has kept herself out of a workhouse more than ninety rough long
years? When Britain first, at Heaven’s command, arose, with a
great deal of allegorical confusion, from out the azure main, did
her guardian angels positively forbid it in the Charter which has
been so much besung?
The object of my journey was accomplished when the nimble matron
had no more to show me. As I shook hands with her at the gate, I
told her that I thought justice had not used her very well, and
that the wise men of the East were not infallible.
Now, I reasoned with myself, as I made my journey home again,
concerning those Foul wards. They ought not to exist; no person of
common decency and humanity can see them and doubt it. But what is
this Union to do? The necessary alteration would cost several
thousands of pounds; it has already to support three workhouses;
its inhabitants work hard for their bare lives, and are already
rated for the relief of the Poor to the utmost extent of reasonable
endurance. One poor parish in this very Union is rated to the
amount of FIVE AND SIXPENCE in the pound, at the very same time
when the rich parish of Saint George’s, Hanover-square, is rated at
about SEVENPENCE in the pound, Paddington at about FOURPENCE, Saint
James’s, Westminster, at about TENPENCE! It is only through the
equalisation of Poor Rates that what is left undone in this wise,
can be done. Much more is left undone, or is ill-done, than I have
space to suggest in these notes of a single uncommercial journey;
but, the wise men of the East, before they can reasonably hold
forth about it, must look to the North and South and West; let them
Page 17
Dickens, Charles – The Uncommercial Traveller
also, any morning before taking the seat of Solomon, look into the
shops and dwellings all around the Temple, and first ask themselves
‘how much more can these poor people – many of whom keep themselves
with difficulty enough out of the workhouse – bear?’
I had yet other matter for reflection as I journeyed home, inasmuch
as, before I altogether departed from the neighbourhood of Mr.
Baker’s trap, I had knocked at the gate of the workhouse of St.
George’s-in-the-East, and had found it to be an establishment
highly creditable to those parts, and thoroughly well administered
by a most intelligent master. I remarked in it, an instance of the
collateral harm that obstinate vanity and folly can do. ‘This was
the Hall where those old paupers, male and female, whom I had just
seen, met for the Church service, was it?’ – ‘Yes.’ – ‘Did they
sing the Psalms to any instrument?’ – ‘They would like to, very
much; they would have an extraordinary interest in doing so.’ –
‘And could none be got?’ – ‘Well, a piano could even have been got
for nothing, but these unfortunate dissensions – ‘ Ah! better, far
better, my Christian friend in the beautiful garment, to have let
the singing boys alone, and left the multitude to sing for
themselves! You should know better than I, but I think I have read
that they did so, once upon a time, and that ‘when they had sung an
hymn,’ Some one (not in a beautiful garment) went up into the Mount
of Olives.
It made my heart ache to think of this miserable trifling, in the
streets of a city where every stone seemed to call to me, as I
walked along, ‘Turn this way, man, and see what waits to be done!’
So I decoyed myself into another train of thought to ease my heart.
But, I don’t know that I did it, for I was so full of paupers, that
it was, after all, only a change to a single pauper, who took
possession of my remembrance instead of a thousand.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he had said, in a confidential manner, on
another occasion, taking me aside; ‘but I have seen better days.’
‘I am very sorry to hear it.’
‘Sir, I have a complaint to make against the master.’
‘I have no power here, I assure you. And if I had – ‘