There is,unfortunately,no need for me to attempt to set out,however imperfectly,any statement of the evil case of the sufferers what we wish to help.For years past the Press has been filled with echoes of the "Bitter Cry of Outcast London,"with pictures of "Horrible Glasgow,"and the like.We have had several volumes describing "How the Poor Live"and I may therefore assume that all my readers are more or less cognizant of the main outlines a "Darkest England."My slum officers are living in the midst of it their reports are before me,and one day I may publish some more detailed account of the actual facts of the social condition of the Sunken Millions.But not now.All that must be taken as read.
I only glance at the subject in order to bring into clear relief the salient points of our new Enterprise.
I have spoken of the houseless poor.Each of these represents a point in the scale of human suffering below that of those who have still contrived to keep a shelter over their heads.A home is a home,be it ever so low;and the desperate tenacity with which the poor will cling to the last wretched semblance of one is very touching.There are vile dens,fever-haunted and stenchful crowded courts,where the return of summer is dreaded because it means the unloosing of myriads of vermin which render night unbearable,which,nevertheless,are regarded at this moment as havens of rest by their hard-working occupants.
They can scarcely be said to be furnished.A chair,a mattress,and a few miserable sticks constitute all the furniture of the single room in which they have to sleep,and breed,and die;but they cling to it as a drowning man to a half-submerged raft.Every week they contrive by pinching and scheming to raise the rent,for with them it is pay or go and they struggle to meet the collector as the sailor nerves himself to avoid being sucked under by the foaming wave.If at any time work fails or sickness comes they are liable to drop helplessly into the ranks of the homeless.It is bad for a single man to have to confront the struggle for life in the streets and Casual Wards.But how much more terrible must it be for the married man with his wife and children to be turned out into the streets.So long as the family has a lair into which it can creep at night,he keeps his footing;but when he loses that solitary foothold then arrives the time if there be such a thing as Christian compassion,for the helping hand to be held out to save him from the vortex that sucks him downward--ay,downward to the hopeless under-strata of crime and despair.
"The heart knoweth its own bitterness and the stranger inter-meddleth not therewith."But now and then out of the depths there sounds a bitter wail as of some strong swimmer in his agony as he is drawn under by the current.A short time ago a respectable man,a chemist in Holloway,fifty years of age,driven hard to the wall,tried to end it all by cutting his throat.His wife also cut her throat,and at the same time they gave strychnine to their only child.The effort failed,and they were placed on trial for attempted murder.In the Court a letter was read which the poor wretch had written before attempting his life:-MY DEAREST GEORGE,--Twelve months have I now passed of a most miserable and struggling existence,and I really cannot stand it any more.I am completely worn out,and relations who could assist me won't do any more,for such was uncle's last intimation.Never mind;he can't take his money and comfort with him,and in all probability will find himself in the same boat as myself.He never enquires whether I am starving or not.#3--a mere flea-bite to him--would have put us straight,and with his security and good interest might have obtained me a good situation long ago.I can face poverty and degradation no longer,and would sooner die than go to the workhouse,whatever may be the awful consequences of the steps we have taken.
We have,God forgive us,taken our darling Arty with us out of pure love and affection,so that the darling should never be cuffed about,or reminded or taunted with his heartbroken parents'crime.My poor wife has done her best at needle-work,washing,house-minding,&c.,in fact,anything and everything that would bring in a shilling;but it would only keep us in semi-starvation.I have now done six weeks'travelling from morning till night,and not received one farthing for it,If that is not enough to drive you mad--wickedly mad--I don't know what is.No bright prospect anywhere;no ray of hope.
May God Almighty forgive us for this heinous sin,and have mercy on our sinful souls,is the prayer of your miserable,broken-hearted,but loving brother,Arthur.We have now done everything that we can possibly think of to avert this wicked proceeding,but can discover no ray of hope.Fervent prayer has availed us nothing;our lot is cast,and we must abide by it.It must be God's will or He would have ordained it differently.Dearest Georgy,I am exceedingly sorry to leave you all,but I am mad--thoroughly mad.You,dear,must try and forget us,and,if possible,forgive us;for I do not consider it our own fault we have not succeeded.If you could get #3for our bed it will pay our rent,and our scanty furniture may fetch enough to bury us in a cheap way.Don't grieve over us or follow us,for we shall not be worthy of such respect.Our clergyman has never called on us or given us the least consolation,though I called on him a month ago.He is paid to preach,and there he considers his responsibility ends,the rich excepted.We have only yourself and a very few others who care one pin what becomes of us,but you must try and forgive us,is the last fervent prayer of your devotedly fond and affectionate but broken-hearted and persecuted brother.
(Signed)R.A.O----.
