arV 12586 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THIS BOOK IS ONE OF A COLLECTION MADE BY BENNO LOEWY 1854-1919 AND BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY w^— _*^'"'"^" University Library arV12586 Midnrght scenes and social photographs: ,. 3 1924 031 290 327 olin.anx Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 924031 290327 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