My Lodging and Some Others.
The poor, the poor, the poor, they stand, Wedged by the pressing of Trade's hand, Against an inward-opening door That pressure tightens evermore;They sigh a monstrous, foul-air sigh For the outside leagues of liberty, Where art, sweet lark, translates the sky Into a heavenly melody.
-SIDNEY LANIER.
FROM AN EAST LONDON standpoint, the room I rented for six shillings, or a dollar and a half, per week was a most comfortable affair.From the American standpoint, on the other hand, it was rudely furnished, uncomfortable, and small.By the time I had added an ordinary typewriter table to its scanty furnishing, I was hard put to turn around; at the best, I managed to navigate it by a sort of vermicular progression requiring great dexterity and presence of mind.
Having settled myself, or my property rather, I put on my knockabout clothes and went out for a walk.Lodgings being fresh in my mind, Ibegan to look them up, bearing in mind the hypothesis that I was a poor young man with a wife and large family.
My first discovery was that empty houses were few and far between.
So far between, in fact, that though I walked miles in irregular circles over a large area, I still remained between.Not one empty house could I find- a conclusive proof that the district was 'saturated.'
It being plain that as a poor young man with a family I could rent no houses at all in this most undesirable region, I next looked for rooms, unfurnished rooms, in which I could store my wife and babies and chattels.There were not many, but I found them, usually in the singular, for one appears to be considered sufficient for a poor man's family in which to cook and eat and sleep.When I asked for two rooms, the sublettees looked at me very much in the manner, I imagine, that a certain personage looked at Oliver Twist when he asked for more.
Not only was one room deemed sufficient for a poor man and his family, but I learned that many families, occupying single rooms, had so much space to spare as to be able to take in a lodger or two.
When such rooms can be rented for from 75 cents to $1.50 per week, it is a fair conclusion that a lodger with references should obtain floor space for, say from 15 to 25 cents.He may even be able to board with the sublettees for a few shillings more.This, however, Ifailed to inquire into- a reprehensible error on my part, considering that I was working on the basis of a hypothetical family.
Not only did the houses I investigated have no bath-tubs, but Ilearned that there were no bath-tubs in all the thousands of houses I had seen.Under the circumstances, with my wife and babies and a couple of lodgers suffering from the too-great spaciousness of one room, taking a bath in a tin wash basin would be an unfeasible undertaking.But, it seems, the compensation comes in with the saving of soap, so all's well, and God's still in heaven.Besides, so beautiful is the adjustment of all things in this world, here in East London it rains nearly every day, and, willy-nilly, our baths would be on tap upon the street.
True, the sanitation of the places I visited was wretched.From the imperfect sewage and drainage, defective traps, poor ventilation, dampness, and general foulness, I might expect my wife and babies speedily to be attacked by diphtheria, croup, typhoid, erysipelas, blood poisoning, bronchitis, pneumonia, consumption, and various kindred disorders.Certainly the death-rate would be exceedingly high.But observe again the beauty of the adjustment.
