CHAPTER III.

THE APPLESHAWS.

THE same day that saw Giddy's cage in its new place, and the artizan's two rooms at the jeweller's neatly furnished and arrayed, Joe Appleshaw, his wife, and children approached London. Failing to obtain further work by the way, Joe, at Nelly's suggestion, turned aside no longer to obtain it, but proceeded on direct to town, which, weary and footsore, they reached at the close of day.

Passing over Blackfriar's Bridge, whither they had been directed, and on which they lingered for some minutes to gaze down with rustic wonder on the splendid river sweeping far below, they had little difficulty in finding the notorious locality of Saffron Hill and its surrounding streets. But it was not so easy to make out the exact house they sought. For though many of these purlieus were thronged with idle loungers, though the doorsteps and windows were mostly crowded with women and children, whose features in the mingled twilight and scanty gaslight looked still more pallid than by day, though Nelly, with instinctive judgment, invariably addressed the most decent-looking of the loungers or passers-by, yet neither she nor Joe could elicit a direct, or, in many cases, a civil answer. A query answered their question, or else a ribald jest. At length, through inquiry in a little fœtid huckster's shop, wherein a bloated, shrewish woman was serving out the minutest modicums of food, grocery, wood or coals to a crowd of slipshod women and hungry-looking, filthy children, they found they must enter a narrow court a few yards down on the other side of the street. As it was a cul-de-sac, with an opening but a few feet wide, they would have had some difficulty in discovering it but for a very diminutive slipshod girl, who, following them from the shop with a herring dangling in her hand, now approached, and beckoning, led the way. Just as they had emerged into the narrow cul-desac itself-dimly lighted by a lamp at the entrance, and not wide enough to admit

* Continued from page 15.

VOL. VIII. N. S.

more than two persons abreast-they were met by an elderly man, decently dressed in black. The girl instinctively stayed to curtsey, even before the stranger had recognized her; and when he did so, he laid his hand kindly on her head, bid her be a good girl, and keep to school, do what she could for her father and mother, and fear God; he then passed on. Ignorant and untutored as she was, Nelly Appleshaw was struck by this evidence of better things amidst so much that had already made her heart sink with fear and loathing; for she remembered that it was in this way that the good clergyman in the parish where she had been reared had always stayed to speak to the school or village children.

"Thou hast pretty manners," she said to the girl, whose feet were shoeless, and whose rags dangled in strips; "dost thee go to school, and be this the parson ?"

Mam," asked Dick, who, though footsore and sleepy, had been a listener, "may I go to school when dad gets work?"

"Ay! that thou shalt, lad; for it wur a sore thing to my heart that thou had'st to leave schoolmaister as thou didst to go stone picking and bird scaring. Ay, thou shalt go, my lad, that thou shalt. But what be that running noise?" she asked of the girl, for as they advanced up the cul-de-sac, a dull, gurgling sound, accompanied by a stench. most incredible and loathsome, became more and more perceptible.

"It's the ditch," replied the girl; "folks at Nix's says it's bin a river once, but it's a precious bad place now. People as come fresh to Nix's find it dreadful; but we'se got used to it, though doctor said t'other night when he come to see Betty Flaggan's babby-that that's why it die, and many babbies and growd folks, too."

Nelly did not answer, but pressed her sleeping infant to her breast.

By this time they had reached Nix's door -the adjacent shutter being closed, though

F

light streamed through the broken chinks. At Joe's heavy knock, and the child's lighter one, a stout bar was drawn aside, and a large, coarse-featured man, admitting the child, confronted the labourer and his family.

"I be wanting a lodging, master, for me and my missis and children, and to see Ned Bingly as puts up here." As he spoke thus, Joe, in his ignorant simplicity moved a step forward as though to pass in, but an iron hand stayed him.

"Hast thou money to pay with?" asked the man gruffly, "folks pay before hand here."

Nelly gently asked the sum.

"Three-pence a-piece for thee and the man, two-pence each the children-the babby not counting." And the man numbered at a glance the four children as though they were so many nine-pins or head of cattle.

Producing her sole money from her pocket a solitary shilling and sixpence-Nelly placed them in his hand, and he at once admitted them without care as to whether they were married or single, drunken or sober, religious or irreligious, honest or dishonest-it was no matter that those before him had moral natures that might be contaminated by the scenes within, so that he had his price.

The barn-like room into which they were admitted, had been, evidently, at one time divided into a lesser and a greater portion by a partition wall. This had been partially pulled down from the ceiling downwards for several feet-but leaving enough standing from the floor upwards to form a sort of screen of about five feet in height, within which the man and a middle-aged woman appeared to live, as they had a little fire-place to themselves, a turn-up bedstead, a cuckoo clock, a rickety table, a few broken chairs, and an old bureau; and thus protected from observation, they could yet see and hear all that was going on in the kitchen adjoining.

Receiving her change from the landlady, a debauched-looking, faded woman, who was frying a luxurious supper of beef-steaks and onions at the little fire-place just spoken of, Nelly followed Joe and her children into the room behind the partition, in which blazed a large fire, though it was a hot June night. It was pretty well filled by a motley crowd of all ages and sexes. The women for the major part being gathered round the fire-place, cooking, talking, drinking, or nursing, the men lolling, or asleep on the benches, the

one or two old tables, the few rickety or backless chairs, whilst some of the younger ones were seated, card-playing, on the filthy floor. Children swarmed. Those who were

not asleep or ravenously devouring the food their parents had brought in, were quarrelling or playing, as the case might be; or else apt listeners or observers of the foul manners and fouler language which was taking place around. On either of the latter there was no restraint; except occasionally, when the brutal laugh or shout grew too loud, the man behind the partition cried out, "Silence, theere," in a voice that matched the rest. He feared the ear of the police that was all; as to any other care he had none-not he! Topics were openly discussed that decent men and women would blush to name; acts were prevalent that degrade humanity to the level of the brute. Girlsalmost children-gloried, as though crowned with honour, in their own shame; lads and men spoke of the open theft, the more insidious and secret crime as though such were honest tests of manhood and well-doing; old sinners of both sexes, past the age of profitable sin, yet recounted ancient misdeeds, as though matter for memory and fame; and children, who had never had a childhood, imitated the sins they thus hourly learned. There was no more recognition, or rather, knowledge, in that place of God or God-like things; of the light divine within the human breast; of the benefit of good, the curse of evil; of our Saviour and the blessed creed He taught to men, than as if mortality had not been so redeemed, and mortal natures, like the potter's vessel, were all of claypoor clay !

Yet step but for a moment out of doors, and the parish clergyman, the district visitor, the city missionary, or the policeman would tell you that Nix's lodging was far from being the worst-and that, within a stone's throw of that very spot, a dozen places existed that only had their equal in the dens of Glasgow !

With that selfish indifference which so eminently characterizes a low moral condition wherever found, no one moved to give Joe or Nelly a seat, till Nix, observing this from his eyry behind the partition, cried out, "Room theere for them folks-room theere." A share of a bench was therefore resigned to them, with grumbling expressions of ill-will by two or three loungers.

Nix had informed the new comers that

Bingly would be in by-and-bye, as he was "a regular lodger;" so Nelly, gathering her children round her, sat down by her husband's side; whereupon the women lolling about the fire-place began questioning her with idle curiosity on every possible subject. Used as she had been to the coarseness and to the low moral condition of the agricultural class amidst which she had been bred, some decencies had been found within it, some glimpses of a better life had cast its light within, but here was nothing but darkness and degradation of the worst character. Her heart was very full, poor thing; for maternity in some degree had supplied the lack of education. And as the coarse oath and brutal jest fell upon her ear, she could have risen and fled with her children had she known whither; for, ignorant as she was, she was aware of the evils which must spring from such contamination. But where could she go? In her simple heart she wished rich folks had built decent lodgings for poor people like themselves, where there might be found rest and quiet, and water with which to wash her children, and a bed to lay them in. As it was, whither could she go? She had but fourpence in the world; and Joe's work depended on his seeing Bingley; so she pressed her baby a little closer to her breast, and stooping, listened to the whispers of her sleepy children for bread. She had some in a bundle, as well as a pennyworth of tea she had bought on their way through the Borough; and so, dividing the former, she was about to ask for some of the water which boiled in a huge kettle on the fire, when a low cry of pain, a volley of oaths, and a scuffle in a corner by the fire-place arrested her attention. Looking that way, she saw that the wretched child whom the district visitor had addressed, and who had led them down the cul-de-sac, had been fiercely struck by a woman till the blood streamed from her face. An instant before Nelly had seen the child toasting the herring on an old fork at the fire; this, it would seem, she had carried on some bread to the woman, and received, not thanks, but a blow, in return. The crime had been that she had aroused her from a drunken sleep.

"Give it her again-lay it on her," was shouted out by many of the spectators round; whilst above the din Nix's voice could be heard calling, "Silence, theere; silence, theere."

The crowd formed in circle, as though better to behold the fight between mother and child-for such was the relationship-but they were disappointed. The woman who had tried to rise had sunk back again in drunken helplessness in the chair, and for a moment the wretched, dwarfish, ragged child stood before her brutal aggressor with a face in which all the worst passions were apparent, and as though, with upheaved hand, she was about to put in force the promptings of the brutal spectators. But this passion was short-lived, for she turned away, and, covering her bloody face with her hands, burst into tears. Nelly rose, led her to a seat beside her, and tried to staunch the blood; but, unheeding this tenderness, or the jeering cries of "chickenheart," "coward," "that comes o' ragged schools," she bent her head down on the table and sobbed still more bitterly.

"Canna I find a drop o' water to wash her poor face?" asked Nelly, innocently, of one of the women.

"Water!" said the latter, derisively, as though asked for a jewel or a bank note; "dost thou think thou'lt get any here? Why it inna put on above twice a week, and then when it be, the water-butt i' th' cellar make it so bad that there be no doing nothin' with it. Why, I've long given up

washing, and so must thee if thee live here." What a prospect for decency or cleanliness! -Nelly thought of the lovely brook which had purled at the bottom of her cottage garden with a sigh.

But not defeated, Nelly wetted a rag with water from the kettle, wiped the girl's face, then made some tea in an old teapot, of which Mrs. Nix gave temporary loan, poured it out in a cup or two, and gave her At this she looked into Nelly's face, and said, touchingly,

one.

"I like you; you be kind! T'aint many on 'em here is so."

"No," replied Nelly, shaking her head. "It wur right good on thee not to left thy hand agin her: but I thought thee would."

"Ay, I used to do just that," said the girl, "and right hard, too; but at ragged school they say we mayn't. So just as my hand wur up--ye see she struck me 'cause I took the ha'penny for th' herrin', for she'd put it by for the drop i' th' morning-I thought what teacher said t'other day, that we mun do good for evil, and not strike them as strikes, or hate them as hates, and

so I didn't. But I'd done it though afore I went to ragged school." Saying this, Nance, for such was her name, drew nearer to Nelly, and laid her hand gently in hers.

Amongst those who now dropped in-for miscellaneous seekers of a night's lodging were constantly arriving-was Ned Bingley, a fine specimen of the southern counties' labourer. He was heartily glad to see Joe and Nelly-shook them by the hand over and over again-coaxed down Dick's hairkissed little Nelly-proceeded to the eyry, and borrowed a few platters and a tin can— things readily lent, as, in Nix's phrase, he was a prime lodger." He then went out, and though money he had none-for his habits were fully as improvident as any of his class-he easily got trust, and soon came back with a paper full of cooked meat, a large loaf, and a couple of gallons of beer. He then cleared a filthy soddened table of the loungers round it, in this being assisted by Nix's cry of "Room, theere," and setting forth the viands, heartily invited his friends to partake; and so supper was begun.

"Dost think Joe 'll get a job?" was Nelly's first anxious question, when a few mouthfuls of supper had, in some degree, revived her from depression consequent on weariness and the loud-mouthed confusion of the scene around-"for, ye see, we've come far, and spent all i' th' coming."

"He mun wait a bit, I fear," replied Ned; "there be hands enough on th' present job. Master 'll begin a new contract in a few days, and then I can, by speaking, get him on. But nayther thee nor Joe shall want bit or drop till then. Thou canst lodge here, and Nix shall find me paymaster. So cheer thy heart, my lad and girl; whilst I've a penny, thou shalt share it."

This was said heartily, and with that real sympathy which the poor have for the poor; but Nelly's heart died within her at the thought of spending another night, much more days, in such a lodging. She would have taken her children at that moment, and gone forth with them if she could; and her brain had been already busy with the thought of the little room she would hire on the morrow. Presently, when their conversation was not likely to be overheard, she expressed her fears and dislike of the place to Bingley, and her wonder that he stayed there.

"Well, what can I do, missis?" he said;

"thou don't know the hardness of a poor man getting a lodging, and I mun live near, for the great sewer in which I be working, keeps me wet half the day, and it don't do to go sopping a mile to get a dry, as Joe 'll find. What's more, missis, I tried a room a bit, but it cost me three shillin' a week, and there weren't a bit o'comfort. No fire to come to; no one to cook a bit o' meat. So I came here, and kep' here. I don't mean to be saying it be a good place; and it cost a deal o' money. But I get a fire, and some one to speak to, so I cast the wickedness behind me as well as may be. I dunna say I like it, but there be no choice." And with that fatal apathy which ignorance and this class of evils breed, this fine specimen of the agricultural class sought to be content in a moral atmosphere in which contamination could be the sole result.

It was now growing late. A portion of the promiscuous multitude had slunk, one by one or in pairs, up the filthy, dilapidated staircase leading from the room, and in full view of Nix's eyry. But a considerable number of those more lately come still remained about the fire, cooking, eating, or talking, so that the hubbub, though less, was still occasionally sufficient to elicit the "silence, theere" of the ubiquitous Nix. A few indeed of the throng-those who paid a penny less for down-stairs' accommodationhad settled themselves for the night just where they had crouched on the floor, or elsewhere in remote corners; the habitués of the lodging-house selecting his or her unvarying place, whilst the casual visitant took up such lodgment as vacancy afforded. Thus little Nance's mother, one of Nix's oldest lodgers, slept in her accustomed corner, with her child beside her. such waifs and strays as organ-boys, homeless children, or adults as forlorn, settled themselves down anywhere, as beneath tables or benches, where there was likely to be freedom from the footsteps of passers-by. In some cases a group of poor children lay huddled together; in another a boy had made himself a corner with his organ; amidst one darkened heap of sleeping outcasts peered the watchful visage of a little monkey, which, clad in a tarnished coat of scarlet cloth, watched all that passed with suspicious curiosity.

But

and

Nelly's children, with the exception of little Dick, had long slept, for she had