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himself, as he hoped, to plead their cause and explain their circumstances, and help to legislate for them in the days to come. This hope has not come to pass. He has carried his knowledge instead to the footstool of a Sovereign still better acquainted with their troubles than himself; and let us hope has had his eager heart stilled by the revelation of some wonderful way in which all their miseries shall be utilized or compensated the only thought which can give the sickened soul any consolation in sight of all the terrible paradoxes amid which we are compelled to live.

the best intentions in the world, and plenty of money in their purses, were not the kind of agency likely to do much good in it-or at least that, if good was to be done, the conditions of the work must be changed. "It was impossible, as he decribes, to do any adequate work without residing on the spot, the waste of energy in locomotion being itself an interruption to steady non-intermittent application such as he had prescribed for himself." He accordingly went, with the courage which is so much more unusual in this kind of enterprise than in any other, to the very The central chapter in his life was short, field of action, and established himself in not lasting more than eight months; this one of the unlovely streets in that terrible fact, however, does not detract from but desert of unloveliness, where life puts on rather adds to its importance: for there its most sordid garb. To be sure there was was no foolishness of enthusiasm about not nearly so much real suffering involved the act, but a serious resolution to see as there is in the life of the traveller who with his own eyes and hear with his own goes to Africa or Asia, or even to him who ears, and do with his own hands whatever goes fishing in Norway, or pursuing big it might be possible to do. He was under game into other unknown parts of the no religious vow of total self-abnegation earth; but the effort was immensely -he had duties to his family and the greater, for neither excitement, nor roworld which he did not abandon. In short, mance, nor novelty were to be found on the whole enterprise was as legitimate, the dread and dreary level of the East as excusable, as if it had been an Alpine End. When we add that the hero of this expedition; the only difference being that achievement was in delicate health, and he went not to risk lives but to save them "found it impossible to keep tolerably well not to explore bare rocks and frozen in London," the reader will see how true ice, but men and that his purpose was was this modest martyrdom, which took at once patriotic and Christian, having the place in absolute silence, with no applaudhighest meaning, instead of having no ing world looking on, and nothing but a meaning at all. We will not promise the steadfast determination to serve God and reader that he will be half so much amused man in the way that seemed to him most by this book as he was by Mr. Whymper's thorough and effectual, to keep his courAlpine rambles; but yet Philpot Street, age up. Commercial Road, is not without an interest of its own.

It would seem to have been the sense of inefficiency conveyed to him by his preIt is not so very long ago but that most liminary work in the Society for the Relief of us can remember the little stir made in of Distress which moved Mr. Denison to the papers about a "Society for organiz- this extreme step. Every man or woman ing Charitable Relief," which was got up who ever took part in a public movement under the auspices, we think of the then of charity must have felt the same-the Bishop of London-and by means of sickening sense of inadequacy, the feelwhich the young men of fashion who haveing that their work rather increased than nothing to do, were, we were told, to be converted into missionaries of charity, and taught such a lesson at the same time as to the seriousness of life as could not fail to leave its influence upon their own butterfly existence. For once this sanguine anticipation of the newspapers came true if in no other case at least in this one. The East End was at that time (1869) in the full flood of one of its great crises of distress. Mr. Denison had this sea of misery thus brought before his eyes. He saw how deep and how dense it was, and at the same time he saw that the young gentlemen from the clubs, with

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lessened the distress around, and the still more miserable consciousness that the mass of wretchedness was also a mass of falsehood, and that faith in their fellow-creatures was here at least impossible. This last and bitterest point is not referred to in the following letter, which, however, expresses the young writer's perception of the ineffectual character of the public work: —

"If I am not going to be all the winter in town I must give up my post under the Society for the Relief of Distress. Indeed I am not sure that I should not have done so in any case. I, can't believe in those doles of bread and meat,

One of the first results of Mr. Denison's work was to convince him that the

evil he had devoted himself to help was in a great measure caused by the injudicious good works of others. The money which in England so many comfortable well-off people are so ready to give, especially at

and the time they occupy in distribution with- benevolence;" and he adds, that the disholds me from more solid and permanent tress which has become chronic in Bethnal schemes of assistance. I should visit as before Green, Whitechapel, and Stepney, "has in that district on my own 'hook,' and apply been aggravated more than all by the what money I could scrape together myself or wholesale distribution of money by way beg from friends, in dealing thoroughly and of alms these last three or four years.' radically with a small number of cases of aggra- Thus it is evident it was no rose-water vated distress. These bread-and-meat doles are only doing the work of the poor-rates, and are philanthropist who descended upon Mile absolutely useless: the chief use of this Society, End in the stifling autumn weather in or of any other, in my view, consists in bring- August 1867, when every soul of his class ing a considerable number of persons belonging had fled to wholesome moors and hills, out to the upper classes in actual contact with the of even the fresher and airier London of misery of their fellow-citizens, and so convinc- Belgravia. Instead of the Highlands or ing them of the necessity of social reform." the fresh breadths of English home scenery, what a contrast were those dull and shutor the risks and delights of Switzerland, less-which, stretching as they do for up streetshot, dusty, frowsy, and breathmiles of featureless brick and mortar, impress and appall the mind more with the all its crowds and all its palaces! To a terrible, dreary magnitude of London than English God-at Christmas, for instance, as a necessity of nature, to air and veryoung man so trained, to one accustomed, and in the chill depths of winter, when dare and beauty, what a sacrifice! — and thousands of persons who would shrink yet he made it spontaneously, eagerly, to from the responsibility of looking after a single poor family send large sums ofdition who were left at the other end of please himself. While the few of his conmoney to some public charity by way of town, with parks and trees close by, and compounding with God and their con- all that Art could do to make up for the sciences was in his eyes the very seed of pauperism. His opinions on this sub- lamented themselves, he went cheerfully temporary want of freedom, groaned and ject are most decisive:off to his little lodging, to all the mean surroundings which were so unfamiliar. He makes, we think, but one moan on this subject, and that only when the stifling autumn months were gone, and the compulsory deadness of winter might have made his prison a little more tolerable.

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My wits are getting blunted by the monotony and ugliness of this place. I can almost imagine-difficult as it is upon a human mind of never seeing anything but the meanest and vilest of men and man's works, and of complete exclusion from the sight of God and His works- a position in which the villager never is, and freedom from which ought to give him a higher moral starting-point than the Gibeonite of a large town."

“The real truth is, sensation writing and reckless alms are fast doing away the great work of the new poor-law in bringing up the people to providence and self-restraint. We are falling back into the bad old ways of the times at the beginning of the Peace. You will find all the men who really give themselves most trouble about the poor, are the most alive to the terrible evils of the so-called charity which pours money into the haunts of misery and vice every winter. If we could but get one honest news paper to write down promiscuous charity, and write up sweeping changes, not so much in our poor-law theory as in our poor-law practice, something might be done. . I have been busy, and muddled and worried lately. Things are so bad down here, and giving money away only makes them worse. I am beginning seriously to believe that all bodily aid to the poor The work he did in this strangely-chosen is a mistake, and that the real thing is to let autumn refuge was manifold. At the very things work themselves straight; whereas, by outset, the mere fact of his residence there giving alms you keep them permanently crooked. exercised a certain passive influence upon Build schoolhouses, pay teachers, give prizes, the district. He speaks of "the remedial frame workmen's clubs, help them to help them-influence of the mere presence of a genselves, lend them your brains; but give them no money, except what you sink in such undertakings as the above."

In another place he declares "Our objectie., self, rector, and some othersis to put a stop as much as possible to all

tleman known to be on the alert" as of itself an inestimable advantage to the mass, not one of which, except here and there a publican who had made a little money out of the general wretchedness, was at all above the level of that poverty

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from secular history. Perhaps this may seem to you a presumptuous undertaking; and if I pretended to do anything like justice to the subject, so it would be. It will appear less formidable if you consider, not so much the feebleness of my light, as the blackness of their darkness whom I

shall address."

which is scorned by health-inspectors and hustled by policemen. "Just now," he says, "I only teach a night-school, and do what in me lies in looking after the sick, keeping an eye upon nuisances and the like, seeing that the local authorities keep up to their work. I go to-morrow before the board at the workhouse to compel the removal to the infirmary of a man who This darling idea of the class to which ought to have been there already. I shall Mr. Denison belonged-the serious and desire the sanitary inspector to put the liberal-minded young reformers, whose Act against overcrowding into force, with form of patriotism, if peculiar, is a high one, regard to some houses in which there have and their Christianity pure and genuine, been so many as eight and ten bodies oc- if "viewy" and not very orthodox-he cupying one room.' carried out with evident satisfaction and Thus it is clear that his mere neighbour-pleasure, beginning with an audience of hood was of use to the poor community. twenty-five, all working-men and dockHe did, however, more than this, making labourers, and keeping up a steady class an attempt at religious training of the ig- of about ten men, who met every week to norant and careless men about him, of the hear him. We should be glad to have success of which, or whether it dropped been informed if he continued this during entirely on his leaving, we should have all his residence in Mile End, and if any liked to have heard some details. We are attempt was made after to keep it up. not quite sure if it was as hopeful as the We cannot profess, however, for our own effort to improve their social condition. part, much faith in such attempts. ExpeMr. Denison, like so many serious and able rience shows that the men who really men of the present generation, had a catch hold of and impress the careless and strong idea that the clergy did not go to irreligious masses are not refined Oxford work in the best way to attract and en- men with broad ideas and an enthusiasm gage the interest of men of the lower or- for humanity, but those narrowest preachders. "What is the use," he asks, "ofers of salvation and damnation who can telling people to come to church when they appeal fearlessly to the strongest instincts know of no rational reason why they of the primitive soul, and who offer to should - when, if they go, they find themselves among people using forms of words which have never been explained to them; ceremonies performed which to them are entirely without meaning, sermons preached which as often as not have no meaning, or when they have a meaning, intelligible only to those who have studied religion all their lives?" Acting upon this idea, he took this branch of reformation also into his own young and eager hands with a confidence which we cannot blame, and which was extremely natural, yet not, we think, founded either upon experience or reason. He describes his own intentions as follows:

their disciples a choice between the most solemn of advantages and the most awful of penalties. No man has moved the lower classes since his time as Whitfield moved them, who had no broad views, nor knew anything about a lay-exposition of Christianity. This kind of impassioned religion, speaking the most technical and least comprehensible of language, and abandoning all attempt to harmonize itself with modern ways of thinking, or to demonstrate itself as built upon solid reason, has always been the most acceptable to the uneducated mind.

Mr. Denison was not only determined to put down benevolence if he could, but he also opposed emigration, the other panacea which is supposed likely to cure us of our Poor. "All the evidence I have ever " he says, seen," that the persons who thrive in the new goes to establish the fact,

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"Then there is to be- and this will be my great work, which if it succeeds will be the crown and glory of my labours -a meeting in the evenings, as often as they can be got together, of such of the grown men as I can collect. These I propose to take through a com- country are just those who have thriven in the old those, that is, who are endowed plete course of elementary Bible-teaching. Taking the Bible in my hand as the source, centre, with a strong body, a vigorous mind, a resand end of everything, I shall develop the whole olute will, and industrious habits. How scheme of religion, following the Bible narrative, many such are there now starving in Engand bringing in to my assistance any and every land?" This is no doubt perfectly true; reinforcement I can draw from what little I know and nothing can exceed the misery of of human nature, from natural religion, and those poor, helpless, hopeless emigrants,

turned out upon an unfamiliar shore, weak, ignorant, and bewildered, after the delusions of their start and the weariness of their voyage, and finding that life depends upon hard work, skill, and courage, as much on the other side of the Atlantic as on this. Still there are exceptions; and we cannot doubt that some classes of the poor would find an easier living in the new country than in the old. However, we cannot linger further on this gentle and subdued, but most interesting, picture of the work of a young man, as thoroughly meriting the old and somewhat hackneyed but noble title of Patriot as any Roman of them all. The courage which enabled him to make such a sacrifice, and the patience with which he conducted his work, are alike lessons which it would do us all good to learn all the more that his life was no saintly stretch of self-devotion, and he was susceptible to the ambitions, and bound by the duties, of ordinary men. This makes it all the more a practical lesson to men absorbed in the occupations of ordinary life. In another point of view how ever the book is not quite so satisfactory; for the reader who has become interested in the man and his work cannot but pause to ask what was the effect upon the district of this fragment of noble effort. Did it repay the expenditure? Did the brief heroism tell, as it ought to have told, upon those for whom the sacrifice was made? Has anything followed to reward the generous worker, or to encourage those who may follow his example? or have we but the example, the advice, the direction he has left us? None of these questions are at all answered in this too reticent little vol

ume.

From The Spectator.

A HINDOO PRINCE.

We have found the "mild Hindoo," the man so long sought in vain, who realizes the idea which the British mind has formed to itself of one of the most varied populations in the world. Misled partly by ancient travellers, partly by the history of the conquest, which seems explicable only by the submissiveness of the people, and partly by a secret wish, the average Briton has developed out of his inner consciousness a being of dusky skin and gentle smile, clothed in white but with an ample turban, who worships graven images and his white conqueror, who has some moral foibles but no de

fects of manner, and whose mind although acute is in all essentials, and especially in its capacity of affectionate respect, innocently childlike, and has dubbed this imaginary being the "native" of India. The Anglo-Indian, who knows that the natives vary in character as much as Englishmen, but are for the most part as subtle as Greeks, as callous as Spaniards, as tenacious as Corsicans, and as satirical as Parisians, finds the English fancy so ridicu lous, that he has with the assistance of Nana Sahib and the Cawnpore story almost succeeded in preventing his countrymen from descanting on their ideal; but the old belief still lingers in the majority of English minds, and at last it has found in an unexpected quarter a kind of justification. There really was once a mild Hindoo, a native gentleman of the typical kind, and he was of all men in India a Marhatta, a Marhatta Prince, a Marhatta Prince of the veritable strain of Sivagee, perhaps the fiercest and most bloodthirsty bandit who, even in India, ever rose to independent power. This was the last Rajah of Kolhapore, a dependent Marhatta State yielding a revenue for its chief of £120,000 a year, and inhabited by about a million of souls, over whom he possessed the power of life and death. As a Marhatta he was, of course, a Hindoo of Hindoos, and could not cross the black water, and personally he was almost a devotee, going twice a day to listen to texts and sermons; but as a Sovereign he enjoyed certain exemptions, and in 1870 the Brahmins informed him that if he took with him his own attendants and ate only of food they had prepared, he might visit Europe without loss of caste, or injury to his future prospects, or detriment to his religious position among his own countrymen, a position very valuable even to a Prince.

Accordingly, at the age of 20, the Rajah being then the husband of two wives, one of whom was still a little child, came over to Europe with a few followers, and is thus described in Good Words by Lady Verney:-"He was barely twenty, though he looked much older; a smallmade man, with extremely slender hands and feet; his complexion of that pleasantly brown colour which looks as if it had been just ripened by the sun, not scorched black; the eyes very large and lustrous, without much expression; and a contemplative, rather child-like look; his white teeth shone brilliantly, however, when he spoke, and lighted up the dark face. A kindly, gentle young prince, not wanting

The statues which are here

in intelligence, with a sort of easy dignity, I made on the 15th and 16th June, 1870: as of one used to be obeyed, but apparent- "Took a drive in Hyde Park and Rely quite contented to remain languidly in gent's Park, and through Regent Street the place where he happened to be, so that in the afternoon. Hyde Park and Reone wondered the more to see him ven- gent's Park are large and beautifully turing so far from home. He was ordina- green. These are very good parks. Many rily dressed in a kind of dark-green cloth people ride, drive, and walk in them. coat, with a curious edifice on his head 16th.- Went to see Madame Tussaud's formed of rolls of red muslin twisted into | Exhibition. thin coils, without which he was never are made of wax, and are very life-like. seen in public, any more than Louis XIV. No one thinks at first thought that they without his wig. He would have consid- are statues and not real persons. I liked ered it an act of rudeness on his part to these statues very much. They are of show himself bareheaded, though he English and European kings and queens pulled off his turban when with his own and celebrated men. Then took a drive people only. He had never been alone in through Hyde Park. At 11 P.M. drove to all his life, and used to sit chatting and Sir Robert M- to an evening party. laughing with his attendants on terms of Sir Robert introduced several ladies and perfect ease, curiously mixed with the gentlemen to me. He is a very good and Oriental depth of respect and reverence polite man. It rained much to-night." with which they treated him." That lit- On the Continent it is just the same. tle touch about the man who had never "The Rhine is very broad, and it has got been alone, and who talked so familiarly fresh water." "Munich is a nice large and pleasantly with his servants, yet was city." "The King of the Belgians spoke treated by them with such deep, silent re- very politely and gently with me." "Gerspect, is a fine one, and exactly describes mans are celebrated for learning and not only the position of the Rajah among smoking." All in the same fashion, as of his people that of a high-born child a schoolboy writing a theme. An Eton among his dependants, who is to be petted and talked to, and kept in good humour, but if an order is given obeyed but the special character of the man, who was exactly the child-like, simple, sweet-natured being, with an undue capacity of reverence, which Englishmen believe all natives of India to be. We should not trust Lady Verney's account alone, or that of any other European, as a native diplomatist when so inclined would deceive the very elect; but the Rajah kept a diary or notebook during his tour, which has since his death been published by his guide, philosopher, friend, and bear-leader, Captain West, and which, lets us, at least in part, into the secret of the Rajah's character. It is a most remarkable production. From end to end of it there is not a thought which is above the thinking-power of a 'pleasant-minded, simple English lad of fourteen, not an idea worth preserving, not a sentence upon which it is possible to found a criticizing remark. And yet it is like the diaries of some children, a noteworthy production if only for its simplicity, its utter transparency, the internal evidence it affords that it is the work of one to whom affectation was unknown, who could not conceive a reason why any one should ridicule his thoughts, and so recorded them with all the inimitable dignity of unconscious childhood. The diary is crammed with entries like these,

boy of twelve, if he dared write in a theme exactly what he thought, or if he were writing to his sister of a similar age, would express himself just as the Rajah does, and would, like him, probably omit to mention anything he did not approve. There is something exquisitely childlike, and in its way pleasant, in the single effort which he makes at self-introspection or analysis, the constantly-recurring remark, "I like so-and-so very much." He seldom says, "I did not like," except when speaking of Volunteers, whose dark uniform always angers his eye, and very seldom, even when describing persons, gets beyond the most patent observations upon their outward bearing towards himself. He saw everybody, of course, all that is great, or famous, or powerful in the land; but his observation never goes deeper than in his remark about the Queen, that "she appeared to be in good health, and to be a kind-hearted lady; or about Mr. Bruce, the Home Secretary, that he is " "very gentle, civil, and polite, though he is one of the greatest men at present; " or about Woodin, that "he sings and acts pretty well, but I admire his changing his dress so quickly very much." He was evidently greatly impressed by the bearing of the great people, repeating over and over again his admiration of their kindness and politeness to him, as if he were conscious of some internal surprise or shock to his

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