Midnight scenes and social photographs: being sketches of life in the streets, wynds, and dens of the city

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Midnrght scenes and social photographs:

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MIDNIGHT SCENES

AND

SOCIAL PHOTOGRAPHS:

BEING

SKETCHES OF LIFE IN THE STREETS, WINDS, AND
DENS OF THE CITY.

Bt shadow.

WITH A FRONTISPIECE BT GEORGE CEtTIKSEAIf K .

GLASGOW:

THOMAS MUKRAT AND SON.

BROWIir AND MILLER.

LONDON: WILLIAM TWEEDIE. HOULSTON AND WEIGHT.

EDINBURGH: JOHN MENZIES.

MDCCCLVIII.

A^^7f^(^

f

-tcr-M-J, yj-vJe-Ukdv

GLASGOW ;

PRINTED BY BEOWN i MILLER,

AKGYLE STREET.

PREFACE.

The writer of the following Sketches does not wish the reader to
imagine that their appearance arises from any supposed literary
excellence, but rather because it is presumed they will be found to
contain facts and observations not without value on a subject of
great and increasing in±er«st, viz., the condition of the poor, and
the classes generally inhabiting the lower depths of society. Should
the "Photographs" present a tone painfully dark and gloomy, it
will be remembered that most of them have been taken Ijy moon-
light, from the " night side " of the city. They are not creations
of the brain, but so far as the writer's knowledge of the art extends
— ^they are truthful. Highly -wrought pictures, and more exciting
incidents, gathered from the experience of a week, month, or year,
might have been produced; but as they occurred, so have they
been given. "With many imperfections, of which no one can be
more sensible than the writer, he commits his sketches to the
public, hoping they may be the means of deepening the already
deep interest felt in the subject of "Life in the Streets, Wynds,
and Dens of the City."

VI PREFACE.

Much, it is hoped, will be atoned for by the genius of the Artist,
Mr. GrEOEGB Ceuikshank, by whose pencil the work has the honour
of being illustrated. The composition of the Frontispiece, repre-
senting a variety of Scenes described in the work, will be readily
understood by the reader.

For the tasteful design: of Jhe Illiisti'4ted Cover to the Cheap
Edition, depicting " Out-door Sleepers," acknowledgments are due
to Mr. J. 0. Beown, of Edinburgh.

GuBGOvf, August, 185S.

CONTENTS.

Ko. I.— SUNDAY NIGHT.

Glasgow on Sunday Morning — Visit to the Bridgegate vrith a Member of the Society
of Friends from England — His Horror of the Closes of Glsagow — Aversion of the
Poor to Religions Tracts^-The Houses of the Poor — Extreme Destitution-
Tribute to Teetotaliam^-Visit to Catholic Families — ^Distressing Condition of a
Blind Woman and her Ragged Children — Sunday Forenoon — The Church of the
Poor— Visit to the Closes and Wynds of the Saltmarket. H — 21.

No. II.— SUNDAY ISJGWr— Continued.

Sunday Drinking Usages, Past and Present — ^Trongate on a Sunday Evening — Factory
Girls — Meeting with a Literary Friend — ^Visit to a Shebeen — ^Animated Conversa-
tion — The Opinion of a few ''Drouthy Chiels" respecting Dr. Cumming— Ten
o'clock— Appearance of the Streets — Visit to a Low Lodging House in High
Street — Birth amongst the Poor— Scene in the Street and Police Office— News-
paper Reporter — Editor's Room— Printing Office— Cabs and Cabmen— Prostitutes-
Female Destitution 22 — 36.

No. m.— MONDAY NIGHT.

Monday, the Clergyman's Day of Rest — Argyle Street oil Monday Evening — '^ Big
Pay Week" — The City HaU — Walter Buchanan, Esq. — Louis Kossuth and his two
sons 37 — 41.

No. IV.— MONDAY ISlGrB.T— Continued.

Appearance of the Sti-eets — Ten o'clock — Argyle Street — King Street — The
Bridgegate— Temptations of the Poor— PuMo Houses— " Ministers of God to
thee for Good"— Bailie Fairface— Distressing Case— Scene in the Street and Police
Office—" Eliza Kosa Divinity" and her Companiona— Police Cells— Lola Montes—
Low Shebeens— Brothels amongst the Poor— Outdoor Sleepers 42—51 .

vm CONTENTS.

No. v.— TUESDAY NIGHT.

Appearance of the Streets— A Policeman's Social Statistics— Intemperance and Desti-
tution—The Contraal^Blythswooa Square— Argyle Street west— Miller Street-
Scott's Monumenf^-Watt's Monumenf^Pitiftil Scene in High Street 52—58.

No. VI.— WEDNESDAY NIGHT.

A Market Day— The Stockwell— Clyde Side— Glasgow Bridge— Night View of the
Harbour- Bridge Street— Eglinton Street— Jottings in a Public House— Hutche-
son Bridge— Court House — Appearance of the Criminals and their Friends. 69—65;

No. Vn.— WEDNESDAY SSIGJIT— Continued.

Visit to a Low Lodging House in the Saltmarket— Description of Entrance— The
Interior— A Virago — Eleven o'clock- Prostitutes and Prostitution — ^Appearance
of the Streets— The " Forbes Mackenzie Act"— The Gallowgate— Granny's— Visit
to a Low Brothel — *' Pision" and how Obtained — Description of the Dens — The
Protector 66—71.

No. vm.— WEDNESDAY NIGHT— INDIAN FAST.

Lord Palmerston's Reply to the Presbytery — Its Application to the Indian Fast —
Moral and Physical Laws — British Treatment of India — Opinions of the Duke of
Wellington, Sir Thomas Munro, Lord Elphinstone, &c. — ^The Fast — Description of
the Streets — Churches and Public Houses — ^Evening — The Clyde — Cases of Desti-
tution 72—79.

No. IX.— THURSDAY NIGHT.

Glasgow Green — Nelson's Monument — Govan Iron Works — James Watt, the Engineer —
Night View of the City from Glasgow Green — Reflections — A Blind Man — Cheap
Jack and the Book Auction — Parry's Theatre — ^The Jupiter — Music Saloons —
Mortality amongst Prostitutes — Low Lodging House in the Bridgegate 80 — 86.

No. X.— FRIDAY NIGHT.

Change in the appearance of the Streets and Public Houses— Grand Marriage amongst
the Lowly— The Pawnbroker's Shop — Straits of the Poor— Bridgeton — Condition
of the Factory Population — Slack Work and Soup Kitchens — Drunken Mother and
Distressed Child — Visit with " Nelly" to a Low Lodging House — A Visit to the
Dens — Remarlcs on the Glasgow Police 87 95.

CONTENTS.

No. XI.— SATURDAY NIGHT.

Half-Holiday Excursionists — Scene at the Broomielaw — Appearance of the Streets —
Jack Ashore — ^Deplorahle Case of Drunkenness — Scene at the Central PoUce OfBce
Behaviour of the Police — Rich and Poor— After Eleven o'Clock— The Drinking
Clubs— Sunday Moming^The Match Boy. 96—104.

No. Xn.— SATTIRDAT ^SIGKT— Continued.

Scene in the PoUce Ofiice — Street Prowlers and the Police — A Policeman's Duties —
Centralising tendency of Police Management — Jack Ashore — The Match Boy —
Sickness and Death amongst the Poor — ^Awful Destitution — ^Visit to the Bush and
Tontine Closes at Two o'Clock in the Morning — Description of the Dens — Com-
parative Comfort of Professed Thieves and the Honest Poor — Cozy Comfort and
Lamentable Destitution — Opinion of an English Authority on Glasgow Demoral-
isation 105—116.

CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS.

Early History of Glasgow — Opinions of Foreigners Past and Present — ^Ancient mode of
managing Vagrants — Influx of Irish— The Catholics of Glasgow— Condition of
the Poor before and after the Reformation in Scotland — Causes of Destitution —
The Remedy — General Remarks — Drunkenness— The Police— National Educa-
tion — Physiology in Schools— The Secular System— Influence of the Clergy— Duty
of Government. 117-132.

APPENDIX.

The Operation of Forbes Mackenzie's Act— General Statistics 133.

RICH AND POOR.

A life of self-indulgence is for us,
A life of self-denial is for them;

For us the streets, broad-built and populous.
For them unhealthy comers, garrets dim,

And cellars where the water- rats may swim 1

For us green paths, refreshed by fragrant rain ;
For them dark aUeys where the dust lies grim !

Not doomed by us to this appointed pain-
God made us— rich and poor — of what do these complain ?

MBS. NORTON.

MIDNIGHT SCENES AND SOCIAL PHOTOGRAPHS.

No. I.

SUNDAY NIGHT.

Contents : — Glasgow on Sunday Morning — Visit to the Bridgegate wifh a Member
of the Society of Friends from Engl-and — Hisj Horror of the Closes of Glasgow —
Aversion of the Roman Catholics to Religious Tracts — The Houses of the Poor
— Extreme Destitution — Tribute to Teetotalism — Visit to Catholic Families —
Distressing Condition of a Blind Woman and her Ragged Children.

The moral tempest of Saturday evening has passed away, to be
succeeded by the calm and sacred sunshine of the Sabbath
morning —

" That breathes its vigour through heart, soul, and frame ;
Cares, like the clouds, and pains, are ch^ed away.
Ohj for a life where each morning was the same !"

The streets that far into the morning teemed with vice and dissipa-
tion are now filled with well-dressed worshippers thronging to the
house of God. A few minutes more, and the streets are empty;'
the silence alone disturbed by the echo of the footsteps of some
'rambler after pleasure, whose eye, as we near him, seems to
brighten with poetic fire at the thought —

"Enchanting music breathes to please
Me, wheresoe'er I rove .

In no town or city in Scotland is the Sabbath more rigidly

12 EELIGIO0S WORSHIP AMONG THE POOE.

observed than in Glasgow, especially amongst the middle and higher
classes of society. Not many weeks ago, desirous of seeing how
Sunday morning was spent among the poor, we visited between
twenty and thirty families during the forenoon service. The
locality selected was the Saltmark^t, and one or two closes off
the east end of Trongate. The morning was beautiful and cleai-.
The leading streets were deserted. The Green, though at a
later hour of the day crowded by thousands, presented but few
persons. Stopping at a place called " Mumford's Show," we
observed a ticket upon the wooden building, announcing

" TO THE POOE THE GOSPEL IS PEEACHED !"

Curious to know the calibre of a congregation so met, we stealthily
glided to a seat in a sort of porch, from which an excellent view
was obtained of preacher and people. They are singing as we
enter. Their artless strains are singularly pleasing. There is no
pew-opener to dispense his partial favours, giving to this one the
obsequious bow and the soft cushioned seat, and to that one the
neglectful look and the plain deal bench. It has really more
the appearance of the house of God than the gorgeous temples
that surround it, where well-dressed footmen bow "my Lord"
and "my Lady" to the throne of grace. They are all "mise-
rable sinners" alike, and as such they worship. There are up-
wards of two hundred persons present, seated on benches raised
in the form of an amphitheatre. The eye scrutinizes in suc-
cession most of the individuals in the company. A few paces
from us is seated a poor old woman and her boy. The latter
has a wild expression of look, as if unaccustomed to pubhc
worship. Both bear evidence of having made some little pre-
paration to appear in church. The old lady seems to have
been at psuns with her cap, though it has rather a creamy
than a snowy colour. Other articles of dress that may have
covered a score of shoulders before they reached her own have

SABBATH AMONG THE POOK. 13

difficulty in supporting a family relationship, they are all so
poorly matched. Her face has a wasted haggard look; her eye,
dim with age, and a life of sorrow, rests intently upon the preacher,
as he unfolds the chequered history of Job, from whose tribulation
she seems to derive thoughts of comfort. Again, near to the
ground floor, is a patriarchal-looking man,

" With his lyart haffets lean and bare."

He is resting his head upon a staff, wrapped in thoughtftd medi-
tation. All round are life-pictures of singular history and cha-
racter. The preacher himself, apparently a missionary, is deeply
impressed with his subject, and makes the best of his opportunity.
Quitting this place, with far more regret than we have often done
the pompous services of domed church and august cathedral, we
visit the occupants of the low closes and the wynds.

One case only we shall briefly describe. It is about twelve
o'clock in the day. The first entered is situated in a long narrow
close. The lofty old houses on either side cast their cold deep
shade on all beneath, reminding us of some dark ravine into
which the kindly rays of the sun never penetrate. On the right
is one of those little tributaries to the Clyde, a stream of the
grossest impurities. In the close, about the doors, are groups
of idle people, women with their arms folded, and men, minus
then: coats and jackets, leaning with their backs upon the wall,
smoking short black pipes. They are engaged apparently
in pleasant chat; ever and anon the hearty laugh makes the
crazy old walls to ring. Before approaching them, our atten-
tion is taken up with an object of rather singular interest. On
the right is a sort of hole in the wall, which turns out to be the
miniature home of a smart little woman in respectable attire. The
formation of her head is good, and her eye beams with a genial
intelligence. She is engaged in cooking. On one side of her is
a neat little fii-e-place-^the "cheeks" beautifully whitened, and the

u

SABBATH AMONG THE POOR.

little grate bars shine as Warren's blacking. At the other
extremity of the apartment is a small bed in a recess. The
rest of the "make-up'' of the household furniture consists of
two stools, a table, and a few articles of crockery. "Yon have
a very small place here," we say, as we lean upon the lower
division of a door, divided across the centre, to answer the pur-
pose of a window for the admission of light and ain "Yes,
it is, sir, a wee place,'' she replies, with a smile of happy con-
tentment, and yet with ,a feeling of shame, at occupying so mean
an apartment. "Well, but you have it tidy and clean." "Ou
aye, we- aye manage that, if naething else — ^my husband is a
carter, an' he hasna' been in work for a long time — ^but if he
didna drink, we wudna need to be here." " Dear me, how do
you live in it?" we inquire, as a more minute glance is taken
at the four corners of the room. Being granted liberty to measure
the place, we here put the right heel against the toe of the left
shoe, and find that six shoe-lengths determine the breadth, and
between eight and nine the length, from the bed to the fire-place.
The height of the room scarcely allows us to stand upright. In
this hole the husband and wife have lived for one or two years, and
until lately, two children ; the youngest of the latter having been
only some weeks dead of measles, after five months' iHness. A
shilling a-week is paid for the apartment. Both parents are
Irish, but speak in the Scottish dialect ; the young wife supports
her partner and child by work in a factory. Before we leaye,
the husband enters, a short stout repulsive-looking man, about
twenty-five or thirty years of age, dressed in dirty corduroys, beard
nnshaved, and smells of whisky. Taking us to beloijg to the
missionary craft, he says, " You missionaries tell us that carters and
factory lassies hae souls as weel as ither folk. For my pairt I aye
thocht they had, — why is it, man, you canna tell ns something we
dinna ken ? " Explaining that we have no connexion with the
missionaries, he again remarks, "Weel, whether or no, mind

SABBATH AMONG THE POOE. 15

dinna bring your tracts here, for we dinna want them." Leaving
Pat, somewhat an incorrigible in his way, we saunter forth into the
street, by this time dotted all over with Kttle groups of labouring
men, lounging about in their week-day clothes, with the addition
of a clean shirt and neckerchief, just enough to remind them that
it is Sabbath-day.

In almost aU the other places visited, the children are playing
about in back courts, and at the bottom of stairs. In few of the
houses are the beds entirely unoccupied. Some of the men are
smoking by the fire, or reading a penny newspaper. The women,
such as are well to do, are engaged in cooking. Out of the whole
of the families called on, not one of the number, so far as we can
learn, has been at church, or is accustomed to attend; the usual
excuse being the want of decent apparel. * The majority,
however, are Roman Catholics. In many instances, the filthy
and crowded state of the apartments is simply indescribable, —
there being as many as three and four beds in one room, meant
to accommodate male and female, old and young, the sick and
the healthy, the living and the dead.

* Although by the census of 1851, it was found that Glasgow possessed. 129
places of worship (which have since, by the way, considerably increased,) and
100,754 sittings, and although the number of attendants at public worship
on the Census Sabbath was, in themoming70,381, afternoon 62,075, evening
15,047, making an aggregate of 147,603, or 98,335 individual attendants,
the melancholy fact was nevertheless ascertained beyond even the shadow of
a doubt, that there were upwards of 132,000 who absented themselves from
ordinances on the first day of the week. The number of the latter must of
course, in proportion to the increasing population, have received during the
last seven years an enormoirs addition, since in the districts visited by the City
Missionaries alone there are 15,676 families, or 67,925 individuals who go to
no place of worship. This is professedly Christian Glasgow! In addition
to this, it was calculated that in oraerange of buildings merely, there were 318
individuals, and out of that number there were scarcely 2GQ professed Protest-
ants. Their Protestantism, however, may be judged of from the fact that
only seven out of the entire 260 ever attended a church, while of the rest,
who were Roman Catholics, only two femilies went to chapel. — 77ie Age.

16 SABBATH AMONG THE POOR.

As the day draws to a close, the church-bells * ring their last
peal for evening service. To the stranger accustomed to sweet or
merry chimes, the "tolls" of our city churches sound dolefully in the
ear, as if a requiem were intended for the departure of the day.
Not inaptly do the dymg echoes of the bell of St. George's
express the thought of its inscription, —

" I to the Church the people call,
And to the grave I summon all." .

Seated in the commercial room of a temperance hotel, we now get
into pleasing conversation with a member of the Society of Friends,
a thick- set sparkling-eyed little man from the north of England,
bent upon a stroll among our Highland hills, and a sail upon
our lovely lakes. In his well-rounde^d brown coat are two capa-
cious pockets, full of teetotal tracts. Expressing his surprise at
the dense population of Glasgow — the squalid, wretched appear-
ance of the less favoured inhabitants — the hovels, miscalled houses,
they live in — he informs us that, within the last twenty years, he has
built as many as 700 smaU cottages ; each with its various offices,
its piece of garden ground — everything, in short, which can •
make the poor man's house at once his home and his castle.
We ask him, if he would like to see the " cottage property"
of Glasgow, the homes of our poor. He starts to his feet with
alacrity from a sofa on which he is reclining, and at once assents.
We take him to

THE BEIDGEGATE.

An immense concom-se of men, women, and children, with num-
bers of policemen, are to be seen lounging about in idle groups,

* From M'Ure's history of Glasgow, it would appear the city at one time
was celebrated for bells. " The following lines," he says, " though once very
popular, we have not seen in print : —
" Glasgow for bells,
Lithgow for wells,
Falldrk for beans and pease,
Edlnhro' for and thieves."

VISIT TO THE BEIDGEGATE. 17

preferring the open air of the street to the vitiated atmosphere
of their pestilential dwellings. Rows of women, with folded
arms — scarcely a broken link in the chain for long distances
together — line the inner side of the pavement. As we approach,
the hum which formerly fell upon our ear, now developes itself
into a Babel of noises — oaths, recriminations, and abuse. The
change from one street to the other seems almost as great
as from Sunday to Monday ; and but for the sun having set in
the western horizon, most assuredly an ancient Presbytery of
Glasgow would not have suffered them to " play their pipes " with
impunity, and collect themselves in this "indecent manner" on
the " Lord's Day," but would have ordered them " to appear on
the floor of the kirks of Glasgow, at the pillar ; to be in sack-
cloth, bareleggit, and bareheidit, in linen clothes, and that on
the foremost furme." Yet, despite this, and the occasional drunk-
ard who staggers across our path, the general demeanour of
the people bespeaks revelry subdued ; the poor attempts at face-
washing and dress, on the part of some of them, even in their
filthy rags, seem to elevate them a shade above the sensualities
of the week.

In a few minutes we grope our way, in an inclined posture,
through the entrance to one of those low narrow closes. A small
stream of impure water flows oir the right, and with the odour of
pntrifying animal substances, it smells to suffocation. Our fiiend,
who now follows somewhat reluctantly, as if under the influence
of some mysterious spell, or haunted by some terrible dread,
keeps, ever and anon, muttering behind us, " It is frightful !" —
" How do they live ? dear me, — ^how do the poor creatures live ?"
The close now becomes more open, and we breathe more freely.
A score of eyes from almost eveiy point — staircase, window,
and pavement — fall upon us, as we look through the hazy
grey of the night. The impression at once felt is that of
intrusion. No nautical explorer ever fell among savages who

B

18 HOVELS OF THE POOR.

looked with greater wonder at his approach. To destroy this
unpleasant suspense, our companion, an abrupt, business sort of
man, draws up to the nearest group, with a tract in his hand.
He oflFers it to one of the party, a woman, somewhat middle-aged,
with hard features, and a wiU of her own. As it is being
presented, she scorns the harmless missive. Recognising the
cause of this unmistakable expression of feeling, we assure her
that it has nothing to do with religion, but is simply a teetotal
tract. Though somewhat reconciled, she accepts it with distrust.
Just as this little scene is terminated, a tall muscular-looking
man, in a state of partial undress, makes his appearance. He is

A TEETOTALEE,

and has been so for many years, before which he had been an
habitual drunkard. Seated at his door is a deaf old woman,
neatly and modestly attired, of a placid and intelligent cast of
countenance, and whose grey hairs, deeply-furrowed face, and frail
frame, bespeak an age beyond the allotted " three-score-and-
ten.'' " That, " says the honest Hibernian, with a special pride
in his look, " is my poor ould mother ; she has been a tee-
totaler for nearly forty years, and during that time she has never
known what it was to be sick for a single day." Casting an eye
round his single apartment, we express sui-prise that he and
his family, three or four in number, can live there. The house is
low, dark, and damp ; and, within three yards of his door, is
a receptacle for every description of filth collected about the close.
" Custom," says Pat, " custom ; if I were to take my poor ould
mother to the coast, she would die instantly — ^faith she would ;
we tried it oust, and right glad we were to get back to our dear
ould home."

Observing a few paces from us another collection of dirty
idle women, with children in their arms, hanging about an out-
side stair, we approach them. The effect is analogous to dis-

AVERSION OF THE EOMAN CATHOLICS TO TRACTS. '9

turbing a hive of bees, such is the hum and low muttering that
fall from their lips, and the soft fluttering of their poor tattered
garments, as they change their position. " Wilt thou have a tract ?"
says our frimd to a woman somewhat more respectable than
the others. " We dinna want ony o' yer tracts here !" she replies in
rather a petulant manner ; and, with oflfended air, withdraws from
the group. " It has nothing to do with religion," we refflark ;
" it is simply a teetotal tract." " Weel, weel, whether or no, we
ha'e owremuckle o' them here." "An' we're a' teetotal enough,
an' obleeged to be," ejaculates a smart little dame sitting on the
third step of the staircase.

Giving a gentle rap-tap at every door in the tenement, the
same difficulty is felt in the distribution of our missives, the
people apparently having been dosed with others of a less welcome
description. Of the six or eight families we visit, each occupies
but one apartment, in size about 8 feet by 12, containing from four
to five inmates, without any regard to age or sex. The bedding,
placed in a corner of the room, usually consists of a little straw,
and the bed-clothes of a few old rags. In two cases only do we see a
chair — a stool, or some other article is used. Among the exceptions
is a poor dying woman. Her small but neat room in the attics
bears evidence of the virtues which we attiibute to her. Her eyes
are slightly sunk, and a hectic flush at intervals plays upon her
cheeL She is far gone in consumption. She Ues in agony, pant-
ing for breath. In her hand is a small utensil, with lung expec-
torations. At her back, in a deep sleep, is a fat, rosy-cheeked
child. On each side of her is an open window, a sort of loop-
hole, just enough to admit the au: arid light of heaven. In this
cutting draught the poor creature lies covered with perspiration.
Her husband, an Irishman,, fi-om accident also an invalid, kindly
ministers to her wants. He is a labourer, but has been unable to
work for the last few weeks. Both are Roman Catholics, and are
frequently visited by the priest. Some of the inmates on the

20 ' ROMAN CATHOLICS.

second floor also form exceptions to the general squalor and
wretchedness. The air of comfort and cleanliness which cha-
racterise their homes — each consisting of but one small room
— is particularly noticeable. One household consists of a
widow and her two daughters, engaged during the week in
factory labour. The eldest girl, as we enter, is busy reading
the Bible. Eound the walls of the room is a great variety
of crosses and pictures representing the crucifixion, the Virgin
Mary, and several of the saints, some of them coloured and
in frames, carefully and neatly set ; others, simply small figures
in well-polished iron, suspended by a cord from a nail in the
wall. Thoughtlessly forgetting the sensibility of the Catholic,
we remark, pointing to the playfulness of the cat, which has
mounted the table for its share of observation, " and there's
another picture^ — poor little puss !" stroking its back as the words
fall from our lips. At this the young woman, lifting her eyes
from the book, replies, " Yes ; but a different picture from these !"
" True," we make answer, and, by way of apology, say, — " We
would desire to respect the rehgious feelings of the Hindoo, as
much as we would those of the Christian!"

Quitting with pleasurable emotion the home of these pious
people, for it seemed a sort of oasis in this moral -Hilderness,
we proceed to visit several houses in another close, all repre-
senting more or less wretchedness, vice, and ignorance. In no
case, however, do we find any of the inmates the worse of
drink. Their extreme poverty, together with the difficulty of ob-
tainmg liquor, seems to render their being so an impossibility.
A case of distress particularly arrests our attention. It is that of

A POOR BLIND WIDOW,

a

with three or four young children around her. They live in
cellar, within a yard or two of a dung-heap, sending forth its
noxious smells, and fever-causing exhalations. By the unoeitain

THE BLIND WIDOW. 21

Kght of a small glimmering fire, we can recoguise at a glance
the wretchedness of the abode. It reminds us more of a charnel
house than a dwelling place for the living. Amid this desolation
sits the afilicted widow in her faded tattered weeds. Poor woman !
she has seen " better days" — ^worse she cannot. Around the
hearth are squatted her dirty ragged boys, each tearing from the
other a filthy bone picked up in the street. On our expressing
surprise at a thing so horrible, she says, " On aye, sir, they're glad
o' ony thing, puir things, but they maun gang to bed." Upon
this the youngest of the four — a poor fleshless child of four
years old, pale and emaciated — rises, rubs his little eyes,
scratches his hands, and shakes himself terribly, as if sufiering
from some cutaneous disease. The scene is sadly pitiful. In a cor-
ner of the room is their bed of dirty matted straw. Fortunately,
a wreck of a bedstead keeps them from the damp floor. We
visited this place again at mid-day, and found that this " home"
was dark as the grave ! God pity us, we exclaimed, — can such
things be in a Christian land !

No. II.
SUNDAY NIGHT.

(Contimied.)

Contents: — Sunday Driilking Usages, Past and Present — Trongate on a Sunday
Evening — Factory Girls ---Meeting "^ith a Literary Friend — Visit to a
Shelieen — Animated Conversation — The Opinion of a few "Droutby Chiels"
respecting Dr. Gumming — Ten o'clock— Appearance of the Streets-Visit to a Low
Lodging House in High Street— Birth amongst the Poor — Scene in the Street
and Police OfRce — Newspaper Reporter — Editor's Room — Printing Office — Cabs
and Cabmen — Prostitutes — Female Destitution.

While it was the custom of "My Lord Boss's Club," as we
are told, to dedicate an extra tankard to the closing hours of
the week, they most religiously abstained from any convivial
indulgence on the Sunday. What seems to have been observed
as a virtue by our ancestors is now obviously practised by
their descendants as a very painful necessity. At one period
in our histoiy, the lieges, by the prevalence of a puritanical
spirit, were forbidden to perambulate the city dm-ing church
hours. The Bum Bailies, whose duty it was to give eifect
to this stringent act, have, however, at least corporeally, long
since passed away. Whether these pious functionaries still
live in the spirit, and continue to influence in this respect the
actions of men, we shall not say ; but very certain it is, that as
saints repair to then- homes on Sunday, or retire to roost with
their families, poor sinners, like cockroaches, venture out only
in the evening.

THE STREETS ON SUNDAY NIGHT. 23

As we quit the hovels of the poor, the sonorous sound of the
Cross bell proclaims

THE HOUR OF NINE.

The virtuous and the vicious, the halt and the blind, the motley-
conditioned of the poorer classes generally are here — but, alas !
true to the words of the old verse, "the nearer the kirk the
farther frae grace." Trongate, the Saltmarket, High Street,
and all within a stone's throw of this once aristocratic
vicinage, is literally crowded. The bottoms of stap's, tops of
closes and wynds — all present their coteries of filthy ragged
gossipers. Pent up in their hovels all day, they come out just to
breathe a mouthful of fresh air before laying themselves down on
beds of rags and straw. It is a pity that these poor people
have not the moral courage to venture out during the day, while
the sun might rejoice theii- hearts, and ventilate their unwhole-
some garments — for basking in God's sunshine, and thereby
giving increased health to body and mind, is surely better than
wallowing in low pestiferous cellars. But we must " move on,"
as we fear the policeman would say did these sorry creatures offer
to make a noonday exhibition of themselves when good Christians
are wending their way in silks and satins to church. "Move on,"
then, be it. A batch of smart little factory girls sweep along under
the shade of the Laigh Kirk in conscious pride, dressed in their
pink cotton " short gown," and brown " dragget coat," innocent
of a covering for head or feet. As we " move on," amongst the
busy crowd we pick up a highly philosophical member of the
press, casting his great eyes through a pair of light glittering
spectacles, resting upon a nose most unaccountably small to be in
the possession of a man of genius. " Good evening ! " is the
mutual salutation. " Did you ever see," we ask, " such
a tura-out of poor creatures on a Sunday night ?" " Nature,
sir; no cause but nature," he replies, readjusting his spectacles

24

VISIT TO A SHEBEEN.

with an air of the most profound indifference. " Well, nature so
far," we say, remembering that

"Nature does
Never wrong; 'tis society which sins.
' Look on the bee upon the wing among flowers —
How brave, how bright his life I Then mark him hived,
Cramped, cringing in his self-built social cell.
Thus is it in the world hive: most where men
Lie deep in cities as in drifts — death drifts —
Nosing each other like a flock of sheep,
Not knowing and not caring whence nor whither
They come or go, so that they fool together."

" All right!" we say — "come along, and see what is to be seen."
Crossing to the " plainstanes" in front of the Tontine, " a row" is
struck up between a young recruit and an old recruiting serjeant.
The jostling is dreadful, so we make our escape. " I never," says
our friend, " pass these 'plainstanes' but I think of that good story
of old Dr. Moore, told by Strang." "What was that?" we
inquire. " Moore, strutting about one day upon the ' plainstanes,'
as was his wont, was noticed by a young sprig of an officer, not
many weeks in commission. Desiring to annoy the Professor, he
whispered, as he was passing to his companions, -lond enough,
however, for the doctor to hear, — ' He smells strongly oi powder.'
The Doctor, coolly turning round, replied — ' Don't be alai-med,
my young soldier, it is not g'wrepowder.' "

Scarcely has this anecdote been ^ven, when our notice is
arrested by a few " di'outhy chiels " hanging about the door of a
shebeen in a dirty close. " Just the very thing," we say —
" come, and let's see the

MYSTERIES OF THE SHEBEEN."

" Stop, then," says our friend, " let me manage the business for
you." As we approach, the manner of the group is peculiar.
Two of the number are a little shy, and retire a step or two,
desirous of throwing us " off the scent," as they call it. Catching
ourselves up as we best can, we remark — familiarising our-

VISIT TO A SHEBEEN. 25

selves with the patrons of this modern institution — " Doesn't he
answer?" "All right!" is the reply, in a soft whisper, and
with a look of reconciled confidence, as the landlord of the private
drunkery slyly lifts aside a comer of the window blind, and casts
at us a knowing glance with the au' and expression of the lass in
the old song —

" Jiiat look as you were nae lookin' at me."

In a moment the door is opened, and there stands before us the
veritable landlord — a decently attired looking man, with his coat
off, apparently well prepared for any amount of work.- "Weel,
who's a' wi' you ?" is the under-tone salutation of a stout little
man with a rubicund countenance, the representative man of the
company of which we assume a part ; and, despite the searching
eye of mine host, gain admission without either "word" or
" sign" of this new order of freemasonry. He makes no reply ;
but, with an air of suUenness and uncertainty, closes the door
as we enter. Next minute we are seated as if at the bar of an
old-fashioned country inn, with a table before us, and resting on a
comfortable seat. Over the mantel-piece are a few glass tickets,
slightly smashed, announcing the sale of cigars, biscuit and cheese,
&c. At the extreme end of the room the busy housewife is neatly
arranging the usual " set-out " at the bar — ^bottles, jugs, and de-
canters — the latter temptingly exhibiting then- golden coloured
wines, brandies, &c. Obvious, however, amidst all this is the
absence of her Majesty's stamped pewter pot or measure. But
we shall not further describe either the appearance or the locality
of our worthy host or hostess, for as Lady Erskine (we think
it was,) is made to say by Cockbum in a recent biography, " He's
a dawmt scoondrel to kiss and tell" — alluding to the " first gen-
tleman in England," late Prince of Wales. Suffice it, then, to say,
that the shebeen keeper gave a glass of very good ale, though
he did charge, we believe, a very good price too. The liquor,
though not " licensed to be drunk on the premises," it was very

26 VISIT TO A SHEBEEN.

obvious that the usual exception was made in favour of the cus-
tomer " to be drunk on the premises," if he deemed fit. Scanning
the calibre of the company — albeit " respectable, " in the com-
mon acceptation of that phrase — our attention becomes dii-ected
to the appearance of a poor fellow, below middle age, and some-
what used up. He is seated nearly opposite to us. There is a
cast of thought and of sorrow in his pale countenance. He was
once respectable, says his faded " blacks." So also says a hat of
a past fashion, showing by over-wear the full anatomy of the
beaver, and bright and shining, by reason of having, like its
owner, been caught in the wet on the previous evening. Morally
speaking,\he is evidently of the owl species, obliged to, flee the
light. Another " drop of ale " is ordered, and he pays a gi-oat.
As he does so, one's thoughts revert to his helpless family and com-
fortless home — to the words of those lisping infants, even now,
perhaps, looking up into a fond mother's face, asking for bread,
when, becausS of a father's drunkenness, she has nought to give
them but looks of sorrow. A few more " di'ops " are drunk, and
more brought in, by a trim, smart-looking woman, the " house-
holder's" wife. Time and drink work wonders. The face but
a few minutes since so long and doleful, / has now become, like
others in the company, luminous as a sunbeam. The names
of past celebrities, the worshippers of Bacchus, are freely canvassed
— their sins in the art of " imbibing" are held up by the way of
personal encouragement — " the nature, the peculiar idiosyncracy
of genius." " What a rare story that was," says this poor
unfortunate, after a long pause in the conversation, " about auld
Johnny Clerk (afterwards Lord Eldin) when comin' hame ae mor-
nin' fou', just twa hours afore the Coort o' Session met, an' meetin'
wi' a gentleman in Picardy Place, said, ' Can ye tell me, man,
whaur Johnny Clerk lives ? ' ' You're Johnny Clerk yoursel','
replied the stranger. ' D- — n you, sir, I didna want to ken wha
he was, but whaur he lives.'" For the recital of this rather stale

HIGH STKEET ON SUNDAY NIGHT. 27

joke, a little good-humoured laughter, of course, follows by way
of approbation. Desirous of giving a turn to the conversation,
our friend with the spectacles inquires if any of the company has
heard Dr. Gumming during the day? "Dr. Gumming!" says a
shrewd little well-dressed man in the corner, " I wudna gang
the length o' my tae to hear him. He's everlastingly foretellin'
the end o' the world in twa-three years, but he aye tak's gude care
to secure the copyricht o' his books, an' hae a lang lease o' his
hoose, m case he shouldna' tell richt." " But maybe's he'll get
it postponed like the London earthquake," says another, getting
flushed in the face, as he cracks his joke. " I'll tell you a gude
man, a really gude man,'' says a third speaker^ somewhat desirous
of redeeming the ministerial fraternity. " Wha's that?" ejacu-
lates no less than three voices at the same time. " Weel, that's
jist Tarn Guthrie.'' "Ay, you've said it noo," says the little man
in the comer earnestly ; " I believe Dr. Guthrie to be as gude a
man as ever wag^t his head in a poopit ; he's different frae the
ithers a'thegither; he practises mair than he preaches.'' "Did you
hear that story aboot him meetin' wi' a pnir man in the Ganongate,
when he cast aff ane o' his coats and gave it him in a close ?"
After hearing the story told, doubtless without mnch accuracy
of detail, we withdraw from the company, bidding the members of
the shebeen good-night.

It is by this time ten o'clock. And making our way towards

HIGH STREET,

we find the locality still crowded with people — and almost every
third or fourth shop is open for a long distance together — the
victualler's shop, the lollipop shop, and the low pie shop. Step-
ping into the latter, down a small narrow staii', accompanied by our
fi'iend before referred to, we are politely shown into an empty
box, secreted by a sort of gi-een cm-tain. Not feeling perfectly
satisfied with our quarters, we open a neighbouring apartment,
very much to the displeasure of the landlady, and a company

28

LOW LODGING HOUSE.

of six or eight boys and girls, about twelve years of age, who sit
within, ragged and filthy, and looking as womanly and manly as they
can, with a row of ginger-beer bottles set before them, and as
many empty plates. " Beg pardon !" is our apology, and forth- .
with return in disgust to our own crib, ordering a couple of pies,
which we do not eat. We next visit some of the lowest lodging
houses for " travellers and others ; " one in particular beggars
description. The " close mouth, " as usual, is sun-ounded by a
few dirty idle women, the stench almost insufferable. Proceeding
up an outside stair, a window on the left arrests our attention.
Several of the squares of glass are broken — ^their utility partially
supplied by bundles of old rags. The light of a small twinkling
fire reveals to us the interior of the apartment. In it are placed
two beds, occupied respectively by two men. Eound the fire-place •
is collected a group of rather repulsive-looking women. Utensils
with dirty water are scattered about the floor. One or two
strings are suspended from wall to wall, over which hang a
few articles of dress. Observing oiu- arrival upon the landing
of the first floor, one of the women, in a state of apparent excite-
ment, comes to greet us, " Wha do ye want here ?" she asks.
" We want the

LODGING HOCSE,"

we answer. " It's in there," pointing to one of two or three doors
facing us. And just as we are going to knock, the lodging-house
door is opened by a woman of strange appearance, with a
brush in one hand and a black cutty pipe in the other. " Weel,"
she says, in rather a hasty tone, " What's your wish ? " " Are
there any beggars sleep here?" we ask. "Beggars! No, indeed,
sir ; there's nane but respectable folk sleep wi' me." As the
words fall from her lips, we cast an eye round the room — a
perfect pig stye, with three beds in it, all occupied by some poor
traveller or outcast. " What do you charge for your beds ? "
" Oh, different prices,'' §he replies; " We can gi'e you a very

BIRTH AMONGST THE POOR. 29

nice cleaa bed for tippence ; but it depends upon whether you
would ha'e onybody to sleep wi' you or no." What is the
greatest number, now, you ever accommodate in these beds?" we
inquire. " As many, sometimes, as nine, but generally six or
eight." " Both sexes ?" " Oh, aye, we're no very partiklar."

Leaving the good lady and her lodgers to sleep as they best
can, we visit three or four other houses, containing private
families. Suffice it to say, that the scenes are simply dreadful.
Eeader, fancy a small room, not more than 8 feet by 9 or 10.
In it, on a handful or two of straw, scattered in different corners,
sleep three poor women. One of them old, blind, and deaf with
age. Another confined with a child but twenty-four hours or so
before. She is already up, and commences her work on the mor-
row. On the floor, in a corner of the wretched abode, facing
the door, lies

A BUNDLE OF FILTHY RAGS.

" What is that there ?" we say. " That is my baby," the poor
woman smilingly replies, with a pride which a mother's heart
only knows. " Dear me, you do not mean to say that the poor
infant lies there?" "Yes; that is where she was bom, poor little
lamb, and a sweet chUd it is," lifting it up and presenting it to
us. " Yes, it is," we remark, " a dear, lovely child." But how
hard, we thought, that the poor innocent should be cradled in
misfortune ; not even blessed, as we were afterwards told, with
the decent dowry of legitimate birth !

Quitting the apartment, deeply pained, we sally forth into
the street, impressed with the touching lines of Wordsworth,
suggested by the presence of " the vagi-ant," —

" But of the vagrant none took thought ;
And where it liked her best she sought
Her shelter and her food ;
Homeless near a thousand homes she stood.
And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food."

A somewhat diiferent scene now comes under our notice. It is

3W SCENE IN THE STREET ASSAULT OF AN AETIST..

that of a tall and gentlemanly-looking man lying prostrate upon
the ground, close to the Cross Steeple. His head is resting on the
pavement in a pool of blood, and his feet and body in the sewer.
He lies perfectly senseless. In a moment a crowd of spectators
contemplate the horrid sight. The policeman on the beat is
attracted thither. The shrill sound of his whistle calls neigh-
bouring watchmen to the spot. " Does any one know about this
man ?"■ inquires the most active of the force. No one replies.
Not a word can any one tell respecting him. To all appearance
he is severely injured, and the worse of drink. Just as he is
being lifted by the watchmen, a little man dressed in fustian
jacket and trousers approaches in a state of great excitement,
exclaiming, — " Here's the men wha did it," pointing to two black-
guard-looking fellows in the hands of two policemen. The case
is forthwith removed to the central office. As we enter, the
Lieutenant calls out, — " HUloa ! what is the matter with you
Eow, man ?" addressing the poor fellow with the broken head.
By this time the blood is streaming down over his face, ren-
dering him, with his gi-eat sandy -coloured moustache, and
one eye, an object of pitifiil disgust. The policeman, on
whose beat the tragedy occiuTed, explains the case, and sub-
mits for examination the cowardly ruffians who perpetrated the
assault. " Did any one see this man," referring to the prisoner,
" knock the gentleman down?" "I saw him," says the spirited
little man in fustian, the only eligible witness in the case ; " and
this man too, his companion, saw him knock him down, and then
kicked him." The Lieutenant — " Did you see that ?" Witness —
" No, I did'nt." Lieutenant — " What, then, did yon see ?"
" The man was drunk, and he assaulted us. " Lieutenant —
" Aye, that's enough, go away with you, and come here to-morrow
morning, and get out your friend." Second Lieutenant — " You're
a set o' cowardly scoundrels. That man is well known to us. He I
is as harmless as a child." The poor fellow, who turns out to be I

THE NEWSPAPER REPORTER. 81

an unfortunate artist given to drink, is taken into a side room,
and has his wounds dressed by the surgeon in attendance. While
this is being performed, he is curious to know what he is " in for
noo," and what he has done. We were told he lost his eye some
months before through a similar encounter.

TWELVE o'clock
strikes as we are about to quit the office, when a reporter from
one of the newspapers makes his appearance, wearing a Jim
Crow hat. In an instant, he is inside the bar, as much at home
as the night-lieutenant himself, humming in a low tone some
favourite ditty picked up at the latest performances of "the Royal"
or " Princess's." As the leaves of the Police book — that dark
side of " our civilisation" — are being unceremoniously turned
over with one hand, a small eye-glass is made to perform
sundry revolutions round a delicately-formed finger of the other.
" A case" or two forthwith arrests attention. The pencil is now
substituted for the eye-glass, and in a second it transfers to the
pages of a note book, )jy certain " fearfully and wonderfiilly made"
characters, such paragraphs as " Body Found" — " Alarming Fire"
— " Drank and Disorderly," &c. Imagination, for a moment,
follows this highly useful and intelligent functionary to the
editor's room, and the printing office. In the former place,
" Telegraph !" resounds in the ears of the listener, as a model
member of the rising generation, dressed in the Company's livery,
casts a bundle of telegrams upon a huge table, ah'eady groaning
under a load of newspapers and rejected manuscripts. In another
second, the editorial head is lost amid the pei-plexities of telegraph.
We next repair to the printing office, which we do very much by
scent — the sweetest localitynot being always the precise spot chosen
for this establishment. In a large room are two rows of "frames,"
technically so called;' at each "frame" two compositors are em-
ployed. As we look over the shoulder of one, we perceive he is
putting up type for a " leader," — ^it may be an indignant outburst

32 THE NEWSPAPER FEINTING OFFICE.

against the profanation of the Sabbath, a little bit of seuti-
mentalism on early closing, or perhaps a philanthropic disser-
tation on the necessity of improving the sanitary condition
of the people — ^it matters not which — the contents of the next
page are only yet simmering in the prolific brain of that omni-
scient individual, the editor. As we admire the untiring industry
of the men, who have been engaged the last half dozen hours, we
are forced, as we cast an eye round the black walls of the building,
to award a modicum of praise to the equally industrious spider,
which has ornamented the roof, and various corners, with ingenious
net-work. What with the heat of nearly fifty gas-lights, and the
breath of as many men, the casual visitor, unaccustomed to a
" literary atmosphere," will not regret quitting the long dingy
room for the more agreeable precincts without. If he be at all
contemplative, however, a passing tribute will be paid to both past
and present times touching this very wonderful institution, the
Press. While the sapngs and doings of the world during the last
twenty-four hours are thus being chronicled, preparing to be served -
up with the morning's muifin at the breakfast-table of the news-
paper reader, — he will, in justice to the past, bless the memorable
14th November 1715, whenthg first "broadsheet" issued from the
press of Glasgow, was " sold to regular subscribers at one penny !"
— a fact which reflects no discredit upon the age in which news-
papers originated.

Retracing our steps towards High Street, the lanes and thorough-
fares are silent and deserted. From want of more exciting
employment, little knots of policemen are to be seen conversing
together at particular corners of the streets, the extreme boundary,
it may be, of their respective beats. A heavy footstep now falls
upon the ear, and recals to mind the days of wooden-shoes, or
the times of an after-fashion, when iron pointed toes and heels
adorned the feet of some proud wearer. The clatter, we find,
proceeds from the ponderous foot of a mechanic, who, with a. bag

CABS AND CABMEN. 33

of tools across his shoulders, seems to have been scrupulously
exact in returning to work as the first moments of " a lawiiil
day" set in. Turning into Trongate, the reflecting observer is
tickled with the uncommon patience of a few cabmen fronting the
Tontine Hotel. Several of them appear to be fast asleep, sitting
with their hands sunk deep into their pockets, on the door-steps
of respectable looking vehicles. The horses, also in a state of
somnambulism, are resting their drowsy heads almost upon their
knees, di-eaming, we imagine, over the vicissitudes of this nether
life generally, and of the hardships endured by horse-flesh in
particular. As the case of the animal creation is considered,
one is at a loss whether most to admire the patience of the
men or the horses. Approaching them, however, in a mood
of sympathetic abstraction, a sudden and alarming rush is made
at us, amid the noise of hoofs, the cracking of whips, and the
shaking of ha]:ness.

A drizzling rain now sends us homeward. As we near the
centre of Argyle street, the sorrowful tales of the distressed
are more frequently heard. Groups, too, of poor girls in iU-affected
mirth, may be seen at the tops of close mouths, or comers "of
thoroughfares, raising a titter and a laugh, with an offensive
word, at every passer by. Hurrying along, " one more unfor-^
tunate" is met ; hunger and vice have committed ravages upon
her pale haggard countenance. "Jist a bawbee, sir," she says
to one who first approaches, " I've tasted naething the day."
" To the devil with you ! " exclaims the good Samaritan.
"Be off with you!" now shouts a policeman, who has been
watching her movements the last few minutes. And so the
poor creature, like a dog, is driven away into a side street,
muttering as she goes words of just reproach against a
world in which she has been alike neglected, wronged, and
punished.

34 REMARKS ON SUNDAY AMONG THE POOR.

With these strangely varied scenes of Sunday and Sunday
night, we close this chapter. Dark as they may seem, they are
by no means so dark as may be sketched. We have aimed at
^ving pictures of the social condition of the poor, rather than
attempted any description of the outward observance of the
Sabbath, with which the general reader must be familiar. We
thank God that the Sabbath in Scotland, notwithstanding imputed
gloom, is not what it once was. The streets, at least during the
day, are seldom disfigured, as they were wont to be, by drunken
brawls, and glaring obscenities. With the closing of the public-
house, the watchman on his beat, and the Keutenant at his
desk, may almost be dispensed with. Few candid persons will be
found to gainsay improvement. Yet, despite of all this, it is the
work of an Act of Parliament only. It is the mere temporary
subsidence of an- evil. And while the poor have been driven from
the street and the public-house, comparatively no efibrt has been
made, of a practical kind, by the Christian community, to fiU the
vacuum thereby created in the social habits of the people. The
choice lies between church and home. With the former, persons of
vicious habits have no sympathy; nor can they be expected to have.
And so betwixt their shabby garments, and an outward prejudice
all too prevalent against a Sunday walk,, or other innocent enjoy-
ment, the poor are cooped up in their dirty pestilential dwellings,
consigned to sleep, or drink, or smoke away the day in peaceful
indolence. How much better would it be to see the poor creatures
breathing the fresh air on our lovely Green, inhaling the ruddy glow
of health to the faded cheek ! or, why not, says a sensible writer
on the same subject, " sanctiiy the Sabbath evening to the poor,
who have only heard the street ballad and the street organ during
the week, by making it their occasion for hearing Handel and
Haydn, or the Masses of Mozart set to Scripture words, or any
other among the great achievements in church music, which our
poorer brethren have ears to listen to — yes, and hearts to feel

REMARKS ON SUNDAT AMONG THE POOR. 35

if you give them a chance," On a fine Summer evening in cm-
public parks, it would be difficult to realise anything more heavenly
or exalting th^n the effect of such praises offered to God by mul-
titudes of our poor. Or, if exception should be taken to this,
why not the friends of a liberal, warm-hearted Christianity sub-
stitute for the foi-mal Sunday visit, and too often fxnwelcome
tract,* a series of pleasant Sunday gatherings, at which the
physical and general well-being of these needy people may be
cultivated, conducted in a spirit of true Catholicity, so as to benefit
all, and offend none. Here, then, would be realising no very mean
idea of a Christian Sabbath — ^no day of crucifying the flesh and
enslaving the spirit — but a great improvement upon sleeping and
smoking away the day in idleness, exposed to contagion by dis-
ease and the filth with which they are surrounded — a positive

* In these pages we have given proof of the aversion of the Eoman
Catholic to religious or Protestant tracts. The following published a few
weeks ago in " The Catholic Citizen," a local newspaper recently started,
is interesting, as giving an opinion upon the question from a Catholic point
of view : —

" Tract distributors, such as are found in every one of the poor localities
of our city — who knock at the doors of Catholics, and thrust in their hated
libels into the bosoms of their families — are the disseminators of angry feel-
ings, rather than Proselytisers to their nondescript religion, and bring Pro-
testantism, if possible, into greater contempt and scorn. There are hundreds
of sects teaching impiety and doctrines inimical to the interests of society,
but against whom the evangelical Protestants scarcely utter a complaint —
with whom, on the other hand, they fraternise and associate in the onslaught
against Catholicity. Supposing Catholics were to issue tracts of a contrary
nature, imbued with the same malevolent spirit, and which they caused to
be thrust into the doors of our wealthy citizens, or into the hands of their
duldren, would such conduct be tolerated? Protestants would soon discover
that it was a nuisance which it was the duty of the police to suppress. Sensible
that those Catholics who are advanced in years wUl not receive any of these
insulting publications, the tract distributor follows children, and induces
them in some cases to accept of them. . It is time this hateful system
was brought to an end. It is conceived in malice, and thrives not upon love
but hatred."

36 EEMAEKS ON SUNDAY AMONG THE POOR.

jubilee compared to all this, in which the poor woiild rejoice, and
to which they would look forward with pleasure and gratitude.
Anything in their present low civilisation short of a practical
Christianity' — -familiarising God's truth with their own individual
happiness, physical as weU as spiritual-— cannot fail to prove,
however benevolent the intention, other than a simple mockery
of their condition, — a, mere make-believe of Christian sympathy,
without the shadow of a practical result :

" Ring ont tbe want^ the care, the sin.

The faithless coldness of the times ;
* * * *

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand ;
Ring out the darkness of the land.
Ring in the Christ that is to be."— Thjktbok.

No. m.

MONDAY NIGHT.

CoHTEHTS: — Uonday, the Clergjnnan's Day of Best — Argyle Street on Monday
Evening — "Big Pay Week" — The City Hall — Walter Buchanan, Esq. — Lonis
Kossuth and his two sons.

Sunday has passed away ; the merchant has retnmed from the
coast, and the industrious mechanic to his weekly toil. Despite
the repose of the previous day, an apathy and a languor
characterise the people. Many a preacher, not in the zenith of
his manhood, thanks God for this day of rest, after the fatigues
of two or three Sabbath services. In the matter of sermons, it
is no mean effort that will satisfy our city congregations ; in
some cases, an ear-itching, or sort of spiritual dram -craving,
taxes the mental ener^es of preachers most inordinately.
"Declined teaching my Sabbath school this evening," said Dr.
Chalmers, when a very young man, " because of heaviness and
drowsiness." And the sentiment of the good old Doctor, even
now, we daresay, has many sympathisers.

" Sajijt " Monday ! Groups of idle workmen hang about
liie comers of the streets. Nearly all have small black pipes
in their mouths, and stand in a careless attitude, with their
hands in their pockets, conversing with each other. A
rollicking hard-fisted young fellow, apparently a son of St.
Crispin, accosts a coterie of these idlers — " Well, how goes
it t«-day ?" " Mondayish," is the cool reply of one of the

38

AEGTLE STREET ON MONDAT EVENING.

number, as he salutes the pavement with a mouthful of filthy
expectorations. " Mondayish" is the word which drops from the
lips of another youth, slightly inebriated, as he reluctantly with-
draws his dirty fist from his pockets to meet the pressing exigencies
of a certain member of " the human face divine." " She has
just missed it by a neck," we say, as a lady unexpectedly sweeps
on her way in glace sUk and finery, congratulating herself on a
narrow escape from an accident, arising from the paucity of hand-
kerchiefs amongst the lower orders of this manufacturing city of
the west.

As evening approaches, the difiicnlty in making a-head through
the crowd, is greatly increased. In the confusion there is nothing
but " bobbing around" and personal collision on every hand, with
the usual "beg pardon" audibly muttered by respectably dressed
people in too much haste to be punctiliouBly polite. " Kght hand
to the wall" is not in my vocabulary of observances, says a phi-
losophical-looking elderly gentleman, gazing up at the moon, with
a huge umbrella under his arm, and a pair of galoshes over his shoes,
prepared for any extent of deluge by sea or land, as he suddenly
brings to the ground a stout middle-aged dame, fresh from the coast,
covered head and shoulders by a bloomer of extraordinary dimen-
sions. " Eight hand to the wall ! " exclaims a Kckwickian English
tourist, as he is crushed in a state of fearful nervous excitement,
between a gigantic plated glass window and a brace of swells obscur-
ing the path with clouds of smoke emitted from delicately scented
cigars. "Watchman, what is the meaning," we iaquire, "of the
streets being so unusually crowded to-night ?" " Big-pay week,
sir, big-pay week," is the ready reply. " Well, but these people
surely are not all celebrating the week of ' big-pay ?' " " Oh, no ;
this is the first night of the Italian Opwa as well, and the night
of Louis Kossuth in the City Hall," says our obliging informant,
as our progress is interrupted by a crowd of low people listening
to the melodious strains of a young swarthy Italian, to the popular

WALTEE BUCHANAN, ESQ., M.P. 39

ail- of " Wi'Jikins and his Dinah." " Louis Kossuth ! why, that
is the very man we have been straining our eyes after," we say,
" these many years," and forthwith we hasten to

THE CITY HALL,

entering hy Albion Street. As we approach the building, a few
policemen are collected round the doors in charge apparently of
a number of boys and gii-ls, whose revohitionary tendencies, from
the effect of association, are shrewdly suspected. In breathless
haste we fly up two flight of stairs, and drop by accident into the
committee room. The apartment is literally crowded by a
company of singular-looking individuals with great beards and
moustaches in luxurious vegetation. ■ One wonders whether or not
he has dropped into a Jewish synagogue. With commendable
meekness we take our place on a step of one of the gallery stairs,
commanding an advantageous view of the audience and the plat-
form. The haU is crammed. The spectacle is singularly imposing.
More than three thousand people are present ; yet there is no
noise, no confusion, only a slight movement as different parties
go in quest of seats. Time moves on apace. It is now a quarter-
past eight o'clock — Mly fifteen minutes after the advertised hour of
lecture. Suddenly a subdued shuffing of feet is heard. The
noise becomes louder and louder, until the patience of the meeting
is exhausted. Immediately the sound of many footsteps meets
the ear, and all eyes are turned in the direction of the platform.
Cheers of welcome now thunder forth from every hear^ The first
figm-e which appears in the procession is a rather slender, elderly
man, dressed in " blacks" of a homely fashion. He is followed
by the unmistakable Magyar hiinself, with two intelligent looking
boys in his wake. The gentleilian first referred to modestly rises,
and we recognise in him Walter Buchanan, Esq. the senior
Member for Glasgow. He occupies the chair, and in a few
suitable words, introduces Kossuth to the assemblage. We are

40 LOUIS KOSSUTH.

not impressed with either our Member's appearance or delivery.
In stature he is about middle size ; his hair thin, soft, and grey,
carefully brushed aside, and partially revealing a brow of no
remarkable proportions. His eyes are large and protruding, indica-
tive of great volubility of language. The nose, if our observation
serves us right, looks somewhat small, inclining to the hook, and
overhangs a mouth and chin of no ordinary significance. His
manner and appearance, however, are quiet and unassuming ; his
expression one of calmness, intelligence, and of gentlemanly feeling.
As he discourses, his words are well chosen, and notwithstanding
a general readiness of speech, towards the close of his short intro-
ductory address, he begs with an unexpected hesitancy, to introduce
M. Kossuth to their " consideration — and — and — ac — acceptance ;"
which accidental faltering the meeting delicately and generously
carries oflF with a burst of hearty applause, when our worthy mem-
ber resumes his seat.

Silence for a moment is restored, and then rises

M. KOSSUTH,

amidst deafening cheers and waving of hankerchiefs. His manner
is full of that profound respect so conspicuous in well bred foreign-
ers. He humbly bows to the meeting, and for a moment stands
in a half-bent, almost theatrical posture, with his hands before
him slightly joined. As he advances towards the desk, on which
he places a quire or two of manuscript, he lifts his large lustrous
eyes upon the audience — a pleasing smUe suflFuses his manly
countenance — ^which is rendered deeply impressive and dignified
by remarkable intelligence. The head is large, and the frontal
region well developed — ^broad and compact rather than strikingly
elevated. The eyebrows are full, and beautifully arched. The
hair, dark and luxuriant, is neatly dressed to one side, in perfect
harmony with a rather pale complexion and we)l formed features.
The nose is handsome, inclining to the aquiline. The rest of his

LOUIS KOSSUTH. 41

face is more or less baried amid a wild profusion of hair — a hand-
some moustache, and a manly beard, already chan^ng from black
to grey. His figure is bold and commanding, firmly and strongly
bnilt; in stature he is about the ordinary size, and his whole appear-
ance indicates capability of great mental and physical endurance.
As he commences his lecture, the foreign accent for a time falls
strangely upon the ear ; but the attention soon becomes enchained
by his powerftil eloquence, and any peculiarity in his voice almost
entirely disappears. His English is admirable. The subject, "The
Organic Structure of Modem Europe," in which he recognises the
finger of Providence without disturbing the harmony or action of
universal law. Whenever opportunity occurs, touching allusion is
made to his own injured but beloved Hungary. At one time the
audience is soaring aloft with him on the wings of the highest
philosophy; at another, they tenderly weep with him at the grave
of Washington, or that of our own Eobert Burns, both of which
he has visited. Towards the close of the lecture he again makes
feeling reference to his native home : " While with my dying
breath I shall bless my children, my words to them also shall be,
for my country — cling to it, boys — cling to it, for ever !" At the
close of the lecture, he introduces to the meeting for the first time,
in public, his two sons — ^fine intelligent looking youths, from twelve
to fourteen years of age. They rise, and several times politely bow
to the audience, casting at the same time an affectionate glance at
then- illustrious father, as if in anticipation of his wishes. The
vast multitude respond by deafening cheers. The hands of the lads
are enthusiastically shaken by numerous spectators as they leave
the hall. Kossuth himself bids adieu to a few surrounding friends —
wraps himself in a blue cloth cloak-— claps upon his head a singu-
lar looking short crowned hat — calls his boys — and in another
second the Hungarian patriot, statesman, and orator, disappears
amid the jostling of the retiring crowd.

No. IV.
MONDAY NIGHT.

(Continued.)

Contents : — Monday IJTight Continued — Appearance of the Streets — Argyle Street—
King Street — The Bridgegate —Temptations of the Poor — Public Houses — " Mini-
sters of God to thee for good" — Bailie Pairface — Distressing Case — Scene in the
Street and Police Office — "Elisa Rosa Divinity" and her Companions — Police
Cells — Lola Montes — Low Shebeens — Brothels amongst the Poor — Outdoor
Sleepers.

Quitting the City Hall, the eloquence of the Hungarian patriot
still ringing in our ears, we sally forth into the streets, our
more legitimate sphere of observation. Ten o'clock has just
struck. The public-house, the low eating-house, and numerous
other shops, are still sending forth their blaze of light upon the
pavement. The throng, so far fi-om being abated, in many parts
seems greatly increased. Crossing from Argyle Street into King
Street, one wonders, in this so-called Christian land, at the mad-
ness and infatuation of the people. Yet riot has not reached its
climax. It looks notwithstanding, and sounds, as if hell were let
loose. First, and most excusable, we hear the thundering noise
of vehicles, as they hurriedly roll along the causeway ; then the
incongi-aous cries of apple-women, fish and other dealers. Here,
again, the idiotical jeer and senseless laugh of drunkards, who
now stand in groups, or stagger their uneven way across the

PUBLIC HOUSES m THE BRIDGEGATE. 43

Street, in quest of their miserable homes. There, again, are heard
the horrid oaths and imprecations of low prostitutes — carrying
their loathsome figures about with offensive boldness — ^flushed
with drink, and bloated with disease. Others of these sorry-
unfortunates may be seen haunting the "close months," spectres
of death, rather than, objects of life — waiting with restless impa-
tience for a poor victim. Under such horrid scenes the streets
continue to groan, more or less, for many hours together.

TEMPTATIONS OF THE POOR.

We reach the Bridgegate, and here the din and the roar of this
social volcano somewhat subsides. If before, we witnessed the
disease of the body social in its acute form, it is here pre-
sented to us in its deadly chronic state. Nearly every shop on
both sides of the street, is a public house. We read with an
almost incredible rapidity, as we pass, — " Wines and Spirits,"
" Spirit Cellars," "Wine and Spiiit Merchant," "Wine Vaults,"
" Foreign and British Spirits," &c. Here, then, at the doors of
these poor people, do our magistrates, and apparently without
discrimination, license wholesale, houses for the sale of intoxi-
cating diinks. One wonders at the heartless iniquity of the
proceeding. Better at once, we say, dig the graves of these
poor, tempted, helpless creatures.* Bags, poverty, disease, and
death are the appropriate emblems of the district.

* The vast majority of this lowest class of people are strangers to reflec-
tion — their passions are roused while their souls have been left asleep ; so
that they are much in the state of children who cannot resist temptation.
Explain it as Physiologists, Metaphysicians, and Divines may — many n
poor pitiable victim of drunkenness is no ^ more able to resist the attraction
of the dram, than a piece of iron is that of the magnet; place whisky within
his sight and reach, and you may as well expect >iiTn to resist its influence
as gunpowder the spark from a flint; and therefore, instead of blaming the
poor drunkard, our hearts and our religion teach us to pity him, and turn
our severest censures on those who leave him exposed to temptations which
he cannot, or — which amounts to the same thing — which he will not resist.
— Dr. Guthrie's Plea on Behalf of Drmkards.

44 BAILIE FAIKFACE.

Ruminating upon this shameful outrage, the mind is invo-
luntarily withdrawn from scenes of loathsome disgust, to,
it may be, the pure and virtuous homes of these said " Magi-
strates," "ministers of God to thee for good!" said the
Scripture reader to the poor perhaps but yesterday. In a
spacious and comfortable room — the scene of this new picture
.presented to the mind — surrounded by every luxury and gran-
deur which art can devise or money purchase, is the family of —
say, for the nonce. Bailie Pairface, or any other name you please.
He has met with his family and household with becoming reve-
rence, if not with becoming consistency, " to worship God" — to
draw near to the family altar — ^before which are lisping tongues,
and little uplifted hands, repeating the beautiful prayer, " Our
Father which art in heaven." "With what admirable complacency
does the pious head of the family say, "Thy will be done!" and
with what impressive earnestness does he implore the Father, as
his eye rests upon the sweet countenances df his children, " And
lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." Upon
the bended knee we leave Bailie Fairface, and "ministers of
God to thee for good" generally, to give better consideration to
this question, — to consider if it be fair to tempt these poor crea-
tures, and then to punish them with fine, or " thirty days ! " If
it be Christian to pray the Father, "Thy will be done," and
openly the Father's " will" to violate.

But we forget — it is our province to sketch rather than to
moralise. An actttal scene now draws attention. We are still
in this afflicted neighbourhood, the Bridgegate. Two policemen,
accompanied by a crowd of people, are making their way to-
wards us, the former carrying a stretcher. It is covered over
with a sheet of canvas, and idle curiosity is stimidated to know
the cause of the sorrowful procession. It stops at the mouth of
a close, when suddenly more than two score of ragged specta-
tors, chiefly women, are collected together. As the particu-

DISTEESSraG CASE. 45

lars of the case become partially known to them, one hears on
every side the most doleful lamentations. " His puir mither!"
says one sympathising heart. " Pair bairn," says another,
" his mither's only help !" " What is the use of bringing him
here ?" asks a grey-haired, elderly dame, desiring to be more active
than the rest — " his puir mither hlsnae a bed for him to lie on."
It was refreshing to hear such feeling expressions of sympathy
among the poor. It was one phase, we thought, of our neglected
humanity, yet bearing its own sublime image. With some
difficulty the policemen reach the bottom of the stair where the
family reside. The lad, about fourteen years of age, is uncovered,
and his sickly, death -like aspect sends a pang to every heart. His
clothes are dirty, thin, and ragged. For a moment the policemen
wait the mother's expected arrival. She has gone in quest of her
boy to the police station. Proceedingwith him up a narrow wretched
stair, a few kind neighbours show the poor woman's home. It is
one room, comparatively large and clean, with no furniture except
a chest, a stool, and a little broken crockery. In a comer, how-
ever, is a filthy tick, half-fiUed with straw. Upon this the lad
is laid, trembling with cold, — writhing in pain with cramp, and
prostrate by a weakening attack of diarrhoea. Some dirty
rags, and remnants of clothes from anywhere, are collected,
and thrown over him. The stench and closeness of the room
are indescribable. It is fiill of low gossipping women, easing
their hearts by expressions of sorrow. Suddenly an Irish
woman, somewhat advanced in years, makes he appearance
along the narrow passage. She is frantic with grief, and as
she enters, wrin^ng her hands, asks for her " poor boy." In
a moment she is on her knees, embracing him with a wild affec-
tion. What is the history of the case, and what is to be done?
The policeman tells us that the lad had fallen down in the street,
and was removed to the office, where he had been for two hours.
What medical attendance he received there, no one can tell.

46 SCENE IN THE STREET AND POLICE OFFICE.

Here he is brought in agony to a poor helpless distracted mother.
No one knows where to get a medical attendant, or how to pro-
cure the means to purchase brandy or medicine. Out of about fifty
persons we do not believe a single sixpence could have been raised.
Suggesting the clearing of the room, fresh air is at once admitted;
and in a few minutes more we have the satisfaction to see, though
by a very meagre and precarious dependence, one or two little
wants supplied, which the urgency of the case renders necessary.
From several visits subsequently paid, we found that the whole
neighbourhood had become more or less affected with attacks of a
similar kind — viz., British Cholera. The boy, however, recovered,
and we trust is now the comfort of his poor widowed parent.

SCENE IN THE STREET AND POLICE OFFICE.

The evening by this time is far advanced. The public houses
have vomited forth their unlucky victims. Here a couple of
policemen are taking to the office a respectably- dressed young
man, helpless with drink. There a fight has commenced between
three of the lowest thieves and prostitutes — drunk, and too dis-
figured, at an earUer hour to walk the streets. As we approach them
they are tearing, scratching, and beating each other — ^filling the
air with oaths and words of blasphemy. One of them, from
the effects of a past engagement, has her eye swollen and dis-
coloured, covered with a dirty napkin. The policemen on duty
are suddenly on the spot, and the fighting trio are with difficulty
separated and driven to the office. One of the watchmen, provoked
by insult and resistance, threatens the most outrageous of the
three to " take a ball of wax out of her eye." As they reach
the office, and are placed at the bar before the night lieutenant,
there is nothing but alternate crying, laughing, and mutual recri-
mination. A waiter is caUed, and they are forthwith ordered up
stairs to then- cells. Curiosity tempts us to follow : one of the
women, apparently the least depraved, makes the walls of the

POLICE CELLS. 47

building to resound with piteous yells and cries. " I canna gang
there !" she exclaims, with a face full of anguish ; " Oh, this is
terrible — ^that I should come to this !" The two others laugh and
jeer at what they deem her childishness. After passing a grated
door, at which is a tm-nkey, "we reach the top of the building,
where there are two other officials. The names of the respective
combatants are here recorded. One of them — with the black
swollen eye — confesses to having been christened "Eliza Eosa
Divinity" — a rather inappropriate cognomen ; she prefers, how-
ever, she says, " simply Eliza Eosa." " So I should say,"
replies an honest, plain-looking man by her side, " for you hae
very little Divinity aboot you." A little more bantering and
qnarrelUng, laughing and crying, and "Eliza Eosa" and her
companions are locked up for the night.

Proceediug to the stair below, the turnkey is inspecting certain
of the

POLICE CELLS.

We are permitted to join him. First there is a moderately-sized
room, lofty, and well ventilated by a perforated zinc window.
On the floor, on a board slightly elevated, are more than a dozen
men, several of them just recovered from the maddening eifects
of drink. They are lying in all possible postures, variously
dressed, and of different ages and conditions. In the midst of
this pitiftd scene, there is sitting up a smart intelligent looking
boy. "What is that lad in for ?" we ask the turnkey. " Pro-
tection" is the reply. Visiting the next room, immediately adjacent
to this, is another pitiful scene. Lying about in a similar manner
to the former, are nearly as many women. They are locked up
for protection. In one comer, upon the bare boards, is huddled
up a poor miserable creature; she looks a bundle of old rags.
Near her, and crossways, rests another, all but naked, muttering
in, low and broken accents some wild raving, and midnight dream.
In the centre of a group is an old wrinkled-faced woman, sitting up

48

A LOW SHEBEEN.

in an erect posture, gloating as if in pride over lier misery, and
exposing, with a bold effrontery, her poor withered breasts. As
we leave, she expresses herself in tenns wijjch show her to be old
in vice as well as in years.

LOLA MONIES.

Scarcely have we quitted the office when we are induced to'
return to witness a scene of a more exciting description. It is
the case of a young Lola Monies, grotesquely dressed in a singu-
larly shaped bloomer. Over her shoulders is thrown a richly
embroidered blue silk shawl, giving her a gay and attractive
appearance. As she approaches the bar, she curtsies, and
politely inquires after the health of the Lieutenant. She is
accused of being drunk, and guilty of disorderly conduct. Again
she makes a low curtsey — ^laughs, cries, and laughs again. "Well,
I suppose,'' she says, "I shall have 'thirty days,' when I shall come
out as innocent as a chUd." She is ordered up stairs, but before
going, treats the spectators to a little theatrical action and obscene
talk. "Waiter!" she calls, with a dear laughing voice, "give
me your arm ; " and the pair forthwith disappear in the stauxase
amid the titter and laughter of the bystanders.

Not much above two hundred yards from the Central Station,
and just as the clock strikes the melancholy hour of one, we visit,
in company with an official,

A LOW SHEBEEN.

It is situated.in a dark close, resembling a subterranean passage
to some untraversed cavern. As we enter, our footsteps pare
heard, and, anticipating our errand, a ruffianly-looking fellow
emerges from a cellar, locks the door, fumbles about, and pre-
tends to be giving security to the shutters. Unfortunately for
him, as we approach, a IJght is observed to escape from above
and below the door. "Halloa!" says our guide, "what is this?
open." The door is forthwith opened, and to our astonishment

LOW BEOTHELS AND SHEBEENS. 49

there stands before us on a damp earthen floor neai-ly half-a-dozen
women, most of them in middle life, and one or two comparativelj
aged. They are trying to appear calm and collected amid the
excitement of obvious terror. They are poorly clad, pale, hungry
looking, and emaciated. The place is lit by a candle stuck against
.the wall, giving it a desolate appearance. A new deal counter
divides the apartment. At one end, near the door, a high tem-
porary paiHtion is raised, to form a sort of " snug" inside, where
seats are placed for three or four persons before a small fire. We
glance about for "the bottle," or for vestiges of any kind by which
the shebeen-keeper plies his nefarious calling, but to no purpose.
At the extreme end of the counter we discover a wine glass, but
nothing more.

Leaving, at the dead of night, this scene so unexpected and
mysterious, we cross the street to several haunts of a similar
description— some of them

LOW BROTHELS.

Into one of the latter, with a little diflSculty, we gain admission.
The smell, as we enter, is suffocating, made still more so by two
scavengers carting away the filth from a receptacle within a
couple of yards from the door. The room cannot be more than
8 feet by 10, exclusive of two recesses for beds. In each of
these are three unfortunate women, and on the floor are two
others, with a man, apparently a protector — ^making nine persons
in all sleeping in the apartment. The window shutters and door
being closed, nothing but a small - contracted chimney is left for
ventilation. In two other places the same wretched scenes are
witnessed; in a

LOW SHEBEEN

in particular. Like the former, a stream of light below the door
attracts attention. On approaching we find it partially open.
It is one miserable room, with black walls and an earthen floor.

D

50 ODTDOOR SLEEPERS.

Sitting on a stool at the fire is a great coarse looking man in
fustian clothes, apparently fast asleep, with a short black pipe
in his mouth. Opposite to him is a -woman, also dressed, partly
supporting herself on a chair without a back, and partly lying,
with her face upwards, asleep on a bed, or narrow slip, or erec-
tion, intended for that purpose. At the head, uncovered — all but
naked — is stretched upon a sort of pillow, a poor little boy of
three or four years of age — ^in his very infancy stricken in years.
Below him are no less than three others, presenting an aspect
similar to the first. We stand for a minute or two contemplating
the horrid scene, close the door, and as we find them so we leave
them — either really, or afifecting to be — fast asleep. The man is
a shebeen-keeper, and by the assistance of this illicit trafiic con-
trives to live.

OUTDOOR SLEEPERS.

Returning home by Bell Street somewhere about half-past two
in the morning, the streets quiet and deserted, relieved only by
the dark shadow of a policeman as he performs his now mono-
tonous rounds — ^we are struck by the unexpected appeaxance of
three girls, apparently thieves and prostitutes. They are'crouch-
ing on the door step of a grocer's shop, the one^laying her head
on the shoulder of the other, trying to sleep. " What are you
doing here," we say, "at this extraordinary hotir of the morning?"
" Doin' naething," replies a sharp-visaged girl, with an arch look.
" Why don't you go to bed ? " " We have'na a bed to gang to,"
says another. " But, dear me, you do not mean to say that that
child (a girl about eleven years of age) has no home to go to ? "
" Yes, she has ; but she's fiichten'd to gang hame in case she
gets a lickin' fi-ae her mother — she's been awa' since Saturday
morning.'* " What do you pay for a bed?" we inquire. " We
can get a bed for twopence each, replies the eldest of the three.
" If you get your bed paid for you, will you accompany us to your
lodging ?" " We canna get a bed at this time o' the morning,"

OUTDOOR SLEEPEBS. 51

is the aaswer; " we must just sit here, or lie on a stair all night."
" Will you, then, go to your mother," we say, addressing the poor
child, " if we should go with you to your home, and prevent you
getting a licking?" "No; I'm owre frichten'd." "What do
yon and your mother do, now," we inquire, " to earn your bread
during the week ?" " Sometimes sell herrin'." "What clear profit
do you earn by that a-week?" "About three shillings.'' " Do
you do anything else ?" "No; wesellwhatever'sgaun?" "What,
in a general way, do you make," we next say, addressing the other,
" by walking the streets ?" " Never more than three or four
shillings a-week ; and glad to get that."

No. V.
TUESDAY NIGHT.

Contests :— Appearance of the Streets — A Policeman's Social Statistics-Intemperance
and Destitution — The Contrast — BIythwood Square — Argyle Street, west — Miller
Street — Scott's Monuipent — Watt's Monument — Pitiful Scene in High Street

We have sometimes thought we could tell the day of the week from
the appearance of the streets, just as by looking on the face of the
watch we can tell the hour of the day, so distinct to the observer
are the characteristics of each. Here is Tuesday, for instance, in
this great mercantile city, in the first week of the month, and a
" cash-day," with a sober earnestness about it, intent on business.
The better class of merchants has only just come up from the
coast, fresh and invigorated by nearly three days' rest. The
mechanic, no longer " Mondajdsh," has thrown off his lassitude,
or if unsteady, his intemperance. He has returned to work
with a stimulus of almost unhealthy activity. Towards evening
as we take our accustomed stroll, the streets assume "a gayer
appearance. A number of working men with their wives, and
lads with their sweethearts, are seen, cleanly wa^ed, and dressed
in their Sunday's coat and hat, taking their evening walk. As
they pass along the great thoroughfares of the city, the husband,
should he have a literary turn, stops to look in at the bookseller's
window, "just for a minute I" to see PuncKs cartoon of " Pam's
Last Trick !" " Well, really, there is no use coming out with you,"
impatiently vociferates his better halfj " there is no getting past

A polickman's social statistics. 53

these horrid shops 1" After sundry little pokings in the ribs with
a small parasol, the husband makes a move. A few paces more,
and the wife in turn is spell-bound before a huge plate-glass window.
" Stop, dear 1 did you ever see such a love of a bonnet ! mine has
got so shabby" — a speech in which she is interrupted by the un-
ceremonious husband, " Well, that is always the way with you ;
I daresay you would like all the shop if you could get it 1" This
" game at cross purposes" over, a young olive branch, if such
should form a portion of the group, is next impatient to be shown
the great wax-work exhibition, as she thrusts her little finger into
the eye of Daniel Dancer the miser, 'or some criminal celebrity,
displayed at the bottom of a stair to tempt the passer-by.

" Well, policeman, how are things moving to-night ?" we ask,
as we saunter about with an air of idle indifference, somewhere
about ten in the evening. " Quieter, sir, quieter," is the prompt
reply. " Did it ever strike you to count the number of drunken
people on this great thoroughfare of an evening ?" " No ; I never
did count," he replies, " but I should think, at a rough calculation,
that, between the hours of eight and twelve, there must be five or
six hundred at least, from one end of Argyle Street to the other.
Some time ago, the number of persons charged with being
' dj-unk and disorderly,' and unable to walk on the ^streets, was
throughout the year, nearly 9000 ! — of course, it will be remem-
bered that the great majority of cases of intemperance never comes
before the office at aJl." " Do you know any difference in the
state of the streets since the introduction of Forbes Mackenzie's
Act ?" " No, not a bit ; them that canna get drunk after eleven
o'clock, get drank a' the faster before't, but the maist o' them hae
theu" clubs, brothels, and hotels, wham- they get it, an' there's nae
preventin' them."

INTEMPEEANCE AND DESTITUTION.

Just as this colloquy terminates, a whistle calls our informant
to a neighbouring station. A row has commenced between some

54 INTEMPEEANCE AND DESTITUTION.

rival cabmen, touching their respective claims to convey an elderly
gentleman home, too far gone " in beer " to decide for himself.
" What a pity," we remark, as we approach the scene, " to see
an old man like that in such a drunken state ! " " Ou aye," says a
poor half-naked, hungry-looking woman, standing by our side,
"if it had been a puu* body like me, they wad hae ta'en him to
the office, aii' let him lie on the cauld floor a' nicht." As the
dispute is settled between the two cabbies, the old gentleman is
hurled along the streets at a rattling pace, and speedily disappears
from view, we turn round to cultivate a little acquaintance with
this poor woman, whose distressing condition still more excites
our commiseration and pity. There is a wild unnatural expres-
sion in her rolling black eye, as if a stranger to human society.
Her head is uncovered, except by a crop of thick black hair.
Her thin gown reaches but a little below the knee, exposing to
view and to cold her poor naked legs and feet. " Can you help
a pnir body?" she says, before we have a moment's time to speak.
"What are you doing out so late ? " we inquire. " Jist tryin',
sir, to get enough to pay my bed — I've got three-bawbees, an' I
want ither three before I gang hame. I didna break my fast
until this afternoon, when I got a wee bit bread frae a frien'."
" What were you doing all day ? " " Jist lyin' on the Green, sir,
tryin' to sleep awa' hunger." " How long is it since you had a
regular home of your own?" "It's nearly twa years, when my
man dee'd." " You have been married, then ? " " Ou aye, but
no to the man I last lived wi'; my first man was very ill and
cruel to me, an' I could na' live wi' him. I lost a gude Men'
when puir Jim dee'd — we aye had plenty." " How have you
lived, then, during these two years?" "I've hardly lived a nicht
in the same hoose — ^while's on the stairs, on the street, or in the
Police Office." "But stop, my good woman, don't you" drink
whisky ? " " Yes— I'll tell you the truth. Sir, I'll no tell a lee—
I used to drink owre mnckle, but noo I canna' get it." " Do you

WEALTH AND DESTITUTION. 55

drink it still when yon can get it ? " " 'Deed, Sir, folks like me
are glad to get that, when they canna get onything else." " If
we give yon the three-bawbees for yonr bed, will you show ns
the lodging ? " " Na, na, I danrna dae that — they wonld never
let me into the hoose again." " How many are there sleeping in
the same room with yon ? " " Perhaps half-a-dozen — -jist upon
the boaids, you ken. Sir — ^that's a'." "How often do you change
your shift, or your under-clothes?" "Shift, my dear sir! I have
nae had a shift for years — ^naething but what you see upon me."
" But, surely, you change or clean your clothes occasionally."
" Weel, I jist noo-an'-then gie the bit rag a wash, an' dry it
afore the fire." "What do you wear while you do that?" "On,
jist a wee bit o' sack, or onything aboot me."

THE CONTRAST.

With this pitiful history, which we do not for a moment
believe, is, in its vital parts, at aU exaggerated — we leave the
poor woman, reverse our course, and walk towards the stately
streets and gorgeous squares of the city. On every side of us are
monuments raised to the illustrious dead; here piles of architec-
tural beauty and magnificence — there, the gorgeous arch and the
" solemn temple," all strikingly suggestive of invidious contrast.
The woman, whose sorrowful tale we have just heard— =-the hovel
she now occupies — how different her condition from the comfort-
able occupants of these stately mansions !

" Christian charity hang your head.
Hungry — passing the street of bread ;
Thirsty — the street of milk ;
Ragged — ^beside the Ludgate mart.
So gorgeous through mechanic art,
With cotton, and wool, and silk. "

Passing through St. Vincent Street and

BLTTHSWOOD SQUARE,

just as the shades of evening are thickest and darkest, nothing

5* AEGTLE STREET, WEST.

arrests attention but the still and peacefnl solemnity of the scene.
In the last-mmtioned locality the heart weeps over paJnfnl asso-
ciations. As we look upon walls become historical by vice and
alleged crime, the actors, immediate and remote, in that painful
drama, stand pitifully before us. May God speed the time

" WTien every evil thing
From being and remembrance both BhaU die;
The world one solid temple of pure good,"

Leaving the squai-e for Argyle Street, west, formerly the pretty
little village of Anderston, not more than a mile from the Cross,
we are again upon the great highway of the city. Though the
streets are comparatively quiet and deserted — as they usually are
at so late an hour — ^there are yet to be seen vestiges of Baccha-
nalian revel — a stray drunkard takes his crooked course, with
obvious satisfaction to himself, that he is the very pink of mode-
ration and sobriety. Nor are there wanting here evidences of the
" great social evil." Poor unfortunate women, more " sinned
against than sinning," linger on the streets in hope of a copper
to get shelter for the night, or it may be for a crust to break the
mdrning's fast. A group of policemen in the middle of the street
is eagerly discussing the salient points of the last row or committal.
All these are so many figures that fill up the picture of this now
solitary midnight scene. Little or nothing else calling for notice,
we amuse ourselves by noticing the long tortuous windings of
the two rows of street lamps, in unbroken b'Tiks of nearly two
miles. However much we admire Sir Walter Scott as a poet and
novelist, on observing these little luminaries, we feel disposed to
depreciate his faith in science, and his gift of prophecy, remem-
bering the old stoty of how he ridiculed the idea of lighting a
city with gas. But poor Sir Walter has, in the flesh, long since
passed away ; and as we approach the foot of Miller Street, we
are enabled to see, partly by the aid of these ssud lamps, the
dark and lofty column raised to his memory, peering up into

PITIFDL SCENE. S7

the heavens, — a striking contrast to monnments of less note,
though not of less men — ^for there also the illustrious Watt sits,
as he was wont, in a reflecting mood, blessing the world with the
fruits of his rare genius. That the novelist should occupy a
higher position, even in stone and lime, than the discoverer of the
steam engine, is, in the nature of our tastes and industrial pur-
suits, somewhat anomalous, seeing that the sons of Sanct Mungo
are now more a practical than an imaginative people — ^that they
are more indebted to the one for their magnificent steamers and
princely wealth than they are to the other for any particular
refinement they possess in the cultivation of letters. But there
it is ; and we only hope that, as wisdom animates a more grateful
posterity, the good old engineer will yet rank second to none of
his compeers even in granite or metallic existence.

PITIFUL SCENE.

A strange life is ours in these midnight rambles 1 A poor
woman is making the air to tremble with wild cries and shrieks
for the police, as she escapes from a close in the High Street.
We hasten to the spot, when we find her surrounded by a coterie
of men and women, fiill alike of sympathy and fury. Her hus-
band, she says, is going to murder her. Her appearance is ex-
tremely touching, as she stands in the street, with nothing but her
night dress to cover her nakedness. She is tall and slender, and her
long brown hair has fallen down inwildconfiision about her neck and
shoulders. Over her thin pale face are dropping hot tears and
blood upon a poor child at the breast, not yet recovered from the
small pox. It is too painM to hear her bitter sobbings, and
witness her sorrowful looks, as we make a few inqniries into her
case. By this time the police have arrived, when, as if by instinct,
we secretly foUow a man into a dark close, whom we suspect of
the outrage. Tapping him in a familiar and gentle way upon
the shoulder, we remark, " We are very sorry that yon have so
ill-used your poor wife." " Come in this way!" he says in a

58 PITIFUL SCENE.

flurried and hasty manner, — " don't be afraid!" Assuring him
that we have not the slightest fear, he gives us his version of the
matter as follows : " I sent my fortnight's pay to my wife at six.
o'clock to-night, and when I got home about twelve, I found she
had been drinking, and all the money spent, except that (show-
ing a crown-piece in his hand). My groceries and other things
have not been paid, and how we are to live the next fortnight
heaven only knows."' " Well, that was very provoking," we say,
" but you were out drinking yourself, were you not, and what
could yon say to her ?" " Ah !" he replies, " you don't know
what trials I have ; but I am very sorry for all that," and his
stout heart begins to break, speaking in more kindly terms of his
wife and children. Prom inquiries subsequently made, we found
that the complaints of the poor man were too weU founded. He
was an Irishman, a scavenger, and for his craft looked well-to-do
and respectable.

No. VI.
WEDNESDAY NIGHT.

CoHTEHTS:— A Market Day— The Stookwell-- Clyde Side— Glasgow Bridge— Night
View of the Harbour — Bridge Street — Eglinton Street — Jottings in a Public
House — Hutcheson Bridge — Court House — Appearance of the Criminals and their
Friends.

What is there, we say to ourselves, peculiar to this sober night
of the week, as we cross the rough causeway of Argyle Street, at
rather an early hour, to begin our strolls, endangered by the
furious driving of cabs and omnibuses, whose speed is excusably
accelerated by the scattered thundor-drops which ominously fall
upon the head and shoulders of the street passenger ? What is
there, we say again, peculiar, as we are passing into St. Enoch
Square to get out of the everlasting roar of the street — ^the life-
torrent of this great social artery — ^when, just as we are finishing
the question, the hearty hand of a relative, somewhat nearer to us
than a fourth cousin, is pushed into ours. His presence at once
solves the difficulty. His high stalwart figure — his ruddy healthy
countenance, and large lustrous eye — tell us that it is market-
day. This morning he left his prosperous farm-house, nestled
among the OchUs, to push his fortune in this great hive of in-
dustry — to transact business, like the rest of his craft, at the
Corn Exchange, or to join the after-gathering at Stockwell,
where the reader has often witnessed, in the day-time, a hun-
dred or more shrewd, well-dressed, respectable-looking yeomen.

60 MARKET DAT.

driving, as best they could, a hard bargain. Here, he will doubt-
less have seen them, in all moods, standing in coteries of two, three,
and four, discussmg questions of import in apparently a careless
manner, with both hands thrust into their pockets, ever and anon
withdrawing them as they shrug their shoulders at a sharp question
or discouraging reply. All round the neighbourhood of this mart
may have been noticed another phase of city life on this said day
of the week. As if beating round a circle, whole armies of poor
women, lost and abandoned, have turned out, contrary to general
custom, in the blaze of sunlight, to prosecute their pitiable calling.
As they pass, flaunting in silks and satins — the vulgar blotches
of roiige in the place of the once glowing health of beauty on the
face, attract frequent attention. Thus, these poor creatures, from
then" desperate condition, prowl like vultures after their prey.
Anon, we read of direful robberies, and midnight assassinations
— of Johnny Kaw eased of 75 guineas, or poor simple Tom Flat,
robbed of his gold watch and appendages. So, occasionally, we
hope not often, ends the transactions of a market-day in Glasgow,
whether of com, cattle, or sheep — ^it matters little which — such
are the the partial characteristics of each.

Pardoning, as we hope the reader will, this seeming divergence
from our line of route, we direct our steps in a new direction of
the town, the Clyde Side. As we approach the Suspension
Bridge, one is puzzled to understand the peculiar economy of the
trustees of this very elegant and beautiful erection. It is not above
twelve months ago — two portly weatherbeaten elderly gentlemen
occupied respectively two small collecting or receiving offices,
stationed at each end of the bridge, appropriately enough, we
dare say, often times regarded by them in their disturbed dreams
as the " Bridge of Sighs." For many years these trustees, by
sunshine and storm, by night and by day — Saturday and Sun-
day, as far as we recollect — ^have maintained this very careful and
certam mode of exacting then- farthing levy, or " bawbee return."

NIGHT SCENE FROM GLASGOW BRIDGE. 61

"We are happy, however, this night, as we have been many nights
before, to find that one good old gentleman has been taken,
though the other still is left.

Passing onwards towards Broomielaw or Glasgow Bridge, bnUt of
Aberdeen's snperb granite, and with St. Mango's superb cash to
the tune of well nigh £40,000, we cast our eye up and down the
river. The rain has subsided, the heavens have lost their dull
lowering, and the little . twinkling stars of the night are all but
transparent through a yet hazy sky. Despite the sable curtain
which overhangs the Clyde, the waters are yet sufiused with light.
The rows of gas-lamps on either side, eastward and westward,
reflect with picturesque effect upon the river, whose bosom, with
ever-varying trembling motion and ripple, presents the peculiar
appearance of a sheet of fiery serpents — ^moving and turning in
playful gambol. • The view is particularly beautiful, bearing
comparison with London on the Thames, Paris on the Seine, or
almost any other river-intersected city in Europe or the world.
But how changed has the scene become ! That which but a few
hours ago presented such life-like bustle and animation — such a
deafening noise of roaring steam, giving back to the heavens
their cloud of vapour, is now a picture of quiet calm. The
long row of ships on either side are quietly moored in har-
bour ; nothing but the occasionally gilded figure head of some
noble vessel, and a dense forest of lofty masts, are to be seen
for almost a mile. What a fine thing it is to see ships of all
nations collected here, side by side, the crew exchanging the
hearty greeting in rosy mom, and the friendly " good night," as
they turn into hammock at the close of day ! What a lesson ! It
recalls to memory locally-classical associations — ^the lines of the
good and accomplished Cowper, on the loves of the chaffinch, an
event with which the reader is doubtless familiar. Why not apply,
we say, a verse to the humanising influence of foreign traders,

62 THE SOUTH SIDE.

as we lean over the parapet of the bridge, enchanted with the
view —

" Be it yoiar future, year by year,
The same resource to prove ;
And may ye sometimes landing Iiere,
Instruct us how to love."

Retracing onr way a little, and directing our course southwards,
we are struck with the appropriate characteristics of the locality.
Young men, in respectable attire, and of a business air, are wend-
ing their way, with impatient step, homeward. They are quit-
ting the close confines of the city, where they have been breathing
a dusty pestiferous atmosphere, in pent-up shops and warehouses,
for ten or twelve hours toge;ther, to betake themselves to the purer
au- of this more healthy vicinage. What a blaze of light each
side of the street presents, as we pass along the busy thorough-
fare, amid a confusion and jostling enough to make the head dizzy !
The rival establishments are evidently those of the publican and
victual dealer. In almost every shop-window of the latter there is
the long brass gas-pipe crossing the window, with as many as
twenty-lights, shadowing forth to the passer-by a rich and attract-
ive display of meat, boiled and unboiled, — hams of every des-
cription, — ^flour, meal, bai-ley, eggs, &c., &c., all shown with an
effect most tempting to a hungry stomach, and still more pro-
voking if accompanied by an empty purse. Inside may be seen
a few trim smart-looking housewives addressing the young shop-
man, whose blythe fresh countenance, and prepossessing appear-
ance, a pretty young lass seems to say, as she enters, are in
themselves no mean attraction to the establishment. A few paces

more, and the eye is dazzled by another blaze of gas light it is

the shop of the publican. Outside are some miserable-looking
crouching women, holding rather an angry altercation. Two or
three children are hangmg about, cold and ragged ; one is holding
by the skirt of a thin dirty garment, doubtless that of some dis-

JOTTINGS m A PUBLIC HOUSE. 63

solute mother. Inside are no less than a dozen poor people
scattered about at different parts of the bar. But for one or two
better clad of the group, the place might be truthfully designated
a shopfnl of rags. Behind the counter is a stout, fresh, weU-fed
man of a landlord, who has evidently studied the world's maxim,
" appearance is everything !" What with an exquisitely dressed
white shirt, a highly-coloured Valentia waistcoat, and a profusion
of watchguard and rings, he is a perfect exquisite in his trade.
There is a welcome cheerful twinkle in his eye to every new
comer who enters, no matter how emaciated, ragged or destitute.
"We have the curiosity to step in, and form a member of one of
the groups. One young man is leaning back upon a seat, dead
drunk ; in less than two minutes a wreck of a woman staggers,
rather than walks, towards the counter. She presents a broken
tea-cup to the landlord, who charges 4d. for the whisky. As
she retires, we are tickled with the conversation of two others of
i,he tender sex, who, with folded arms, and a glass and gill stoup
before them, are discussing the personal merits of some unfor-
tunate ndghbour, who is represented as being " fearfully ignorant
to be so educated :" which, after a pause, is rendered more intel-
ligible by the phrase, " as she pretends to be." Scarcely has the
colloquy ended, when another customer — a woman — ^holds out a
pitcher large enough to hold a gallon, and she asks for half-a-pint
of ale, pays three-hal^ence, and departs. The next minute
two more of these drouthy daughters of Eve pay their devotion at
this accursed shrine of Bacchus — ^the one lays upon the counter a
pickle-bottle, the other a glass vessel of a kind which altogether
defies description, and we puzzle our brain, to know for what
purpose it was originally fabricated — both were partially filled
with whisky — and as these poor victims leave, so we follow,
sorrowing in our heart that so pitiable a phase in life should
chance to be.

Passing through a number of small thoroughfares and quieter

64

THE SALTMARKET.

neighbourhoods, it is pleasing to rest the eye again upon objects
more cheering — to think that, while humanity is thus defaced in
our streets, she is better represented here at firesides of comfort,
and homes of happiness and love. The lines of Coleridge, as
we bless these "sweet abodes," appropriately recur to memory: —

" Ah! had none greater! and that all had such!
It mif^ht be so — but the time is not yet.
Speed it, Oh Father I Let thy Isingdom come! "

Proceeding towards the Saltmarket, we remember that we have
before counted no less than twenty-seven front spiiit shops, in
addition to several music saloons and back street establishments,
all of which retail drink. The streets are still fiill — ^for what with
the Circuit Court, the market, and other incidental circumstances,
a more than usual bustle continues to prevsul. Hawkers of every
description still ply theii- uncertain and ill-requited callings. Here
Irishmen and Irishwomen innumerable line the streets with bar-
rowfuls of fruit, bawling at the height of their voices — " Kipe
apples! a-penny-a-pound ! a-penny-a-pound!" There, squatted
upon the wet pavement, are a few junior venturers, with a basket
of fish before them, dirty and handled by a score or more of
previous purchasers — ^the dealer, not believing in " stinking fish,"
is bawling lustily " Caller herrin' ! caller herrin'! caller herrin'!
— ^three a penny! three a penny!" A few steps more, and we
approach a poor old shabbily dressed man, who whispers rather
than cries — "A penny! a penny! a penny!" — as he presents with
one hand the sample of a cotton pocket handkerchief, while he
holds his stock-in-trade with the other. " How many may yon
sell," we ask, "of these handkerchiefs of a night?" "Thirty
dozen," he replies in a low voice, within parenthesis, as he pro-
ceeds in his slow and monotonous march — "a penny! a penny!
a penny! — attracting no attention, that we could see, except that
of an old woman, who stops and remarks, " Aye, his vice is owre
laigh, that ane; he'll no dae."

THE COURT HOUSE. 65

A long heavy-looking commodions conveyance now makes its
appearance, followed by a mob of low people. Upon inqniry we
find that it is the Bridewell Coach. On each side is the royal
anus, and at the extreme end is a consequential looking police-
man, seriously impressed with the responsibility of his trust.
Returning with the stream, a halt is made at the Court House
door, where numbers of thieves and prostitutes are waiting about
— some in mirth and some in tears — ^for the arrival of their less
fortunate companions in trade. By and bye these make their
appearance, accompanied respectively by oflSceVs of police. It
is the signal for general uproar and exchange of salutation. The
pride of vice seems to sit supreme upon every criminal heart, as
with jaunty air they proceed towards the vehicle amid all but
universal acclamation " Keep up your heart, Jim 1" cry many
voices, " you'll soon be oot !" — and so forth. A poor woman
forms an exception to this lamentable levity, herself apparently
not unused to the vicissitudes of criminal life. She weeps bitterly
as the lumbering carriage moves off with its precious freight.

No. vn.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT.

(Oontimied.) '

Contents: — Visit to a Low Lodging House in the Saltmarket — Description of
Entrance— The Interior— A Virago — KleTen o'clock — Prostitutes and Prostitution
—Appearance of the Streets— The "Forbes Mackenzie Act"— The Gallowgate—
Granny's—Visit to a Low Brothel— "Pision" and how Obtained — Description of
the Den— The Protector.

As we escape from the Saltmarket, amidst ^^a dense mass of
human. beings, we have the curiosity to look in upon the hovels
of certain of the poor. Following a plain but respectable looking
man up a narrow filthy close, we express to him our interest in
exploring the locality. " Aye, sir," he says, "there's some queer
places here, if you only saw them, but puir folks are glad to put
their heads onywhere," — saying which, he turns into a dark and
dismal looking entry. " Come on, sir," he continues, " don't be
fear'd; I'll let you see whaur we live, if they're no gaun to bed."
Hereupon we foUow through a low, damp, earthy-smelling, subter-
ranean sort of passage, with so many windings that we begin to
fear we are about to reach that " bourne from which no traveller
returns,'' when an aged woman, with a face deeply furrowed,
hearing our steps, opens the door, bearing a candle in her hand.
Before we have time to utter a word, she ejaculates, "Tam, man,
what's keep't you the nicht ? — wha's that wi' you?" " He's jist
a gentleman, Nelly, that wants to see the hooses, an' I thocht I
wud gi'e him a fricht by bringing him oor way, through the lang

" HOMES " OF THE POOR. fi7

passage.'' " We're jist gann to bed, man, what's fceep't you ?
Jenny's been in her bed the last hoor-an'-a-half, an' has tOi rise at
fom- in the mornin'. Come in, sir, if you wUI," addressing our-
self, "it's no a brawhoose to ask you tQl, for we're jist gaun to
bed." As we enter full of apologies for so untimeous a visit, we
are forcibly struck with the remarkable appearance of the domicile,
and a group of half-dressed people of both sexes collected
around the fire-place. Before us is a singular looking man,
strongly tattooed by the wrinkles of advanced age; he is sitting
upon a trunk, in a state of partial nudity. Another man, of
middle age, somewhat similarly conditioned, makes his escape, as
we enter, into an adjacent room, wherein being without a door, we
observe places for two or three beds on the floor, into one of which
he gladly hides himself from our Ul-timed intrusion. - " How do you
manage," we say, " to live in such a place as this — ^there must be
at least six or eight of you huddled together in these small ill-
ventilated apartments ? " " 'Deed, sir," says the elderly dame
already referred to, " we're nae waur than our neighbours, an' we
dinna think onytMng aboot it." Hearing this, we glance again
at the wretched hovel. It is small, ill-lighted, and worse venti-
lated. A dirty farthing candle stuck into the neck of a bottle
diflSises a melancholy light throughout the room. In a cor-
ner is a window, near the roof, just enough grudgingly to
illuminate a prison cell. On the floor, at convenient distances,
and almost at our feet, are placed two beds, in one of which is. a
young woman, a lodger, but a few days ago returned from harvest
operations. In an obscure part of the abode is a large filthy pail,
apparently the urinal common to the en^e household. The scene
is a peculiar one; but the hour does not admit of prolonged
inquiry or observation; - and so, Tfi^li many apologies and thanks
for generous indulgence, we quit this so-called "home" of the
poor, with the kind welcome of the good old woman — " We'll be
glad to see you anither time,. Sir." "Thank you, thank you,

68

A VIRAGO.

ma'm," is onr reply, as we retrace otir steps through the devious
windings forming the entrance to this strange abode.

Again reaching the streets, and jnst as we are about to cross to
London Street, a virago, with her nnderlip characteristicallyprotmd-
ing, is scolding in a loud and violent manner a quiet-looking man^
her husband, to appearance a shoemaker. She follows close
upon his heels, shaking her right hand at his back, and by
sundry gesticulations labours hard to arrest the attention of
passengers : — " Aye man, an' ye gang to Prince's Street, do
you! — you hidden villain ! — you blackguard! yon dinna think
aboot your ancht weans, do you ! Aye man, an ye thocht I
wasna watchin'! — ^but 111 watch, you hidden villain! — TH split
your head like a pea shod ! " saying which, she passes under the
shade of the tower of the Tron Church, with a train of followers,
who have a relish for the scene. We are curious to follow. As
she continues her scolding and abuse along the street, the man
utters not a word, but, sinful-like, slouches along, bearing his fla-
gellation with wondrous equanimity, when the pmr make their
way towards a dajk narrow lane, and the man stops at the bottom
of a stair, still speechless. At this provoking sDence she seems
doubly infuriated, and draws herself alongside of him, — "Aye
man, I'll stand by you, that I will — ^you hidden villain you ! yon
thocht I wasna watchin ! ' — aye man, but I'll watch ! At which
the meek but fallen son of St. Crispin, retraces his steps towards
the street, still followed by his better half At length he jilts her
by entering a dark close, thereby leaving her to drown her wrath
in sober reflection, while he, in all probability, drowns his in ale
or whisky.

Returning to Argyle Street, we are struck with the unusual
throng and noise of the street, when we remember that the Laigh
Kirk bell has not long announced the memorable hour of eleven.
Small groups are everywhere collected about in the ample thorough-
fare. Artizans, with their hands in then- pockets, are helping

SCENE IN THE GALLOWGATE. 69

each other to pipe-light by the aid of a fiizee, as they loiter abont a
dose month in rather a merry mood, after having been ejected
by a disconsolate landlord in reluctant observance of " Forbes
Mackenzie." Women of all grades of abandoned condition ai-e
alert after their prey. Virtue is now forbidden the stubets, or
endangered by insnlt and molestation. Drink, in many cases, has
got possession of reason, and the moral dignity of the man is sub-
merged in that of the bestiality of the brute. A few paces from
n£, and a respectable-looking young man, apparently inebriated, is
way-laid by one of these poor wretches of women. True to the
behest of a great law, herself ruined, she ruins others. In a
moment she succeeds in reversing his course, and they both pro-
ceed towards the GaJlowgate. We are curious to jot the history
of the case. The woman is of the very lowest description, and as
she passes a few of her idle sauntering companions, sunk to the
lowest extremities of vice, she is cordially saluted. Entering a
dose in the Gallowgate, and turning into a dark stair at the right,
the woman knocks at a door, knocks and knocks again, apparently
in quest of drink. Despairing of attention, she draws fresh
encouragement from the fact, that she hears the stealthy footsteps
of some one inside, approaching her. " Granny ! granny woman !
it's me," she cries, " open like a dear !" " Wheesht ! wheesht ! "
echoes a soft trembling whisper from a sepulchral looking door
of a cellar, " it's owre late the nicht to let you in, — ^we canna do't

is there ony body wi' you?" "It's jist a frien," is the

earnest reply. " Na, na, I'm no gaun to do't," says granny,
and forthwith the unlucky pair withdraw from the door, shower-
ing upon " granny" a goodly number of curses, and abusive
epithets. As the two retire, we follow them through a series of
low windings and narrow filthy streets, when they reach an open
sort of court, fearfiilly dirty, apparently the place of rendezvous
for the night. Being noticed, we receive some encouragement to
ollow, when we make the desperate attempt, though somewhat

70 LOW BROTHEL.

intimidated by tjie dangerous appearance of .the woman, and the
apparently organised gang with which she is connected. " What
sort of a woman is that?" we ask of a middle-aged matronly
person, as she emerges from the court into which the two others
have just entered. " Yon maun tak' guid care o' yonrsel'," she
says, " for she's a big thief, an' a' that belangs to her." Shrug-
ging our shoulders at this not unexpected intimation, we notwith-
standing make a hasty run to the door on the ground floor, just
as it is about to close. Twelve o'clock strikes as we enter.
" Come along," says the young man, considerably recovered from
his evening imbibings, " we'll hae a little fun here. Gang awa'
oot for a half-mutchkin o' whisky, Jean ; you ken whaur to get
it," he continues. " I'll do that," says his female companion ;
"jist sit doon by the fire, on the kist there; I'll mak' them rise
before I come back, or I'll hae nae whisky for my pains. Grate-
ful for so welcome an interval, we set about our work of observa-
tiouj and scan with lively interest the four miserable damp walls
of the dwelling. It consists of two rooms, small, and with earthen
floor. The first' apartment has only one bed, the other three^
a stool, a small deal table, and a form near the fire-place, com-
plete the stock of furniture. In each bed ^re two loathsome
women, covered by a few thin dirty bed-clothes. " Well how
do you like to live here," we -say to one poor girl with a thievish
look, though seemingly less sunk in vice than the rest, and who is
by this time in a sitting posture in bed, as if disturbed. " Like
— ^I like it fine, but likin' has naething to dae wit — ^we're obleeged
to like it." Here, just as she has finished her speech, Jean enters,
withdrawing a bottle from under her apron, and in another second
the whisky is handed round in an ill-used egg cup, for which
ample apologies are offered on account of " the time o' nicht pre-
ventin' them lookin' for better." At this juncture, a short thick-
set blackguard-looking fellow leaps out of one of the beds. " The
protector I" we say to ourselves, as he proceeds hastily to clothe

LOW BROTHEL. 71

himself in a dirty suit of corduroys or moleskins. Addressing
him in a bland familiar manner — "We have disturbed you friend,
we fear, to-night." " Oh, never mind that," he replies, "we were
up a' last nicht, an' we were glad to get early to bed." As we
smell the whisky and pass it round, a feeling of disappointment
is evidently felt. "I doot you dinna like the whisky," says
Jenny, "its real gude by what we get maist times at this time o'
nicht." "I daresay it is," we remark, "it can't be expected
good at so late an hour." " Eh no," says a dark-visaged woman,
half leaning out of bed, "we were nearly a' pisioned ae nicht,
when we didna get it at our ain place ; Bell there," pointing to
one of her companions too heavy in the head to give attention,
" &st turned Ul, and then I turned ill, sick, and pain'd wi' cramp,
an' we were obleeged to send for the doctor. He said it was real
pision, and we lay for three days after't." This apparently being
considered rather dull work, a proposal is made to from a ciitle
round the fire, and enjoy ourselves. Giving a significant look to
the young man, who by this time is again beginning to be a little
elevated, we make our way towards the door, but find it locked.
A tiifle of money to the door-keeper, who remonstrates against
our leaving, and we forthwith take our departure, congratulating
ourselves on an escape from a very dangerous den of the worst of
thieves and prostitutes.

No. VIII.
WEDNESDAY NIGHT-INDIAN FAST.

CoKTESTS— Lord Palme*aton's Reply to the Presbytery— Its application to the Indian
Past— Moral arid Physical Laws— British Treatment of India — Opinions of thie
Dnke of Wellington, Sir Thomas Mtinro, Lord Elphinstone, &c. — The Fast-
Description of the Streets— Churches and Public Houses— The Clyde— Evening-
Cases of Destitution,

Some three years ago a eertain Scottish Presbytery memorialised
Lord Palmerston— then Home Secretary — ^to advise the Queen to
order a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer, in order to implore
Divine interference to stay the cholera, which afficted the people
in that unhappy year. To that memorial the Presbytery received
an answer, of which the following forms a part: —

" The Maker of the universe has established certain laws of nature for the
planet in -which we live, and the weal or woe of mankind depends upon the
observance or the neglect of those laws. One of those laws connects health
with the absence of those gaseous exhalations which proceed from over
crowded human beings, or from decomposing substances, whether animal or
vegetable ; and those same laws render sickness the almost inevitable con-
sequence of exposure to those noxious inSuences. But it has, at the same
time, pleased Providence to place it within the power of man to make such
arrangements as will prevent or disperse such exhalations, so as to render
them harmless ; and it is the duty of man to attend to those laws of nature,
and to exert the-faculties which Providence has thus given to man for his-

own welfare Lord Palmerston would therefore suggest, that the

best course which the people of this country can pursue to deserve that the
further course of cholera should be stayed, will be to employ the interval
that will elapse between the present time and the beginning of next spring,
in planning and executing measures by which those portions of their towns
and cities which are inhabited by the poorest classes ; and which, from the

LORD PALMEESTON AKD THE FAST. ■ s

natuie of things, must most need purification and improvement, may be freed
from those canses and sources of contagion, which, if allowed to remain, will
infallibly breed pestilence, and be fruitM in death, in spite of all the prayers
and fastings of a united but inactive nation."

" Pam" to speak familiarly of this exalted personage, is clear as
a sunbeam as to the duty of the Presbytery in regard to cholera. He
believes in the eflScacy of broomsticks rather than prayers to begin
with. With this seeming irreverence we have no fault to find, for
after all it is only what the most enlightened of Christian preachers
now propagate — the recognition of those sacred laws by which
the natural universe is governed ; wise and benevolent in their
object, unchangeable and unchanging in their action. The
atheism that denies this is most assuredly the worst of all
atheisms, the most injurious and demoralising in its tendency.
Yet here, without any provocation on the part of Presbytery,
our Premier, from a confusion of ideas, we presume, touching
moral and ph/siail laws, institutes a Fast — a day for prayer and
humiliation to mourn over the calamities of war in our Indian
empire. It may be as well, then, that the Presbytery inform the
Premier, in his own words, "that when man has done his utmost
for his own safety, then is the time to invoke the blessing of
Heaven to ^ve effect to his exertions." This paradox of our
gi'eat political magician seems to call for "Ministerial explana-
tion," — ^for, says a distinguished member of that Presbytery which
the Premier so condescendingly belectured — we mean Dr. Guthrie
— "They commit a grave mistake who forget that injury as inevit-
ably results' from flying in the face of a moral or Tnental, as of a
physical law.'' That there is abundant cause for fasting and humi-
liation, we ai'e, amongst others, painfully conscious ; but has the
IVemier — the chief adviser of our beloved Queen — ^tendered that
advice to Royalty whiqh he so faithfdlly did to Presbytery? Apart
from the unavoidable exercise of the sword, has a promise of amend-
ment been made, not only in the sight of God but of man? Shall

■?* OUR TREATMENT OF INDIA.

India for the future be governed merely to minister to the per-
sonal ambition and the propensities generally of Christians ; or
for the good of mankind generally, and for the good, in particular,
of those whose fathers for thousands of years have claimed the
empire? Here, then, is a victory, after all, for our Presbytery,
and a clear committal of the Premier upon the horns of a dilemma.
If dirt, cess-pools, and fever breeding exhalations assert their
supremacy in harmony with a physical law, cholera, disease, and
death most assuredly will bargain for their share of the spoil. If
India, for more than a century, has been misgoverned, whether by
Prime Ministers or local legislators — if we have, as a nation, in
the virulence of a diseased acquisitiveness, acquired greater pos-
sessions than we can manage or care for — outraged and neglected
humanity will also, true to a moral law, assert its power. The
oppressed will be avenged— the work of retribution will go for-
ward. As we have sown so shall we reap. Divine justice and
benevolence are alike conspicuous in this arrangement.

WEDNESDAY FAST

has just set in. The country is sufficiently shocked with the tales
of atrocity and crime incident upon the mutinies. In the barbarous
work of extermination, the cries of women and children ring
pitifully through every heart. In the truest sense of the word, it is a
judgment from God, resulting from the violation of one of his Divine
laws. It appears we have gone forward professedly to Christianise
India, practically to plunder and despoil her. " In place," says
Sir Thomas Munro, " of raising, we debase the whble people."
"We degrade and beggar the natives," said the late Duke of
"Wellington, "making them all enemies." "We destroyed those
municipal institutions, said Lord Elphinstone many years ago,
" which had preserved the people of India through all their revo-
lutions, and conduced in a high degree to their happiness, and to
the enjoyment of a great portion of freedom and independence."

THE CAUSE OF THE MUTINY.

75

" We regard the natives rather as vassals and servants than as
the ancient owners and masters of the country," says " A Friend
of India." " Under Mahommedan domination," says the same
authority, " the community was not divided, as now, into two
distinct bodies of privileged foreigners and native serfs, syste-
matically degrading a whole people." "It would be more
desirable," again says Sir Thomas Munro, " that we should be
expelled from the country altogether, than that the result of
our system of government should be such an abasement of a
whole people." Half a century ago, a " mis-shaped hat forced
npon the native soldier," it is alleged, " caused a similiar mutiny
and rebellion." " A greased cartridge," says the same class of
thinkers, " has now caused another." * Such people forget that
there are limits to human endurance — that the cup of grief may

* It was his oonaoientious belief that the people of England did not know
the truth in regard to the government of India. It had not been at any
time his fate to make things pleasant, but, without passing reflection upon any
one, he would confine himself to a plain statement of facts. Not more than
a year ago a wide-spread rebellion broke out in India, and they heard of their
countrymen, country women and cMldren falling victims to an undescrib-
able fury on the part of the natives, the reason assigned being that we had
treated the natives with too much kindness. Now, he hated figures and
detested averages. He remembered when he returned from the Crimea loud
complaints were made that our countrymen were left without food, but the
truth soon came to be known, and in this case also the truth would by and
bye be known. God forbid that he should ascribe what had occured in India
to any party, military or civU ; he had ascribed it solely to a system. Almost
the first native gentleman that he met in India, on being asked what was
the cause of the rebellion, said "While the English Government was just and
honest, God gave them prosperity, but when the Government became imjust
and severe, God afflicted them with adversity, which generated discontent
and rebellion. * * * « Two causes chiefly were

assigned for the rebellion by persons with whom he had conversed at
Benares — namely, the annexation policy and the treatment of the natives.
It was his conviction that the system of annexation had been the great
moving cause of the present mutiny in India. — Mr. Lmjaird''s Speech onlndia,
May 1858. ' ■

76 APPEARANCE OF THE STREETS.

be filled silently to the brim, when an additional drop may cause

an overflow. It is thus with India : —

"In Mstory," says a writer in 1853, "we are always wise after the event;
and, when it is too late, when the bolt has fallaa, and the penalty has been
paid, then, for the first time, do politicians see why a government based on
injustice and bad faith could not stand; and whatinnumerable consequences
of its wrong-doings were all the while vmdermining its power. ' Godforlnd,'
he adds, 'that we should be wise too late in India!' "

In these circumstances the country is called to Fast. The
churches are more than usually impressed. At the accustomed
hours the streets are thronged with devout worshippers hastening
to the house of God. The church beUs have ceased to ring, and
the streets present another phase of city life not less instmetive
than the former. Notwithstanding the threatening gloom of the
day, excursionists are bent on pleasure. The Broomielaw b
crowded with spectators witnessing the departure and arrival of
the boats with passengers, who indulge in short trips down the
Clyde. Several shops, as we perambulate the various thorough-
fares, are significant of the faith of their owners. Here the only
observance of the day is to be seen by the maintenance of a
single shutter upon the window, as if some death were to be
lamented, or some funeral cortege to pass. There the "Cross
Keys," or house by whatever name, reveals, by a partially
open door, a few gilded casks and bright shining beer-en'^es.
There is no lack either of customers. The church and the public-
house are alike favourably attended. Reporters, notwithstanding,
are enabled to state that the " streets <rf the city were quiet, and
the cases of drunkenness remai'kably few! " There is a strange
unmeaningness, a want of distinctiveness, altogether about the
day. At church the clergy most earnestly and devoutly read the
people eloquent and well-prepared discourses. Through all of
these, however, there is a vague uncertainty as to the precise
nature of the sin which has incurred Divine displeasure. The
punishment is attributed to Sabbath-breaking, drunkenness, and

THE REV. ME. SPUEGEON. 77

general irreligion thronghont the land, together with the encou-
ragement of false religions in India. By other preachers,
and by £bw, it is justly attributed to natural causes, the mis-
government of India — ^producing natural results, mutiny and
rebellion. A singular but somewhat distinguished preacher^ this
very day, we are told by telegraph, has addressed an assembly of
24,000 people in the Crystal Palace of Sydenham. The learned,
and the unlearned, the rich and the poor, hang upon his youthful
lips for instruction. If he is not inspired by divine wisdom, he is
at least inspired by a divine enthusiasm. While retsuning cer-
tain vestiges of a fast-dying opinion, he has yet within him the
germs of great natural truth : —

" It is very customary," he says, " among religious people to talk of every
accident which happens to men in the indulgence of sin, as if it were a judg-
ment. The upsetting of a boat upon a river on a Sunday is assuredly
understood to be a judgment for the sin of Sabbath-breaking. In the acci-
dental fall of a house, in which persons were engaged in any nnlawfnl
occupation, the inference is at once drawn that the house fell because they
were wicked. Now, however much some religionists may hope to impress
the people by such childish stories as these, I fob one fobsweaic theu all.
I believe what my Master says is true, when he declared concerning the men
upon whom the tower of Siloam fell, that they were not sinners above all
the sinners that were upon the face of the earth. They were sinners — there
is no doubt about it ; but the falling of the wall was not occasioned by their
sin, nor was their premature death the consequence of their excessive
wickedness."

Here, then, nearly the whole religious world appears at re-
markable variance, tonching the exact cause of this Divine
punishment, the rebellion in India. The citizens themselves
have a belief, or no belief upon the subject, most hurtM to
the reli^us and moral sentiment. In the ordinary affairs of
hfe, we find that if a father chastises his child, the act meriting
chastisement, is clearly laid down and defined — cruel indeed, and
iniquitous were he otherwise to act. Most strangely and incon-
sistently, however, the parental love, wisdom, and benevolence

78 WEDNESDAY NIGHT FAST.

we claim for ourselves, in the conduct of our children, we deny
to God, the great Father of us all. We assign to Him a law fdr
the rule of the individual — and another, and a widely different
one, for the rule of the nation. We do all this, and entertain
all this uncertainty of opinion, forming a superstition most
impious and unjust in the face of high unmistakable intelligence
and Divine warning everywhere given. We hourly suffer from
the unbending action of His moral goverment, — ^yet we will not
recognise and obey it. We prefer living in a cloud of mystery
and willing ignorance, debasing to our nature, and hurtful to our
happiness: —

"It is impossible," says one of our greatest and best of living instmctors,
" that the public mind can advance in sound and self-consistent practical
principles of action in this world's affairs, while conflicting views of science,
religion, and the course of Gad's Providence, are poured forth from the pul-
pit and the press ; and it is equally impossible that the youthful mind can
be trained to study, reverence, and conform to the course of God's Providence,
while that Providence is treated with as little consideration by those who
assume the character of accredited expositors of the Divine Will."

Be this as it may — ^Wednesday Evening Fast is dull and sombre
enough, not the twinkle of a star is to be seen in the heavens. A
heavy mist suffuses the atmosphere, while the wet streets, from the
glimmer of an adjacent gas-lamp, shine in whatever direction we
turn. The public-houses that were before but partially open, have
nowevery shutter down, and are splendidlyilluminated. As we pass
a few of these m the principal thoroughfares, an open stove near the
doorreveals to the passer-by a clear bright fire, tempting the poor out-
cast, whose home stands in pitiful contrast with this picture of cozy
warmth. Two pitiful wretches step in, covered with dirt and
rags. They have been driven thither by cold and hunger. As
they stand by the fire, the damp of their clothes envelopes them
in a cloud of steam. The bar is besieged by at least a dozen
customers, anxious to break a fast, which impatience tells they
have too long endured. "Ar'nt you gaun to hae naething?"

WEDNESDAY NIGHT FAST. 79

asks a kind-hearted looker-on to these poor girls, as he smokes
his cigar and quaffs his ale, in evident consciousness of high
enjoyment, " We hae nae siller," says the youngest of the two
as she rubs her hands by the fire. " Come awa', I'll gi'e you a
wee drap," and they forthwith share his hospitality, and depart.

Passing along Trongate, more than a score of people are col-
lected about the door of a public- house. It is the rendezvous of
the recruiting sergeant. Two " fine young fellows," as the ser-
geant calls them, have just enlisted. One of the recruiting party
asks for pen and ink. " What is that for ? " we ask the land-
lord. " To take their names and addresses," he replies. One of
the young men confesses to having been out of work ; another to
having quarrelled with his parents. To neither has the life of a
soldier been the principal attraction.

No. IX.
THURSDAY NIGHT.

CoNTBHTS : — Glasgow Green — Nelson's Monmnent — Govan Iron Works — James Watt,
the Engineer— Night View of the City from Glasgow Green — Beflectlons— A
Blind Man— Cheap Jack and the Book Auction— Parry's Theatre — The Jnpiter—
Uusic Saloons — Mortality amongst Prostitutes — Low Lodging House in the
Bridgegate.

"Twilight grey
Had in her sober livery all things clad,"

ere we bade adieu to friends at the extreme point of G-lasgow
Green, East. Entering this spacious and picturesque retreat by
a fine gravelled walk, we are reminded of the approach of the
cold season by the rustling of the falling leaves from the stately
trees, under whose shade we pass. The Green is one of Glasgow's
most valued inheritances; and as memory recalls to view the
beauty of the morning landscape — ^its situation and noble pros-
pect — its green grass, rainbowed with the^ dews of heaven, — we
bless the memory of the donor, for his right noble, right royal
gift. We pass on; and, as we pass, we think we hear two
lovers take up the word of gratitude, and thrice bless the giver
for the sequestered walk, even though it be but under the bare
branches of that lofty elm and stately beech. A few more paces,
and

" Conjunctive looks, and interjectional sighs,"

are exchanged by several loving pairs seated on the stumps of old
trees. But, as " Festus" says,

" It is getting dark. One has to walk quite close
To see the pretty faces that we meet."

GLASGOW GREEN. 81

Anon, attention is arrested by a lofty obelisk standing in bold
relief against the grey sky. It is to the memory of Nelson, but
is altogether unworthy of the taste of the citizens, at whose
expense it was erected, and the deserts of the great naval comman-
der whose memory it is intended to commemorate. Not many years
after its erection the thunder bolts of heaven, we are told, made
war against it — shattering its uplifted head, and leaving to the
present day rents and scars on its sides, emblematic as it were of
the fate of the immortal hero of the Nile.

Southward, again, as we cross the Green, may be seen, from
any or every point, a most distinguishable object deserving brief
attention. It is the ever-changing, yet perpetual blaze of fire
and cloud of smoke from Dixpn's Govan Iron Works, thrown into
picturesque relief by that black cloud which now overhangs the
horizon. The powerful rays of these sleepless furnaces penetrate
the surrounding edifices, and shed their beacon-glare over the
whole city, and for miles around.

Approaching the Suspension Bridge and the Humane Society
House, we remember having read it was near this spot that James
Watt, in one of his accustomed walks in the Green, first con-
ceived his immortal thought touching the improvement on the
steam engine : —

" Had James Watt (says Mr. Macdonald, in his interesting ' Kambles,')
been an ancient Greek, he would probably, on such an occasion, have rushed
across the Green, shouting ' Eureka ! Eureka! ' but, canny Scot as he was, and
probably in wholesome dread of the Kirk-sessioh, he pursued his leisurely
thoughtful walk, and (according to his own account of the matter, as related
to a highly respectable gentleman of this city) had fully mastered the details
of his grand discovery before returning home."

Confessing to an enthusiastic admiration of Watt, we wonder
no monument marks the interesting spot. Looking westward, we
have a subject for

A PICTUEE

surpassing the power of pen or pencil to describe. The noble wind-

»2 THE BIBLK AND THE BUND.

ing river, with its fine bridges, and dazzling lights, is enchantingly
beautiful. The city itself seems a great starry constellation, occa-
sional luminaries disappeai-ing from the view like so many meteors
from the higher heavens. On nearer approach, those broad features
become more minutely defined — ^numerous spires and lofty chim-
neys being now distinctly visible. Nearer still, and we fancy
we hear the echoes of countless voices, and the murmurs of
the tumultuous noise of the busy streets. Anon, we think of the
wide-spread masses of human beings, the great heaving heart of
the immense multitude, sur^g like a restless ocean amid the trials
and cares of life. What a scene ! "What a scramble! — ^what a mor-
tal struggle for bread! — ^what delusive schemes of ambition afloat!
— ^what vice and vhtue ! — ^what poverty and wealth ! — ^what joys
and sorrows ! — what life, and, withal, what death, fancy conjures
up in disclosing to view the secret mysteries of the mighty city ! —

" Thou hast wept mournfully, human love!
Even on this green sward, Night hath heai-d thy cry —
Night and the hills, which sent forth no reply
Unto thine agony."

A few minutes more, and our contemplations cease ; we become
lost in the busy throng.

Eeaching the western extremity of the Green, a poor bhnd
man, dressed in homely fustian, claims our attention. He is
seated upon the ground, reading aloud a portion of the Bible,
from a book with raised letters for the blind. We are sur-
prised at the apparent ease with which he munipulates. On
close examination, however, we have suspicion that the tongue is
greatly more nimble than the fingers, or that the Word is better
known to memory than to touch. Accepting this exhibition,
however, even as an evidence of the tiring monotony of the poor
blind man's work, we cannot fail to be deeply touched by it.

A few paces more, in close proximity to the Court House, are

RIVAL BOOK AUCTIONS.

The respective competitors for public favour are mounted upon

RIVAL BOOK AUCTIONS. oo

wheel-ban-ows, each surrounded by a goodly company of listeners,
if not purchasers. The nearest of these "Cheap Jacks" is some-
what fantastically dressed about the head, which head is encased in a
peculiarly shaped French cap; a singularity which is sustained by a
luxuriant crop of bushy hair round his throat and chin. As we
approach, he kneels down upon the barrow, full of a heterogeneous
collection of old books, among which are conspicuous a few imsaJe-
able Grammars by someaspiiing Lindley Murray, and a thousand-
and-one editions of the Pilgrim's Progress, Aristotle, and Jose-
phus, with the works of many more ephemeral, and much less
popular authors. By the aid of a camphine lamp attached to the
vehicle, he announces on his knees the next work — " Now, gen-
tlemen, what do you say for this, — ' the Saddncees of Science,'
by Dr. M'Gillivray of this city? It is a work — indeed I can
spaik little of the work; there's some things, gentlemen, don't do to
be spoken about. It's no matter. You all know, gen-
tlemen, what the philosophy is. It is the philosophy of the gi-eat
philosophers Paine, Hume, and other philosophies. There is a
great dale in it about Lyall, gentlemen, the geologist — another
philosophy. But I shall read the book, and you'll see what it
is." He reads two or three pages, to interest his audience in
the work; — at the conclusion of which he rises, and, with vehement
energy, .exclaims — " Sixpence for the book (strikes the pamphlet
upon his knee, and continues) — thruppence for the book, oro-
begoro!" Twopence ! " cries a tall, slender-looking man in front
" Tuppence is bid — ^now, a penny, and you'll have the book ! " and
forthwith nearly half-a-dozen copies are distributed amongst the
crowd. Tickled with " Cheap Jack's" system of auctioneering, we
betake ourselves to " the next shop," the proprietor of which has just
finished a trifling sale, after the waste of immense energy and
time. He is seated upon a stool on the " barrow," quietly ex-
changing looks with the remaining auditory. Two boys are hold-
ing in thek hands a tallov candle each, which is dropping in

** LOW THEATEES AND SALOONS.

stalactite form over their daitj fingers. A "Eeady RecRoner"
is immediately submitted for sale, when, Without the aid of a
purchase, we reckon that it is time to be off on more profitable
observation.

Crossing the Green, in a north-easterly direction, we hasten
towards

pabet's theaxee,

an unlicensed establishment. Outside are two or three score
of young people. As we enter the building the applications
of youngsters for admission are numerous. Paying a penny,
we make ooir way up stairs, passitig a temporary erection for
the sale of lemonade, friiit, and confeetions. In a moment
we are in front of the stage, where a portly-looking gentle-
man is dancing a hornpipe to the enlivening strains of the
orchestra in front, a la " the Eoyal." The house is large and
commodious — with an inclined pit for " the gods" — seating about
two or three hundred people, who gaze at us with suspicious eye,
many of them respectable factory lads and lasses, but some of them
of the lowest dregs of society, their ages varying from twelve
to twenty. As the curtain drops, so does decorum ; it is the signal
for the shrill whistle, the loud laugh, and the vulgar jest, together
with a score or more of filming tobacco pipes, clandestinely
lit by the aid of a borrowed match. Overhead are two galleries,
respectively occupied by the elite of the assembly, who pay a few
pence more for select society.

Without "waiting for the rise of the curtain, we leave,' and
proceed up the Saltmarket, when the eye is arrested by the
appearance of a rival establishment. Over the front of the
building is painted

" JUHTER TEMPERANCE HALL."

On a sheet of white paper are also the words, "They are coming! "
— " Come to the Jupiter ! " — " The best company in Glasgow 1 "

DANCING AND SINGING SALOONS. «a

With SO hearty an invitation, we walk up stairs. A few little dirty
urchins are collected about the door. On the right is a cheerful
little woman filling the post of ".box-keeper," and apparently the
purveyor of fruit, soda water, lemonade, and other temperance
beverages. " What is to pay ? " we ask " Thruppence ! "
is the quick reply; and we are forthwith politely shown
to " the snug," a sort of dress box in a humble way, and
occupied by a few people, quiet and decent-looking enough. As
we enter, a song is being sung, " Anything for a Crust." The
artiste, dressed in appropriate habilimentfi, is vodferously ap-
plauded. The curtain drops* and, as before, a scene takes
place among " the gods," who are in number upwards of a
hundred or so. They consist chiefly of working lads from
twelve to twenty, with a slight sprinkling of another class, of
both sexes, not quite so respectable. Fruit, ginger-beer, &c., are
now handed round. The bell rings, and a smartly-dressed young
English woman ascends the stage or platform ; and^ what with
beauty and song, eteaptures the audience. She pauses, smiles,
and sings again, and finally retires Simidst vociferous "encores."
Qoitting this latter establishment, we take a run through more
fashionable houses of the kind in the immediate neighbourhood,
in aE of which intoxicating liquors are used. One of them, in
particular, is beautifully fitted up, finely painted, and brilliantly
illuminated. These are frequented by the mechanic, clerk, or
shop-keeper. The anging, music, and dandng in these establish-
ments are esteemed respectable. To a stranger, unaccustomed to
city life, the sight of two or three hundred pewter pots, tumblers,
and glasses left on the boards of the seats, as- the company retire,
has a singular effect, and by no means complimentary to the
tastes of the numerous persons who frequent this description of
saloon. That recreations innocent in themselves, should be thus de-
graded by the constant association of a popular vice, is deeply to be
regretted. In other parts of the city are a few aristocratic institu-

86 DEATH AND FUNERAL OF A PROSTITUTE.

tions of the same sort, very richly and expensively fitted up.
Like those already noticed, the price of the liquor secures admis-
sion. These places are fi-equented by men in business, clerks, and
the representatives of " Young Glasgow" generally.

It is scarcely eleven o'clock. The streets present that appear-
ance in the principal thoroughfares so frequently before described
at this hour of the night. The cases of di-unkenness, however,
appear fewer in number, to be attributed, a policeman informs us,
to " the end of the week ; when Saturday comes you'll see a dif-
ference." If drunkenness and riot, however, are less prevalent
on the streets, not so is it with vagrancy and prostitution. As
bread gets scarce, these sorry victims hang about the lanes and
thoroughfares of the city far into midnight. A poor respec-
table-looking girl, whom we have often before met, now ap-
proaches us. She is without her companion, a short thick-set
looking woman — older in years and in vice than herself. We
inquire the cause of her friend's absence. The answer shocks us:
" She is dead ! " " What did she die of ?" we inquire. " In-
flammation," is the reply. From inquiry touching a few minor
details, we learn that the deceased belonged to a distinguished
family. Yet such was her sad fate! She was tended in sickness
and death by her poor unfortunate sisters, and, by them, were her
remains consigned to the dust, with a sorrow, we doubt not the
more sincere, that they were sharers in one common misfortune.
Of her companion before us, sunk " in poverty's lowest valley,"
it may be said, as of many of these poor creatures at awakened
intervals —

" She clasped lier fervent hands,
And the tears began to stream;
Large, and bitter, and fast they feU,
Remorse was bo extreme."

No. X.
FRIDAY NIGHT.

Contents: — Change ia the appearance of the Streets and Public Houses— Grand
Marriage — The Pawnbroker's Shop — Straits of the PoDr--Bridgeton — Condition
of the Factory Population — Slack Work and Soup Kitchens — Drunken Mother
and Distressed Child — Visit with "Nelly" to a Low Lodging House — A Visit
to the Dens — Bemarks on the Glasgow Police.

Friday Night ! and scarcely a drunkard reels across our path.
The public-house looks unusually solemn, as if all its funds were
absorbed by "The Western,'' or some other place of temporary lock-
up. The landlord's countenance, wont to smUe in harmony with the
sweet music caused by the jingle of a last sixpence taken from
some poor wretch of a woman, who has spent her children's bread
for whisky, seems bereft of its happy light. The whiskers that
encircle his fat rosy face are less carefully trimmed on this than
other nights, and the buttons on his bespangled waistcoat seem to
send forth a less brilliant lustre. Customers who, but a few nights
ago, would have put down the ready shiUing, now approach him
with a secret and hesitating air, and ask him for " a glass," stealthily
whispering into his reluctant ear — " I'll mak' it richt the morn !"
As we perambulate the streets, numerous shops are observed
to be closed earlier than usual. Passing one stiU open, adjacent
to which we had but a few nights before witnessed the scene of a
grand marriage, — three magnificent equipages, with outriders in
smart and showy livery, the whole neighbourhood agog with
the unusual turn-out, in a narrow dingy street, redolent, we should

e» THE PAWNBEOKEE'S SHOP.

say, of the effluvia of filth, rags, and vermin, — ^we are cnrious to
know the mysteries of the happy event. " On," says the quiet

shop lass, " I ken wha ye mean noo. That was Maggy 's

waddin', the servant in the public-hoose owre the way." "What
grand husband has she got," we ask, " who can cut such a dash
as was witnessed the other night in the street; — ^what does he do?"
"Dae — I dinna ken what he does; when I see him, he's aye hur-
lin' a barrow. I think he buys rags an' anld ii'on!" The reply,
with its associations, is too ludicrons to suppress the immediate
hearty laugh, and the after reflection on the prevailing ambition,
even among the lower orders, of being grand for one night in
their lives!
Proceediag up Stockwell Street we pass a few of the many

PAWN-SHOPS.

In the neighbourhood of one we stand and watch for some
minutes. A poor woman, and a Ijickless wight of the oppo-
site sex, as if driven to deisperation at the eleventh hour of
the week, stealthily make their way, with concealed bundles,
up a dark entiy, on the first stair of which may be seen a lamp,
with black letters painted on the front square, " Loan OfSce."
A few minutes more, and there is hovering about a shabby-genteel,
looking man, who has "seen better days," waiting his oppor-,
tunity to pass unobserved into the narrow entry. Like the
moth beating round a candle, he at last darts, with a stealthy
look, into the pawnbroker's shop, perhaps for the first time. One
wonders as to his life-history, and. what article of wear, what
memento of some dear departed one, it may be, he is compelled to
pledge for a bit of bread. Poor soul! how his heart must smk
within him as he standS'in that narrow box, waiting with tremu-
lous earnestness the approach of the proprietor. " It is only a
trifle, for a day or two," he stammers out, fearing to reveal,
the full measure of his necessities even to the pawnbroker.

STKAITS OF THE POOR. 89

who surveys with stoic-like coolness the trinket thrust into
his hand." " Half-a-crown!" is the little pittance offered,
and with a joy for even that, he quits the presence of his tem-
porary benefactor to give bread to hungry children, and a smile
of gratitude to the anxious countenance of a wife and mother.
Let no one despise the pawnbroker, though it is alleged that
to him

" The human heart is but one pound of flesh."

His calling, however abused, and how mercenary soever his motiv:es,
practically is, many times, to relieve some poor traveller de-
spised and neglected on the wayside of life, from whom, because
of poverty, a Christian world shrinks as from the touch of a
leper, or, as a sort of " original sin " from which there is to be no
aAer redemption. As the eye rests upon such scenes, the mind
is involuntarily forced to contemplate the many subterfuges
resorted to by thousands for a bit of bread — the empty cup-
boards — ^the fireless hearths- — the starving children — the ill-tem-
pered and discontented parents; — :in short, the numerous poor,
desolate, and unha,ppy homes,^-the occasional ,ealcula.tions of
heads as to what may be spai-ed from the forth-coming wage,
already more than mortgaged. These, and a thousand such
considerations, cannot fail to occupy the reflecting mind as one
witnesses the shifts of the poor on this Friday evening, merging
into the cold of winter.

Walking towards the manufacturing district of

BEIDGETON,

and while entering it, we are rather struck with the appear-
ance of two very opposite circumstances — the inordinate number
of public-houses, and the generally quiet, sober, and respectable
demeanour of the working population. Numerous bands of
well-dressed smart little factory girls pass along the street,

90 DRUNKEN MOTHER AND DISTRESSED CHILD.

humming with light hearts and smiling faces the lines of some
favourite song, while groups of " decent lads" loiter about thetoU-
bar, corner of the streets, or such place most convenient to smoke
the black cutty pipe, and crack the joke, to while away the long
hours thrown on their hands by slack work. " How are the
mills situated here just now?" we ask a douce-looking lass in
careless conversation with a friend. " We're nearly a' on half-
time the noo," she replies. " What may you earn, now, when
you're on full time?" "A good hand as high as 22s. and more
a fortnight; ithers no sae muckle." On inquiry, we are pleased
to find that the female population in the locality bear an excellent
character, both for steadiness and general propriety of conduct,
especially those engaged in the steam-mills, where hundreds —
nay thousands — are congregated together. Still, we are sorry to say
through dearth of work and high-priced provisions, bread and
soup are already being distributed amongst the unemployed in
this neighbourhood.

Returning to the city a little late, a case at last of

PITIFUL DRUNKENNESS

falls under notice. Two policemen are prevailing upon a respec-
tably dressed middle-aged woman to go home, who staggers with
drink, and returns insolence for kind entreaty. She is also being
coaxed by her own child, a boy about seven or eight years of age.
He clings to her with tears in his eyes. The policemen substi-
tute threats for persuasion. And in turn the poor wretch adds insult
to insolence. "We must take her up ! " remarks one of the officers.
The child wildly screams as he pulls the garment of his unnatural
parent; and makes his little bare feet to dance on the cold wet pave-
ment, exclaiming, "Odinnatak'her.up! tak' herhame!" — "Come,
mither, come hame! come!" Touched with a natural sympathy,
the policemen take a shoulder each and see her home, while she
"a decent sober woman !" as she calls herself, is filling the an:
with protests against their " insultings" and " violence ! "

VISIT WITH " nelly" TO A LOW LODGING HOUSE. 91

Twelve o'clock! and all is quiet. Sleep, dearth of money, and
a temporary Maine Law have conspired to change the scene.
Cabs and hackney coaches are also affected, as they stand in
greater numbers, opposite the Tontine, the drivers in hopeless expec-
tancy of customers. " How do you account for the dulness of
the streets to-night?" we say to one of the craft, who is beating
time with his feet to a merry whistle as we approach, — " the want
o' siller! " is the short parenthetical reply, as he catches up the
last note of the tune, and proceeds as before.

At the foot of Candleriggs, a short thick-set elderly woman is
trying to operate upon the sympathies of a "fast young man," by a
touching tale of

DESTITUTION.

She has been refused " protection" for the night, doubtless on
account of incessant applications. " What price can you get a
bed for?" we ask. " Tippence," is the reply. "Will you
allow us to see your lodging, if we should pay for you?"
Here between drink and an affected modesty, the old woman,
much to the amusement of one or two by-standers, places her
hands upon her face and weeps bitterly — asking in a wail —
" What am I come to nooT " Finding that her theatrical
action is productive of no good effect, she consents to show
us the way to her lodging. It is located in a narrow close in
the Bridgegate, damp and smelling with the worst of nuisances.
As we enter, two low prostitutes and a couple of men are dimly
seen in earnest conversation. Over head are a few crazy old
buildings. Under the canopy of an outside stair, our guide makes
a halt, and raps at a door within, a sort of cellar. " Wha's that ? "
is the question asked by a female voice. " It's Nelly, dear !" says
the old woman. " Nelly ! wha's Nelly ? " " Nelly, that sleepit wi'
you last nicht ! " And forthwith the door is opened by the land-
lady, a rosy-faced little woman, holding a candle in her hand,
with no other dress than her night shift. Introduced by " Nelly,"

»'' A VISIT TO " THE DENS."

who stands curtseying to the " kind gentleman," we explain the
cause of our ill-timed intrusion to the landlord, who is raised tip
on a bed, in a recess earnestly looking at us as we approach.
Scarcely have we calmed his disturbed appearance, when there leaps
out from aback room, a tall, rollicking Irishman. "Oh, thunderin'
blud-efiouns! — I tho't is was the police! " "Nelly" again explains;
when " bless your honour !" and a kind look, stimulates us to ex-
tended inquiry. "What room is that there?" we ask. "That is
the lodgers' room," is the reply. Looking in, by the dim rays of
a candle, we discover six or eight poor people, both sexes, lying
about, any how, in their dirty rags of clothes. "You'll sleep
doon there, the nicht," says the landlady to " Nelly," pointing to
the floor near the fire-place in her own room, in which we do not
even see a solitary chair, a table, or furniture of any kind. The
roof is low, and a damp close smell renders the atmosphere ex-
tremely offensive, As we leave, "Nelly" honours us with many
curtsies, and the landlady showers upon us many thanks andr
God-blessings.

Quitting this place, somewhere about one o'clock, we find
nothing of interest or of note in the appearance Of the streets.
Meeting with two functionaries belon^ng to the police, who
have business to perform in one of the most wicked and dan-
gerous ploses in the neighbourhood,

THE SALTMAEKET.

We are permitted to join them. Proceeding up a dilapidated stair,
a knock is made at one of the doors on the first " flat." After a
pause, it is opened by a woman of savage aspect, who leaves us with
a murmur upon her lips, as if acquainted with the cause of the visit.
The murmur gradually swells into a growl, and the expression
of fulsome oaths as the heads of six or eight of the inmates,
all women, are scanned by the oflicials. The room does little
more than hold them. On the left is a narrow slip of a bed,
sufScient for two persons. There is no one in it. One or two

A VISIT TO '' THE DENS." 93

of the women are sitting before a rather cheerful fire ; the rest
are leaning against the wall, and standing about in different pos-
tures. They seem to have been caught carousing, but this they
attempt to hide. Observing their feelings to be strongly excited,
we try the effect of a soothing word, when the house is made to
ring with a spontaneous burst of blasphemy. With a terror
which we never before felt in the presence of the " tender sex,"
we close the door, and proceed to the " flat" above. Again knock-
ing, we have instant admission. The room is well Ut by the clear
blaze of a cheerful fire. The apartment is full of the same class of
character as the place below, and our reception is alike waarm. They
are, however, differently employed. Out of nearly eight or ten of
the number, two are washing clothes, three are spread out upon
the floor asleep, the rest are seemingly engaged in merely looking
on, or waiting on the coming in of their comrades still out
on the streets, or enjoying the fumes of some low shebeen in
the neighbourhood. As we close the door, a volley of oaths
celebrates our departure. Several other places are visited of
a similar kind; but few of the women have returned to their
" homes." It is not until two in the morning, or later, when the
wildest of these wild creatm-esare to be seen domiciled to advantage.
Then, we are told, might be witnessed a whole lair of them
littered along the floor, as many as fifteen and twenty in
number, with not even rags or dirty straw to rest upon. The
impression left upon the mind of a visitant to these worst of low
places, is- analogous to approaching, the most ferocious of wild
beasts. The contour of their heads is unmistakeable, and the
fierce animal expression of their countenances still less so.
Every feature bears the impress of crime. When they quarrel,
which they frequently do among themselves, the scene is appall-
ing. We have seen them almost from the crown of their head
to the sole of their feet bathed in blood ; and when the com-
batants are dressed by the police surgeon, they remind one,

94 EEMAEKS ON THE GLASGOW POLICE.

by the circuitous lines of sticking plaster upon their faces, of the
poor tattooed New Zealander, to whom we send our missionaries !
It is past two o'clock ! And judging from the appearance of
the streets, no one would suppose that even such in-door scenes
as these we have attempted to describe are to be witnessed.
Yet this is nothing, not a thousandth part of the strange life
being led on this quiet night, and in this Christian city, at
this present hour. The New Vennel, at the top of High Street,
is yet to be explored, with its hundred dens of infamy, whose
occupants are plying their thievish and wicked vocations. Among
the wynds of the Trongate, Argyle Street, the GaUowgate, the Gal-
ton, the Gorbals, even extending to the suburbs of the city — ^hun-
dreds of these same dens, with their thousands of inmates — ^if now
looked in upon, would present scenes not to be imagined, far less
described. Riot, drunkenness, theft, and profligacy of every kind-
it may be murder itself — are the pastimes in which they are
engaged, and all on this very quiet night of the week, Friday 1
Yet how strange! The streets, despite all, are empty. It is

THE policeman's SABBATH

his night of rest! For aught that outwardly disturbs his medita-
tions, he might seat himself under some gas lamp, and by its kindly
rays peruse his Bible, con over his Catechism, or say his prayers, as
we have known some good policemen do, when not wanted for
more active duty. We confess, however, to no knowledge of such
good policemen in Glasgow. Some of them, we fear, are more
prayerfully solicitous of "a row," which they contrive to make, and
for "distinguished public services," secure promotion accordingly.
If innocence, as innocence will do, indignantly and earnestly re-
sent a wrong, whether on the streets, or at the bar of the lieuten-
ant, the charge at once is " aggravated" by being " drunk and disor-
derly !" We have seen such scenes in these rambles many times,
cruelties inflicted, and borne by poor sufferers, whose appeal for

EEMAEKS ON THE GLASGOW POLICE. 95

redress could not drown a policeman's oath, far less have the
power to reach the ear of public justice. Some there are, we
know, the reverse of all this, who feel themselves to be men as
well as policemen — conservators of public morals, as. well as the
protectors' of life and property. Woe betide them, however, if
to aU this be added, little stature ! They are doomed to patrol
these lone dark streets, it may be for life, night policemen ! —
unfit, whatever then- qualifications, to be seen in the light of
day in the streets, and squares of the city. " Promotion by
merit," in the force we understand means, " Promotion by sta-
ture!" We know not by whose authority this grenadier promo-
tion is enforced, but for the benefit of the little men, we will say,
that the dignitaries, whoever they be, cannot be the most observ-
ing. It is said of mm, as of com, that the longest straw has the
lightest head.

No. XI.
SATURDAY NIGHT.

Contents. — Half-holiday Excursionists — Scene at the Broomielaw — Appearance of
the Streets — Jack a-Shore — Deplorable Case of Brunkenneas— Scene at the
Central Police OfEice — Behavionr of the Police — Eich and Poor— After Eleven
o'clock~The Drinking Clubs-The Spy System-Sunday Moming-The Match Boy.

A WEEK of toil has all but ended ! "Oh, what a blessing!" say
a thousand happy faces that we meet. The merchant has deserted
his counting-house, and the mechanic his workshop ; the former
to join his family in some marine retreat ; the latter, with not
less happiness, to enjoy a short sail on the Clyde, a trip on the
railway, a game on the Green, or in such other way as fancy
prompts. Railway station, coach office, and steam-boat wharf,
alike are crowded with half-day excursionists. The Broomielaw,
in particular, is besieged. Warm greetings are every where ex-
changed with friends arrived, and anxious looks are turned towards
those expected. Anon, the picture is changed, and the waters that
but an hour ago were wrapped in the crimson mantle of the
setting sun are now over-shadowed by the sober twilight — the
precursor of evening. The boats, in rapid succession, arrive with
their precious freight ; and what with the smoke of funnels, the
long rows of spectators looking down from Glasgow Bridge, and
others lining the margin of the Wharf, the scene smacks a little of
the picturesque. Again the roar of steam, the shouting of sea-
men, and the wide- spread but subdued hum of many voices emanat-

MILK WOMAN AND THE POLICE. 97

ing from the dense multitude, render it one of unusual animation.
A few minutes more, and the thousands of excursionists are I6st,
as a drop in the ocean, in the busy throng of the streets.

What a life-book does the city unfold on this most notable night
of the week, Saturday! Everybody seems to have turned out to
look at everybody, and to do business with everybody. Eveti
€xcm'sionists, loud in their praises of half holidays, have joined in
the general persecution of young men stiU behind counters, at
iiesks, or in warehouses. All are sis busy as bees, as if they had
not another minute to live — or as if, in this pious land, every one
grudged God and himself the blessed Sabbath that follows. What
a " dead set " is made at workmen's wives, and workers generally,
as they lounge about the draper's door, or gaze up at his win-
tlow, with manifest discomfort at having money in their pockets!
Never did the fair sex appear more interesting, seems to say an
oily-faced old bachelor, as he pushes his nose into the bonnets of
pretty girls as they pass — telling them, with a confidential air, —
"The only piece left ma'm!" — "a sweet thing this ma'm!"^ —
" first of the season ma'm!"

Again a little way on, and we stand at a sort of "seven dials" in a
small way — the leading streets in every direction are open to tis.
The six feet eight-and-a-half policemen have, of course, long
since disappeared — the "little men" (Only little, however, by
contrast), who now fill their places, are making up in zeal for
what they want in statm*e. A poor woman is doling out, at
a comer of the street, mugfiils of milk to the drouthy cus-
tomers as they quit the public-house, or perhaps to drouthy ones
of a different class, who are desu:ous of instituting a healthy
opposition. Seeing every one in a bit of excitement, " Charley "
sees no reason why he should not get excited too, and he forth-
with breaks out upon the old woman and her customers, threaten-
ing to serve them as before, by giving the milk to the rats in the
sewerage below. "What is the matter?" we say to the old lady,

G

98 PUBLIC HOUSES — INDISCKIMTNATE LICENSING.

as she is moving off with her pitchers,—" Oh, its jist the nasty
pollice, they winna let me sell my milk!" "Well, it is a great
shame," we remstrk. " Ou aye, they think naething o' kickin' my
pitchers owre in the street, they've din't afore noo." "What may
you make a night by the retail of this?" we ask. "A shilling or
twa a nicht whiles," she replies; when, 'spite the "pollice," we hav&
a mugful of milk and depart. The din of the streets by. this time
has reached its climax, — dense masses of moving columns block
up every thoroughfare, and vendors innumerable line the margin
of the causeway, offering their wares at incredibly low prices, from
little dancing "Sepoys" up to ''sheets of paper and envelopes^
twelve a penny ! " Newspapers, penny ones especially, are.
literally given away, — "thank you, sir, to take 'em," says a black-
fisted little fellow, who finds a dull sale in the death of som&
Indian hero, just announced by telegraph. At length he changes
his " cry " to the new tale of the " Betrothed Sisters,'' or " Life
among the Mormons,'* and forthwith copies are asked and paid,
for.

THE PUBLIC HOUSE,

next to the house of God by far the most important institution
in the city, if we may judge from the encouragement it receives,.
is now reaping a " delightful harvest!" In almost every street,
almost every shop seems a public house, just as if the authorities
had licensed them all out of a gigantic pepper-boxj sending them
all broadcast over the city, in accordance with the popular adage,.
" the more the merrier." One can scarcely realise the enor-
mous number of these houses, with their flaring gas lights in
frosted globes, and brightly gilded spirit casks, lettered by the
number of gallons, under the cognomen of "Old Tom" or "Young
Tom," as the case may be, with the occasional mirror at the ex-
treme end of the shop, reflecting at once in fine perspective the
waters of a granite fountain fronting the door, and the entrance of
poor broken-dowa victims, who stand in pitiful burlesque in their

LORD KINNAIED AKD THE MACKENZIE ACT. 99

^irty rags, amid all this pomp and mocking grandeur! We have
often thought, as we have seen these mirrors, that they must be
the appropriate gifts of some benevolent institution, or Total
Abstinence Society, desirous of realising the sentiment of the poet,

*' Oh wud some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel's as ithers see us."

But this institution — ^the public house — is really deserving serious
attention ; and we wonder, that while it continues amongst us,
" time honoured" and " hallowed," no effort is made to put it
on a perfect equality with the church. Had every public house
a spire, no one can have any idea how far it would go to give
ornament to the city. It would then realise to the stranger its
ancient character, spoken of by local historians, as being " the
most beautiful city of the world," and, at the same time, pay a
graceful tribute to modem opinion of its present character, such
as that given by Mr. Kohl, the German traveller, who calls it
at once " the most religious and the most drunken city in Europe
or the world."

Signs now begin to manifest themselves of the approaching

EEIGN OF FOEBES MACKENZIE,

an act by the way to which " Forbes" has only a claim
analogous to that of the hedge-sparrow to the progeny of the
cuckoo, — so says Lord Kinnaird at least, who now admits to
having been the naughty cuckoo that dropped the egg, and
pushed his "bill" into "Forbes's" nest. As we stand at the
foot of Buchanan Street, and look east and west of the great
city, we do not know whether most to " bless the Duke of
Argyle" (no insinuation intended) for charming the citizens
into the creation of so magnificent a street as that which bears
Hs name, or the originator of the Act, calling " publicans and
sinners" to their "virtuous beds" at a timeons hour. If the
moving masses are now a little thinned, very certain it is, that a
few of them do not walk precisely in the same straight line as

100 MAEKETINGS AMONG THE POOR.

they were wont an hour ago. Here, one poor fellow from the
left wmg, approaches us somewhat obliquely. He now falls out
of the ranks,-^-his head a little drooping. At length he commits
it to the care of a shop-shutter, which he affectionately embraces.
Some way on, another " half-seas-over " is met, who retires into
the privacy of a back street, and, after sundry violent hiccupings,
he blames " the air" for the consequences. The tortuous wind-
ings of people — the numerous pipe and cigar lights, — ^with the
constant fiz-fizzing and noise — ^remind us of a monster squib
cutting its antics on a Queen's Birth Night ! All seem, young
and old, of both sexes, on the best terms with themselves, par-
ticularly an elderly gentleman who appears to be ignorant of
the virtues of hair- dye — ^that infallible remedy against old age
— as he holds a flirtation with a roM^'s-blooming girl of sixteen,
at the corner of the street. By this time, after eleven, " The
White Bait," " Davy Broons," and the higher classed saloons
are pouring forth their hundreds of devotees. They approach
with the swell of a fresh wave upon the bosom of old ocean,
when, by dispersion, they become beautifully less, until finally
lost in the general throng. Beaching

KIKG STBEET MARKET,

off Trongate, we are thrown an hour back in the night events
of the city. While the sanctified calm of Sabbath morning
all but pervades the squares and crescents of the rich, here
Saturday evening's carnival is only just at its height. As the
public house closes, the homes of the poor get filled. The
drunken husbands — or it may be, the overworked and indus-
trious ones — ^have just returned to their families, with the little
weekly pittance which is to replenish empty cupboards. It
is at this time that hungry iU-conditioned housewives venture
out to make their purchases. Hence the noise and turmoil I
— the great blaze of gas-light from the various shops, — the

CHEAP LITERATURE. 101

camphine lamps of costermongers, in long rows down the street,
now and again relieved by the modest rays of a " farthing
dip," shadowing forth the scaly brilliancy of stinking fish !

As we place our foot upon the threshold of this exciting scene,
we are pleased to see on the left a

NEWS SHOP,

■which also has become suddenly busy through the breaking up of
convivial parties. Customers are just looking in before retiring to
roost, for their weekly paper, local or metropolitan, to peruse on
the following day, in spare hours, or in place of sermon, as the
case may be. We are curious to note the tastes and intellectual
calibre of the locality. First, there is a pale faced little maid,
having handed to her a few sheets of note paper and envelopes —
a' purchase which tells its own tale. Then we have a push and a
scramble among customers to be first served. A clever little
woman, with a basket over her arm, gets Lloyd's Newspaper.
As she reaches the door, it is handed to her husband, a carter,
■who is anxiously waiting. Next we have the Family Herald,
the London Journal, and other penny papers going off by
the score, with an occasional demand for the local weeklies.
Upon the whole, the selection of literature in the locality is
gratifying. And though the mental clover thus obtained may
have in it at times the occasional rancorous weed, or prick-
ing thistle, such as a love story too pointedly told, or a
murder in which there may be unnecessary effusion of blood,
— the fact is not without interest that even such a demand
exists, and certainly ought not to be put _ down by the simple
denunciation of " irreligious and immoral literature." It is much
•with individuals as with nations, a taste for the beautiful and
the immaculate is only to be acquired by cultivation and the
growth of years.

Awaking, however, from this reverie, we find ourselves again

102 KING STUEET MARKET.

in what seems to be a continuation of "Paddy's Market," or "Ka^
Fair." As we turn our attention on other objects, a glance re-
veals to us a respectably dressed man, the worse of liquor, in the
centre of the street. Though oblivious of his whereabouts, like
a philosopher he is engaged in apparent contemplation touching
the mysteries of the city, while he physically perfoi-ms sundry
undulatory movements in this, to him, merry-go-round sort of
world. Half an hour afterwards, to our surprise, we iind him
drifted down to the western point of the Bridgegate, magnani-
mously offering his services to see home some one more sober than
himself. Before we have well "taken stock" of this worthy
citizen, we are saluted by a whole string of poor dirty little girls,
bare-headed and bare-footed, and dressed in all manner of ragged
and musty looking garments, desu-ous of selling us a "bowl-and-a-
half of onions for a bawbee!" These, again, are succeeded by an-
other batch, who line the margin of the pavement with "handfiils"
of cabbage and cauliflower, which throughout the evening have
undergone a score or two of refreshers under an adjacent pump.
Cheese, crockei-y, hard and'^soft ware of every kind, are all still
being pushed here by the various vendors with an energy and
strength of lung truly astonishing.

THE butchers' shops,

numerous and respectable, have points of special interest. A
score or more of singular looking people are standing about
the frontage, critically surveying the stock, as if their whole
domestic reputation depended on a purchase. An advance is now
made for closer examination, — every bit is carefully handled,
turned this way and that way, and all round about, — when an
offer is made for one of the numerous little bits either suspended
from the hook, or spread out upon a deal board at the window,
which transaction usually terminates with a little banter about " a
bane to the bargain " or " a bawbee aff," as the case may be. la

DESTITUTE MOTHER AND TWINS. 103

another class of shop, we have submitted for sale the little .bits of
broken meat, fresh or salt, bone and sinew, carefully collected to-
gether in a large basin, labelled "3d. per lb." But the customers
for this description of food are, at least to-night, extremely few;
-the majority of them seem to prefer a little savoury bit oiF the
rump of the ox, or some little tit-bit of the sheep, for the
Sunday dinner, leaving less tempting fare to the middle or end
of the week.

Well, this may or may not be all very interesting, and even
amusing; but while revelry bids fair to be in the ascendant, and
merchandise among the poor prosperous, there are yet some

NEEDY PEOPLE

here who move about in the merry throng, whose hearts and
homes are sadly desolate.- "We do not require to look for them;
they are on every side of us. Here a poor woman, with twins
in her arms, a few weeks old, is about to enter a victualler's
shop. Showing attention to one of the little ones who lies
at the mother's breast quietly surveying the scene, which in
after years, it may be called on to take a part — to sit behind
one of the little fruit baskets lining the street — or to sell the fish,
that may be illuminated by the " farthing dip "—the mother stops,
and with a pride natural to mothers, expresses by a smile her
satisfaction at being noticed. We are informed that she has no
less than "six other little children at home, all but destitute" —
the father, a labourer, having been some weeks ill m the infii-mary.
"Pmr woman!" says a dirty-looldng sympathising by-stander,
-who stops to hear her tale. "An' the wee lambs! " remarks an-
other, looking into the face of the first speaker, with big tears
starting into her eyes, and thereafter drops into the hand of the
mother a copper coin, and departs — ^perhaps the last she has got in
the blessed world — for these poor people have warm sympathismg
hearts. As the effort of pocketing the money disturbs one of the

104 THE THEATEES.

little cherubs — Irish ones by the way — some vocal music is struck
up, which is finally drowned by the overpowering opposition of the
mother, singing a national lullaby into the ear of the noisy little
stranger, whose life has thus so inauspiciously commenced with a
sick father and destitute mother. "I can never bear to hear the
cries of my poor chUder," she says. " 'Times when they cry, and
I've no bread to give them, I run out dkectly."

It is thus that Saturday night in King Street, just about this
hour, has oftentimes been a study of ours. If any gentleman has
ambition of "coining out" in low comedy, or even tragedy,
whether at the Eoyal or the Princess's, we would recommend him
to take some lessons here; they will only cost him, at most, the
sacrifice of an hour, and a copper or two, to prevent his being
made miserable for life, by not occasionally relieving the necessities
of the numerous poor that accost him. We have, in these
sketches, pm-posely avoided saying anything of our two good
theatres, for the simple reason that we hold them to be completely
eclipsed by the better acting to be found upon the streets, the
floor oi the Police Office, Paddy's Market, or any of the " Eag
Fairs " to be found in out-of-the-way haunts of the city.

No. XII.
SATURDAY NIGHT.

(Continued.)

Contents: — Scene in the Police Office — Street Prowlers — ^A Policeman's Duties —
Centralising tendency of Police Management — Jack Ashore — ^The Match Boy —
Sickness and Death amongst the Poor — ^Awful Destitution — ^Visit to the Bush and
Tontine Closes at Two o'clock in the Morning — ^Description of the Dens — Com-
parative Comfort of Professed Thieves and the Honest Poor— Cozy Comfort and
Lamentahle Destitution — Opinion of an English Authority on Glasgow Demoral-
isation.

It is now only a little before the hour of twelve, when our
attention is taken up with the sight of two policemen emerg-
ing from one of the wynds. These officials are driving a long
naiTOw wheel-barrow belonging to the office ; and as it is jol-
tillgly hurled over the causewayed streets of the city, we find,
on a glance, that it contains a man and a woman — the one
lying by the side of the other in pitiful helplessness, dead
drunk. Uncertain, indeed, whether they are dead or alive,
we hasten our steps to the Central Office, whither these poor
wretches are being taken. Arriving at the station some few
minutes after them, we find there a numerous and motley con-
gregation of the poor and the vicious — ^men, women, and children
— women with scarred faces and dishevelled hair ; men in violent
altercation with policemen. A babel of noises fills the room, better
representing a den of devils than a house of correction. It is
difficult to know, in such a company, where the unhappy pair
we had just seen could be laid. On inquiry, we are told by a

106 SCENE IN THE GALLOWGATE.

policeman, more officious than polite, to look at our feet. There,
unheeded, and all hut trampled upon, lie the bodies of th^e
poor creatures. The man, evidently of the lowest class, is
motionless, his face turned upwards, partially revealing his glazed
and sunken eyes. Beside him is the woman — a wife — per-
haps a mother — even more drunk than the man. Her thin
dirty rags scarcely cover her nakedness; her face can with
diflSculty be seen, being shrouded by clots of dirty brown hair.
In a few minutes more the pair are seized by the heels, and the
head and shoulders, dragging along the floor of the office, they
are placed for the night in then- respective cells.

Quitting this place, "a terror to evil doers," if not also to
" them that do well," we continue our saunterings along the
Trongate. Eeaching the top of the GaUowgate, close to the
High Street, while the handle of the clock is pointing to " the wee
short hour ayont the twaV," we are attracted to a spot where
is riot and " confusion worse confounded." Some thirty or
forty street prowlers, inebriate men and low prostitutes, are col-
lected round two policemen, and a miserable woman, of middle
age, the drunken heroine of the company. Just as we approach,
a hasty break is made in the group, when the latter is torn from
the crowd by the officers. Following them and a dozen more,
with curious eye, into a nan-ow close in the GaUowgate, this
victim of official wrath is violently pushed, apparently on the
way to her domicile, the roughest of the two officers exclaim-
ing — "Begone, or I'll knock your brains out!" — an inhumanity
which almost provokes us to revolt. Vice, drunkenness, and
crime in their worst phases, these policemen ought to be taught,
are all more or less a species of insanity truly to be mourned
over and pitied. But verily the poor, because of their necessities,
publish their sins in the streets, while their richer neighbours,
often tunes not less vicious, though less odious, are able to screen
their iniquities from the world ! We have, however, no sympathy

THE POLICE. 107

with the vulgar hatred of the police. In many cases, we are
aware,

A policeman's duties

are difficult and arduous, being brought constantly into dangerous
personal collision ■with the worst classes of society. Suspicion,
distrust, and|promptitude, form his principal stock-in-trade, qualities,
•when thus associated, by no means the most agreeable to those with
"whom they are brought into contact. To expect at all times, there-
fore, a discreet exercise of these, by persons whose education for
the most part has been neglected, is simply unreasonable. The
■Glasgow police establishment, upon the whole, under the able
and gentlemanly superintendence of Captain Smart, we believe
•(V'ill bear comparison in all respects with that of any other city
in the empire, either in the efficiency of its officers, or in the general
management of its affairs, despite the repeated faults and wrong-
doings difficult to be avoided in the exercise of authority by so
large a number of individuals. That the police force, however,
throughout the country generally, has of late y6ars been assum-
ing more a military than a civil power, is painfully observable.
Its members are every day becoming more separate from the
people, and their sympathies alienated. We confess to no admi-
ration of such a tendency of events. On the contrary, a higher
moral sentiment would suggest a closer union, and a deeper sym-
pathy ; and instead of the baton or the sword, to break the heads
of morally iiisane unfortunates, we would suggest the substitution
<of snch a Christian weapon as society expects to be used in the
home of the lunatic. For this purpose, the policeman ought to
Lave a degree of moral training, endued with a certain knowledge
of human nature, and sympathy with the world's wi-ongs and
failings. He ought not simply to be a machine, 6 feet by 2, for
frightening, crushing, or dragging out of the moral cess-pools of
society the madly depraved and criminal — not simply to detect
crime, but to aid in curing and preventing it — an auxDiary having

108 THE MATCH EOT.

a relation to the civil magistrate as important, "and as intimate^
as that of the mirse to the doctor. It is matter, indeed, of com-
mon and just remark, that nearly the whole of onr treatment of
crime in its eavly manifestations especially, has simply a reference
to physical " pains and penalties," a punishment, or process of
hardening, by which the culprit is enabled to cultivate a stronger
and deeper antagonism to the sacred rights of society, as well as-
to justice, and to those who administer it.

Amid such reflections as the foregoing, we retrace our steps.
Here and there, at a close-mouth, in dirty rags, stand in trembling-
eamestnesSj'poor women, lost to life and to virtue ; again, at
long intervals, is a drunken group of men — husbands, per-
haps, and fathers — ^whose return home, it may be to a home-
less hearth, is earnestly prayed for. The rakes are discussing the
merits of the several drinking clubs. The preference is decided
by pitch and toss ; and, amid maniacal jeers and laughter, th&
whole party betake themselves to a close on the opposite sid&
of the street, into the mouth of which they suddenly disappear.
Just at this moment a jolly son of Neptune crosses our path ; pro-
bably his first night on terra ftrma, after a long voyage. He is-
hailed by different groups of these poor girls, whose sins, it may
be, rest lightly upon pillowed heads. After a little parleying^
with one and the other. Jack is at last led captive "by the
freedom of his own sweet will," and like those who have gone
before, after a brief flutter upon the midnight stage, he passes
away, and our attention is taken up with a subject of a very-
different, kind.

THE MATCH BOT.

Before us (a considerable distance west), stands a poor bare-
headed, barefooted boy — his noble brow overhanging a face wildly
mixed with vice and intelligence. His clothes are in tatters,
and his waistcoat, kept together with diflSculty by three unequsdly-
yoked buttons, hides his dirty little shirt. He implores us to

TALE OF THE MATCH BOY. 109

■" buy a bawbee worth o' matches." Curious to know his brief
but apparently chequered history, we take him aside, when the
following colloquy takes place: —

" Well, my poor boy, what keeps you out so late as this ?" —

" To sell my matches, sir."

" What is your name ?" — " Johnny ."

"How old are you?" — "Don't know, but guess I'm seven
■or eight."

" Is your father alive ?" — " No, he's dead, is Paddy ."

" Is your mother alive ?" — " Yes ; but she's owre aiild to dae
■onything."

" How many brothers and sisters have you ?" — " I've twa
brithers and a sister."

" What does your eldest brother do ?" — " He gets anld papers
^nd sells them."

" What does your other brother do ?" — " He sits in the hoose
wi' my mither; he's wee'r than me."

" And what does your sister do ?" — " She sells sticks."

" What is your mother's religion ?" — " She's a Catholic."

" Does the priest not give you any money ?" — " No ; he axes
if we're a' weel ; my mither says yes ; then he bids us guid mor-
Bin', and walks oot again.''

"Then how is your mother supported?" — " By us gaun oot."

" What do you do going out?" — (shows a farthing) — " Gets a
hox o' matches — sells it for a bawbee — and gangs on until I
mak' thrippence."

" And when you get threepence, what do you do ?" — " I gang
lame wi't."

"Have you got that yet?"— "No."

" When do you expect it?" — " In a wee: I manna gang '
hame until I get it, for we daurna sell the mom."

" What do you earn generally a-week ?" — " Three shillings
-a-week."

110

TALE OF THE MATCH EOT.

" How many of you live together ?" — '' Five ; we a' live th&-
gither."

" How many rooms or apartments have yon ?" — " One."

" Where do you live ?" — " Near Street."

" Does the Protestant minister ever call upon you ?" — " No."

"Never?" — " Yes, ten months ago."

"What did he do when he called?" — " He left us tickets."

" Tickets for coals, or for soup ?" — " Tickets to read."

" Tracts, you mean ?" — " Yes, tracts."

" What were the tracts about ?" — " We didna ken ; nane o*
us could read them."

" Are any of you ever sick?" — " Yes ; when my faither was-
sick, we a' took sick."

" What was the matter with huu ?" — " The sma'-pox. He
never had them when he was wee."

" How did you all sleep iu one room when he, was iU — did you
sleep with him ?" — " No ; some o' us stood up."

"Did you never get to bed ?" — " Yes, at four in the mornin'."

" Then did you sleep with your father ?" — " Yes ; we took
turn aboot o' the bed."

" Were any of you in bed with him when he died ?" — " No,
naebody at a'."

" How did you sleep then ?" — " Didna sleep at a' that nicht."

" How did you sleep next night ?" — " We stood up that nicht
baith. We had to wait to get a coffin."

" Did you get to bed when you got a coffin ?" — " Yes, whea
we lifted the body oot."

" Did the parish at that time not allow you anything?" — "Yes,
we got something aff the toon-hoose."

" Do you get it constantly ?" — " Yes, my mither gets 2s. a-
month."

We need hardly say that, after the recital of so painful a tale,
it was a special pleasure to relieve the moderate necessities of this

VISIT TO THE DEKS. lit

poor city Arab. Oh that a John Pounds could only have seen
him, and secured hun ! — who knows what an ornament he might
then have proved to society. We engaged him for the following
Monday at a photographer's, and he now stands before us, poor
boy, with one hand hid among his torn garments, while with the
other he holds his matches. A second engagement, with a view
to connection with a ragged school, was by accident unfortunately
fi-ustrated. The result is, the poor match-boy still runs wild
about the city. A duplicate of his photograph being presented
to him for his mother, we asked him the same day her opinion,
when he said — "She thought it owre true" — and well she might;
for, as the benevolent founder of Ragged Schools would certainly
have said, he was the " worst of little blackguards!" ^

TWO o'clock !

and we visit the Bush and Tontine Closes, almost entirely inhabited
by the lowest thieves and prostitutes. We are accompanied by a
party whose acquaintance with the haunts and their inmates gains
us ready admission. These closes, or lanes, are scarcely more
than four or five feet wide. Overhead are lofty old houses ap-
proached by du-ty dilapidated stairs. Each " flat" or storey is, in
many cases, let by the proprietor to some neighbouring tenant; it
may be a publican or a pawnbroker, who again lets out the apart-
ments in single or double rooms, to some old brothel-keeper, or
harbourer of thieves. In the Bush close, the first we now enter,
a few low repulsive-looking women are loitering about the bottom
of a stair — ^like so many carnivorous animals watching for their
prey. Our guide is at once recognised, and asked if he's " gaun
doon." In compliance, we proceed to the cellar below, (to which
we are invited) by a damp, earthy-smelling old stair, dark as the
grave, and celebrated, we are informed in professional language,
for "many a good skin," or robbery. As the door is opened, we
find the apartment cheerfully lit, and a bright clear fire burning in

112 VISIT TO THE DENS.

the grate. Despite the low roof, and close unwholesome smell of
the place', there are yet evidences of external comfort, compared to
that shared by the ordinary poor. On the left are four young
women in one bed — stewing rather than sleeping, so closely and
compactly are they lying. Opposite, sitting on chairs, are two young
men, with a demeanour somewhat sullen and reserved; their low
brows, monkey-looMng heads and faces, are sufficiently indicative
of the nature of their pursuits. Near to the fire are two other
women of repulsive aspect, sitting as if wearying for the return
of their companions from the street. On the right is a poor little
infant sleeping in one large bed by itself It is resting npon
its head and ffeet, with its little fundament sticking up and
exposed — an infantile feat which contributes greatly to the amuse-
ment of the company. During the few minutes we are present,
nothing but thievish slang and obscenity escapes then: lips-
Leaving this formidable gathering, we are permitted the use of
a candle to inspect a;djacent rooms in a passage on the same
ground floor ; but they are totally empty, and present a cold,
damp, desolate appearance, reminding ns of a visit to the dun-
geons of old castles, or subterranean caverns which we have
before now explored for organic remains. A few more days, or
weeks, or months, and, in all probability, by unsuccessful .crime,
— 'a " good skin,^' an assault, or a murder — ^will leave the apart-
ment we have just left, now so full of cozy warmth, desolate
as that we now describe. Such is the chequered and uncer-
tain life of these poor creatures — ^whence they come, and whither
they go, little is known. Destitute of character, there is nought
else they can do but steal ; yet, doubtless, a gi-eat majority of
the girls were at one time in respectable service; they have
come from Ireland, the Highlands, or perhaps belong to the
city. For some fault, trifling it may be, they have lost their
place — are stai-ving, and are driven to the street; until at last,
after passing through the various gradations of a life of theft and

* VISIT TO THE TONTINE CLOSE. 113

prostitution, they are found here, from the depths of which they
cannot rise. Disease and death finally overtake them, aiad like
tens of thousands that have gone before, they pass away into for-
gotten graves.

Extending our visit to a dozen or more houses, nearly all
single rooms, the effect is saddening to witness. As we enter, four
or five, and sometimes six or eight poor wretches, in straight
lines, lie 'stretched upon the floor — ^for by this time almost all of
them have come in from the streets. In many cases, the: men are
in a state of perfect nudity, Ijdng upon straw. " Any more up
stairs?" asks our companion in one case. "No; there's naebody
in this land, but oursel's," says an old crone in the trade, as we
are about to leave. "What is the meaning of that?" we inquire
at our guide — " is there nobody up the stair at all ? " " Oh,
yes ; " is the reply, " but she means there are no other thieves in
the stair but themselves."

Quitting the Bush, we enter the Tontine close, reputed the most
dangerous of any in the city. Nearly every stone of the narrow
pavement on which we tread is stained with blood, and the black
walls on either side of us silent witnesses to unrecorded crime.
In the great majority of the places visited, access is as easy as if it
were six or eight in the evening ; the candle is lit, and the fire
blazing ; here groups of wild-looking creatures are collected about
the hearth, or stretched in fours and sixes upon the floor, some
pale, thin, and emaciated, others fat, bloated, and con-upt with
drink and disease, all huddled together in the same small apart-
ment. Many of those awake are holding animated conversation,
indulging in the low jest and the merry laugh j but few, if any,
seem the worse of liquor, or engaged in dispute or quarrel of any
kind. One or two are reading. On looking over the shoulder
of one of them, rather a tiim smart looking girl, we find the
book to concern a " Mysterious Marriage !" In this close, as in
the former, a few of the rooms are deseited, which on being

H

114 DESCEIPTION OF HOUSES IN THE TONTINE CLOSE. ♦

examined by the faint light of a match or candle, or as in some
cases, by the grey light of the morning, fancy conjures up to view
the strange unhappy people by whom they were inhabited, and
the tales of misery and crime never to be revealed to human ear.
There are many points of sorrowful interest in the lives of these
unfortunate people. Here at the top of the close at present visited,
is a middle-aged woman and her two infants; the husband has been
twice banished ; and she now earns her livelihood by harbouring
thieves and prostitutes. There, in a neighbouring tenement,
through a long narrow passage, every room is deserted but one,
— and that one we do not require to open — ^the door has no lock
or fixture of any kind — it is inhabited by two old miserable
people in a state of indescribable destitution. The face of the
woman is thin, dirty, and deeply wrinkled with age. That of
the man is concealed. They are lying upon the floor, covered
by a few old rags of carpet or matting. From the narrowness of
the room, their feet almost touch the fire place. There is no
grate, but simply a few bricks or stones built up, and wijhin
these are the ashes of coals or sticks. The room, like the others,
had evidently been deserted, and only now temporarily occupied
by the present inmates. There is no furniture, except we
reckon as such an old brown jar for holding water, and one or
two little dirty cloths. All over the floor are bricks and stones,
and pieces of broken lath and plaster — ^presenting what it really
is, a scene of unusual destitution. As we retire, we show a desire
to shut the door, when we are good-humouredly told "never to fash,
for there's naething to steal!" — a sentiment in which we painfully
concur. In these visits nothing is so striking as the difference
already mentioned between the houses of the poor and the profes-
sional thieves and prostitutes. Those of the two latter generally
present a certain "roughness" of means, and domestic comfort,
with cozy firesides, and in some cases smiling and rosy faces, by
UQ means discreditable to their hazardous and precarious calling.

OPINION OF GLASGOW TWENTY TEAKS AGO. 115

With th^se visits end our Week of Nights in thei Streets,
Wynds, and Dens of the City. The impression produced on the
mind by such scenes cannot be better expressed than in the lan-
guage of one,* who nearly twenty years ago, after having visited
the worst haunts of almost every city in continental Europe,
witnessed the same vice, crime, and destitution in Glasgow. He
thus expresses himself regarding them : —

" I thonght of the corn-laws, and the sympathy for West Indian slaves,
and Polish patriots, and heathen errors, and the refined feeling which teaches
English religion to shun the pollution of a regard for prostitutes. We may
samaritanize all respectahle sinners, and christianize infidels, and shed the
softest tears of pious compassion over the frailties of patrician adulteresses,
— and all this in perfect accordance with orthodox Christianity; but the
very idea of common low-lifed prostitutes, — the mere mention of the duty
of extending a hand to uplift irom a worse than Juggernaut destruction, the
millions of our fellow country-women, who are immolated, soul and body, in
the centres of civilization — most of them helplessly immolated — ^is a solecism
in the morality of the respectable world, which very few Christians have the
courage to commit. The number of women who perish by prostitution in
this country exceeds that of any other country in the whole world, by at
least three to one in proportion to the population. It is a flagrant stigma on
the Legislature, that it has neither the courage nor the Christianity to take
up this matter, and devise a national resource for these persons. ....
No pains seemed to be taken to purge this Augean pandemonium. The
clergy visit it, if at all, during the day, when three-fourths of the inhabi-
tants are prowling about the streets or suburbs. Many of the houses are
condemned by the Court of Guild, as dilapidated; and remain standing
there nevertheless. These are always the most inhabited, for where they
are condemned, no rent can be enforced. Hogarth conceived nothing which
exceeds the picture the whisky and pawn shops exhibit late on a Saturday
night. I have dwelt on this revolting picture somewhat longer than 1 other-
wise should, because a very extensive inspection of the lowest districts of
other places, both here and on the Continent, never presented anything one-
half so bad, either in intensity of pestilence, physical and moral, or in extent
proportioned to population."

* J. C. Sjmone, Esq., author of "Arts and Artizans at Home and Abroad."

SOCIAL EVILS:

THEIR CAUSES AND REMEDIES.

Thomas CaeIiTLE somewhere says, in treating of a question ana-
logous in interest to the present, " Innumerable things our upper
classes and lawgivers might do; but the preliminary of all things,
we must repeat, is to know that a thing must needs be done."
There are few persons who will have perused these sketches,
who will altogether desiderate the settlement of this preliminarj"-
question. For a great many years, there is no denying that Glas-
gow has earned for itself a most unenviable notoriety through the
social degradation of a large class of its laboming population. How-
far this alleged pre-eminence may be justly attributed to her, is
not now the subject of our inquiry. And supposing it to be true,
that the same things may be witnessed in, and said of, any other
city in the empire, it neither makes Glasgow any better, nor such
other places any worse for this being said. The question ought
not to be viewed from its simple relation to particular cities, but
in its broader aspect as affecting human interests. A considera-
tion of it in any other light would be unworthy serious attention.
That social evil exists in Glasgow to a most sorrowful extent,
is only too apparent to the most common observer who walks
our streets, and truly horrifying it is to him who would take
the trouble of descending into the lower depths of society, who
■would visit, whether by night or by day, the dens of the vicious,
or the pestiferous dwellings of the poor. Statistics however
■exact, and description however vivid, can give no idea of the

CAUSES AND iSEMEDIES. 117

deplorable condition in -wh^ch these classes are placed. "We are
sure that the Christian community of Glasgow are comparatively
ignorant of the physical and moral destitution of their feUow-
creatures, and as a class for liberal benevolence, they will stand
most honourable comparison with any other city. Could the
frequenters of our churches, either as citizens, or as church
members, make it their sacred duty, on the most sacred day of
the week. Sabbath — we care not whether it be done in the sun-
shine of summer or in the cold of winter — to visit in convenient
numbers, for two brief hours, the haunts of vice, and the "homes"
of the poor, they would return to the house of God with minds
more deeply impressed with the sacredness of life's responsibilities
as Christians, and to their homes of luxurious comfort with deeper
thankfulness than ever would have been produced by listening to
prayers however sincere, and sermons however eloquent and im-
pressive. We can imagine a very acceptable worship rising from
the heart to God, in a care for His creatures, either in the den of
the criminal, or in the abode of the wretched, equally with that
which may proceed from congregations met in magnificent temples,
whose praise ascends to the ear of heaven by the same breath with
which the poor pour forth their mental lamentations.

To realise aright a human, not to say a Christian sympathy,
is to witness, with one's own eye, the sickening homes of the
poor. Either these neglected people are our fellow-creatures,
" the children of God " in reality, alike with ourselves, or they
are not. If they are, then all simpering sympathy," and mere lip-
profession of love for them is a mockery. An earnest practical
effort to elevate them needs to be made. And, at the very
outset of this inquuy, we are met by the questions most diffi-
cult to determine. By what is all this demoralisation caused ?
And how is it to be remedied ? We axe aware that this opens
up a very wide field of thought; and, as it is simply impos-
sible to go into the whole minijtise of the subject, we shall satisfy

lis INTEMPERANCE.

ourselves by briefly advei-ting to two or three leading points of
undoubted interest, as affecting the condition of these classes.

I. — Intempeeance.

Respecting the cause of social evils, we are accustomed to
have the whole attributed to the one great sin of the age, Intem-
perance. We at once admit it to be the most flagrant of our
common vices-^a scourge which may well awaken the interest of
every true patriot and Chl^istian. Too much praise, indeed, can-
not be awarded to the present self-denying efforts of social re-
formers. Too much encouragement cannot be shewn to legislative
or municipal effort of any kind to suppress it. Drunkenness is
emphatically the crying sin of these times, as, indeed, it seems to
have been, in Great Britain, the crying sin of all times, requiring
the constant interference and control Of kings and governments.
To deny in the face of overwhelming authority, that intemperance
is not a cause of this depravity, would be simply absurd. We
admit it, however, only to be the most active of all secondaiy
causes. Properly to understand the moral distempers of the age,
we must deal with primary causes — the cause of intemperance
itself to begin with. To a consideration of the evil of dram-
drinking, there may also be added, the still more pernicious and
deadly habit of using opium as a narcotic, in an adulterated form,
— ^the one unfortunately gaining ground among the working classes,
as the other is losing it. We are credibly informed — and it is a
point well deserving the attention of temperance societies especially,
that the druggist's shop is wont to be frequented by numbers of
artizans going to their work, just as regularly as were the spirit
shops previous to the operation of Forbes Mackenzie's Act.
The practice, however, we admit, is of long standing, but we are
assured that it has now assumed a much more aggravated form.
In the lower districts of the city, there is hardly a chemist, we
believe, who will not bear out this statement ; and what renders

INTEMPEEANCE. 119

it stifl more appalling, is, that the effects of these drugs, while
they are more exciting and less expensive, are infinitely more
liartfal and demoralising.

The cause of intemperance involves a view of the case at
once 80 wide and moltifarions, that we can do little more than
suggest a greater importance being attached to it than is usually
done. In a perfectly natural state, we are satisfied, man would
neither require nor resort to other beverages than those pro-
vided by nature. Of this we have at least some instances
among the aborigines of North America and New Zealand. In
speaking of the latter country, it is well known that Eppis, in
his life of Captain Cook, states — " one circumstance peculiarly
worthy of notice is the perfect and nninterrapted health of the
inhabitants of New Zealand." " Water, as far as our navigators
could discover, is the universal and only liquor of the New Zea-
landers." By a connection with European nations, however, we
know what change has since been produced among the natives of
both countries. The appetite for intoxicating drinks is obviously,
then, not natural. In the healthiest state of animal existence,
nothing was known of them, or if so, not used — ^yet aged men
were cheerful and vivacious as the young, who were full of mus-
cular strength and vigour. How different the condition of our own
people, the working classes at home, among whom intemperance
is supposed most to prevail! One great cause, we believe, will be
found in their defective knowledge of the laws that regulate health,
and their general existence as rational beings. The whole of the
external circumstances of society are against them. The capitalist,
in his haste to make rich, demands from them longer hours of
labour than are either needful for the respectable subsistence of
their famUies, or for the requirements of society generally, in these
days of increased production by machinery. From a niggardly
parsimony, again, workmen have nearlyall the complaint of the poor
tailor who is consigned to a pit, exposed to the fever-exhalations

120 JNTEMPERANCE.

of sewers, or a low roof, or a crowded workshop, which subject
them to the exhausting effect of a vitiated atmosphere. How it
is possible for the human frame to be supported amid all this,
without having recourse to artificial stimulante, we cannot see.
The whole procedure is an infraction of the laws of nature to which
the savage is not exposed. The evil, it will be seen, from this view
of the question, points greatly beyond the effect — ^intemperance.
WhHe we, therefore, confess that we are not quite satisfied with
the ultimate efficacy of a coercive Maine Law, or with the argument
that the mere itse of an intoxicating beverage is in itself the super-
inducing cause of intemperance, still there would yet appear to be
a great degree of truth in the opinion, both as it is illustrated in
the case of the North American Indians, also in its operation
amongst ourselves, and in the simple fact, that " strong drink,
seldom satisfies the natural appetite, but has a tendency to create
an unnatural craving." "A man who resorts to the pump to
quench his thirst," says an able writer in the Meliora, a new
review of social science —

"Is not thereby impelled to revisit the pump at the earliest opportunity;
but it is the peculiar characteristic of the public-house to exercise this fas-
cination. The use of the drink is the exciting cause of the appetite for
drink. The cause of the mischief is objective — external to the man; not
subjective — ^within the man. Drunkenness is not a part of our natural sen-
suality or depravity, but a physical and moral state superinduced on these
by the use of a physical agent. Let the appetite be created and excited by
the presence of the objective temptation, and no refinement of education, or
charms of wealth, or power of religious training, presents a barrier strong
enough to resist its ungovernable fury. We do not say, that this is, in
every case, the result of a use of strong drink, but it is its universal tendencu. ,
Absolute safety for the individual can be found, therefore, only in absolute
abstinence from that -which does, in an awful number of instances, produce
the drink appetite, and mm/ do so in any one. Sound legislation with regard
to intemperance must be based on a recognition of this truth. The peculiarity
of the article sold infects the trade in it. The mischief which confessedly
attends the public house is not merely accidental, but essential and universall
The laws we have been considering were inoperative because they regulated

INTEMPERANCE. 121

only Uie oircnmstances undenvhich the trade was to te carried on; the
mischief did not lie in these, but in the trade itself; in the very article
traded in."

There are few persons engaged in the active business of the
■world, who have perused these remarks, whose experience cannot
bring to recollection instances of many individuals known to them,
who only periodically, by the week, fortnight, month or quarter,
resort to the intemperate use of intoxicating drinks. They have
what is vulgarly termed their "fly," or " blow out," as the phrase
may be, and they are satisfied. During the intervening period,
they as religiously abstain from intoxicating drink, even . amid
great temptation, as, after the given revolution of time, they obstin-
ately return to its abuse. Here, then, is a phenomenon, apparently
anticipated by the writer before quoted, difficult of explanation if the
foregoing theory be nothing more than generally Correct. The
solution given, we can understand more easily as it relates to the
habitual drunkard, who becomes the victim of a continuous
thirst. For argument's sake, then, let us dispose of the latter
case in this way, the question remains — How are we to account
for the fits and vagaries of the periodical and occasional di-unkard ?
It would be uncharitable, too, to deny that a large number of the
population indulge in a very moderate use of these stimulating
beverages — their glass of wine, or glass of porter per day — and
never in thousands of instances, from year to year, do they exceed
their prescribed quantity. In their case, if a natural craving is
induced by the di-ink for more, it is very certain that the appetite
is not satisfied but restrained. It would thus appear, that the
broad questions are — shall the circumstances and conditions of
society be so improved by the cultivation of the individual, as to
induce moral restraint; or, shall those narcotics be banished from
the land, by a forcible enactment? The former experiment, there
need be little doubt, we think, is the true and correct one, being -
a guarantee not only against intemperate drinking, but its kindred

122 THE CLOSES AND WYNDS.

indulgences. While the one, however, involves the work (rf ages,
experience proves, that with our present civilisation, prohibition
is attended with immediate benefit. History, again, shows that
while statutes of a mere tinkering nature invariably failed in their
desired results, yet during a year of famine, 1760, when distilla-
iton was entirely proMbited, a better success followed. And
Smollet, in his time, testified to the marked improvement in the
social condition of the people. Very certain it is, then, that one
or other of these alternatives is imperative. No man who is not
utterly selfish and depraved, can possibly take up a position of
either neutrality or indifference.

II. — The Closes and "Wtnds.

The closes and wynds — ^the damp cellars and fever nurseries
of the poor, falsely called " homes," have been pointedly spoken
of and described in these sketches. The presence of such
places in the centre of princely wealth, suiTounded by monu-
ments of aft, and all the elements of outward civilization, is a libel
upon the city, and upon her high professions of Christianity
in particular. The total ignorance of the unhappy occupants
respecting everything like organic law, which requires for the pre-
servation of health, pure air, light, and cleanliness, precludes
the possibility of their ever being able to exercise the slightest
control over the unfavourable circumstances in which they are
placed. Hence the almost constant presence of disease in these
wretched localities. Hence the inordinate number of public
houses in these afflicted neighbourhoods. Morally and phy-
sically prostrated by an open antagonism to all that is morally
and physically healthful, these poor creatures become the easy prey
of intemperance and every description of vice. Those persons have
studied the condition of the destitute to little purpose who
do not deeply sympathise with them in their painful privations,
even though such be the natural fruits of their own profligacy and

THE CLOSES AND WTNDS. 193

•wrong-doing. With what conscience (amid the snares of the
street — the " licensed" temptations everywhere, to which the
neglected poor and the vicious are exposed) our magistrates can
pronounce their sentence of fine or " thirty days," is to us,
in the absence of all effort to educate, most inexplicable.

Singularly unfavourable to health as these "closes" are, the only
■wonder is that a higher mortality does not obtain in the city than
€ven that recorded by Dr. Strang. In 1857, while that gentle-
man admits the infantile mortality to be unusually high — ^54 per
cent, of the whole deaths— he shows that among the adult popu-
lation, mortality is " considerably below London and many of the
large towns in England, the figures being — London, 1.56 per
«ent. ; Birmingham, 1.50 per cent. ; Manchester, 1.83 per cent. ;
Liverpool, 1.76 per cent. ; Glasgow, only 1.41 per cent." In a
previous report, however, it is well known that the Doctor states,
" there is a marked diversity between the vitality and the mor-
tality of one quarter of the city and that of another, for while he
finds that the deaths in the Central and High Church districts, two
of the very worst, are as 1 in 29.4, the mortality in Blythswofld
•district, the best and most fashionable, is only 1 in 59.3."

It is maintained by a number of very intelligent persons, that
the demolition of these wretched abodes of the poor would be
attended with no beneficial effect — that, with the present habits
of the occupants, new and improved dwellings would soon pre-
sent the aspect of the old ones. This opinion, we think, is con-
trary to the experience of the world. The mere fact of the
people being exposed to more light and purer air would, in spite
of their old habits, better their moral and physical condition.
Accustom the poor to better houses, and a more comfortable
existence, and, like the world in general, there will follow an
effort to keep and maintain these advantages. By this process
alone has civilisation advanced. To these miserable homes,

124 THE lEISH IN GLASGOW.

therefore, do we attribute much of the disease and destitution so
prevalent in these lower districts.

III. — The Irish in Glasgow.

We are not of the class who would attribute all the vice and
demoralization to the poor Irish, who have, in numerous cases,,
found in this city a convenient asylum fi-om the greater
want and beggaiy of their own country; but to this source
must he traced, in common justice, a certain, if not a large
portion of the extreme poverty witnessed in Glasgow. And
here, again, the British legislature, as well as the British
people, have themselves to blame. Between 1811 and 1836,
Glasgow doubled its population in less than twenty years, an
evidence, it was urged, of the great prosperity of the western
capital; but instead of being a symptom of health, it was well
known by intelligent observers, to be in a great measure caused
by a continuance of that flow of immigrants, set in from Ireland
and the Highlands, through the cool neglect of both peoples-
by the British Government. The landed aristocracy were per-
mitted, just as now, to effect clearings — systematically starve,
and punish by tyranny, a peasantry with a right equal with their
own to live by the soil. But the sequel has proved to us and
our Government, and especially to the inhabitants of this city,
that wrong cannot be perpetrated with impunity. The law of
God, in his natural government of the world, is made here most
manifest above the short-sighted laws of man. That noble
woman, Mrs. Johnstone, in her " True Tales of the Irish Pea-
santry," proved the insanity of the proceeding in what she wrote-
many years ago: —

"Fifty or more years since, when those cruel clearings in the north west
of Irelandfirst began, and when stray families of the ejected farmers, 'kindly
nurtured and respectably reared,' first told the English and Scots the tal&
of their unmerited misfortunes, when as yet, there was little political and
almost no agrarian outrage — then was the time for Britain to have lifted up

THE IKISH IN GLASGOW. 125

Tier voice, and demanded that justice for the poor of Ireland which would
have saved our complaining agriculturists and labourers now. ....
Until the starving labourers and their families came over in such shoals as
threatened to make the little lean morsel of our own poor leaner and less,
there certainly existed a very kindly feeling towards the Irish over all the
west highlands and western lowland counties of Scotland. When the farmers,
driven from the absentee properties, first came over in small bands, looking
for employment at any rate of remuneration, while their wives and little
children were begging and singing in our streets their beautiful national
lament —

'Green were the fields where my forefathers dwelt, !

Erin ma voumeen, Erin go bragh !
Though our farm it was small, yet some comfort we felt, !

Erin ma vourneen, Erin go bragh!
But at last came the day when our lease did expire,

And I fain would have dwelt where before dwelt my sire,' &c.

then was the time for the British legislature and people to have promptly
checked by a poor law, the cruel, short-sighted, rack-rent system, the com-
petition for land, its minute division — the consequent undue increase of a
wretched population, and much of the misery and social disorganisation of
Ireland,"

We have said thus' much about Ireland, because we are con-
vinced, as aheady stated, that a large amount of the social
destitution of this city, as well as that of many others in England
and Scotland, is to be attributed to the legislative neglect of that
country. Of a population in Glasgow, reckoned by our accomplished
City Chamberlain, Dr. Strang, in his last annual report, to number
391,400 within the parliamentary boundary, we are assured that
considerably more than one-fourth are Irish Eoman Catholics. We
do not state this out of any disrespect to the natives of Ireland
now residing amongst us — ^for well we know that no love of wan-
dering has brought them to our shores. " The kingdom," by
fond eminence, is to them dearer than all the world beside. We
say it rather because their numbers here are evidence of the perse-
cution they have suffered; and the ignorance and destitution of
their less fortunate countrymen, proof of the educational neglect
they have endured.

126 PROSTITOTION.

rV. — Peostitdtion.
Next to the vice of intemperance in Glasgow, and all our
large cities, comes that other most painfully conspicuous one,,
prostitution. A great deal has been said and -written of late on
this subject ; the prevailing opinion, as to its cause being assigned
to intemperance, love of dress, the reward ^ven to vice, and
the small encouragement awarded to virtue. The number of
houses of ill-fame in Glasgow, we believe, is estimated at about
450, and from Mr. Logan's admirable book on the " Moral Sta-
tistics of Glasgow," published some years ago, we find the follow-
ing other facts, in all probability partially affected as to numbers,
either from increased population, or change in the moral habits,
of the people. They will serve, however, to give an idea of this.
trafSc in the absence of more exact data: —

Total number of prostitutes — four on an average in each house, . 1,800
Number of bullies, or 'fancy men,' three on an average in each house, 1,350
Number of 'mistresses' of said houses, 450

Total living directly on prostitution, 3,600

Number of male visitors to each house weekly, .... go

Number of -weekly visits to the 460 brothels, . . . 36,000
The girls receive, on an average. Is. from each visitor, making a

■weekly income for the 450 brothels of ^1,800

The -visitors lose, on an average, 2s. 6d. from robbery, this is a low-
estimate, — making a weekly sum for the 36,000 -visits of . . 4,500
Each visitor gives, on an average, 2s. for drink, making a weekly
sum of 3,600

Total amount expended, directly, in support of prostitution weekly, X9,900

.Total sum expended annually, ^£514,800

Number of unfortunate females who die annually— /Skb years being
their average period of existence, after leaving the paths of
virtue, ... 300 -

From the 52nd Annual Report of the Glasgow Lock Hospital,
an institution well deserving the support of the inhabitants of the
city, we find there is expended £458, 3s. Oid.

PKOSTTTUTIOK 127

1857. Jan. 1.— Patients remaining, 31 1858. Jan. I.— Patients, Cured, 389

Admitted since, 382 Irregular, 4

Bemaining, IT

413 Deaths, 3

413
Aimnal average number of patient's nights* scyoum in the honse, 26.
Annual average cost of each patient to the hospital, £1 3s. ejd.

" The most important feature in the history of the Hospital
daring 1857," says the Report, " has been the diminution in the
number of admissions — ^from 451 to 382 ; and although this may
have arisen from accidental causes, the directors fear that either
of these numbers must be only a minority of those who, in a city
of 400,000 inhabitants, are, unfortunately, fit patients for the
wards of a Lock Hospital."

We were informed by a gentleman connected with this institu-
tion, that he believed the great majority of these unfortunate girls
were seduced by their own sex; that a procuress , had even
managed to efifect an interview with a comparatively innocent
gul in the hospital, for the purpose of assisting her trade in this
horrible vice.

We have, at present, no means of contrasting the condition of
Glasgow in respect to prostitution with that of any other city,
but we observe that Dr. Strang, in his last annual report, gives a
few striking facts touching legitimate and illegitimate births, which
he compares with the same reports in the principal cities of
Britain and the Continent. As this information has a very in-
timate bearing upon our present subject, we give it as foUows:^ —

" The great result of both tables is, that whUe upwards of the half of the
births in Vienna are illegitimate, and one-third of the births in Paris are in
the same category, only 41 out of the 1000 are to be found in London, 62 in
Manchester, 49 in Liverpool, and 63.8 in Glasgow." "The illegitimate
children throughout the whole of England and Wales are 68 to 1000."

Dr, Strang seems to consider Glasgow to stand in very favour-
able contrast to the continental cities of Europe in regard to. ille-
gitimate births. But we fear that this moral superiority is more

128 PROSTITUTION.

apparent than real. It is well known that in the provinces, in
small hamlets and villages, especially of the Highlands and remote
districts, the proportion of illegitimate bu'ths is much greater than
the same proportion to be found in large towns and cities. The
fearful extent to which prostitution is carried on in these latter,
gives an appearance of moral aggravation to the fortoer. The
same, we fear, is the case with the rural districts of this country
and the Continent. In France, and almost;" all throughout Ger-
many, the character of prostitution is, by prohibitory atcts, rendered
more favourable to illegitimacy, while in Britain the horrible
physical depravity of its diseased and short-lifed victims almost
precludes the chance of any such issue.

The causes of prostitution, like all social evils, have their origin
not only in one thing, but many. The simple toleration of it
upon our streets, if careful inquuy were made, would be found,
like our public-houses, to be a source of temptation to the young
and inexperienced youth of the city, little inferior to drink itself.
, The street is the market place for the common description of this
particular vice. To it the poor wretches are driven for bread, and
without it they would be forced, by the diminution of custom,
either to starve, steal, or abandon the trade.

In Britain there has always been manifested a public disinclina-
tion to interfere, either by license or restraint, with brothels and
prostitution. We are credibly informed that so far is this spiritj
carried, great numbers of otherwise benevolent citizens with-
hold subscriptions from the Glasgow Lock Hospital from fear of
encouraging the evil.

It will shortly be seen, however, that the vice is fast assuming
so painful a prominency in all our large cities, legislative inter-
ference will be found imperative. By the stay of intemperance,
we firmly believe, a large diminishment of prostitution would be
found to follow. But like all the other evils afflicting society, the
grand source will be fdund in a general low civilization,-^a mean

PROSTITUTION. 129

selfishness on the one hand, and a black cruel ignorance on the
other. Tell us the condition of woman in any country, and we
shall tell you its civilization — ^has almost passed into a .prqvevb.
Judging of our own city and coimtry by the maxim, they, as well
as every other, present a most sorrowful aspect. We shudder
at the application of the knout to the back of woman, by such
tiger-spirits as a Heynau — bat the cruelty inflicted by British
society on the sex — ^by social and educational neglect — by robbei-y
of her patrimony, — and by the starvation prices awarded to her
labour, are not for a moment to be compared to mere physical
stripes.

What can be done to suppress the evil is a question constantly
npon the lips of the Christian philanthropist. One thing may
be done, and that is, to make every educational effort to ap-
proach a more natural and a less artificial state of existence.
Make the most of God's earth to provide honest labour and
bread for all. Make industry more profitable than vice. Let
the people demand of the legislature a reconsideration of those
laws that give, by hereditary right, a monopoly of the land to the
aristoci-acy of the country, by which iniquitous and cruel system
the whole of the broad acres of Scotland, mountain and moor, are
in the possession of only 3000 people, and, as the centralisation
of wealth increases, may, in a century or two, be in the hands of
only 300 — ^the one-half occupied by deer, the other by a less cared
for portion of God's creatures, viz. man. Of the thirty-two. mil-
lions of acres of uncultivated land in the British Isles, ^ee» mil-
lions of these acres are cultivable, — ^yet we have the sober and
the industrious — the cream of British society — ^banished like
the common felon, to other shores, to Canada, Australia, or New
Zealand, to seek a crust of bread for themselves and families.
There is a greater connection between this question of bread and
prostitution than may appear at the first glance. All the charitable
contributions of the world will, avail nothing so long as piimaiy

130 NEGLECT OF POLITICAL AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS.

causes are left untouched. We search in vain for anything^
like the proportion of these sorry evils in our colonies, where
labour, as a rule, is to be had, and bread in plenty, despite the
disadvantages of defective educational culture. We long for the
time when the popular influence will be felt in the balance of the
state, — -when more equable laws will assuredly give greater hap-
piness to the people — ^when such, in short, will be the prosperity
of the country, that virtue rather than vice will have its reward,
and when every addition to a poor man's family will be hailed as-
a blessing, and not as a curse.

V. — ^Neglect of Political, Eeligious, and Educational
Means.

A primaiy cause of these social evils and great physical
suffering, must be attributed to the neglect of that educational
means, ' by which alone the civilised is distinguished from
the savage race. The fundamental object of all government,
we take it, is to insure the protection of life and property, and
to give to the people " the greatest amount of happiness to
the greatest possible number." How such an elysium is to be
realised without first instructing the people in the sacredness of
the laws by which life and property are to be preserved, as well
as in those which regulate the moral and physical health, we are
at a loss to understand. The right to punish has been, and still
is, almost the only right recognised by the state; and to effect
this end, it has raised and supports a machinery of law and police,
expensive enough in one year to educate the entire population
for two or three years. In this way have our social arrange-
ments been going on, one age after another. The people are not
allowed to feel their individuality in the state. The aristocracy,
and the enfranchised classes generally, dread the ascendancy of the
popular element. They withhold from them political and social

NEGLECT OF RELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS. 131

privHeges, on the ground of no-knowledge qualification, yet they
scrnptJously withhold all educational means of qualification,
until at last an indifference to both has subtervened in the minds
of the people most hurtful to patriotism, as well as the higher
virtues. The question now is not so much an equality of social
and political privileges, as the more important one of bread, and
the wherewithal to keep body and soul together in a land un-
surpassed for luxury and wealth. A system of laws in which
a state of things so anomalous obtains, cannot be good. The
complexity of evils under which society suffers isj therefore, in some
part political. Defective education is in itself a great political ne-
glect, and the same with many other things in the power of the
legislature to remedy. The British Government, however, is a mere
reflection of the minds and sympathies of the British people,
and as such, the blame is essentially the people's own. To secure
-a higher civilisation Government must be more paternal, and have
an earnest practical regard for all. What, for instance, said Mr.
John Bright, that best of modern statesman and philanthropists,
a few months ago, in answer to a request of the starving thousands
of Birmingham, to present a memorial to the Queen, praying for
relief through some gigantic system of emigration. He said —

" I am sorry to find that the 'unemployed' shonld be so nranerous in Bir-
mingham as to induce them to unite with a view to some public measures
for their relief. At this moment the unfavourable condition of the markets
of the United States, and of the Continent of Europe, will account for much
of the suffering which is being endured by the working men of England.
I confess, however, that I can see no remedy for a large portion of the mis-
chief complained of, so long as we find our taxes constantly on the increase,
and our national expenditure augmenting. We are now spending twenty
millions a year more than we were spending only a few years back, and our
military expenses have doubled since the year 1835, when the Duke of Wel-
lington and Sir R. Peel were in power. This year, I suppose, we shall raise
in taxes, at least fifty millions sterling more than will require, to be raised
hy an equal population, living, not in England, but in the United States of
America Surely this will account for much of the evils which you and the
memorialists, and the working classes generally, suffer, and lam not sur-

132 NEGLECT OF EELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS.

prised that sensible mem shmdd wish to quit a country where the bwdms are so
heavy, and the political privileges of three fourths of them aire so few. Every-
man who is not prepared to compel a better and more economical govern-
ment at home should emigrate, or the pauperism of his day will be deeper,
and more without remedy, in the days of his children."

Here, then, in a very few -words, is another root of the evil.
Were the members of Government held more responsible
than they are for a ruinous and expensive war, Britain would
neither be so aggressive or wasteful of human life or treasure.
By some ingenious process of " circumlocution" the whole thing
would, in its first causes, or in its after arrangements be avoided,
very much to the benefit of both crown and people.

Again, to allude to a question of a social rather than political
character. As a rule, wages in Scotland are far too low, and
work is oppressively hard. In London and many of the principal
cities in England — ^while rents and taxes, and the general cost
of living, are no higher, if so. high as obtain in Glasgow —
workmen are better paid. These are important considerations,
and ought to weigh with employers in this question of wages. We
are well aware that humanity has too little to do with the wages
of labour— self-interest, however, has more. Political economists
such as M'Culloch, a most notable authority with the capitalist
— ^tell us, that, " if the condition of the labourer be depressed,
the prosperity of the other classes can rest on no solid foundation.
Working men form the great bulk of society ; and wherever
their wages are low, they must of necessity live on coarse and
scanty fare. Men placed in such circumstances are without any
sufficient motive to be industrious, and instead of activity and
enterprise, we have sloth, ignorance, and improvidence." If
employers would look more to this, we believe it would fare better
with them. Under ordinary circumstances, the value of labour
will be determined, more or less, as all know, by the same rule
as that of any other commodity in the market — ^by the principle
of supply and demand. The difierence, however, between the

NEGLECT OF RELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS. 133

operation of the law, as affecting the capitalist, and its operation
as affecting the labourer, is — that while the former is spontaneously
allowed by the necessities of the market an increased per centage
npon his capital, the correspondingly increased value of labour is
seldom or ever granted, until after a conflict most disastrous in its
consequences to both parties. Hence the existence of unions and
the occurrence of strikes — a right which is not readily conceded
must be peremptorily demanded. There is, in short, but one
natural remedy for the evil — and that is co-operation. The grand
secret of the present system is, that the labourer does not work so
much for himself as for the capitalist.

The clergy, eyer a powerful body in a baj-barous as in a civilised
state — have, as history proves, shai-ed largely in the common
moral weaknesses of the world, though it may appear highly
treasonous in this eminently Christian land to say so. Like
the great bulk of human kind through all ages, they have had
quite enough regard to the rights and privileges of their own
order. In their teaching, more especially in past times, there
can be no doubt, the people were impressed by them with a
superstitious fear, rather than with a dignified sense of their
rights and duties as men and as Christians. Partially through
this enslavement — even at the present day, notwithstanding the
important advantages of an unusually learned, benevolent, and
pious ministryin all the churches — it is undeniable that the influence
of the pulpit is scarcely felt amongst us. With the very best
opportunities for bettering the destinies of mankind in this
world, the preacher too often either misses his opportunity,
or only avails himself of it to enslave the devotional feeling,
without seeking to build up and expand the intellect. We are
all, laity as well as clergy, too wrapped up in our own peculiar
idiosyncrasies of faith and ecclesiastical distinctions ever to do

134 NEaLECT OF RELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS.

much good. We are nearly all, without exception, pent up in
some theological prison-house, out of which it is all but criminal
to look, engendering a feeling alike of slavery and hypocrisy. It
is the practice of many writers to blame the clergy for this state
of things. For our own part, we do not feel disposed to visit
with unmitigated censure our spiritual teachers, as they, in com-
mon with the laity, are the mere victims of a conventional eiTor,
from which many of them, the more intelligent and better edu-
cated especially, would be glad to escape. Of the latter, the most
that can be said is, there is among them a moral courage wanting
much to be lamented. Rising, many of the class, far above the
schools and the sects among which they have been educated,
our preachers yet fear boldly to assert their individual and inde-
pendent convictions. Any one who has studied religions bio-
graphy, and theological literature generally, to any purpose, will
before now have been struck ■with this observation. Letters of
young ministers to their seniors in the church aiford ample evi-
dence on this head. A notable case in point will be known to
the reader who is familiar with the writings and correspondence
of Robert Hall — a case, by the way, which reflects no remai-kable
credit upon that excellent and distinguished divine ; for while the
young preacher, in whom he took a paternal interest, and wh.o
was labouring under a difficulty touching etenial punishments,
was advised on the ground of expediency, to give no publicity
to his views — ^Mr. Hall sympathised with him in his erratic im-
pressions. It is this want of faithfulness, we say, that is the
great evil of the Church at the present time. It is this " infi-
delity" that is chiefly to be lamented and mourned over.

Since these sketches were penned, an Edinburgh newspaper
already quoted, has devoted considerable attention to the " Social
Statistics of Glasgow." In the article, " Pauperism — its Causes
and Consequences," the wiiter puts down "false religious systems

NEGLECT OF IlELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS. 1-35

and their propagation" as a prolific source of .vice, poverty, and
-destitution : —

" Perhaps the best proof of the enormous spread of false religious systems
among the ' masses ' of Glasgow is to be found in the following three facts :
— ^A deplorable destitution of the Scriptures among the lower and poorer
■classes; the immense circulation among the same classes of an irreligious
and immoral literature ; and the melancholy extent to which Sabbath trad-
ing exists in the community. In regard to the first of these one of the agents
ot the City Mission states that 'in his district, comprising 1128 visitable
families, 937 Protestants, and 191 Catholics, there are 400 families without a
full copy of the Scriptures — the large majority of those possessing no portion
of the inspired volume.' Another agent says that, 'out of 100 Romanists
he has visited, he finds that only ten can read. There are only ten Bibles
among them all, and these, he believes are solely read by the children when
at school.' In regard to the second of the points mentioned — the immense
circulation among the lower and poorer classes of an irreligious and immoral
literature, we take the following extract from an able and thoroughly earnest
pamphlet by Mr. John Knox, on ' The Masses Without.' Mr. Knox says
— ' These publications are eagerly sought after on account of the wild-like
pictures they contain, and the tales of love and murder with which they
abound. In Glasgow, one of these periodicals has a weekly circulation of
25,000, and another of a still worse character has a weekly circulation of
12,500. There are 200 shops in Glasgow that sell these publications. And
if you allow three or four readers to each, you have an aggregate of 150,000
persons, young and old, perusing these noxious productions. The day on
which most of them are sold is the Sdbhaih.' With reference to the third
point, viz., Sabbath trading, wemay mention that at a meeting of the Glasgow
Town Council on Friday, 6th March 1857, when deputations from the Estab-
lished and Free Churches waited upon that body for the purpose of present-
ing memorials, praying for the adoption of some measure ^by which the
present practice of opening shops on Sabbath might be put a stop to. It was
stated that the following premises were open for business on the first day of
the week : — 316, fruiterers and confectioners ; 269 traders in groceries and pro-
visions; 432 sellers of milk; 65 barbers; 105 eating house keepers ; 15 keepers
of oyster and fish stores ; 6 news rooms ; 32 keepers of pie houses ; 36 tobacco-
nists ; 99 green grocers; 2 fleshers; 16 managers of clubs, and 1 stationer —
making the fearful total of 1392! Who will not say that after this, Glas-
gow is by no means a bad rival to Paris itself, and that if such painful facts
as these are the ofispring of false religious systems, pauperism could never
revel in a more congenial soil.' ''

,,,. We are inclined to think that the foregoing is quite high

136 NEGLECT or RELIGIOUS ASD EDCCATIONAL MEANS.

enough coloured. Of the preSs of Glasgow, it is unnecessary to
state, that either for a healthy morality, or a respectable ability,
it -wiU stand very fair comparison with that of any other city.
Moreover, it is a mistake to say that so much traffic in newspapers-
is carried on on the Sabbath ; or that even more than a very few
copies are sold on that day. There are almost none of the green
grocers' and fruiterers' shops that do any business in news at aU ;
and if it be true that so gi-eat a part of the literature described
is sold on Sunday, the "one stationer" must have a very flourish-
ing trade.

While we most assuredly admit the influence of the Christian
religion, sensibly taught, as superior to all other religious systems
in the regulation of daily life, we have always deemed it a
singularly unfortunate circumstance that writers on Glasgow
destitution should lay such stress on this view of the case.
Not only is it a tacit admission of the utter powerlessness
of the one agency — ^the , professed religion — of the city, with its
state support, and other stupendous pecuniary appliances, liberally
provided by Christian philanthropy, but it deepens an all too
prevalent and unfavourable opinion respecting it, among the
thousand-and-one persuasions all over Europe and the world. •
Just fancy — ^no farther gone than last year — when the Keli^ous
Tract Society of London, in a most praiseworthy spirit of Chris-
tian enterprise, spread broad-cast all over Germany and the
Continent, hundreds of thousands of its tracts, — the mem-
bers of a distinguished Philosophical and Scientific Institute,,
passed a resolution at one of their sederunts to the effect, that
the doctrines contained in these missives were calculated to give a
hurtfully low idea of the Great Creator, and even dangerous to
the morals of society ! We are well aware that these words
sound strangely to the ear ; and we can weU imagine the con-
tempt with which they will be regarded. But as most of the

NEGLECT OF KELIGIOTJS AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS. 137

sects, in their turn, have been branded as either infidels or
heretics, just accorcling to the intelligence of public opinion, it
may not be uninteresting, as indeed it is a duty, to investigate,
how far in our common religions teaching, not so much in a
positive as in a negative sense, this is chargeable against our
own city. In the 32nd Eeport of that philanthropic society,
the "Glasgow City Mission," we find the following among similar
" instructions to agents : " —

" As your visits must be short, generally not exceeding fifteen minutes,
avoid secular conversation."

If the Bible, Church and Catechism, and missionary exhortation
(avoiding secular conversation) are sufficient to put down social
evU — ^to suppress intemperance — to communicate a knowledge
of the laws by which life is destroyed and health preserved
— ^why is it, the common reasoning practical mind of a human
being is bound to ask, that this land, which has been since the
Reformation until now, so highly privileged with all of these,
presents a spectacle unequalled for depravity and destitution
throughout the whole of Europe ? It will not avail anything, in
the presence of an intelligent community, to meet this question
simply with the old ciy of " infidelity !" That epithet has rung
out its welcome. And besides, it must be observed, we are at
present finding no fault with the religious instruction communi-
cated, but simply with the religious instruction not com-
municated, viz. a knowledge of the sacred laws by which man
and every atom of the universe is governed — ^through a kntfvv-
ledgB or ignorance of which, in common vrith those of Eeve-
lation, the misery or happiness of millions depend. It surely
can be no disparagement to the Bible to say, that it is not a hand-
book of science, — that it is not sufiSciently an expositor of these
subjects to be read from all the university chairs of the country.
In vain do we search the Bible for either a detailed or a compre-
hensive vidw of any science, and yet who will be fool-hardy

138 NEGLECT OF REUGIOHS AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS.

enough to say, that before the discovery of Jenner lives were not
needlessly sacrificed? Or who, in short, will say, that before
any great , scientific truth was known, the world was either
wiser or happier ? If a popular knowledge of the principles
of physiology has greatly contributed to reduce the rate of
mortality in the country, why should not the poor have the same
communicated to them, who are much in the position of the
world before that science was understood ? Among the reports
of the City Mission, we can see nothing done in the way of im-
parting such knowledge, but apparently its prohibition, except
in one instance, which, singular though it be, is creditable to the
sense and judgment of the society. And here the practical effect
produced is well deserving attention. In the report for 1857,
we find the following recorded by one of the missionaries : —

" I am wisely distributing tlie tract, ' Friendly Counsels on Health,' not
a few have told me that since they read the tract, they have kept thdr win-
dows open, aired their beds, &c. There is nothing more' certain than this,
that the tract is being acted on, at least that portion of it which bears on
hetdth"

Surely this is encouragement enough for the Mission to per-
severe in this sensible and practical course.

In conclusion, we should be guilty of great injustice did we not
acknowledge very unreservedly the religious, educational, and
charitable efforts of the city. We believe that in no place in the
empii-e, are greater efforts made, or more princely sums expende(l,
to ameliorate the condition of the poor and less privileged classes,
than in Glasgow. There are too many benevolent institutions
supported to admit of the charge of either neglect or indif-
ference. There is the Infirmary, the Old Man's Friend Society,
the Night Asylum for the Houseless, the Industrial and
Keformatory School Society, the Glasgow Reformatory Institu-
tion, and scores of other kindred associations ; besides the usual
auxiliaries of a religions kind, as the Glasgow Bible Society,

NEGLECT OF RELIGIOUS AND EDDCATIONAL MEANS. 139

and the Glasgow Sabbath School Union, with its one hundred
and thu-ty branches. The only regret which one feels in connection
with these manifold societies, and their noble enterprise, is the
limited amount of good which is necessarily done through the cir-
cumscribed character of their constitution. Take, for instance, one
of the very best and most commendable objects of Christian philan-
thropy — ^the Glasgow Industrial and Reformatory School Society.
It will be found that from the want of a broad basis comparatively
few of the poor Irish, the most destitute children in 'the city,
are to be found in it, because of a very natural objection of their
parents or others, to then- being taught any but the Homau
■Catholic religion: —

" Of those admitted," says the report for 1857, " 13 boys and 13 girls could
meither read nor write, while of the remainder, only 1 boy and 1 girl could
be said to read tolerably well, and only 1 boy and 1 girl to write even im-
perfectly. Of the number, 9 were orphans, and 20 either without father or
without mother; 15 of the boys and 17 of the girls were natives of Scotland,
and 2 boys natives of Ireland. It is believed, however, that of those bom in
Scotland, a majority are of Irish extraction."

How much better, could all the various sects agree to with-
draw the cry, I only am true Christianity! and bring into one
■common fold of protection, the poor and the destitute of all
■churches and shades of opinion. It is a sorrowful thing
that because of the mere play of an organ, or the use of a
fclack or a white gown, or some other matter essentially
«mall, Christians cannot agree to " love one another," and lay
aside sectional peculiarities, while the poor are spiritually and
physically famishing. Could one common platform be found
upon which all classes could meet, the " infidel, " if you
will, as well as the Christian, the efifect produced by this com-
bined energy would be simply incalculable, in eradicating the
ignorance, and diminishing the crime and wretchedness of the
city. The religious community, and especially the clergy, are
very properly jealous of the sacred trust which is reposed in them,

14^ NEGLECT Of religious AND EDUGATIONAL MEANS.

the spiritual instruction of the people. Instead, therefore, of
being lightly treated, their scruples and objections are, in a sense,
commendable, and worthy very grave consideration. The religious
community, however, labour under the mistaken idea, that the
friends who desire this union and co-operation, through the me-
dium of Secular Schools, intend the entire exclusion of the Bible
and religious teaching, than which nothing could be more erro-
neous. ' The plan simply is, that, as it is desirable to enjoy all
the advantages of a united energy, and important that none
be excluded as recipients from the instruction imparted, through
sectional differences, it be agreed, that the children composing the
school, be taught at a given hour of the day, the tenets of their
own peculiar belief, by their own religious teachers. Over and
above all this the following is proposed —

"The grand reform now needed in education is to teach, first, things that
exist; secondly, their modes of action; thirdly, the nature of man; fourthly,
how the operations of the elements of nature are adapted to the human mind
and body, and how they give rise to most of the pleasures and pains of HfeV
and lastly, in every step of this instruction, we should direct the emotional
faculties of wonder, reverence, benevolence, conscientiousness, and the love
of the beautiful — to God, as the author of all ; and train those faculties prac-
tically to the faith that, in conforming to his laws, we are paying him the
highest homage that can be offered by a rational being to its Creator, and
at the same time expanding, elevating, and improving our own minds."

As a proof of the lamentable ignorance which prevails re-
garding this system among certain of the clergy, and other intel-
ligent classes, we have only to read the following observations by
a distinguished minister of the city, Dr. Symington : —

"I have no fault to find," he says, "with secular education, but I say that
as a medium of moral reformation, there is no faith to be put in merely
secular education. (Cheers.) Merely sewkiir education has nothing in it
remediable of fallen man's moral disorder. Nay, it appears to me to be cal-
culated rather to cherish than to cure man's moral disease ; for so long as the
moral perversity of the individual is untouched, secular education only gives
him greater powers for doing mischief. You find him a brute, and by secular
education you can only make him a devil — ^nothing more ; whereas, by means
of religious education, finding him a brute or a devil, you may make him an.
angel of light. (Applause.)"

NEGLECT OF EEUGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS. I*!

The reader who has penised these two statements cannot fail
to see the iiijustice which is done the secular system by false re-
presentation ; let ns hope, in the case of the doctor, that it is only
caused by imperfect knowledge, aggravated by excited feeling. No
wonder, however, with such perversion of fact and mis-statement
that the friends of this proposed plan of instruction are branded as
*' infidels," and the principle pronounced "irreligious." Were the
public made aware that the supporters of the secular system are
opposed quite as much as Dr. Symington to a School without
religious teaching, — " applause" would cease to follow the igno-
rant denunciations of enemies. It is also a serious aspersion to
say, or at all events to imply, that the common school education
proposed to be imparted — embracing a knowledge of God's provi-
dence in the moral government of the universe — the benevolence
manifested, by the light of science, in a care for His creatures, —
has a power, or even a tendency to demoralise, making the reci-
pient of such instruction either a " brute" or a " devil," or calcu-
lated in any way to assist him in the " doing of mischief." " Why
is it, mother," asked a little boy not more than two years ago, who
was attending the Secular School of this city, " that father does
not take us to church, or tell us about God? All the other
boys go there, and I hear a great deal about God in the School."
The question was a reproof to a too neglectful parent. A system
which produces such fruits, and thoughtful inquiry, surely has no
right to be designated immoral and irreligious.

The various denominations of Christians, therefore, may as well
agree to smk their differences, and seek by combined practical
and intelligent effort, to elevate their degraded fellow creatures.
Secular education alone, as well as merely religious, is unequal to
the work. And as no truth exists without a purpose, whether in
nature or revelation, so no truth is to be despised, but, on the
contrary, a knowledge of each is important to man's happiness.

142 NEGLECT OF RELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL MEANS.

Could, then, the Charches realise the noble spirit snggested many-
years ago by the distinguished author of " Church Parties," noir
gone to his account, a great deal of work might be done : —

"Instead of mnmnmng, we should rejoice when we see the same character
of Christian hoEness manifested under diverse opinions. For Christianity,
embraced under one form, might have been rejected under another. All
cannot see through the same telescope, but different eyes require the tube to
be variously adjusted. And the image formed will at best be blurred and
dim, unless charity furnish us with her achromatic lens, and blend all the-
rays into one harmonious brightness."

APPENDIX.

DRUNKENNESS AND CRIME IN GLASGOW.

From Pamphlet entiOed " The Rise and Progress of Wlmlcy DrinWng in Scotland "

by Mr. Duncan McLaren, Mdinhwgh,

The statistics of drunkenness and crime which the order for Mr. Murray
Dunlop's return has already brought to light would, to me, be a tempting
subject on which to dilate at length, but for the space which these observa-
tions have already occupied, and therefore I sh^ not go deeply into the
general question at present, but hope to have some other opportunity of
expressing my sentiments on the subject after the returns shafi have been
issued hy Parliament. In the meantime I cannot resist the pleasure of
briefly referring to the returns for Glasgow and some of the large towns in
the shape in which they have been published in the Glasgow and other local
newspapers.

The following are the total nranber of cases of drunkenness in Glasgow
for each of the three years ending in 1853, under the old law; and for each
of the three years ending in 1866, under the new law. The population,
according to the best authority. Dr. Strang, the City Chamberlain, was
329,026 in 1851, and 391,400 at the close of 1867, making a difference of
population between these two periods of no less than 62,374.

Year.
1851
1852
18S3

TOTAL NUMBEK OF CASES OP DKUNKENNBSS,

No. of Cases

under Old Law.

24,019

23,788

23,841

No. of Cases

Tear.

under New Law.

1854

19,434

1855

16,266

1856

17,446

71,648 63,146

Here there is a real decrease of 18,602 cases of drunkenness under the
operation of the Public-Houses Act, dviring the first three years. Taking
the cases of drunkenness on Sundays apart from the other cases with which
they are mixed up in the first view, the following are the results: —

SUNDAY DRUNKEKUBSS.

No. of Cases

No. of Cases

Tear.

under Old Law.

Tear.

under New Law.

1851

1525

1854

464

1852

1339

1855

481

1853

1218

1856

521

4082 1466

The decrease here is enormous — from 4082 cases of Sunday drunkenness,
under the old law, to 1466 cases, under the new.

We come next to the cases of drunkenness and crime combined — that is,
cases of persons who were charged with the ordinary run of criminal offences,
great and small, or with offences under the Police Act, and who were drunk
when they were apprehended. This classification, of course, excludes all
the helpless, inoffensive drunkards who were carried to the Police-office

144 APPENDIX.

merely for their own protection, and wlio were discharged without being
Jbrought before the Magistrates: —

DBDNKENNESS AND CKIME COMBINED.

No. of Cases

No. of Cases

Tear.

under Old Law.

Year.

under New Law.

1851

13,328

1854

6787

1852

10,985

1855

6058

1853

10,652

1856

6525

3(1,973

19,370

In this class of cases there is likewise an enormous decrease — from 34,972
under the old law, to 19,370 under the new.

It has thus been proved to you that, in the great city of the West, the
chosen battle field of our opponents on all occasions, the total number of
cases of drunkenness was 33 per cent, greater under the old law than under
the new ; that the number of Sunday cases was about 200 per cent, greater
under the old law than under the new : and that the crime committed under
the influence of drunkenness was 84 per cent, greater under the old law than
under the new. It must be remembered that this last division consist? of
the class of offenders referred to in the evidence of Principal Lee, already
quoted, in which he so justly states that great injuiry and suffering is inflic-
ted on innocent persons, and much trouble and expense is entailed on the
community, in the apprehension, trial, and punishment of the offenders.
Among this criminal class it has been shown that there was a decrease, from
34,972, under the old law, to 19,370, under the new — a diminution of 15,602
cases of crime combined with drunkenness, under the operation of the new
law. Had the Public Houses Act done nothing more than thls^ it would
have been a most valuable enactment ; but other towns have derived equal
advantages from that excellent measure, which I, therefore, hope the Legis-
• lature will maintain in all its integrity.

I am anxious to impress on those who enter on this question, the great
importance of giving effect to the increase of population in Glasgow during
the last 3i:f years, in so far as it bears on the working of the Public-Houses
Act. We are apt to talk of an increased population of 62,374 without attach-
ing any very definite meaning to this large number. To enable you to have
some idea of the vast number of people represented by these figures, who
have been added to the former population of Glasgow during these six years,
I may state that it is equal to the united population of all the towns within a
wide circuit around the city of Edinburgh. Include In this circuit, Leith,
Portobello, Musselburgh, Haddington, Dalkeith, Lasswade, Queensferry,
Linlithgow, and Stirling, and, according to the census of 1861, you will have
a population nearly equal to tie increase in the population of Glasgow during
the last six years. If then, you wish to make a perfectly just comparison
respecting the amount of drunkenness and crime which occurred in Glasgow
in 1857, pass over the five years immediately preceding, and take the
amount of drunkenness and crime for the sixth year, counting backwards,
(1851) as your point of comparison. Having ascertained the amount of
drunkenness and crime during that year, then add the amount of drunken-
ness and crime for the same year which occurred in all the towns named, and
the aggregate amount should be equal to the drunkenness and crime which
would have existed In Glasgow during 1857, if the Public-Houses Act had
not been passed, and if no similar measure had been brought Into operation
to repress what is described in one of the old Acts before quoted as ' the vile
and detestable sin of drunkenness.' It will therefc^je be seen that, In addi-
tion to the absolute decrease of crime shown in these statements, there has
been a large additiond relative decrease, which these tables do not present.

APPENDIX. 145

We come next to the prison returns for Glasgow, in which we likewise
find an extremely favourable result : —

Daily Average Number
of Prisoners
Tear. 'under the Old Law.

1852 675

1853 606
ISSi 589

Daily Average Number
. of Prisoners . _
Year. under the New Law.

1855 573

1856 491

1857 462

DR. STRANG ON DRUNKENNESS IN GLASGOW.
"Much has been said both here and elsewhere respecting the drunkenness
™ t™3 city, founded on the very equivocal formula of police returns, and on
the still more deceptive observations either of teetotal abettors, or, what is
worse, of determined detractors. The extent of drinking, however, as sup-
posed by such individuals, is not to be measured either by the hundreds of
miserable wretches whose faces become as household gods in our police
offices, or by the mistyled statistics which have been got up for the nonce
by those who logk upon all fermented liquors as poison and ruin to all who
taste them. The plain facts are these— that while there are about 250,000
gallons of foreign and colonial spirits, a very small quantity of wine, and a
comparatively (to England) smaller quantity of porter, ale, and beer, drank
throughout the whole breadth and length of Scotland, there is however,
unfortunately, in accordance with the almost universal taste of the Scottish
people, little less than seven millions of gallons of whisky consumed annually
within the limits of our northern kingdom. When this last beverage is
measured by the whole mouths in Scotland who may take or reject it, the
average quantity available for each amounts to 2*4 gallons annually, or a
trifle more than a quarter of a gill per day to every man, woman, and child,
in the kingdom. If, therefore, we look at the consumption of spirits in this
diffused light, it certainly does not appear so great as some imagine, more
particularly when it is recollected that little else of an exhilarating kind is
made use of by the great Ijulk of the middle and working classes. Limiting,
however, the number of drinkers to a third part of the gross population, the
amount consumed by this third is at once raised to 7'2 gallons per annum,
and which gives a daily consumpt to each consuming individual of 0'63 parts
of a gill — a quantity, also, by no means prodigious, when the consumpt of
porter and beer alone in London is remembered, amounting, by a late statement
in the Quarterly Beview, "to 1,614,675 barrels, Or nearly a thousand millions
of tumblers per annum ; " or when the more striking fact is mentioned, that
in Paris, where searqely a tipsy man is to be seen, it is shown, by the octroi
returns, that on an average each inhabitant consumes 24'3, gallons of wine,
1-2 of alcohol, 0-3 gills of cider, and 2 gallons of beer ! That Glasgow con-
sumes more spirits in proportion to its inhabitants, I do not beueve ; for
whUe the vice of drunkenness is perhaps fully as much exhibited by those
composing the substratum of our labouring, or rather idle community, than
elsewhere, yet the quantity consumed by the large body of respectable
mechanics, and by the middle and higher classes, is considerably less.
Assuming however, that we are right in oiir belief, and assuming again that
a like quantity is consumed in Glasgow as in other parts of Scotland, then
it follows that the consumpt of whiskey annually taking place within the
limits of our population of 396,000 amoimis to about 9o()j000 gallons at proof,
which, taking the profits of dealers and retailers into account, may cost the
consumer at least 13s. per gallon, and if so, wiU hence amount to an annual
charge against this community of £617,500."

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