And are these women calculated, by their manner, dress or appearance, to shock or warn people by their degradation? On the contrary they are cheerful, pleasant-looking girls, of quite fair breeding, and of a far better taste in their dress than the honest wives and sweethearts of the mechanics and shopkeepers, who sit in the place of virtue, within the painted railing. These women are satisfied with their lot, and do not repine so long as they have male acquaintances or "friends," as they call them, to give them champagne, moselle, and late suppers of game and native oysters in the Café de l'Europe, or at Barnes's in the Haymarket. Despite the arguments of those who have sought to eradicate the evil, these women, to any great number, never forsake their calling for the life of an honest working-woman. They laugh at such an idea, and will tell you that they could not do without wine, rich food, and costly dresses, even at the fearful price they have given to obtain them.
Besides, there is no field open to them, and suspicion follows every effort for reformation made by the few who have left the life of prostitution to go to hard work or service. They look down upon shop-girls and bar-maids with contempt, and many of them keep servants from the gains of their infamy. Whenever one of these girls happens to notice a stranger who does not seem to know the place, she will not hesitate to walk up to him, take his arm, and ask him: "Come, won't you give me my liquor?"
Many of these women have had no education whatever; still they manage to conceal the fact as much as possible, while others will tell you that they came originally from the workhouse, where they were sent as children, and being thrown on the streets when grown up, had no means of making a living but that which they were compelled to adopt. I spoke to one lady-like girl who seemed to be rather abstracted, and asked her if she were not tired of her present life, and anxious to leave it.
"Tired of my life? You may believe it that I am; but what of that. No one would take me by the hand after leaving this life. I am not such a fool as to jump from the frying pan into the fire. I get tight about twice a week, and then I come here and talk and drink more, and that serves to pass away the time. My friend is in Paris, and he sends me money when I want it. My mother is dead and my father is in America. I don't know where, and I don't care much, for he never bothered himself about me. Are you going to treat?"
I saw this girl walk up to the bar ten minutes after, pushing her way through the crowd, and saw her toss off nearly half a pint of raw gin, or "gin neat," as it is called here, without winking. Such is life. The detective told me that the girl had been one of the flashiest and best-dressed women who visited the Alhambra until a few months before, when she began drinking, and rapidly descended, when she had to pawn all her jewelry.
"WOTTEN WOW."
The songs sung in the Alhambra are not quite as low as those heard in some of the music-halls, and chiefly derive their short popularity from the fact that there is a comic vein in each one. Sentimental songs are not so popular, and do not receive so many encores as the comic ones. A man came on the stage, dressed in the exaggerated costume of a Pall Mall lounger, who sang a song, of which the following is a verse, with a very affected voice and lisp, keeping his body bent in a painful position the while:
THE BEAU OF WOTTEN WOW.
Now evewy sumwah's day
I always pass my time away;
Arm in arm with fwiends I go,
And stwoll awound sweet Wotten Wow;
For that's the place, none can deny,
To see blooming faces and laughing eye;
And if your hawts with love would glow,
Why, patwonize sweet Wotten Wow.
Chorus: