tated in rags. Of course there is a depth of ragdom where form and colour never penetrate; but speaking of a stratum in child-society, a little above this we shall find that the adult fashions, of about two years ago, now prevail there. It is clear that the little fellows can’t be dressed in the cast-off clothes of their superiors of the same age—for that is a question of child-fashion, and they do not imitate that. It is just as certain that little ragged Dick at the corner of the mews is not wearing the discarded apparel of the attorney’s clerk or medical student—modo et formâ , for that would be too big for his small limbs. There must have been a deliberate intention amongst the children of following the fashions prevailing amongst men. How far are the authorities at home concerned in this matter? I think I see indications of the mother’s pride, and the mother’s hand.
Another very curious feature of the London streets—as far as the children are concerned—is the recent praise-worthy attempt to inaugurate the reign of a child bourgeoisie. One would suppose that an infantine Louis Philippe had been abroad proclaiming the triumph of the middle-classes. Look at that little sturdy member of the Shoe-Black Brigade! What a microscopic representative he is of the pursy respectability of Ludgate Hill. With what an evil eye he regards the proceedings of the groups of little Bedouins who are devoting themselves to the too-fascinating game of “buttons” on the church-steps! He knows they will never come to any good. You see ledgers in his eye, as he pulls the halfpence he has earned from underneath his dirty apron, and whistles “a penny saved is a penny got” with variations. I am sure, if he could, he would send the little gamblers to a Reformatory after a severe preliminary lecture on the advantages of industry and self-control. He is a budding churchwarden—an alderman in the egg.
So many wise and excellent people seem to think it all right that children should be at once converted into men—have men’s opportunities—and be judged by the tests which we apply to the performances of manhood—that I suppose this movement should be cause for rejoicing to us all. I confess I have scruples. Children, I have always thought, should be children; and men, men. There is danger else that the man-child may become a child-man. In the condition of life in which I have been born, I have never known infantine or youthful prodigies come to much good. At three or four and twenty the hares are told out, and the poor stupid tortoises come lumbering along—and in real life, as in the fable, are for the most part best placed at the end of the race. As I have stood watching the demeanor and proceedings of those little Shoe-Black heroes, I have often wondered what manner of men they would turn out when twenty years have passed over their round smutty faces. Look at the poor little children who are obliged to work in the factories till they become just so many cogs and wheels in the cotton-spinning machine. In the agricultural districts again, I do not find that the human intelligence is improved by the process of putting children to work at seven, six, and even five years of age. The thing may be a hard necessity, and therefore not admit of discussion; but I cannot, as you would say, look on with a cheerful heart when I find poor children working hard whom I would much rather see devoting their energies to “corners” or prisoner’s base. I am told that the benevolent patrons of this movement have taken great care that every opportunity should be given to the sturdy little burghers of improving their minds in ragged schools, evening schools, night schools, Sunday schools. When do they play? Only conceive blacking shoes all day, and fagging all night at big A, little b, and the multiplication-table, and the course of the River Jordan; and the subject of the experiment a child of eight or nine years of age!
Still knowing, as I do too well, the child-misery of the London streets, I would not do more than enter a hesitating protest in favour of poor Jack as to the all-work-and-no-play system. It may be the best that can be done for him; and let us all be thankful that there are men amongst us who have influence, and leisure, and money, and above all kind hearts, who will look after the interests of these diminutive waifs and strays—these small flotsams and jetsams of the great human family. Their ultimate fate may not be as bright as I should wish it to be, but I know of something far worse—it is the short career of the little ricketty offspring of gin-drinking parents.
It must have sucked in vitriol, adulterated with morbid humours, even from the moment it first opened its unfortunate blinking eyes upon men and things in general. It is then used as an instrument for stimulating the benevolence of soft-hearted people, and secretly pinched to make it squall by the drunken virago in the tattered cloak. It is not difficult to note the further progress in life of the poor little victim. The forms of misery of course are various—here is one.
Not very long since I used to pass every night by the low wall which girds in the churchyard of St. Martin’s church. In the winter time, when the snow lay thick on the ground, there were nightly seated there in the snow, and against the wall, two wretched little children, who crouched and nestled against each other for shelter as well as they could. Sometimes the snow would fall thickly upon them; and at first as you passed along you might have mistaken them for a heap of something which had accumulated there, and been covered by snow. The two creatures had been placed there by their parents or owners to excite the commiseration of the passers by; and any trifle that might be given to them was instantly seized and confiscated by one or other of these wretches who were lurking close at hand.
At last they disappeared: I never knew what became of them.
This was just the hey-day time of plum-puddings and Christmas-trees, and Twelfth Night drawings for king and queen; when the bright rosy-cheeked children in velvet tunics and curious frills were in the full swing of infantine mirth and jollity. I would not deprive them of a single taper, or of a morsel of their cake; still might it not be well if even then some little memento were introduced to remind them of their poor little brothers and sisters without? I don’t exactly