix to every plan for
reforming society in England; we are ingulfed, I believe,
inevitably, <!-- page 265--><a name="page265"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 265</span>and must go down the cataract;
although ourselves, i.e. you and I, may be in Hezekiah&rsquo;s
case, and not live to see the catastrophe.&rdquo;&nbsp; Similar
forebodings were uttered on other occasions by this eminently
good man in the latter years of his life.&nbsp; I quote the
passage to show how deep must have been the apprehension of
danger and distress which could so depress him; and, more
especially, for the purpose of protesting against any similar
despondency which I fear to be very prevalent in these
times.&nbsp; It mainly arises, as it seems to me, from a
confusion between the term of our own life and that of the
state.&nbsp; We see a cloud which overshadows our own generation,
and we exclaim that the heavens and earth are coming
together.&nbsp; How often, in reading history, does a similar
feeling occur to us.&nbsp; We think, how can the people we are
reading of revive after this whirlwind of destruction!&nbsp;
Imagine how much more they themselves must have felt
despondency.&nbsp; A Northumbrian looking upon William the
Conqueror&rsquo;s devastations&mdash;a monk considering <!-- page
266--><a name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
266</span>the state of things around him in the exterminating
contest of Stephen and Matilda, or the wars of the
Roses&mdash;the remaining one of a family swept off by some of
those giant epidemics which desolated our towns in the fourteenth
century&mdash;a member of the defeated party in the struggles of
the Reformation, the Rebellion, or the Revolution&mdash;what
would any such person have prophesied as to the fate of his
country?&nbsp; How little would he have foreseen the present
plethoric, steam-driving, world-conquering England!&nbsp; So with
us.&nbsp; We too have evils, perhaps of as large dimension,
though in some respects of a totally different character from
those which our forefathers endured&mdash;and did not sink
under.&nbsp; Nothing is to be shunned more than Despair.&nbsp;
How profound is the wisdom which has placed Hope in the front
rank of Christian virtues.&nbsp; For is it not the parent of
endeavour?&nbsp; And in this particular matter, the improvement
of our social condition, the more we examine it, the more we
shall discover cause for hope.&nbsp; The evils <!-- page 267--><a
name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>are so
linked together that a shock given to any one would electrify the
whole mass of evil.&nbsp; Take an instance.&nbsp; Suppose that
those who have the means bestir themselves to improve the houses
of the poor.&nbsp; See what good will flow from that.&nbsp;
Physical suffering is diminished; but that is, perhaps, the least
thing.&nbsp; Cleanly and economical habits are formed; domestic
occupations are increased; more persons live through the working
period of life; and a class is formed low down in the body
politic who are attached to something, for a man who has the
tenancy of a good house to lose, is not altogether
destitute.&nbsp; And under what circumstances is all this
done?&nbsp; By the more influential classes taking a kindly
concern in a matter in which all are deeply interested.&nbsp;
This is not the least part of the good.&nbsp; Indeed, without it,
all the rest, however excellent in itself, would lack its most
engaging features.&nbsp; Seeing then in one instance how much
good may be done even with slight efforts, we may determine to
resist despondency.&nbsp; To yield to it, even but <!-- page
268--><a name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 268</span>a
little, is to help in building up the trophy for the other
side.</p>
<p>Although we must not listen to despondency, we must not, on
the other hand, attempt to conceal from ourselves that this
subject, the &ldquo;condition of England question&rdquo; as it
has been called, is oppressively large; or suppose that it can be
dealt with otherwise than by ever-growing vigour.&nbsp; At the
present moment public attention is unusually fixed upon it.&nbsp;
But this may be of brief duration.&nbsp; The public soon becomes
satiated with any subject.&nbsp; Some foreign war, or political
contest, may all at once turn its looks in far other
directions.&nbsp; But the social remedies that we have been
talking of, are not things to be finished by a single
stroke.&nbsp; We cannot expect to complete them just while the
daylight of public opinion is with us.&nbsp; The evil to be
struggled against is a thing entwined with every fibre of the
body politic.&nbsp; It is enough to occupy the whole mind of the
age; and demands the best energies of the best minds.&nbsp; It
should be a &ldquo;Thirty years&rsquo; war&rdquo; against <!--
page 269--><a name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
269</span>sloth and neglect.&nbsp; It requires men who will
persevere through public favour or disfavour, who can subdue
their own fastidiousness, be indifferent to ingratitude, tolerant
of folly, who can endure the extreme vexation of seeing their
most highly prized endeavours thwarted by well intentioned
friends, and who are not dependent for reward upon those things
which are addressed to vanity or to ambition.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>After a long fit of distress which, for the poorer classes,
may almost be called a seven years&rsquo; famine, we are now
apparently entering upon one of our periodic times of
prosperity.&nbsp; You hear of thousands of additional
&ldquo;hands&rdquo; being wanted, of new mills rising up, and at
last of a revival of the home trade.&nbsp; It is one of those
&ldquo;breathing spaces&rdquo; in which we can look back with
less despondency, and forward with some deliberation.&nbsp; Each
man&rsquo;s apprehensions for his own fortunes need no longer
absorb his whole attention.&nbsp; Yet one cannot observe all this
<!-- page 270--><a name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
270</span>clashing and whizzing of machinery, this crowding on
our quays, this contention of railway projects, and the general
life and hum of renewed activity, without a profound fear and
sadness lest such things should pass on, as their predecessors
have passed, leaving only an increased bulk of unhandy materials
to be dealt with.&nbsp; It is one of those periods upon which the
historian, armed with all that wisdom which a knowledge of the
result can furnish him, may thus dilate in measured
sentences.&nbsp; &ldquo;A time of nearly seven years of steady
distress had now elapsed; nor can it be said, that this distress
had been lightly regarded by thoughtful minds, or that its
salutary process had not commenced.&nbsp; The question of the
condition of the labouring classes had in a measure become
prominent.&nbsp; The Essayist moralized about it after his
fashion; the lover of statistics arrayed his fearful lists of
figures to show its nature and extent; the writer of fiction wove
it into his tale; the journalist found it a topic not easily to
be exhausted: <!-- page 271--><a name="page271"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 271</span>old men shook their heads over it;
and the young, to the astonishment of the world, began to talk of
it as a matter of pressing interest to them.&nbsp; Now was the
time when Great Britain might have looked into this
question.&nbsp; But a return of prosperity, which we must almost
call insidious, lulled attention.&nbsp; Sickness and adversity
are soon forgotten.&nbsp; And this nation awoke as from a bad
dream which it was by no means desirous of recalling in its
daylight reminiscences.&rdquo;&nbsp; My friends, let us not give
an opportunity to the historian to moralize upon us in this
manner.&nbsp; If we are employers of labour, let us bethink
ourselves that now is the time for persuading our men to do
something for themselves; now is the time for getting
improvements made in our town and neighbourhood, the public being
in a cheerful mood; now, too, we can ourselves adventure
something for the good of those around us.&nbsp; Do not let us be
anxious to drain the cup of prosperity to its last drop, holding
it up so that we see nothing but it.&nbsp; Let us carry ourselves
<!-- page 272--><a name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
272</span>forward in imagination, and then look backward on what
we are doing now.&nbsp; That is the way to master the present,
for the best part of foresight is in the reflex.&nbsp; What
matter is it how many thousands of pounds we make, compared to
how we make them?</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; some one will reply, &ldquo;the imaginary
historian deserves to be heard.&nbsp; This is the time for the
nation to do something.&nbsp; Really a Government with a surplus
should put all things to rights.&rdquo;&nbsp; Oh, these unhappy
collective nouns, what have they not to answer for!&nbsp; This
word &ldquo;nation,&rdquo; for instance: we substitute it instead
of writing down some millions of names, a convenience not
altogether to be despised.&nbsp; But yours, my friend, is
there.&nbsp; The word nation is not an abstract idea; but means
an aggregate of human beings.&nbsp; No individual man is
eliminated by this process of abbreviation.&nbsp; Your being one
of a nation is to enrich you with duties, not to deprive you of
them.&nbsp; But these large words often soothe us into
obliviousness.&nbsp; It puts one in mind of long algebraical <!--
page 273--><a name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
273</span>operations in which the student has wholly lost sight
of reality, and is driving on his symbols, quite unable to grasp
their significance.&nbsp; This may be well enough for him, for
eventually some result comes out which can be verified.&nbsp; But
if we, in active life, play with general terms, we do not come to
such distinct results, but only get into profound confusion, as
it will be in this case, if we expect great things to happen from
some combined effort in their corporate capacity of those who, as
individuals, are looking on.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>Before we leave off, let us look at the subject in its full
scope.&nbsp; A large portion of our fellow countrymen are living,
not in a passive state of distress, but in one which manufactures
rapidly disease, and poverty, and crime.&nbsp; I think it has
been shown that it is in the power of other classes to raise this
condition.&nbsp; At any rate it is in their power to make the
attempt.&nbsp; There is no occasion for waiting&mdash;each of us
can do <!-- page 274--><a name="page274"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 274</span>something to-day in this
matter.&nbsp; Now consider what would be the effect of success in
these endeavours.&nbsp; Let us not take the other result as
probable; or, even in hypothesis, draw any picture that might
make despondency plausible.&nbsp; Suppose, then, the success of
individual, or united efforts, in raising the condition of the
labouring classes.&nbsp; What an undivided good it is.&nbsp; Has
any man some particular reform at heart, some especial hopes for
his race?&nbsp; Where can he look for such a basis to rest upon
as in the improved condition of the largest layer of the
people?&nbsp; What a field it opens for science, literature, and
art.&nbsp; What freedom may it not give to the highest ranges of
thought.</p>
<p>I cannot think the destinies of our race an unimproving matter
of contemplation, and that it savours of presumption, or of
needless forelooking, to reflect on these things.&nbsp; A notable
portion of the great human family utters every day a prayer in
which the individual supplicant asks, not for himself alone, even
those blessings which he can individually enjoy, but also, and
first, implores those <!-- page 275--><a name="page275"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 275</span>general blessings which include the
welfare of his own race at least.&nbsp; What is the meaning of
this, if we are to take no interest in the general welfare, or
not, by every means in our power, to aid in it?</p>
<p>In the better order of men there is a desire for social
improvement totally independent of all thought of personal
gain.&nbsp; Bishop Butler saw in the fact, that there were
persons who devoted themselves to a pursuit so remote from
worldly ends as astronomy, a wonderful instance of the innate
consciousness in man of his high origin and destiny.&nbsp; But an
earnest and unselfish love of social progress, is a far more
satisfying sign that the impress of good is not altogether
effaced, and that men are not wholly isolated by worldliness from
the future and the past.</p>
<blockquote><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&ldquo;Hence,
in a season of calm weather,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Though inland far we be,<br />
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Which brought us hither,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Can in a moment travel thither,<br
/>
And see the Children sport upon the shore,<br />
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center"><span
class="smcap">finis</span>.</p>
<h3><!-- page 279--><a name="page279"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 279</span>APPENDIX.</h3>
<p>The following table shows the progressive decrease in the sum
of vitality in the three classes of the inhabitants of
Preston.&nbsp; The calculations are founded on the ages at death
for the six years ending June 30, 1843:&mdash;</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p>1.&nbsp; Gentry.</p>
</td>
<td><p>2.&nbsp; Tradesmen.</p>
</td>
<td><p>3.&nbsp; Operatives.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Born</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">100</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">100</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">100</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Remaining at the end of 1st year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">90.8</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">79.6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">68.2</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 2nd year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">87.6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">73.5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">57.5</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 5th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">82.4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">61.8</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">44.6</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 10th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">81.1</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">56.6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">38.8</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo;&nbsp; 20th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">76.3</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">51.6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">31.5</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 30th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">72.3</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">45.9</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">25.2</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 40th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">63.4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">37.5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">20.4</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 50th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">56.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">28.1</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">15.6</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 60th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">45.1</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">20.5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">11.2</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 70th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">25.4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">13.3</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">6.1</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 80th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">8.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4.5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2.1</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 90th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1.3</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">.8</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">.2</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 100th year</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">. .</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">. .</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">.03</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p>Terminates in the 92nd year.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Terminates in the 96th year.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Terminates in the 103rd year.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Evidence of Rev. J.
Clay</i>.&nbsp; <i>Health of Towns Report</i>, <i>page</i>
174.</p>
<p>The following table shows the progressive decrease in the
vitality of the three classes from the age of 21
years:&mdash;</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p>Gentry, &amp;c.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Tradesmen, &amp;c.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Operatives.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>21 years old</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">100</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">100</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">100</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Remaining at 30 years old</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">94.7</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">89.4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">79.7</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 40 years old</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">83.2</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">73.2</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">63.7</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 50 years old</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">73.4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">55.0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">48.9</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 60 years old</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">59.1</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">40.4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">34.6</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 70 years old</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">33.4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">26.5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">18.9</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 80 years old</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10.8</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9.6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">7.1</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 90 years old</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1.6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1.5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1.1</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&bdquo; 100 years old</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">. .</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">. .</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0.6</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p>Terminates at 92 years.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Terminates at 96 years.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Terminates at 103 years.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Evidence of Rev. J.
Clay</i>.&nbsp; <i>Health of Towns Report</i>, <i>page</i>
175.</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p><!-- page 280--><a name="page280"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 280</span>1.&nbsp; Saving by one-third of the
actual number of Deaths.&nbsp; The expense of each being
estimated at 2<i>l.</i> 10<i>s.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;1,240</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>2.&nbsp; Saving in the excess of Births beyond 1 in 44 of
the Population; the expense of each Birth being taken at
1<i>l.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;827</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>3.&nbsp; Saving in day&rsquo;s labour from sickness,
estimating one-third of the cases out of the expense.&nbsp;
16,710 Cases.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;7,047</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>4.&nbsp; Reduction by one-half of the existing expense of
Widowhood and Orphanage, the amount taken from the actual
expenditure.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;501</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>5.&nbsp; Saving in the expense of Insurance, by keeping
the water on night and day, so as to be in readiness at one
minute&rsquo;s notice.&nbsp; Estimated on half the number of
Houses at 6<i>s.</i> per House.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;15,000</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>6.&nbsp; Saving of Productive Manure estimated at
10<i>s.</i> per head on the whole Population.&nbsp; All liquid
and solid Manure and Street Sweepings being carried out of Town
by the Sewers.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;25,000</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>7.&nbsp; Saving in Washing, &amp;c. consequent on the
burning of Factory Smoke.&nbsp; Estimated at 1<i>d.</i> per head
per week of the Population.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;10,450</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>8.&nbsp; Saving of outside painting of Shops and Houses;
estimating the cost per House at 25<i>s.</i> and the saving at
one-fourth of the sum.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;1,250</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>s.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>d.</i></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total annual saving to the town</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">47,815</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total weekly saving to the town</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">919</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total annual saving to each house</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">15</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">7</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total weekly saving to each house</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total annual saving to each individual</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">19</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total weekly saving to each individual</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4&frac14;</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Evidence of Rev. J.
Clay</i>.&nbsp; <i>Health of Towns Report</i>, <i>page</i>
197.</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p><!-- page 281--><a name="page281"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 281</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">Total Number of Houses.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center">A.<br />
Cost per House for Capital.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">B.<br />
Rent per House.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">C.<br />
Total Outlay.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center">D.<br />
Total Increased Rental required defraying by Annual Instalments
of Principal and Interest of 20 Years for the House cleansing and
Water Apparatus, and 30 Years for Sewers and Drains.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>s.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>d.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>s.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>d.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">&pound;.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>s.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>d.</i></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>1.&nbsp; In want of water</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">5,000</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2,500</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">200</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">15</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>2. . . . main sewer</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10,000</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2,500</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">162</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">12</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>. . . secondary do.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">7,919</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">19,599</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1,274</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">18</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>3. . . . house-drains</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10,000</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">15</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">7,500</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">487</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">17</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>4. . . . water closets</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10,000</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">20,000</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1,606</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>5. . . . ventilation</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10,000</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">15</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">7,500</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">602</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>6. . . . street-sweeping</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10,000</p>
</td>
<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center">. . .</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">. .</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4,625</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">&pound;.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center"><i>s.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center"><i>d.</i></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total immediate expenditure of capital required for the
improvement of the town</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">51,599</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total increased rental (including the annual expense of
street-sweeping)</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">8,959</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">8</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Immediate expenditure for each house</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">19</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total increased annual rent for each house</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">15</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">11</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Total increased weekly rent for each house</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">3&frac34;</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Immediate expenditure per head of the population</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Annual expenditure per head of the population</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">6&frac12;</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Weekly expenditure per head of the population</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0&frac34; 14/52</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Evidence of Rev. J.
Clay</i>.&nbsp; <i>Health of Towns Report</i>, <i>page</i>
196.</p>
<h3><!-- page 282--><a name="page282"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 282</span>DR. ARNOTT TO THE AUTHOR, ON THE
SUBJECT OF VENTILATION.</h3>
<p style="text-align: right">Bedford Square, January, 1845.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">my dear sir</span>,</p>
<p>To aid the memory of persons inquiring about the means of
preserving health, I have elsewhere endeavoured to mark clearly,
that the four things, fit <i>air</i>, <i>temperature</i>,
<i>aliment</i>, and <i>exercise</i>, are all that need to be
secured, and the two things <i>violence</i> and <i>poisons</i>
all that need to be avoided, by men of sound constitution, that
they may enjoy uninterrupted health and long life;&mdash;and
consequently that the causes of all other disease than the decay
from age are to be looked for in errors committed in regard to
these four necessaries, or in the direct influence of these two
kinds of noxious agents.&nbsp; The tabular view on the opposite
page <a name="citation282"></a><a href="#footnote282"
class="citation">[282]</a>, now to be examined, exhibits the
subject to the eye.</p>
<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
<p>In some moderately warm and uniform climates of the earth,
such as the Azores or Western Isles in the Atlantic, the two
first mentioned necessaries, viz. fit temperature and pure air,
are so constantly present that the inhabitants no more think of
them as necessaries to be laboured for than they think of the
gravitation which holds their bodies to the earth as such a
necessary.&nbsp; But in colder, or changing climates, to procure
house-shelter, clothing, and fuel, for cold weather becomes a
very considerable part of the necessary business of life.&nbsp;
And where food is dear, that is to say, obtainable only as the
reward of much labour, as is true in England, the amount<!-- page
284--><a name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 284</span>of
labour which individuals can perform with safety to their health,
is often not sufficient to supply all the urgent wants.</p>
<p>Exposure to temperature lower than what suits the human
constitution is so severely felt, that persons, even before fixed
disease has arisen as a consequence, cannot remain indifferent to
it; and how little soever some minds are disposed to reflect or
speculate on such subjects, there are few who are not aware that
all the diseases which in this and other climates are called
winter diseases, as catarrhs, quinsies, pleurisies, croups,
rheumatisms, &amp;c. &amp;c. are consequences of error in regard
to temperature.&nbsp; But only persons whose attention has been
specially directed to the subject become fully aware of the fatal
influence of that want of fresh air which the closeness or
otherwise faulty construction of dwellings occasions.&nbsp; The
immediate effect is little felt, although the insidious enemy is
unfailingly producing diseases perhaps more destructive even than
those from cold, above enumerated.&nbsp; Impaired bodily and
mental vigour, and the scrofulous constitution which renders
persons more liable to many diseases and among these to
consumption, the destroyer at present of about a sixth part of
the inhabitants of Britain, may be cited as part of the
effects.</p>
<p>In England, as yet, many singular and hurtful misconceptions
prevail on the subjects of both warming and ventilating.&nbsp;
The object of a little work which I published some time ago on
these subjects, was to substitute for the misconceptions correct
knowledge, and to describe some new and simple means of obtaining
the objects sought.&nbsp; A considerable change, however, in
common opinions and habits is not easily effected, and the
co-operation of many labourers will be required to accomplish
<!-- page 285--><a name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
285</span>all that is here wanted.&nbsp; In a new edition of the
book, now in preparation, I have attempted to convert some
remarkable errors that have been committed in public situations
into useful warnings or lessons for the future.&nbsp; It is but
recently that even the members of our Houses of Parliament became
aware that many of their body formerly had lost health, and even
life, from want of a complete ventilation of the Houses, easy to
be effected.&nbsp; And at present the havoc made in the crowded
workrooms of milliners, tailors, printers, &amp;c. and the injury
done to young health in many schools, from similar want of
knowledge, are most painful to contemplate.&nbsp; Without the
requisite knowledge very expensive attempts are made with little
or no benefit; with that knowledge, the desired ends may be
completely attained at little cost.</p>
<p>The great error committed in regard to ventilation has been
the want of an outlet in or near the cieling of rooms, for the
air rendered impure in them by the breathing of inmates and the
burning of candles, lamps, gas, &amp;c.&nbsp; At present the only
outlet of English rooms is the fire place or chimney opening near
the floor.&nbsp; But all the impurities above referred to rise at
once towards the cieling, because of the lessened specific
gravity of air when heated, and there they would at once escape
by a fit opening.&nbsp; Where there is no such opening, however,
they become diffused in the upper air of the room, and can escape
only slowly by diving under the chimney-piece as that air is
changed.&nbsp; Thus the air of a room above the level of the
fire-place, whenever there are people or lights in the room, must
always be loaded, more or less, with impurity.&nbsp; The purest
air of the room is that near the floor, being the last that
entered, and the coolest, therefore and heaviest specifically;
<!-- page 286--><a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
286</span>and with this the fire is fed, while the hotter impure
air remains almost stagnant above, around the heads and mouths of
the company.&nbsp; To remove the evil here referred to, I have
shown, that even with an open fire, if the throat of the chimney
be properly narrowed by a register flap, an opening made near the
cieling into the chimney flue, with a valve in it to allow air
from the room to enter the chimney, but allowing no smoke to come
out&mdash;will serve very effectually; and that where there is no
open fire the ventilation can, by the means described, be made
still more complete.</p>
<p>The great error with respect to warming in rooms for many
inmates has been to have all the heat radiating (none being given
off by contact) from one focus or fire place, persons near to
which consequently must receive too much, and those far from
which will receive too little; while the supply of fresh air
enters, cold, at a few openings chiefly, and pours dangerously on
persons sitting near these.&nbsp; In common rooms, with open
fires, the evils described may be lessened considerably by
admitting fresh air through tubes or channels which open either
near the fire, or all along the skirtings so that the fresh air
is equally distributed over the room and mixed with the mass of
air previously in it: but to have what is desirable, the air
before distribution must be warmed by some of the simple means
now known, as of warm channels in the brick work around the fire,
or of the air being made to come into contact with the surface of
properly regulated stoves, or tubes containing heated
water.&nbsp; I have given detailed accounts of these means in the
publication above referred to; and I have contrived and described
various regulators applicable to stoves and to the furnaces of
hot-water apparatus, which give complete <!-- page 287--><a
name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span>command
over the rate of combustion, and save nearly all the ordinary
trouble of watching fires.</p>
<p>Then, to give complete efficiency to both the warming and
ventilating apparatus described, I have had made a simple
air-mover, or ventilating pump, which may be worked by a weight,
like a kitchen jack, or by a treddle, like a spinning-wheel or
turning-lathe; and which, in all states of wind and of
temperature, will deliver by measure any quantity of air into or
out of any inclosed space.</p>
<p>The means of ventilating and of warming now referred to, may
in different cases be adopted in part or in whole.&nbsp; In the
dwellings of the poor of cities, where the same room serves for
all purposes,&mdash;working at a trade, sleeping, cooking, and is
never unoccupied, a brick taken out of the wall, from near the
cieling, over the fireplace, so as to leave there an opening into
the chimney-flue, removes great part of the evil; and if a simple
chimney-valve, which I have described, allowing air freely to
enter the chimney, but no smoke to return, be added, and there be
an additional opening made in some convenient part of the wall or
window to admit and distribute fresh air, where air enough cannot
enter by the crevices and joints about the door and window, the
arrangement might be deemed for such places complete.&nbsp; Even
in a milliner&rsquo;s or tailor&rsquo;s crowded work room a
larger opening of this kind into the chimney, with its balanced
valve, and with a branching tube having inverted funnel mouths
over the gas lamps, or other lights, and conveying all the burned
air to the valved opening <a name="citation287"></a><a
href="#footnote287" class="citation">[287]</a> <!-- page 288--><a
name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 288</span>in the
chimney, is so great an improvement on present practice, that
many would deem it perfection.&nbsp; To this, however, may be
added, at little cost, an opening for admitting, and channels
behind the skirting for distributing, the fresh air; and to make
the thing really complete, there must be also the means, by a
stove or by hot water pipes, of warming the air before its
distribution; and there must be the ventilating pump to inject
and measure air when such action may be required.&nbsp; During
the winter, in many cases the chimney draught would be sufficient
to produce the desired currents of air without the pump.</p>
<p>All the means here spoken of have already been and are in
satisfactory operation in various places.&nbsp; The
chimney-valves have been made by Mr. Slater, gas-fitter, 23,
Denmark Street, Soho, and Mr. Edwards, 20, Poland Street, Oxford
Street.&nbsp; The pump by Mr. Bowles, 58, Great Coram Street, and
Mr. Williams, 25, Upper Cleveland Street.&nbsp; The stoves by Mr.
Edwards, Poland Street, Messrs. Bramah and Co. Piccadilly,
Messrs. Bailey, Holborn, and others.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">I am, my dear sir,<br />
yours very truly,<br />
N. ARNOTT.</p>
<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">charles
whittingham, chiswick</span>.</p>
<h4><!-- page 283--><a name="page283"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 283</span>THE FOUR NECESSARIES.</h4>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: center">In fit Kind and Degree.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">In Deficiency.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center">In Excess.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>1.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">Air</span></p>
</td>
<td><p>Suffocation</p>
<p>Unchanged Air.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Excess of Oxygen.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>2.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">Temperature</span></p>
</td>
<td><p>Cold (intense)</p>
</td>
<td><p>Heat (intense.)</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><p>3.&nbsp; <span
class="smcap">Aliment</span>:&mdash;</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Food</p>
</td>
<td><p>Hunger</p>
</td>
<td><p>Gluttony, or Surfeit.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Drink</p>
</td>
<td><p>Thirst</p>
</td>
<td><p>Swilling water.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>4.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">Exercise</span>:&mdash;</p>
</td>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the body</p>
</td>
<td><p>Inaction or</p>
</td>
<td><p>Fatigue or Exhaustion.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the mind</p>
</td>
<td><p>Ennui</p>
</td>
<td><p>Want of Sleep.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
</td>
<td><p>Certain depressing passions, as fear, sorrow, &amp;c.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Certain exciting passions, as anger, jealousy, &amp;c.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the mixed social aptitudes.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Solitude</p>
</td>
<td><p>Debauchery.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<h4>THE TWO NOXIOUS AGENTS.</h4>
<p>1.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">Violence</span>:&mdash;</p>
<p>Wounds,&mdash;Fractures,&mdash;Burns,
&amp;c.&mdash;Lightning.</p>
<p>9.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">Poisons</span>:&mdash;</p>
<p>Animal, Mineral, Vegetable.</p>
<p class="comment">Certain of these, such as <i>alcohol</i> in its various forms,
opium, tobacco, &amp;c. which in large quantities kill instantly,
when they are taken in very moderate quantity can be borne with
apparent impunity, and are sometimes classed as articles of
sustenance, or they may be medicinal, but if taken beyond such
moderation, they become to the majority of men destructive slow
poisons.</p>
<p>Contagions,&mdash;as of plague, small-pox, and measles.</p>
<p>Malaria of marshes, thickets, and of filth.</p>
<h2>Footnotes:</h2>
<p><a name="footnote147"></a><a href="#citation147"
class="footnote">[147]</a>&nbsp; See Appendix.</p>
<p><a name="footnote202"></a><a href="#citation202"
class="footnote">[202]</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;There are several
thousand gratings which are utterly useless on account of their
position, and positively injurious from their
emanations.&rdquo;&mdash;Mr. Dyce Guthrie.&nbsp; Health of Towns
Report, vol. ii. p. 255.</p>
<p><a name="footnote209"></a><a href="#citation209"
class="footnote">[209]</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;To give an idea of the
principle of contour lines, we may suppose a hill, or any
elevation of land covered with water, and that we want to trace
the course of all the levels at every 4 feet of vertical height;
suppose the water to subside 4 feet at a time, and that at each
subsidence the line of the water&rsquo;s edge is marked on the
hill; when all the water is withdrawn, supposing the hill to be
24 feet high, it will be marked with a set of six lines, denoting
the contours of each of the levels, exactly 4 feet above each
other.&rdquo;&mdash;Mr. Butler Williams&rsquo;s evidence before
the Health of Towns Commission.</p>
<p><a name="footnote214a"></a><a href="#citation214a"
class="footnote">[214a]</a>&nbsp; See Mr. Toynbee&rsquo;s
Evidence.&nbsp; Health of Towns Report, vol. i. pp. 87, 88.</p>
<p><a name="footnote214b"></a><a href="#citation214b"
class="footnote">[214b]</a>&nbsp; See Dr. Arnott&rsquo;s
Evidence.&nbsp; Health of Towns Report, vol. i. pp. 45, 46.</p>
<p><a name="footnote215a"></a><a href="#citation215a"
class="footnote">[215a]</a>&nbsp; See Dr. Guy&rsquo;s
Evidence.&nbsp; Health of Towns Report, vol. i. p. 92.</p>
<p><a name="footnote215b"></a><a href="#citation215b"
class="footnote">[215b]</a>&nbsp; In St. George&rsquo;s,
Southwark, out of 1467 persons who received parochial relief,
1276 are reported to have been ill with fever.</p>
<p><a name="footnote233"></a><a href="#citation233"
class="footnote">[233]</a>&nbsp; The mischief that may be done by
associations for benevolent purposes, when ill-directed, is
admirably shown in a pamphlet on the subject of Visiting
Societies by &ldquo;Presbyter Catholicus.&rdquo;&nbsp; James
Darling, Little Queen Street, 1844.&nbsp; One of the objects of
this pamphlet is to show that the command addressed to
alms-givers &ldquo;not to let their left hand know what their
right hand doeth,&rdquo; concerns the receiver as much as the
giver&mdash;that &ldquo;a man&rsquo;s alms will be converted into
a source of almost unmixed evil, if their distribution become a
subject of notoriety,&rdquo; which is the case in public
charities.&nbsp; This, like most general propositions, is not to
be construed over strictly; but there is much truth in it,
(especially if we take the word &ldquo;alms&rdquo; in its most
restricted sense) and it deserves to be weighed carefully by all
who wish to render their benevolence most available.</p>
<p><a name="footnote282"></a><a href="#citation282"
class="footnote">[282]</a>&nbsp; The tabular view has been moved
to the end of the letter in this Project Gutenberg
transcription.&mdash;DP.</p>
<p><a name="footnote287"></a><a href="#citation287"
class="footnote">[287]</a>&nbsp; The author of this book has
tried one of these &ldquo;valved openings&rdquo; recommended by
Dr. Arnott, and has found it answer very well.</p>

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