KNOWN TO THE POLICE

KNOWN
TO THE POLICE

BY

THOMAS HOLMES

SECRETARY TO THE HOWARD ASSOCIATION
AUTHOR OF
"PICTURES AND PROBLEMS FROM LONDON POLICE COURTS," ETC.

LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
1908
[All rights reserved]

DEDICATION

TO HER WHO HAS SHARED MY LIFE, WHO HAS PARTICIPATED IN ALL MY JOYS AND SORROWS, IN ALL MY HOPES AND FEARS, WHOSE GENTLENESS HAS SOFTENED ME, WHOSE PATIENCE HAS CURBED MY IMPATIENCE, WHOSE FAITH HAS INSPIRED ME, WHOSE SYMPATHY AND SELF-DENIAL HAVE MADE MY LIFE POSSIBLE—TO HER WHOSE LOVE HAS NEVER FAILED DO I GRATEFULLY DEDICATE THIS BOOK.

T. H.

PREFACE

The kind reception accorded to a previous book encourages me to believe that another volume dealing with my experiences in the great under-world of London may not prove unacceptable.

For twenty-five years I have practically lived in this under-world, and the knowledge that I have obtained has been gathered from sad, and often wearying, experience. Yet I have seen so much to encourage and inspire me, that now, in my latter days, I am more hopeful of humanity's ultimate good than ever. Hopeful—nay, I am certain, for I have felt the pulse of humanity, and I know that it throbs with true sympathy. I have listened to its heart-beats, and I know that they tell in no uncertain manner that the heart of humanity is sound and true.

Most gladly do I take this opportunity of proclaiming—and I would that I could proclaim it with a far-reaching voice—that, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, in spite of apparent carelessness, indifference, and selfishness, the rich are not unmindful of the poor; they do not hate the poor, for I know—and no one knows it better—that with many of the rich the present condition of the very poor is a matter of deep and almost heartbreaking concern.

They will be glad—ay, with a great gladness—if some practical way of ameliorating our present conditions can be shown.

But I can speak with more authority for the poor, whom I know, love, and serve. The poor have no ill-feeling toward the rich; they harbour no suspicions; no envy, hatred, or malice dwell in their simple minds. Their goodness astonishes me, and it rebukes me.

Ah, when we get at the heart of things, rich and poor are very close together, and this closeness makes me hopeful; for out of it social salvation will come and the day arrive when experiences like unto mine will be impossible, and mine will have passed away as an evil dream.

Sincerely and devoutly I hope that this simple record of some parts of my life and my work may tend to bind rich and poor still closer.

One result of my former book, "Pictures and Problems from London Police Courts," is to be found at Walton-on-the-Naze—a Home of Rest for London's poorest toilers, which the readers of that book generously gave me the means of establishing. During the present year five hundred poor women have rested in it, some of them never having previously seen the sea. Such profits as accrue to me from the sale of this book will be devoted to the maintenance and development of this Home.

One word more. I want it to be distinctly understood that I am no longer a Police Court Missionary. I resigned that position four years ago that I might be free to devote my life to London's poorest toilers, the home-workers, to whom frequent references are made in my pages, and for whom I hope great things. But I am not free altogether of my old kind of work, for, as secretary of the Howard Association, one half of my life is still devoted to prisons and prisoners.

THOMAS HOLMES.

12, Bedford Road,
Tottenham, N.
September, 1908.

CONTENTS

KNOWN TO THE POLICE

CHAPTER I MEMORIES AND CONTRASTS

During the summer of 1904 there were in London few men more unsettled in mind and miserable than myself. I had severed my connection with London police-courts—and well I knew it. I was not sure that I had done wisely or well, and was troubled accordingly. I missed more than words can express the miseries that had hitherto been inseparable from the routine of my life. For twenty-one years, day after day at a regular hour, I had turned my steps in one direction, and had gone from home morning by morning with my mind attuned to a certain note. It was not, then, a strange thing to find that mechanical habits had been formed, and that sometimes I found myself on the way to the police-court before I discovered my mistake. Still less was it a marvel to find that my mind refused to accept all at once the fact that I was no longer a Police-Court Missionary. I must in truth confess I felt a bit ashamed that I had given up the work. I felt that I was something of a traitor, who had deserted the poor and the outcast, many of whom had learned to love and trust me.

I am not ashamed to say that I had been somewhat proud of my name and title, for the words "Police-Court Missionary" meant much to me, and I had loved my work and had suffered for it.

It was doubtless in accordance with the fitness of things that I should retire from the work when I did, for I am getting old, and dead officialism might have crept upon me, and whatever power for good I may have might have been atrophied. Of such a fate I always felt afraid; mercifully from such a fate I was prevented or delivered.

Still, I sorrowed till time lightened the sense of loss. By-and-by new interests arose, new duties claimed me, and other phases of life interested me. Four years have now lapsed, a length of time that allows sufficient perspective, and enables me to calmly take stock of the twenty-one years I spent in London police-courts. I do not in this chapter, or in this book, intend to review the whole of those years, but I do hope to make some comparisons of the things of to-day with those of twenty-one years ago.

The comparisons will, I trust, be encouraging, and show that we have progressed in a right direction, and that we are all still progressing. Two days of those years will remain ever with me—the day I entered on my work and the day I gave it up.

Of the latter I will not speak; but as the former opened my eyes to wonders of humanity, and humanity being of all wonders the greatest, I have something to say.

The conditions at London police-courts in those days were bad, past conception. No words of mine can adequately describe them, and only for the sake of comparison and encouragement do I attempt briefly to portray some of the most striking features of those days. Even now I feel faint when I recall the "prisoners' waiting-room," with its dirty floor, its greasy walls, and its vile atmosphere.

The sanitary arrangements were disgusting. There was no female attendant to be found on the premises.

Strong benches attached to the walls provided the only seats; neither was there separation of the sexes. In this room old and young, pure and impure, clean and verminous, sane and insane, awaited their turn to appear before the magistrate; for the insane in those days were brought by local authorities that the magistrate might certify them, and they sat, too, amongst the waiting prisoners.

The sufferings of a decent woman who found herself in such company in such a room may easily be imagined; but the sufferings of a pure-minded girl, who for some trifling offence found herself in like position, cannot be described. The coarse women of Alsatia made jests upon her, and coarse blackguards, though sometimes well dressed, vaunted their obscenity before her. Deformed beggars, old hags from the workhouse—or from worse places—thieves, gamblers, drunkards, and harlots, men and women on the verge of delirium tremens—all these, and others that are unmentionable, combine to make the prisoners' room a horrid memory. Things are far different to-day, for light and cleanliness, fresh air and decency, prevail at police-courts. At every court there is now a female attendant; the sexes are rigidly separated. Children's cases are heard separately; neither are children placed in the cells or prisoners' room.

In those days policemen waited for the men and women who had been in their custody, and against whom they had given evidence, and, after their fines were paid, went to the nearest public-house and drank at their expense. Hundreds of times I have heard prisoners ask the prosecuting policeman to "Make it light for me," and many times I have heard the required promise given and an arrangement made. Sometimes I am glad to think that I have heard policemen give the reply: "I shall speak the truth"; but not often was this straightforward answer given.

In this respect a great change has come about, for policemen do not hold a conference with their prisoners in the waiting-room, and it is now a rare occurrence for a policeman to take a drink at his prisoner's expense.

And this improvement is to be welcomed, for it is typical of the improvement that has been going on all round. Gaolers in those days were "civil servants," and were not under police authority; now they are sergeants of the police, and under police discipline and authority. The old civil servant gaoler looked down from his greater altitude with something like contempt upon the common policemen, and this often led to much friction and unpleasantness. Now things work smoothly and easily, for every police-court official knows his duties and to whom he is responsible.

But a great change has also come over the magistrates—perhaps the greatest change of all. Doubtless the magistrates of those days were excellent men, but they were not only officials, but official also.

It was their business to mete out punishment, and they did it. Some were old—too old for the office. I have seen one sleeping on the bench frequently, and only waking up to give sentence. Once while the justice nodded his false teeth fell on his desk; he awoke with a start, and made a frantic effort to recover them. No doubt these men were sound lawyers, but they were representatives of the community as it then existed; there was no sentimentality about them, but they were rarely vindictive.

The legal profession, too, has changed. Where are the greasy, drunken old solicitors that haunted the precincts of police-courts twenty-five years ago? Gone. But they were common enough in those days, and touted for five-shilling jobs, money down, or higher prices when payment was deferred. With droughty throats and trembling limbs, they hastened to the nearest public-house to spend what payment had been given in advance. Here they would remain till their clients were before the magistrate, and would then appear just in time to say: "I appear for the prisoner, your Worship." Horrid old men they were, the fronts of their coats and vests all stained and shiny with the droppings of beer. Frequently the magistrate, unable to tolerate their drunken or half-drunken maunderings, would order them out of court; but even this drastic treatment had little effect upon them, for the next day, or even on the latter part of the same day, they, apparently without shame or humiliation, would inform his Worship that they were in So-and-so's case, and ask at what time it would be taken—as if, forsooth, their engagements were numerous and important.

The bullying solicitor, too, has disappeared or mended his ways. No longer is he allowed to bully and insult witnesses or prosecutors, and cast scurrilous and unclean imputations on the lives and characters of those opposed to him. Generally these fellows were engaged for the "defence."

They one and all acted on the principle that to attack was the best defence. I once heard an athletic young doctor ask a solicitor of this kind, who had been unusually insulting, to meet him when the case was over, assuring him also that he would receive his deserts—a good thrashing. The pompous, ignorant solicitor, with neither wit, words, action, utterance, nor the power of speech—he, too, has gone. One wondered at the strange fate that made solicitors of such men; wondered, too, how they passed the necessary examinations; but wondered most of all why people paid money for such fellows to defend them. Invariably they made their client's case much worse; they always declined to let "sleeping dogs lie," and were positively certain to reveal something or discover something to the disadvantage of the person whose interests they were supposed to be upholding. I remember one magistrate, sitting impatient and fidgety while the weary drip of words went on, calling out suddenly: "Three months' hard labour, during which you can ruminate on the brilliant defence made by your solicitor!"

All these have passed, and police-courts have been civilized; for law is more dignified, and its administration more refined. Magistrates are up-to-date, too, and quite in touch with the new order of things and with the aspirations of the community.

Bullying, drunken, and stupid solicitors have no chance to-day. In all these directions great changes have come about, and great progress has been made.

But the greatest change of all is that which has taken place in the appearance of the prisoners and of police-court humanity generally.

Where are the "blue-bottle" noses now? Twenty-five years ago they were numerous, but now London police-courts know them not.

Where are the reddened faces that told of protracted debauch? They are seldom to be met with. Hundreds of times in the years gone by, in the prisoners' waiting-room, I have heard the expression, "He's got them on"; and I have seen poor wretches trembling violently with terror in their faces, seeking to avoid some imaginary horror. But delirium tremens seems to have vanished from London police-courts.

Do people drink less? is a question often asked. If I may be permitted to reply, I would say they do, and very much less; but whether they are more sober is another question.

Of one thing I am perfectly certain, and it is this: people are more susceptible to the effects of drink than they were twenty-five years ago.

Whether this susceptibility is due to some change in the drink or to physiological causes in the drinkers I do not know, but of the result I am, as I have said, quite sure.

I am inclined to believe that we possess less power to withstand the effects of alcohol than formerly. We seem to arrive at the varying stages of drunkenness with very much less trouble, and at very much less cost. The reverse process, too, is equally rapid. Formerly there was not much doubt about the guilt of a man or woman who was charged with being drunk. If the policeman's word was not quite sufficient, the appearance of the prisoner completed the evidence. But now men and women are mad drunk one hour and practically sober the next. Red noses and inflamed faces cannot be developed under these conditions. I have seen in later years a long array of prisoners charged with being drunk, and no evidence of tarrying long at wine upon any one of them, and no evidence of drinking either, excepting the bruises or injuries received.

This ability to get drunk quickly and to recover quickly leads sometimes to unexpected results; for some men, when released on bail, rush promptly to their own doctor and get a certificate of sobriety, and then bring the doctor as a witness.

His Worship is in a dilemma when the case is brought before him, for the police state that the man was mad drunk at 1 a.m., while, on the other hand, medical testimony is forthcoming that at 2 a.m. he was perfectly sober.

Other men, when detained in the cells, get quickly sober. Nor can they believe they have been drunk; indignantly they demand an examination by the police divisional doctor, and willingly pay the necessary bill of seven and sixpence for his attendance. This time it is the doctor who is in a dilemma; he knows in his heart that the man has been drunk; he also naturally wishes to confirm the police evidence; still, he cannot conscientiously say that the man is drunk. "He appears to be recovering from the effects of drink," is the testimony that he gives, and his opinion is attached to the charge-sheet for the magistrate's guidance. "No," says the prisoner, "I was not drunk; neither had I been drunk; but I was excited at being detained in the cells on a false charge." And he will call as witnesses friends who were in his company during the evening, and from whom he had parted only a few minutes previous to arrest. They declare that the prisoner was perfectly sober; that he could not possibly have been drunk; that they had only a limited number of drinks; that he was as sober as they were—the latter statement being probably true!

What can the magistrate do under such circumstances but discharge the prisoner?—and "Another unfounded charge by the police" is duly advertised by the Press.

I believe this to be the secret of so much contradictory evidence, and this new physiological factor must be taken into account when weighing evidence, or much discredit will fall upon the police, when they have but honestly done their duty. It ought no longer to avail a prisoner who proves sobriety at one o'clock, sobriety at three o'clock, to contend that he could not possibly have been drunk at two o'clock. I have seen so much of drunkenness that I believe two hours a sufficient length of time to allow many men to get drunk and to get sober too.

I must not enter on an inquiry as to why this change has come about; I merely content myself with stating a fact, that must be recognized, and which is as worthy of consideration by sociologists and politicians as it is by judges and magistrates.

This facility of getting drunk means danger, for passions are readily excited, and delusions readily arise, and are most tenaciously held in brains so easily disturbed by drink. All sorts of things are possible, from silly antics to frenzy and murder; but, as I have said, the varying stages pass so quickly that only onlookers can realize the truth: for the victim of this facility is nearly always sure that the evidence given against him is absolutely false.

But prisoners generally have changed: I am not sure that the change is for the better. Time was when prisoners had character, grit, pluck, and personality, but now these qualities are not often met with. Formerly a good number of the vagabonds were interesting vagabonds, and were possessed of some redeeming features: they seemed to have a keen sense of humour; but to-day this feature cannot often be seen.

Prisoners have put on a kind of veneer, for both youthful offenders and offenders of older growth are better dressed.

They are cleaner, too, in person, for which I suppose one ought to be thankful—even though, to a large extent, rags and tatters were picturesque compared with the styles of dress now too often seen. Loss of the picturesque has, I am afraid, been accompanied by loss of individuality, and the processions that pass through London police-courts now are not so striking as formerly. They are devoid of strong personality, and the mass of people in many respects resembles a flock of sheep. They have no desire to do wrong, but they constantly go wrong; they have no particular wish to do evil, but they have little inclination for good. In a word, weakness, not wickedness, is their great characteristic.

But weakness is often more mischievous and disastrous in its consequences than wickedness.

In the young offenders this lack of grit is combined with an absence of moral principles, and though the majority of them appear to know right from wrong, they certainly act as if they possess little moral consciousness.

Again I content myself with merely stating a fact, for I must not be led into philosophic inquiry or speculation as to the causes of this loss of grit, though I hope to say something upon the subject later on.

Crime, too, has changed in some respects. There are fewer crimes of violence; there is less brutality, less debauchery, less drinking; but—and I would like to write it very large—there is more dishonesty, which is a more insidious evil.

Here again I am tempted to philosophic inquiry, or to engage in some attempt to answer the question—Are we as a nation becoming more dishonest? I answer at once, We are.

For twenty-five years I have watched the trend of crime, for the past ten years I have closely studied our criminal statistics, and I can say that personal experience and a close study of our annual criminal statistics confirm me in this matter.

Some explanation of the growth of dishonesty may be found in the social changes that have been going on. As education advanced the number of men and women employed as clerks, salesmen, and business assistants multiplied, and it follows that the temptations to, and opportunities for, dishonesty multiplied also. For years a large transference of boys and young men from the labouring and artisan life to the clerk's desk or to the shop-counter has been going on. The growth in the number of persons employed as distributors of the necessaries of life, who day after day receive, on behalf of their employers, payments for bread, milk, meat, coal, etc., multiplies enormously the facilities for dishonest actions.

Most of those engaged in this class of work come from the homes of the poor, and in too many cases receive insufficient payment for arduous and responsible services. Still, I am sure that we must not look for the reason of this growing dishonesty in the multiplication of the opportunities, or to sudden temptations caused by the stress of poverty.

To what, then, shall it be attributed? I do not hesitate to answer this question, by replying at once: To that lack of moral backbone and grit to which I have alluded; to the absence of direct principles; to the desire of enjoying pleasures that cannot be afforded, and of spending money not honestly acquired. Some people to whom I have spoken on this subject have said to me: "But these are the faults of the rich; surely they are not the sins of the poor." And I have said: "Well, you know more of the rich than I do, so maybe they are characteristic of both." Though I do not believe them to be national characteristics, sorrowfully I say the trend is in that direction. I know perfectly well that some people will say that this is the croaking of one who is growing old, and that old men always did, and always will, believe in the decadence of the present age.

But this is not so. I am a born optimist. I believe in the ultimate triumph of good. I believe that humanity has within itself a sufficiency of good qualities to effect its social salvation. Nevertheless, I am afraid of this growing dishonesty, for I have seen something of its consequences. Sneaking peculations, small acts of dishonesty, miserable embezzlements, falsified accounts, and contemptible frauds, have damned the lives of thousands, and the strands of life are covered by human wrecks, whose anchorage has been so weak that the veriest puff of wind has driven them to destruction.

I know something of the evils of drink; I have seen much of the blighting influence of gambling; but dishonesty is more certain and deadly in its effects among educated and ignorant alike: for it begins in secrecy, it is continued in duplicity, it destroys the moral fibre, and it ends with death.

I have said that the police-court processions are not so interesting as in years gone by: probably that is a superficial view, for humanity is, and must be always, equally interesting. It may not be as picturesque, but that is a surface view only, and we really want to know what is beneath. But the underneath takes some discovering, and when we get there it is only to find that there is still something lower still.

Much has been said of late years about the increase of insanity. Whether this increase is more apparent than real is a debatable point. I am glad to know that more people are certified than formerly, and that greater care is taken of them. This undoubtedly prolongs their existence, and consequently adds to their number. But whatever doubt I may have about the actually insane, I have no doubt whatever about the increase in the number of those who live on the borderland between sanity and insanity, and whose case is far more pitiful than that of the altogether mad.

Poor wretches! who are banged from pillar to post, helpless and hopeless, they are the sport of circumstances; they are an eyesore to humanity, a danger to the community, and a puzzle to themselves. For such neither the State nor local authorities have anything to offer. If committed to prison, they are certified as "unfit for prison discipline." If they enter the workhouse, they are encouraged to take their discharge at the earliest moment. They cannot work, but they can steal, and they can beg. They have animal passions, but they have less than animal control. They can perpetuate their species, and pile up burdens for other generations to bear. Nothing in all my experiences astonishes me so much as the continued neglect of these unfortunate people. Prisons have been revolutionized; dealing with young offenders has developed into a cult; prisoners' aid societies abound; the care, the feeding, the education, the health, and the play of children have become national or municipal business: but the nation still shirks its responsibility to those who have the greatest claim upon its care; for these people are still in as parlous condition as the lepers of old. My memory recalls many of them, and profoundly do I hope that in the great changes that are impending, and in the great improvements that are taking place, consideration of the poor, smitten, unfortunate half-mad will not be wanting.

Surely I am not wrong in affirming that, when the State finds in its prisons a number of people who are constantly committing offences, who are helpless and penniless, and whose mental condition is so low that they are not fit to be detained even in prison, provision should be made for their being permanently detained and controlled in institutions or colonies, with no opportunity for perpetuating their kind. In our dealings with the "unfit" we have, then, made no progress, and we are still waiting and hoping for a solution of this distressing evil. To show how this evil grows by neglect, I offer the following instance:

I happen to be a churchwarden, and when leaving church one Sunday morning I was asked by the verger to speak to a man and woman who sat by the door. They had come in during the service, and asked for the Vicar, in the hope of obtaining relief.

The man was wretched in appearance—much below the usual size—and was more than half blind; the woman was equally wretched in appearance, and not far removed from imbecility. I knew the man at once, and had known him for twenty years. I had met him scores of times at London police-courts, where he had been invariably committed to prison, although certified as "unfit." He had been in the workhouse many times. In the workhouse he had met with the poor wretch that sat by his side. They were legally and lawfully married, and were possessed of three children—or, rather, they were the parents of three children, for other folk possessed them; but doubtless they would make their losses good in due time, the couple being by no means old.

The number of women charged with drunkenness has increased largely during late years, and the list of those constantly charged has grown considerably.

From this it would appear safe to conclude that female intemperance generally has largely increased.

Many people have come to this conclusion, and are very apt with figures which seem to prove their case.

But even figures can lie, for a woman who has been convicted ten or twelve times in the year has furnished ten or twelve examples of female inebriety; but, after all, she is but one individual. And to get at approximate truth, we must ascertain the number of separate individuals who have been charged. Nor will this give us the whole truth, for it must also be ascertained who are the women that are constantly charged. To what class do they belong? What is the matter with them? Why are they different from women generally? Such inquiries as these have been conveniently avoided.

I will endeavour to supply the missing answers.

Eighty per cent. of the women charged repeatedly with drunkenness belong to one class, and may be described as "unfortunates." The number of these women has increased tremendously during the last twenty years. The growth of London accounts partly for this increase in the number of "unfortunates," and the growth of provincial towns supplements the growth of London. In all our large centres we have, then, a large army of women whose lives are beyond description, whose vocation renders drinking compulsory, and whose habits bring them into conflict with the police. Their convictions, which number many thousands, should be charged to another evil.

Of the remaining twenty per cent. I must also give some description. Ten per cent. of them are demented old women, who spend their lives in workhouses or prisons, upon whom a small amount of drink takes great effect.

The remaining ten per cent. may be considered more or less respectable, but my experience has led me to believe that less rather than more would be a fitting description. I want it to be clearly understood that I am now speaking of women "repeaters," not of women who are occasionally charged with drunkenness.

In considering female intemperance, the above must be eliminated, and when this is done I think it will be found that the alleged increase of drunkenness among women is not proved. At any rate, it is not proved by criminal statistics. But a great change has come over women: they are no longer ashamed of being seen in public-houses, for respectable women are by no means careful about the company they meet and associate with in the public-houses. In police-courts I have noticed this growing change. Time was when few or no women were found among the audiences that assembled day by day in the courts. It is not the case now. Formerly, if women had any connection with cases that were coming on, they discreetly waited in the precincts of the court till they were called by the police or the usher.

It is very different now, for there is no scarcity of women, ready to listen to all repulsive details of police-court charges. Sometimes, when the order is given for women to leave the court, some women are ready to argue the matter with the usher; and when ultimately compelled to leave, it is evident they do so under protest, and with a sense of personal grievance.

Perhaps it may be natural for police-courts to supply to the poor and the tradesman class that excitement and relish the higher courts and divorce courts furnish to those better off.

In one direction I am able to bear direct testimony to the virtue of women, for they are more honest than men, and their honesty increases rather than diminishes. This is the more remarkable as opportunities for dishonesty have become much more numerous among women. Still, in spite of multiplied opportunities, dishonesty among women seems to be a diminishing quantity. I am glad to find that our annual statistics for some years past confirm me in this experience.

But my experiences do not furnish me with any reason for believing that we have made any progress with the housing of the very poor. The State, municipal authorities, and philanthropists still act upon the principle, "To him that hath it shall be given." Consequently, they continue to provide dwellings for those who can pay good rents. In another chapter some of my experiences with regard to the housing of the very poor will be found, so I content myself here with a few reflections and statements. During the years covered by my experience the rents of the very poor have increased out of all proportion to their earnings. I have taken some trouble to inquire into this question, and when speaking to elderly men and women living in congested streets, I have obtained much information. "How long have you lived in this house?" I asked an elderly widow. "Thirty years. I was here long before my husband died." "What rent do you pay?" "Thirteen shillings per week." "But you can't pay thirteen shillings." "No, I let off every room and live in this kitchen." We were then in the kitchen, which was about nine feet square. The house consisted of four rooms and a back-yard about the same size as the kitchen; there was no forecourt. "What rent did you pay when you first came here?" "Six shillings and sixpence." The rent had doubled in thirty years.

"Who is your landlord?" "I don't know who it is now, but a collector calls every week."

"Why don't you go somewhere else?" "I can't get anything cheaper, and I like the old place, and I don't have to climb a lot of stairs."

This little conversation exactly outlines the lot of the poor, so far as their housing is concerned: they must either take a "little house and let off," or make their homes in one or more of the very little rooms. Let me be explicit. By the very poor I mean families whose income is under twenty-five shillings weekly—women whose husbands have but fitful work; women who have to maintain themselves, their children and sick husbands, when those husbands are not in the infirmary; widows who have to maintain themselves and their children, with or without parish assistance; and elderly widows or spinsters who, by great efforts, maintain themselves.

For these and similar classes no housing accommodation has yet been attempted. Yet for them the need is greatest, and from neglecting them the most disastrous consequences ensue.

The State will lend money to the man who has a fair and regular income; municipal authorities and philanthropic trusts will build for those who can regularly pay high rents; but the very poor are still hidden in prison-houses, and for them no gaol deliverance is proclaimed, so they huddle together, and the more numerous the building improvements, the closer they huddle. The new tenements are not for them, neither is any provision made for them before they are displaced, so a great deal of police-court business arises in consequence, to say nothing of greater and more far-reaching evils. But I deal more fully with housing in my next chapter.

In dealing with child offenders, vast improvements have been made. To-day rarely, indeed, are children sent to prison, and we appear to be on the verge of the time when it will be impossible for anyone under the age of fourteen to receive a sentence of imprisonment. The birch, too, is more sparingly used, and only when there appears to be no other fitting punishment. One magistrate quite recently, in ordering its infliction, declared it was the first time he had done so for twelve years. The courts do not run with the blood of naughty lads, as some suppose; but the birch has not disappeared, and the lusty cries of youthful delinquents are sometimes to be heard.

While I hate cruelty and do not love the birch, I would like to place on record the fact that I have never known it administered too severely, or any serious injury inflicted.

The statement that the most powerful policeman is selected for the duty is fiction pure and simple. In London, at any rate, the sergeant-gaoler or his deputy administers the birch. Whatever else may be charged against the police, cruelty to children cannot be brought against them, for the kindness of the Force to children is proverbial. And this kindness is reflected in police-courts. Nowhere are children more considerately treated. I agree with the movement in favour of separate courts for children, because I would not have children's actions considered as criminal; but, in the light of my experience, I am bound to disagree with many of the statements made by some advocates of the movement. Children are tenderly treated and considered in the London police-courts of to-day.

But I am more concerned for the Toms, Dicks, and Harrys between fourteen and twenty years of age, who, having little or no home accommodation, crowd our streets, especially on Sunday evenings, and make themselves a nuisance to the staid and respectable.

For these the bad old rule and simple plan of fines to be promptly paid, or imprisonment in default of payment, still prevails; but of this I have more to say in a chapter on Hooliganism.

Years ago the brute, coarse and cruel though he was, was different from the brute of to-day; for, at any rate, he was an undisguised brute. Youthful offenders, too, had more pluck and self-reliance; in fact, while offences remain much the same, and the ways in which offences are committed have not altered greatly, the bearing and appearance of the offenders have completely changed. Rags are not so plentiful as they were, and child offenders are very much better dressed; for civilization cannot endure rags, and shoeless feet are an abomination. Veneer, then, is very palpable to-day in police-courts. This may be indicative of good or evil. It may have its origin in self-respect, in changing fashions, or in deceit; it may be one of the effects of insufficient education, or it may be a by-product of the general desire to appear respectable. It may also be claimed as an outward and visible sign of the improved social condition and the enlarged financial resources of the poor. The change in speech, too, is strongly noticeable; the old blood-curdling oaths and curses spiced with blasphemy are quite out of fashion.

Emphasis can only be given to speech to-day by interlarding it with filthy words and obscene allusions. This method of expression is not confined to the poorest, for even well-dressed men adopt it, and the style and words have now passed on to thoughtless young people of both sexes.

There are no "women" to-day. Times have improved so greatly that every woman has become "a lady." The term "woman" is one of reproach, and must only be used as indicative of scorn or to impute immorality. Magistrates have tried hard to preserve the good old word and give it a proper place, but in vain. "Another woman" always means something very bad indeed; she is one that must be spoken of with bated breath. Even the word "female" carries with it an implication of non-respectability.

Indeed, so far have we progressed in this direction, and so far does the politeness of the Force extend, that when giving evidence against a woman of the worst possible character an officer will refer to her as "the lady," not as the prisoner. Sometimes, as I have already hinted, the magistrate intervenes at this point, and tries to preserve some of the last shreds of respectability that still attach to the once-honoured word.

Here again one might speculate as to what has produced this change, and ask whether the development of obscene language has anything to do with the abandonment of the words "woman" and "female." Personally, I am inclined to believe that it has. "What did he say?" peremptorily asked an irate magistrate of a young and modest constable. "Your Worship, the words were so bad that I don't like to repeat them." "Write them down, then." The officer did so. "Well, they are pretty bad, but you will soon get used to them. They don't shock me, for I hear them all the day, and every day." The magistrate was correct, and, more the pity, his words are true. The old oaths were far less disgusting and far less demoralizing. The invocation of the Deity, either for confirmation of speech or for a curse upon others, argued some belief in God, which belief has probably suffered decay even among the coarse and ignorant. Still, if police-court habitués and their friends continue to embellish their speech with obscenity, then their last state will be worse than their first. Likely enough, this fashion in speech has much to do with the substitution of the word "lady" and the abandonment of the word "woman." It may be, after all, only a clumsy attempt to speak courteously, without casting any imputation on the moral character of the person referred to. That, however, is the only redeeming feature I can find in the matter, which is altogether too bad for words. I only refer to the subject because I wish to be a faithful witness, and these changes cannot be ignored, for they are full of grave portent.

Profoundly I hope this fashion will change, and if appeal were of any use, I would honestly and earnestly appeal to all my poor and working-class friends to set themselves against this vile method of expression, and to encourage a higher standard of thought and speech.

But I must now give a little consideration to some legal changes that have taken place, from which much was expected, and from which much has followed. Whether the results have been exactly what were expected, and whether the good has been as large as we looked for, are moot points. It is, of course, true of social problems, and peculiarly true of humanity itself, that evil defeated in one direction is certain to manifest itself in another, so that standing still in social life, or in individual life, must and does mean retrogression, when the old evils assert themselves differently, but more speciously guised. Briefly, the new Acts that have had most effect in London police-courts are the First Offenders Act, the Married Women's Protection Act (1905), and some clauses in the Licensing Act of 1902.

The former Act has undoubtedly kept thousands of young people from prison, for which everyone ought to be supremely thankful. It was, perhaps, impossible for us to have a reform of this magnitude without some evil attaching to it, for we have not as yet discovered an unmixed good. This beneficent Act has been much talked of and widely advertised. The public generally have been enraptured with it, and magistrates have not been slow to avail themselves of its merciful provisions, though generally exercising a wise discretion as to their application.

But human nature is a strange mixture, for while excessive punishment hardens and demoralizes a wrong-doer, leniency often confirms him. It is, and must always be, a serious matter to interpose between a wilful wrong-doer and the punishment of his deeds; but the punishment must be just and sensible, or worse evils will follow. The utmost that can be urged against this well-known Act is that it has not impressed on the delinquent youth the heinousness of his wrong-doing, and this is the case. True, he has been in the hands of the police, and he has been admonished by the magistrate; he has also been in the gaoler's office, and bound in recognizance to be of good behaviour. But this is all, for nothing else has happened to him. He has not been made to pay back the money stolen, neither has he been compelled to make any reparation to those he has injured. The law, then, has considered his offence but slight, and his dishonesty but a trivial matter. In his heart he knows that, though he has purged his offence as far as the law is concerned, he has not absolved his own conscience by any attempt to put the matter right with the person he has wronged; consequently, he is quite right in arguing that the law has condoned his offence. Frequently, then, he goes from the court a rogue at heart. Hundreds of times I have tried to persuade young persons, who have been charged with dishonesty and dealt with as first offenders, of the duty and necessity of paying back the money dishonestly obtained, but I never succeeded. The law had done with them; nothing else mattered. The wrong to the individual and to their own conscience was of no consequence.

Human nature being, then, so constructed, it cannot be a matter for surprise that the First Offenders Act failed in conveying to young persons who had fastened around themselves the deadly grip of dishonesty that the law considered dishonesty a most serious matter. Many of the young offenders could not realize this, for, to use their own expression, "They got jolly well out of it." But such results might have been foreseen, and ought to have been foreseen.

This matter is, however, now attended to, for Mr. Gladstone's Probation Act (1908) empowers magistrates to compel all dishonest persons that are dealt with under the Act to make restitution of stolen property or money up to the value of £10. I have long advocated this course, which is both just and merciful—just to the person who has been robbed and just to the robber; merciful because it compels the wrong-doer in some degree to undo the wrong, and enables him to break the chains of his deadly habit. It will also prove to him that the law is not so tolerant of dishonesty as he believed. Common-sense, too, says that the pardoned rogue ought not to profit from his roguery, while the person he has robbed has to suffer, not only the loss of goods or money, but also the trouble and expense of prosecution.

Most respectfully, then, would I like to point out to all magistrates that they may now order dishonest persons dealt with under this Act to make restitution up to £10. It is to be hoped that our magistrates will freely avail themselves of this permissive power, and make young rogues "pay, pay, pay." It matters not how small the instalments nor how long a time the payments may be continued, for I feel assured that nothing will stem the onward sweep of dishonesty, and that nothing will bring home to young offenders the serious character of dishonesty so much as the knowledge that great inconvenience, but no pecuniary benefit, can come to those who indulge in it.

The Married Women's Protection Act came at last. It was inevitable. There was a horrible satire contained in the suggestion that in England, with its humanity and civilization, after a thousand years of Christianity an Act to protect women against their legal husbands should be necessary; but it was.

This Act came in the very fulness of time. Everybody was tired and altogether dissatisfied with the old and ineffectual plan of sending brutal husbands to prison. This feeling arose not from sympathy with brutal husbands, but from pity to ill-treated wives, for it was recognized that sending brutal husbands to prison only made matters worse. Briefly, the Act empowered married women who had persistently cruel husbands to leave them, and having left them, to apply to the magistrates for a separation and maintenance order, which magistrates were empowered to grant when persistent cruelty was proved.

Police-courts then became practically divorce-courts for the poor, for thousands of women have claimed and obtained these separation orders. It seems just, and I have no hesitation in saying it is right, whatever may be the consequences, that decent suffering women whose agony has been long drawn out should be protected from and delivered out of the power of human brutes. But in a community like ours we are bound to have an eye to the consequences.

Women very soon found that it was much easier to get separation than it was to get maintenance. However modest the weekly amount ordered—and to my mind magistrates were very lenient in this respect—comparatively few of the discarded husbands paid the amounts ordered: some few paid irregularly, the majority paid nothing. The "other woman" became an important factor, and the money that should have gone to the support of the legal wife and legitimate children went to her and to illegitimate children. Such fellows were, then, in straits. If they left the "other woman," affiliation orders loomed over them; if they did not pay their legalized wives, they might be sent to prison. Some men I know found this the easiest way of paying their wives "maintenance," for they would go cheerfully to prison, and when released would promptly start on the task of again accumulating arrears.

Undoubtedly very many women were much better off apart from their husbands—at any rate, they had some peace—but mostly they lived lives of unremitting toil and partial, if not actual, starvation. On the whole, this Act, which was quite necessary and inspired by good intentions, has not proved satisfactory. But married men began to ask, "Why cannot we have separation orders against habitually drunken wives?"

Why, indeed! The principle had been admitted, and "sauce for the goose must be sauce for the gander." Joan had been protected; Darby must have equal rights. And Darby got them, with something added. The Licensing Bill of 1902 put him right, or rather wrong. Under some provisions of this Act habitual drunkenness in case of either husband or wife became a sufficient reason for separation, and police-courts became more than ever divorce-courts for the poor. But Darby came best, or rather worst, out of this unseemly matter, for there was no need for him to leave his wife and his home before applying for a separation. He might live with his wife in their home, and while living with her apply for a summons against her, and this granted, he might continue to live with her right up to the time the summons was heard—might even accompany her to the court, and drink with her on the way thither. Then, proving her drunkenness to the magistrate's satisfaction, he could get his order, give her a few shillings, go home and close the door against her, leaving her homeless and helpless in the streets. She may have borne him many children, she might be about to become a mother once more; in fact, the frequent repetition of motherhood might be the root-cause of her drunkenness. No matter, the law empowers him to put her out and keep her out. Such is the law, and to such a point has the chivalry of many husbands come. But Darby may go still further, for he may call in "another woman" to keep house and look after the children. In a sense he may live in a sort of legalized immorality, and do his wife no legal wrong; while, if she, poor wretched woman, with all her temptations and weaknesses, yields but once to a similar sin, all claim to support is forfeited, and she goes down with dreadful celerity to the lowest depths. Plenty of good husbands, and brave men they are, refuse to take advantage of this Act, and bear all the unspeakable ills and sorrows connected with a drunken wife, bearing all things, enduring all things, and hoping all things, rather than turn the mothers of their children into the streets. But it is far different with some husbands, whose lives and habits have conduced to, if they have not actually caused, their wives' inebriety; to them the Act is a boon, and they are not backward in applying for relief. I have elsewhere given my views as to the working of these special clauses, but I again take an opportunity of saying that the whole proceedings are founded in stupidity. In action they are cruel, and in results they are demoralizing to the individuals concerned, and to the State generally. All this is the more astounding when one realizes that the Act might easily have been made a real blessing; and it is more astounding still when the temper and tone of society is considered.

We demand, and rightfully demand, that first offenders shall have another chance. Has it come to this—that a wretched wife, who, through suffering, worry, neglect, or ill-health or mental disturbance, has given way to drink, shall have less consideration than the young thief? So it appears. We scour London's streets, we seek out the grossest women even civilization can furnish—women whose only hope lies with the Eternal Father—and we put them in inebriates' reformatories, and keep them there, at a great expense, for two or three years. Money without stint is spent that they may have the shadow of a chance for reclamation. Organized societies are formed for their after-care when released from the reformatories. And yet we calmly contemplate married women, otherwise decent but for drink, real victims of inebriety, being thrust homeless into the streets, with the dead certainty that they will descend to the Inferno out of which we are seeking to deliver the unfortunates.

CHAPTER II SOME BURGLARS I HAVE MET

The common London burglar is by no means a formidable fellow. Speaking generally, there is nothing of Bill Sikes about him, for he has not much stature, strength, courage, or brains. Most of those that I have met have been poor specimens of manhood, ready alike to surrender to a self-possessed woman or to a young policeman. Idle, worthless fellows, who, having no regular work to do, and being quite indifferent as to what happens to them, often attempt burglary, but of the crudest description.

These young fellows evince no skill, exhibit little daring, and when caught show about as much pluck as a guinea-pig. For them one may feel contempt, but contempt must be tempered by pity. Circumstances have been against them. Underfed and undersized, of little intelligence, with no moral consciousness, they are a by-product of our civilization, a direct product of our slum-life. If caught young and given some years' manual training and technical education, together with manly recreation and some share in competitive games, many of them would go straight on their release, provided a reasonable start in life were given them.

Idle liberty is dangerous to young men who have no desire for wrong-doing, but who at the same time have little aspiration for right-doing. Our prisons are crowded with them, and a series of short imprisonments only serves to harden them, until they become confirmed but clumsy criminals. But real burglars are men of different stamp, and, if I may be pardoned, men of better metal, for at any rate they possess nerve, brain, and grit. They may be divided into two classes: first, the men who are at war with society, who live by plunder, and who mean to live by plunder, who often show marvellous skill, energy, presence of mind, and pluck; secondly, men who, having once engaged in burglary, find it so thrilling that no other pleasure, passion, or sport has to them one tithe of the joy and glamour that a midnight raid presents. Let me give you one example of the former.

A well-dressed gentleman—frock-coat, silk hat, gold-rimmed eyeglasses, etc.—took a house in a swell neighbourhood at £120 a year rental. His references were to all appearances undeniable; his manner, speech, and bearing were beyond reproach; so he obtained a lease of the premises, and entered into possession. His next step was to call on the local superintendent of the police and give him his address, asking also that the police might keep a watchful eye upon the house till he took up his residence in it. He was, he said, a practical consulting and analytical chemist; he was fitting up an expensive laboratory on the premises, and a good many things of value to him would be sent to the house. He himself would be there during the day, but he would be grateful if the police would, when on their beat at night, sometimes see that all was right. The police were charmed with him. He was a small man, about 5 feet 4 inches in height. The same night a mean-looking little man was converted at an open-air meeting of the Salvation Army. He wished for lodgings for a time, that he might be shielded from temptation, for which he was prepared to pay. So he went to lodge with the officer in command, and donned a red guernsey. He was employed on night-work, he told his landlady, but sometimes he had to go away for a day or two. His friends were well pleased with him; his conversion seemed genuine, and he gave but little trouble. Meanwhile, at the large house close by consignments of goods were, constantly arriving, and sometimes the frock-coated gentleman showed himself to the police. For many weeks this went on, till one day the convert was missing from his lodging. He did not return the next day, nor the day after that. They were anxious about him; they were poor, too, and he owed money. But they could get no tidings of him. Thinking something might have happened to him by way of accident, they went to the police-station to inquire. A keen detective heard their inquiry, and kept his own counsel; but next morning he went to the remand prison, and sure enough he found the missing man there among the prisoners. He had been arrested for "failing to report." He was on "ticket-of-leave," and had to report himself once a month to the police. Either his religious emotion or the interest of his night employment had caused him to neglect this trivial matter.

About this time the consulting and analytical chemist disappeared, and no more consignments of goods for the laboratory arrived. The little convert was once more remanded, for the magistrate and the police wanted to know what he had been doing. The police, too, had been keeping an eye on the big house; they thought, too, that something had happened to the chemist, so they forced the door and entered. It was verily a robbers' cave they found. No trace of scientific implements, except burglars' tools, no trace of chemicals or laboratory; but they found the proceeds of many clever burglaries that had been committed in various parts of London. The chemist and the convert were one; their identity was established. When I spoke to him in the cells, he called himself an "ass" for failing to report himself to the police. "If it had not been for that, I should have been all right," he said.

In a previous book I have given at some length my experiences of a burglar who is a living example of the second class; but I have something to add to the story, for since "Pictures and Problems" was issued his fifth term of penal servitude terminated, and the man came back to me.

Twice had I given him a good start in life, for he was both clever and industrious, and in many respects honest. I do not think he would have cheated anyone, and I know that he would have scorned to pick anyone's pocket. I had twice previously set him up in his business—bookbinding. Twice had he appeared to be on the way to thorough reformation of character and good social standing; but twice, when things were prospering with him, and when he had acquired plenty of good clothing, etc., and had saved at least £10, had he lapsed into burglary, with the inevitable result—he was caught. Well under fifty years of age, yet his accumulated sentences amounted to nearly forty years; but it must be borne in mind that one-fourth of the time he had been on "ticket-of-leave," for he behaved well in prison, and obtained every possible mark for good conduct, etc. I had not expected to see any more of him, for I knew that he had heart trouble, and, moreover, had been ill in prison. The officials had, however, taken good care of him, and during the months previous to his discharge he had been an occupant of the prison hospital. He appeared to be in fair health. The hair on his head had been allowed to grow; he had been decently shaved. His clothing, however, betrayed him, for there was no mistaking it.

He had earned £6 in prison, which sum had been placed with the Church Army for his benefit. Neither the Church Army nor the Salvation Army could find or give him any employment, and the £6 was soon spent. I saw much of him, and watched him closely, for he interested me. When he was quite penniless and apparently hopeless, I obtained work for him with a local tradesman, for which he was to receive £1 weekly, but was required to do a certain amount of work every day; for I was anxious for him to have regular work, and to be able to earn sufficient for his need, but no more. I also agreed to find or procure sufficient work to keep him going. This arrangement seemed likely to prosper, and I felt some hope. There was no sign of repentance to be observed in him, neither was he in the least ashamed of his past; indeed, he seemed to think, like a good many other ex-convicts, that it was the duty of the community to help him and compensate him for the years he had spent in prison. I soon had cause for suspicion, but kept silent, till one day I saw him with something that he could not possibly have purchased. I told him that I should warn the police. He did not deny the impeachment, but he wanted to argue the matter, and seemed to believe that in some way or other his conduct was justifiable.

Within a fortnight from the time of this conversation he was again in the hands of the police, who charged him with attempted burglary, and once more he went back to penal servitude. He has not written to me; I hope he will not write. I confess myself hopeless with such men. The chances of their reformation are almost nil, and I for one welcome heartily and unreservedly the proposals of the present Home Secretary, and sincerely hope that those proposals will soon become part and parcel of our penal administration. No Prisoners' Aid Society can help such men, and those of us who are behind the scenes know perfectly that no Prisoners' Aid Society tries to help them. They naturally prefer more plastic material to work upon.

The strangest part of this matter is the undoubted fact that these men have within them a great deal that is good, for sometimes I have known them to be stirred by pity and animated by love; but it requires someone in much worse plight than they themselves are to evoke that pity and kindle that love.

The following story, true in all particulars, will be of interest:

In one of our large prisons I saw an old man acting as "orderly" in the prison hospital. He was leaning over the bed of a young man who was dying of consumption. He was pointed out to me as an "old lag"—that is, an ex-convict. He was a habitual criminal, a sin-seared, oft-convicted, hardened old man, of whom and for whom there was no hope; a danger to the community and a pest to society, well known to prison officials. His last offence being of a technical character, he was sent to prison for a short term only. What could the Governor do with him? Solitude and severity had proved ineffectual for his reformation; deadening and soul-destroying monotony had failed to soften him; the good advice of various chaplains had fallen like seed in a stony place. He seemed impervious to feeling, not susceptible to kindness—a hopeless, dead-alive man.

An inspiration came to the Governor. He made the "old lag" into a nurse, and sent him into the hospital. Muttering and cursing, he went among the sick and the weak. He was brought face to face with suffering and death. Prison does not secure immunity from the fell scourge consumption, and the old man's days had to be spent among some upon whom the scourge had fixed its relentless grip. Sometimes death makes a long tarrying, and the wheels of consumption's death-car are long delayed.

Suffering, waiting, hoping for the end, lay a young man who was alone in the world. Too ill and too near death, he could not be discharged from prison; he had no friends into whose care he could be committed; so he must suffer, wait and hope for the end. And the old convict had to nurse him. Soon strange sensations began to thrill the old man, for pity took possession of him. By-and-by the old man's heart became tender again, and the foundations of the frozen deep were broken up; the "old lag" had learned to love! He had found someone in worse plight than himself, someone who needed his care, and someone whom he could care for. As the weary days passed, and the days lengthened into weeks, and the weeks into weary months, the affection between the two men grew in intensity, till the fear of separation filled their minds—a separation not caused by death.

Would the old man's sentence expire before the young man died?

Would the young man die before the old man's time was up? Who would be nurse for the young man when the old man was gone? Alas! the convict's time was up first, and the day came when the prison-gates were opened and he must go free, when he must say farewell to his friend. The day came, but the old man refused to leave, and he implored the Governor to let him stay "and see the last of him." Surely it was a beautiful exhibition of the power of love. The old man had passed through love to light, and the dear old sinner was ready to sacrifice himself for the benefit of the dying lad. But it was not to be. Prison rules and prison discipline could not be relaxed, and the old convict must needs go. There was no place for him in the prison, so with sad heart he bade his friend farewell and departed. But three days later he was back in the same prison, and once more he was "orderly" in the hospital.

On leaving prison the convict said to the Governor: "You won't let me stop, but you will soon have me back again, and you won't be able to refuse me admission."

In prison he had earned a few shillings, so into the nearest public-house he went, got drunk, came out and "went for" the first policeman, who naturally took him into custody. When before the magistrate he asked for three months, but the magistrate thought that one month met the justice of the case. So back he went to prison, where the Governor promptly gave him his "old job."

When I saw the old man, his month was running out.

I have since learnt that when he was again discharged, he said to his friend, "Cheer up! I shall soon be back." But the dying youth lingers on, and waits for him in vain.

Eagerly he scans every fresh comer, but no glint of recognition lights up his poor face. The officials, too, scan every list that comes with a fresh consignment of prisoners, but the "old lag's" name has not appeared. Neither do the police know anything of him. What has happened to the old convict? Perhaps, after all, his time was up first. Maybe he waits in the spirit-world for the coming of his friend. Maybe the young man will plead for the old convict, and say: "Lord, I was sick and in prison, and he came unto me." And the Lord will answer and say: "Inasmuch as ye did it unto him, ye did it unto Me."

The police effect many smart and plucky captures. Sometimes they are aided by a stupid oversight on the part of the criminal, but quite as often by some extraordinary piece of luck. Let me give an instance of the latter.

A six-foot fellow from the country joined the London police-force. He also, as soon as possible, joined himself in matrimony to a servant-girl living in London. Her health proved to be very bad, but this did not prevent her having children quickly, and so it came about that, before he had been in the police-force many years he was in debt and difficulties. Four young children and a wife constantly ill do not help to make a policeman's life a happy one. His friends made a collection for him on the quiet, but it had little beneficial effect. The children became ill, the wife became worse, the debts heavier, and exposure threatened. It was winter-time. He left his ailing wife and crying children to go on night-duty, wishing he was dead and out of it all. As he went quietly to his beat, his step became slower and slower, until it stopped altogether, and he found himself standing with his back to the wall thinking of suicide.

Some months afterwards he gave me this account of what happened.

"Mr. Holmes, pluck and courage had nothing to do with it, for I had just made up my mind to make a hole in the water, when I happened to look at the window of a jeweller's shop, in which a light was burning.

"I saw somebody move in the shop, so I took out my truncheon and went softly into the shop door. I had an idea it was unfastened, so I stood still for a minute or two, hardly breathing, and then I rushed at the door, and sure enough it opened, and in I went.

"The three fellows were just packing up the jewellery. One of them came for me with a pistol, but before he could get it to fire I caught him on the head with my truncheon, and down he went. Another made for the door, but he had to pass me, and I laid him out. The third came at me with a big jemmy, and we had a fight, but I was too big and quick for him. I almost broke his arm. So I took the lot; but I should not have cared if they had killed me. I was just in a mad fury, and it was nothing but a piece of luck."

Yes, it was a bit of luck. A large sum of money was collected for him by the public. His praises were duly sung in the Press, his debts were paid, and his wife sent for a time to a convalescent home. He might have made headway in the Force, but he was no scholar. I went sometimes to give him lessons in arithmetic, spelling, etc., but it was of no use. He wanted to catch more thieves, and sometimes made the terrible mistake of arresting an innocent person. The last time I saw him he told me that his wife was no better, but that she had had another child.

Not long ago a singular mistake occurred in North London. Burglars had infested a respectable road for some time. An attempt to enter had evidently been made at one house without success, for they had left jemmy-marks upon the door, but did not enter. The police resolved to watch this house from the outside. The owner and his stalwart son resolved to watch inside, but neither communicated with the other. At midnight two men were seen by the police to enter the garden and go to the front door, so the constables softly followed and listened at the door, which was closed. Evidently there was someone inside, so they cautiously opened the door, when suddenly they were set on by two men armed with heavy hammers. A severe blow fell on the shoulder of one of the officers, who responded with a crack on the head with a truncheon, and the man inside fell on the floor. Poor fellow, he was the owner! The son also got injured, and when the police were about to handcuff him, the affair was explained. Meanwhile the thieves went higher up the road, made a real attempt, and were caught. But the owner of the house lay ill for some days, suffering from concussion of the brain, while the officer was incapacitated from duty for some weeks.

CHAPTER III THE BLACK LIST AND INEBRIATES

In my opening chapter a slight reference was made to the Habitual Inebriates Act of 1898.

I now wish to deal more fully with this subject, for it has occupied much time in police-courts, and has held a large place in the public mind and interest.

The uselessness of short terms of imprisonment for persons frequently charged with drunkenness had been fully proved; they had not been found deterrent or reformative, the only practical result being that the lives of those constantly committed were considerably lengthened.

Sometimes I have felt that it would be good if the women to whom I now refer could have gone quietly out of existence, for I believe that the All-Merciful would extend greater mercy to them than they show to themselves.

But life has a firm grip upon women; and when it is devoted to animalism and idleness, when the cares and worries of home, children, and employment do not concern them, then indeed those lives are often lengthened out beyond the lives of their more virtuous and industrious sisters.

For these women prisons had proved useful sanatoria, and frequent sentences times of recuperation.

Small wonder, then, that new methods should at length be tried. The Habitual Inebriates Act came into being in 1898.

The Act adopted the definition of a much earlier Act as to what constituted the habitual inebriate, which was as follows:

"Those who, by the excessive use of intoxicating drink, are unable to control their affairs or are dangerous to themselves or others."

I quite believe that if the framers of this Act had realized the character of those who would come within its provisions, a far different definition would have been found. But the Act also conditioned that only those who were charged four times during the year with drunkenness should be dealt with, the great mistake being that no attempt was made previously to inquire into the character and condition of those that happened to be charged four times in the year. I suppose it was a natural inference that anyone so frequently charged must be of necessity a confirmed and regular inebriate. But the reverse proved true, for the worst inebriates, dipsomaniacs, and sots, escaped the meshes of the net so carefully spread.

They at any rate did not fall into the hands of the police so frequently; indeed, many of them did not at all. But the Act netted a very different kind of fish—a kind that ought to have been netted many years previously, and dealt with in a far more effectual manner than was now proposed.

The Act gave power to local authorities and philanthropic societies to establish inebriates' reformatories, which, after satisfying the requirements of the Home Office, were to be duly licensed to receive habitual inebriates qualified under the new law. These institutions were to be supported by an Imperial capitation grant for every inebriate committed, the local authorities being empowered to draw upon the rates for the balance.

Magistrates were given power to commit to these establishments for one, two, or three years, when the persons charged before them pleaded guilty to being habitual inebriates, and desired the question settled without reference to a higher court; but magistrates could not deal with them until they had been charged four times within the year.

If consent was refused, magistrates were empowered to send them for trial before the Judge and jury. Early in 1898 I took considerable pains to ascertain the exact character and condition of the persons who came within the provision of the Act. I found, as I expected to find, that they were idle and dissolute persons, nearly all of them women, and such women as only the streets of our large towns could furnish.

So much misapprehension and uncertainty prevailed as to the kind and sex of the persons who would be affected by the new law that the London County Council, after acquiring a valuable property in Surrey for the purposes of the Act, prepared for the reception of males. For this there was no excuse. A glance at the annual criminal statistics would have shown to what sex the oft-convicted inebriates belonged, and an inquiry among the police would have revealed their true character and condition. A considerable time elapsed before these reformatories were ready, local authorities being very reluctant to use their powers, but at length the task of trying to cure London's grossest women of inebriety began. It was a hopeless task from the first. After eight years' experience its futility has been fully demonstrated.

In the Contemporary Review of May, 1899, I ventured to give a description of the men and women who would be dealt with. The women, I said, would consist of 80 per cent. of gross unfortunates, dominated by vice or mental disease, homeless and shameless women; 10 per cent. old women who live alternately in workhouses and prisons, with occasional spells of liberty and licence; and 10 per cent. of otherwise decent women, the majority of whom would be mentally weak.

The men I described as idle, dissolute, and dishonest fellows, or worse. Eight years' experience of the working of the Act has verified my analysis. The report of the Government Inspector for 1906 amply proves it. Dr. Branthwaite (the Government Inspector), a properly qualified medical officer, has taken infinite pains to ascertain the mental condition of those committed to certified reformatories, and who became his special charge. I quote from his report for 1906:

"During the eight years the Act has been in operation 2,277 men and women had been committed to reformatories. Of these, 375 were men and 1,902 were women." He thus classifies them as to mental condition: 16·1 per cent. as insane, defective, imbecile, or epileptic; 46·5 per cent. as eccentric, dull, or senile; 37·4 per cent. as of average mental capacity. This means that out of the total admissions for the eight years, 62·6 per cent. were practically insane, and therefore hopeless from a reformatory point of view. The remaining 37·4 per cent. were, he says, of average mental capacity. But the Inspector can only speak of them as he finds them; he cannot speak of their mental capacity when outside his reformatories. I can; therefore I wish to say here something about them. There exists a large class of men and women who, when placed under absolute control in prisons or reformatories, submit themselves quietly to the authority that controls and the conditions that environ them. They obey orders, they display no anger, they offer no violence; they are not moody or spiteful, but they fulfil their duties with some degree of cheerfulness and alacrity. Those who have charge of them naturally look upon them as the most hopeful of their prisoners. A greater mistake could not be made. It may be vice, it may be drink, it may be dishonesty, that is the master passion of their lives; it may be, for aught I know—and in reality I believe that it is—some inscrutable mental disease that causes their passions or weaknesses; but whatever the passion, and however caused or controlled, when these people are under absolute authority in places where the vice, passion, or weakness cannot possibly be indulged, then that passion, vice, or weakness is absolutely non-existent for the time, and its victims appear as normal people.

But a far different state of mind and body exists when they are released from authority, for with liberty the old instinct or passion comes into fierce existence, and instantly demands gratification. While the released person has on the one hand gained considerably in health of mind and body, the sleeping passion too has gained in strength during the time it has hibernated. These persons, I am happy to believe, are not of normal mind, for they are helpless before the stress of temptation. In fact, decent as they may seem while in custody, the gratification of their particular vice is the only thing of importance in life to them. These unfortunate people, when at liberty, are in reality under authority of a different kind, and their obedience to the dark, mysterious authority that controls them is as implicit as if they were detained in prison or reformatory, for they do not question or gainsay its imperious demands. Small wonder, then, that nearly all the women who have been committed to inebriate reformatories revert to their old habits of life. To speak of their relapse is wrong, for in reality there is no relapse about it; they have only been held by force from their old life, which they resume when that preventive force is withdrawn.

But it has been a costly experience so far, at any rate, as London is concerned. The Government led off with a capitation grant of 10s. 6d. weekly. For the first few years it cost about £1 10s. per week, in addition to the outlay on land, buildings, and appointments, to keep each of these demented women. Though this cost has now been considerably reduced, it is even now about £1 weekly. No one, I feel sure, would begrudge this outlay if there was the remotest chance of these extraordinary women living decently when released from the reformatories.

Sadly, but emphatically, I say no such chance exists. Let it be clearly understood that I am not making this terrible statement about inebriates generally, but only with regard to those women who fall into the hands of the police four times in one year, thus qualifying for committal according to the Act. The very hopelessness of these women excites my deepest pity, and because I pity them I point out plainly their condition, in the sincere hope that more satisfactory methods of dealing with them may be provided. The Inspector claims that it is better for these women to be detained in inebriate reformatories than to undergo a continual round of short terms of imprisonment, varied by spells of liberty spent in gross orgies upon the street. He says, too, that it is the cheaper course. There is some truth in his contention. Of the exact proportion of the monetary cost of the two methods I am not concerned, but undoubtedly, for the good of the community and the purity of our streets, lengthened detention in inebriate reformatories is infinitely better than short detention in prisons. I am not objecting to their lengthened detention, but to the method and objects of detention. If their detention is to be for the good of the public, let it be understood that the common weal demands it. But as they are a class altogether apart from ordinary women, even from ordinary drunken women, they ought to be detained in institutions adapted for women of their condition only, and the absurdity of trying to cure vice-possessed women of the drink habit ought to cease.

But the legal advantages attaching to the life of a gross and disorderly woman are considerable—far greater than the advantages that are attached to a life of virtue and honest toil. "Only be bad enough, gross enough, violent enough, and you shall have your reward. Only get into conflict with the guardians of law and order four times in one year, and three years' comfort in an inebriate reformatory shall be your reward. There your work shall be limited, your leisure shall be certain, your food shall be plentiful and varied, and your recreation, indoors and out of doors, shall not be forgotten. There you shall live lives of comfort and comparative ease." So the State seems to say to the women of the class who at present fill our inebriate reformatories. And some are not slow to accept the invitation. I remember one massive young Irishwoman, who had a strong aversion to anything like honest work, saying to me one morning when she was again in custody: "Mr. Holmes, I am about sick of this: I'll go to a home for a year. Ask the magistrate to send me; it will do me good."

I declined to be the intermediary, so she appealed to the magistrate to send her away under the Act.

There being some doubt as to the requisite number of convictions, the magistrate added to the list by giving her fourteen days. At the expiration of her sentence—indeed, on the very day of her discharge from prison—she got into collision with the police, and next day was again before the magistrate. She again asked the magistrate to send her to a reformatory. But she had another grievance this time: she told the magistrate that Mr. Holmes had insulted her. On being asked for particulars, she said that I had refused to help her to get into an inebriate reformatory, and further (and this was the insult), that I had said that she was big enough, strong enough, and young enough to work for her living. I pleaded guilty to the insult, and pointed out to the magistrate the physical dimensions of the prisoner. He smiled, and said there was some truth in my statement; but as the prisoner was young, there was hope of her reformation, so he committed her for two years. I ventured respectfully to tell him that he had but allowed her one of the legal advantages of an idle and disorderly woman.

Drink had no more to do with her condition than it has with mine, though to some extent it was useful to her; but vice and idleness were the dominant factors in her life, not drink.

The Habitual Inebriates Act of 1898 was followed by the Licensing Act of 1902, some clauses of which dealt with habitual inebriates, and provided for the compilation of a Black List.

Every person, male or female, charged with drunkenness, or some crime connected with drunkenness, four times in one year, was to be placed on an official list, whether sent or not sent to an inebriate reformatory. Their photographs were to be taken and circulated to the police and to the publicans. Publicans were prohibited under a severe penalty from serving the "listed" with intoxicating drink within a period of three years. If the "listed" persons procured, or attempted to procure, any drink during that time they, too, were liable to a penalty not exceeding £1 or fourteen days. There was considerable fear and a strange anxiety among many of the repeatedly convicted as to what would happen to them when this Act began its operations.

But this wholesome dread soon disappeared. When its operations became known, the lists were duly made and circulated; the photographs were accurately, if not beautifully, taken; the police were supplied with the lists and the publicans with the photographs. But very soon the "listed" proceeded to procure drink and get drunk as usual, for a wonder had come to light. When charged under the new Act, instead of getting their usual month they received but a fortnight, for the Act did not allow a more severe punishment. True, they had committed more heinous offences, for they had defied the law, which said they must not procure drink, and their offences had been dual, for they had been drunk, too, and disorderly and disgusting as of yore. Nevertheless, their double offence entitled them to but half their former reward. Magistrates soon saw the humour of it, and soon got tired of it, and sometimes, when a charge was preferred against a "lister" under the Act, they ordered the police to charge the prisoners under the old Act, that more punishment might be given. But if these clauses were not successful from a legal point of view, they were from another.

The Act came into force on January 1, 1902. At the beginning of May in the same year—that is, in four months from commencing operations—339 names, mostly women, were on that List. I sometimes have the privilege of looking at the List, which has now grown to a portentous length. It is an education to look at those hundreds of portraits. I look at them with fear and wonderment, for they are a revelation—an awe-inspiring picture-gallery! I would like every student of humanity and every lover of his kind to have a copy of that List, to study those photographs, and ponder the letterpress description that accompanies each photograph. It would almost appear that we are getting back to primeval man, the faces are so strange and weird. Different as the faces are, one look is stamped upon them all—the look of bewilderment. They one and all seem to think that there is something wrong, and they wonder what it is. No one can glance for a single moment at those terrible photographs without seeing that there is something more than drink at the root of things. No one can meet them, as I have met them, face to face, can look into their eyes, and know, as I know, how pitifully sad, yet how horrible, are their lives, without affirming, as I affirm, that the State proclaims its ignorance when it classifies them as inebriates, and its impotence when it asks others to cure them of the love of drink. These are the women that fill our inebriate reformatories, and of whom the Home Office Inspector reports that 62·6 per cent. are not sane. Certainly they are not sane, and it is high time that the truth was realized and the fact faced. Is it scientific to call their disease inebriety, when in sober truth it is something far worse—something that comes down through the ages, and in all climes and at all times has seized hold upon certain women—a something that never releases its hold till the portals of death are open for its victims? Oh, I could almost laugh at the irony of it all! Cure them of animal passion elemental in its intensity? Cure them of diseased minds and disordered brains, by keeping them for two or three years without drink? It cannot be done. But something can be done; only it is so simple a thing that I feel sure it will not be done. Yet if we had any thought for the purity of our streets, any concern for public morality and public decency, any consideration for the public weal, we should take these women aside, and keep them aside—not for one, two, or three years, but for the remainder of their natural lives, justified by the knowledge that they are not responsible creatures, and that pity itself demands their submission to kindly control and to strong-handed restraint.

But the Licensing Act of 1902 dealt with another class of women inebriates, and dealt with them in a drastic but unsatisfactory way. The law got hold of really drunken women this time, but it did not give them half the consideration extended to gross and demented unfortunates. It empowered magistrates to grant separation orders between married couples when either husband or wife became habitually drunken. In this Act the same definition of habitual inebriety that governed the 1898 Act was adopted, and husbands very promptly began to demand separation orders on account of their wives' drunkenness. My experiences of the result of this Act are sorrowful to a degree; but I expected those results, for I knew that the clauses that empowered separation orders must be either inoperative or disastrous. Alas! they did not remain inoperative, for the number of discarded wives began quickly to multiply.

When the Bill was before Parliament I spent some weeks in a vain endeavour to prevent some of the worst consequences that I knew would follow, and have followed. I contributed several articles to leading reviews; I wrote to The Times and scores of other influential papers; I wrote to leaders of temperance societies; I circularized the Members of both Houses, pointing out the enormity and the absurdity of putting drunken wives homeless on the streets; I pleaded, I begged, with heart, voice, and pen, for just one chance to be given the miserable women. My efforts were vain. No one supported me. I was a voice crying in the wilderness. It might be thought that I was asking for some great thing or some silly thing. I asked for neither. Let my readers judge. We had established inebriate reformatories at the public cost. We were filling them with the grossest unfortunates, of whom there was no hope of redemption; these women we were maintaining for two or three years in comfort. Will it be believed? I asked that drunken, but not immoral, women should be given equal chances of reformation. I asked that when a wife's drunkenness was proved, that she should, whether she consented or not, be committed for one year to an inebriate reformatory, and that the husband's contribution for her support should be paid to the institution that controlled her. But the House of Commons would have none of it; the House of Lords would not entertain it; the Christian Churches would not support it; the guardians of public morality ignored it. Drunken wives, though physically weak and ill, though mothers of young children, though decent in other ways, were not to be allowed one chance of reformation, were not to be considered for one moment worthy of treatment equal to that given to demented and gross women of the streets. "Pitch them out!" said our lords and gentlemen of both Houses. "Get rid of them!" said the Christian Churches. Husbands have not been slow in taking this advice, for they have been pitching wives out and have been getting rid of wives ever since. But the public do not get rid of them so easily. It has to bear the burden that cast-off wives bring, and that burden grows with every separation granted; so wives hitherto moral are fast qualifying for the legal advantages given to unspeakable women, and by-and-by, when the cast-out women behave themselves sufficiently badly, and the police take them into custody four times in a year—then, and not till then, when it is too late, both Houses of Parliament, the Christian Churches, and the guardians of public morality offer them the reforming influences of an institution for the cure of inebriety.

Contrasts: the Young Commission Agent and a Brave Old Man.

One of the first men to apply for a separation order under the Act was a thriving commission agent—i.e., a bookmaker—who had married a barmaid. His jewellery was massive, and there was all over him the appearance of being extremely well-to-do. He brought with him a solicitor to advocate his cause, and witnesses, too, were forthcoming. His young wife, when asked for her statement, did not attempt to deny that she was sometimes the worse for drink, but contented herself by saying that her husband drank a great deal more than she did, but it took less effect. She also said if she did drink, her husband was the cause of it, for he was unfaithful to her. She readily agreed to her husband's offer of £1 weekly, so the order was promptly granted, and she went her way alone. The husband, I noticed, was not so lonely, being accompanied by a well-dressed female.

The second act of this unseemly farce was played before the same court after a three months' interval. The commission agent, again fortified by his solicitor's presence, applied for an abrogation of the order made upon him for his wife's maintenance. Her lapse into immorality was duly proved, her defence—which, of course, was no defence at all—being that her husband was worse than herself, for he had been living with the woman now in court for some months. The magistrate had no option—for private opinion must not prevent the due fulfilment of the law—so the order was quashed. Henceforth the husband was free of all obligations, pecuniary or otherwise, excepting that he might not legally marry till his wife's death. Whatever her faults were, I must confess that I felt very sorry for her. Young, friendless, and homeless, she was already on that polished, inclined plane down which many are precipitated to the lowest depths, from which nothing short of a miracle could save her. A few minutes later I was speaking to her outside the court, and asking about her future, when the opulent commission agent and his expensively dressed but non-legalized wife passed us. Triumph was written on his coarse face, and, turning to his cast-off wife, he snapped his fingers in her face, and said: "I knew I should soon get rid of you!" using, of course, vulgar embellishment. To such contemptible blackguards, men without an atom of decency, this Act has provided a ready means for getting rid of wives when their company proves distasteful. But oh the chivalry of it, especially when the fellow who participated in the wife's wrong-doing comes cheerfully to give evidence against her! When I think on these things, I believe that I have some faith still in physical chastisement.

But I turn gladly—nay, eagerly—to another side of the question; for all men are not made on the same lines as the opulent bookie, for which we have need to be thankful. Among some of the men who, driven almost distraught by the misery they had endured—and only those who have to endure it can tell how great that misery is—have applied for separation orders on account of their wives' habitual drunkenness, I have met some that shone resplendent amid the moral darkness so often connected with police-court cases.

A sorrowful-faced old man, nearly seventy years of age, applied to the magistrate for advice. His wife for some years had been giving way constantly to drink. His home was ruined; he was in debt. He produced a bundle of pawn-tickets, etc. "Have you any sons and daughters? Cannot they influence her?" "They are married, and are all abroad. They cannot help me; but they send me money when I require any. They want me to go to them, but I cannot leave her." "Do you earn any money?" "Oh yes! quite sufficient to keep us. I have had a good place for forty years." "Well," said the magistrate, "I cannot advise you, but you can have a summons against her for habitual drunkenness. Will you have one?" "Yes, sir," said the bewildered old man. The summons was served upon the wife, and in due time they appeared before the court.

A pathetic couple they were; neither of them appeared to exactly understand why they were there. He knew that he had to prove his wife's drunkenness, and he did it simply enough. It was the old, old story of drink, neglect, waste, and dirt—no food provided, no house made tidy, no beds made, no washing of clothes. That was the negative side. The pawnings and debts, and cuts and wounds she had received from falling, formed the positive.

The old woman denied nothing, but said it was all true. When asked for her defence, she could only reiterate: "He's been very good to me; he's been very good to me." When asked about his means, the old man said he thought that he could allow his wife 10s. a week. The magistrate thought that 7s. was as much as he could afford, and made the order accordingly. The couple waited in court till the separate orders were delivered to them, and then tremblingly rose to go, he to his lonely home and she to ——. I accompanied them into the streets, and said to the old woman: "Where are you going to live?" She replied: "I am going home." "But you are separated. The magistrate has given your husband an order which says that you must no longer live with him." "Not live with my husband! Where am I to live, then?" I do not think that either of them understood till that moment what a separation order meant, for the old man said: "You can't live anywhere else." Then, turning to me, he said half defiantly: "I suppose I can take her back home if I like?" "Certainly," I said; "but you cannot come to the magistrate for another order." "I will never ask for another. I don't want this"; and he tore it in twain.

"Come on." And he offered his arm to his old and bewildered partner, and away they went—he to endure patiently and still to hope; she, touched by his faithful love, to struggle and, perchance, to conquer. He was a brave old man—a Sir Galahad with bent back and frosty locks. I watched them as they slowly disappeared along the street. Old as they were, they were passing through love to light. For I saw them many times after that day; I made it my business to see them, and to give them such encouragement as I could: they sorely needed it. So I learned the story of their lives.

She had been a good wife and mother till late in life. Then her children had all dispersed, and great loneliness came upon her. She had not even the prattle of a grandchild to cheer her. Her husband was away so much from home, for he worked many hours.

Old age steals away the power of self-control, and loneliness is hard to bear, and drink promised to cheer her. The old man's faithfulness was her only anchorage, but it held. The battle went sometimes against her, but from the day they stood before the magistrate the old woman began to gain strength, and with strength came hope and happier days.

I have selected these two instances because they fully illustrate the dangers and the weakness of this system. But these two by no means stand alone, and I am not exaggerating when I say that hundreds of men have consulted me about their wives' drunkenness, all of them expecting some help or relief from the Act. When I have explained to them exactly how it affected them and what a separation order meant, by far the greater number went away sorrowing, and most of them have added: "I thought she would be put in a home for a time, where I could pay a little for her. I cannot put her homeless into the streets; I should not be able to sleep if I knew she was out." Of course not; what decent husband could? And this feeling has, I am glad to say, been characteristic of husbands who have suffered intensely and long, and who through it all have been good and patient husbands. I do not wish it to be understood that I think evil of every husband who enforces a separation order on account of his wife's habitual drunkenness—far from it; for I know only too well that with some it has been a bitter and last resource, nothing else being apparently possible. But I do say this, and for this reason I have told the above stories: that this law places it in the power of a worthless husband, who cares not what becomes of his wife, to get rid of her and his responsibilities at practically the same time, but does nothing for the unfortunate husband who hopes for his wife's reformation, and who has still some respect for her; also that it consigns wretched women to a position that is certain to bring about their complete demoralization, for it submits them to temptations they cannot withstand.

CHAPTER IV POLICE-COURT MARRIAGES

The fashion that has arisen of late years of judges or magistrates engineering weddings among the wretched and often penniless people who sometimes come before them savours of indecency. Such proceedings ought to have no place in our courts of penal administration. The effects of thriftless and ill-assorted marriages are so palpable in police-courts that one wonders to what malign source of inspiration the suggestion that some criminal youth or some vicious young woman can be reincarnated by marriage is to be attributed.

Some of the most effective and eloquent homilies I have ever listened to have been delivered from the bench upon youthful and thriftless marriages, and upon the folly of obtaining household goods by the hire-purchase system.

In spite, however, of the well-known results of such marriages—for squalor and misery inevitably attend them—educated gentlemen of position and experience appear to take pleasure in arranging them, and Police-Court Missionaries find occupation and joy in seeing the arrangements duly carried out.

The altogether unwholesome effect of arranging these marriages is considerably enhanced by the press, which duly chronicles in heavy type and sensational headings a "Police-Court Romance."

Romance! I would like to find the romance. I have seen much of the results of such marriages, but I never discovered any romance; they were anything but romantic. While I have seen the results, and have had to alleviate some of the miseries following such marriages, I am thankful to say that I never did anything quite so foolish as to take part in arranging or giving any assistance in carrying out the arrangements for a single marriage of this description.

Many years ago I was asked by a worthy magistrate to see that the arrangements for a marriage of this kind were duly carried out; I told him that I must respectfully decline.

He reminded me, with a humorous twinkle in the eye, "that marriages were made in heaven." The reply was obvious: "Sometimes in hell, your Worship." And the sequel proved my reply to be true. Magistrates seldom see the after-results, but those results are far-reaching. From this one case alone grievous burdens have already been cast upon the public, and future generations will be called upon to bear an aggravated burden. For in a short time the couple were homeless, with three young children, and were found sleeping, or trying to sleep, in a van one winter's night.

It requires no prophetical vision to see the consequences of these marriages, but a few instances may stimulate imagination.

Three years ago a decent-looking young woman of twenty was charged in one of our courts with abandoning her illegitimate child. She was young, pretty, and told a sad tale about her wrongs.

The press account of the matter appeared with such embellishment as befitted a "romance," for a young man had risen in court and offered to marry the girl, and make her into an "honest woman." Now, this chivalrous young man had not seen the girl previously—they were complete strangers; nevertheless, the magistrate adjourned the case, and offered a sovereign towards the wedding expenses. The hero in this business—the chivalrous young man!—was penniless and out of work; in fact, if he himself spoke truly, he had done no work for a year; but, seeing publicity had been gained and interest excited, he wrote a letter to the press, asking the public to supplement the magistrate's contribution, and supply him with funds to furnish a home for himself and future wife His letter was not published, but it was sent in to me by the editor, for I had written to the press on the subject.

I have said that he was out of work, and certainly he was likely to remain out of work, for he was one of the audience to be seen regularly at the police-court, many of whom never seem to seek for work. I have no hesitation in saying that the man who comes forward in a police-court and offers to marry a young woman to whom he is a complete stranger, and who is, moreover, charged with serious crime, is either a fool or a rogue—probably both.

Why magistrates should smile on these impromptu proposals, and order remands that the consummation may take place, I cannot possibly understand. If I were a magistrate and a fellow came forward with a like proposal, I would order him out of court; in fact, I should experience some pleasure in kicking him out. But in this case the magistrate gave a fatherly benediction and twenty shillings. The missionary, too, was by no means out of it, for he afterwards took some credit for this sorry business.

The true story of the girl came out afterwards. It was not one to excite pity, for it was a shameful one to a degree. But morbid, and I think I may say maudlin, sympathy is one of the prevailing evils of the day, and is not founded in real pity or love, or controlled by common-sense or by the least discretion, as the following will show:

The case of a young woman in whom I was interested was placed before the public as a "romance," and consequently well advertised. She was by no means a desirable person; as a matter of fact, there was nothing to be said in her favour. The untrue statement she made before the magistrate was, however, duly circulated. In a few days I received a large number of letters, many of them from men with proposals of marriage. I did the best thing possible by burning the latter, with one exception, for this interested me, as it contained a membership ticket of a religious society.

The writer told me that he was a God-fearing man, a Church member for many years, a carpenter in business on his own account, a widower with several children; that he had prayed over the matter, and it was laid upon his conscience that he must marry the young woman and save her. He also enclosed a postal order for 10s., and asked me to pay her rail-fare and send him a telegram. I returned his membership ticket, his letter, and his postal order, and some words of my own—brief and pointed:

"Sir,

"You may be a well-meaning man, but you are an ass. What right have you to submit your children to the care of an abandoned woman? Marry some decent woman you are acquainted with, and save them and yourself.

"Yours truly,
"T. Holmes."

Quite recently a Police-Court Missionary told us through the press that he had arranged seventy such weddings, that he raised £200 to give the various couples a start in life, many of whom were so poor that he loaned them a wedding-ring for the ceremony, as he always kept one by him for emergencies. Yet he assured us, in spite of the poverty of the persons concerned, and notwithstanding the disgraceful circumstances that had brought them within his province, all these marriages had turned out happily. I sincerely wish that I could believe in the happiness of couples of this description, married under such circumstances, but I cannot, for my experience of them has been so very different. Indeed, I was not surprised to read an account in the press of the trial of a young man for the murder of his wife, when the wife's mother stated that the marriage had been arranged by a Police-Court Missionary.

When I reflect upon this subject, I must confess myself astonished that our Bishops and clergy, who insist so strongly on the sacredness of marriage and of its indissolubility, are silent upon the matter, and have no advice to give to their representatives upon it.

Especially am I surprised that our good Bishop of London, who is conversant with every phase of London life, and who has spoken so fearlessly upon the extent and evils of immorality, is silent on police-court marriages and police-court separations; for these marriages are none the less immoral though they be legalized by the State and blessed by the Church, and the evils of them will not bear recapitulation. On divorce our leaders have much to say; on marriage with deceased wives' sisters they have advice to give. Are the poor to have no guidance? Are penniless, ignorant, and often gross young people to be engineered into promiscuous marriage without a protest? Is the widespread evil that attaches to wholesale "separation" of no consequence? Are these and suchlike arrangements good enough for the poor?

But there is another light in which these engineered marriages must be considered. Not very long since one of our judges had before him a young man charged with the attempted murder of the girl with whom he had kept company. His jealousy and brutality had alarmed her, so she had given him up. But he was not to be got rid of so easily, for he waylaid her and attempted to murder her by cutting her throat. He was charged, but the charge was reduced to one of grievous bodily harm. At the trial the young woman was asked by the judge whether she would consent to marry the prisoner, adding that if she would consent it would make a difference in the sentence imposed. The matter was adjourned to the next session, the prisoner being allowed his liberty that the marriage might be effected. During the adjournment they were married, and when next before the magistrate the marriage certificate was produced. She saved the man from prison, and the judge bestowed his benediction in the following words: "Take her away" (as if, forsooth, she had been the prisoner) "and be good to her. You have assaulted her before: don't do it again"—thus giving him every opportunity of doing at his leisure what he had barely failed to do in his haste. I ask, Is not a procedure of this kind a grave misuse of the power of the courts? Is there any justice about it? Is it fair to place on a young and inexperienced girl the onus of deciding whether or not her would-be murderer shall be punished? Is there any sense of propriety in holding a half-veiled threat over her, and inducing her, against her better judgment, to marry a jealous and murderous brute? I can find no satisfactory answers to these questions, and contend such proceedings ought to be impossible in our courts of justice.

If our penal administrators think that brutality, jealousy, and murderous instincts can be cured by matrimonial ties, especially when these ties are forged and riveted under such circumstances, then their knowledge of human nature is small indeed.

The jealous brute when single is in all conscience bad enough, but when married he is infinitely worse; for with him jealousy becomes an absolute mania, and tragedy is almost inevitable. It must not be understood that all magistrates and judges bring pressure to bear on wretched or sinning couples for the purpose of compelling matrimony, for this is not the case. We have need to be thankful that comparatively few do so. But there is enough of this business done to warrant my calling attention to it, and in expressing the hope that "romance" of this kind may speedily die a death from which there is no resurrection. It may be that among the long list of sordid cases that come before the courts there are some in which marriage seems the best way out of the tangle, financial or otherwise. Sometimes, perhaps, it is the only honourable course, especially where the mother of a child is desirous of it. But it must be remembered that in these cases the parties have had plenty of opportunity for marriage previous to appearing before the court, and would have like opportunities after going from the court, without magistrates intervening.

But it becomes a public matter when judges or magistrates use their positions and the power of the law to compel young people, sometimes mere boys and girls, to marry.

Better a thousand times that many should bear the ills and sorrows that they have, and go through life with the shadow of disgrace over them, rather than take as partners those that have been either forced by circumstances or terrorized by representatives of the law into the unhappy position.

It may seem strange that, while some of our judges, magistrates, and missionaries betray anxiety to hurry on these indecent marriages, and to coerce penniless young people into them, the State should find ready means for undoing them. It is no uncommon thing for very young women who have been married but a few months to apply for separation orders and maintenance orders. I may add also that it is no uncommon thing for magistrates to grant them. The extent to which separation prevails may be gathered from the fact that under the Summary Jurisdiction (Married Women) Act, 1895, there have been granted up to the end of 1906 (the latest date for which statistics are available) 72,537 separation orders; and, assuming the average for the years 1902 to 1906 to be maintained, up to the end of 1907 there would have to be added a further 1,048 separation orders, making a total since the Act came into force of 79,583 such orders.

Surely these figures ought to compel serious thought.

CHAPTER V EXTRAORDINARY SENTENCES

I owe my readers an apology for introducing this chapter, inasmuch as it does not deal chiefly with my own experiences, but with two extraordinary sentences recently given, and made public through the press; though it is fair to say that I know something of the friends in the one case and the victims in the other of the prisoners who received those sentences. I have seen nothing during my personal experiences to cause me any misgivings as to the administration of justice. I have not seen people punished for crimes they had not committed, but I have seen a large number of prisoners discharged about whose guilt there was no moral doubt. It stands to the credit of our penal system that it is much easier for a guilty man to escape than it is for an innocent man to be punished. This is a just and safe position. I would like also to say that among all the sentences that I have known imposed upon prisoners, there have been very few—indeed, scarcely any—that I have thought did not meet the justice of the case. I have, therefore, no sympathy with the organized outcries that are from time to time raised against our judges and magistrates and the police. Judges and magistrates are but human, and that they will err sometimes in their judgments is certain. We censure them sometimes because their sentences are too severe; we blame them sometimes because they have been too lenient; but it is always well to remember that judges and magistrates see and know more of the attendant circumstances of a case than the press and the public possibly can see or know. This knowledge, of course, cannot have any bearing on the question of guilt or innocence; but it can have, and ought to have, some effect upon the length of sentence imposed.

Within limits, then, judges and magistrates must be allowed latitude with regard to degrees of sentence, for a cast-iron method allowing no latitude would entail a tremendous amount of injustice.

Nine times out of ten, when a judge or magistrate errs in the imposition of sentence, he errs on the side of leniency, and it is right that it should be so. But an error on the side of mercy does not create a public sensation; and this speaks well for the public, for it is good to know that the community is better pleased to hear of leniency than of severity. Nevertheless, an error on the side of leniency is an error, and may be followed with results as disastrous as those that follow from an error on the side of severity; for while those results are not so quickly palpable, they may be more extensive.

I want, then, in this chapter to select two sentences—one given by a judge, the other by a magistrate: the judge erring, in my opinion, on the side of severity; the magistrate erring, in my judgment, on the side of leniency.

Neither of these sentences seems to have attracted public attention, though both are of recent date.

Let me quote from a letter received on June 4, 1907:

"Dear Sir,

"I hope you will excuse me writing to you about my son, who is a young man not twenty-three years of age.

"He is a carpenter and joiner, and has a good little business of his own, with a shop and yard.

"On January 4, 1906, there was a burglary at the house next to mine, and in a fortnight after my son was arrested on suspicion. The people—very old friends of ours—being awake, heard voices, but did not recognize one of the voices as that of my son.

"At the trial there was no evidence produced to prove that my son was in the house. My wife and myself are prepared to say that he went to bed at ten o'clock, and that we called him at seven o'clock next morning.

"The jury brought my son in guilty, and the judge gave him fourteen years' penal servitude. The whole court was shocked; no one could understand it. I cannot understand it, for I have read many instances of real old criminals, after committing robberies, being sentenced to a few months or a year or so. But fourteen years for a young man! Oh, sir, my family have lived in this old town for nearly three hundred years, and no member of it had ever been in a prisoner's dock till now. I have written to the Home Secretary, and his answer was that he could not at present interfere. I pray to Heaven that you will be kind enough to write to him and beg of him to pardon my son. I am sending to you a paper with a full account of the trial.

"I remain,
"Yours truly,
"X."

I have that paper now before me—the Coventry Times, dated Wednesday, December 12, 1906. The trial took place on the previous Friday at Warwick Assizes. Taylor was charged with breaking and entering, and feloniously stealing twenty-four farthings, one gold locket, one metal chain, and ten spoons; to make assurance doubly sure, he also was charged with receiving the same property. Taylor had been in custody since January 23, 1906. On December 7 of the same year he received his extraordinary sentence, after being detained in prison nearly eleven months. Everything seems extraordinary about this case—the long delay before trial, the severe sentence, the trumpery character of the articles stolen. I express no opinion about the prisoner's guilt. Some of the articles were found in his possession, and it was proved that he had been spending farthings. That the people whose house had been entered did not suspect the prisoner was clear, as they sent for him next morning to repair the door that had been broken. But, at any rate, the jury believed Taylor guilty, for, without leaving the box, they gave their verdict to that effect.

One of the objects of the burglary appears to have been the acquisition of the silver teaspoons.

Mrs. Wilson, the prosecutor's wife, had been previously married to a man named Vernon, and the spoons in question belonged to him. It was said that the friends of Vernon wanted the spoons, and Mrs. Wilson admitted that "they would like them; but they had let her alone for twenty years."

These spoons disappeared. They were not found in Taylor's possession, but someone had undoubtedly taken them. Mrs. Wilson stated in her evidence that after the burglary there was a piece of paper left on the parlour table, on which was written in pencil the words, "Mrs. Vernon, after twenty years"; but this paper was missing, and the prisoner's mother had been in the parlour and had seen the paper, which could not be found after she left.

Whether Taylor committed a trumpery burglary, or whether he did the thing out of mean spirit, or whether he was in collusion with others, does not matter very much. Punishment he doubtless deserved, but fourteen years for a young man for a silly offence seems beyond the bound of credibility. But it is true; for in June, 1907, I approached the Home Secretary, begging for a revision of the sentence, and received a reply similar to that sent to the prisoner's father—that it was too early a date for interference. It is only fair to assume that the judge was in possession of knowledge that justified his words, if not his sentence, for in addressing the prisoner he said: "You have been convicted, and properly convicted; but I know the sort of man you are, from this case and from the fact that there is another charge against you in this calendar. Fourteen years' penal servitude!"

I am not surprised to read that "The prisoner appeared to be stunned when he heard the sentence, and fell into the warders' arms who surrounded him!" I am not surprised to read that the prisoner's father and mother rose to their feet, and that the one shouted, "He is innocent!" and that the other went into hysterics; but I am surprised to read that an English judge could not allow something for parental feelings, and that he said fiercely: "Take those people away!" and when the prisoner's father shouted, "I can go out, but he is innocent!" that the judge instantly retorted: "If you don't go out, I will commit you to prison." Fourteen years for a young man of twenty-two! Fourteen years for a first offender! It requires an effort to make oneself believe it, but it is a fact.

I should like to know what was at the back of Mr. Justice Ridley's mind when he gave that sentence. Surely he had some reasons that he, at any rate, considered sufficient to justify it. It is difficult to imagine what they were, for no personal violence had been offered, no firearms had been carried, no burglar's tools had been discovered. Taylor was not even suspected of connection with any professional criminals. It was, moreover, the first time he had been in the hands of the police. Taylor seems to have been industrious, for at twenty-two years of age he was in business on his own account. I can't help thinking that there was something wrong with Taylor, some mental twist or peculiarity; for, admitting him to be guilty, he acted like a fool. To leave a piece of paper, in his own handwriting, referring to matters of which only intimate friends could have knowledge, was of itself an extraordinary thing; but to go spending openly at public-houses stolen farthings was more extraordinary still. So the responsibility for his conviction rests largely with himself.

But fourteen years even for a fool is unthinkable, and the responsibility for that rests with his judge.

This leads me to say that stupid and half-witted criminals are often more severely dealt with than clever and dangerous rogues. The former "give themselves away" in such sweetly simple fashion that they appear hardened and indifferent, and are punished accordingly. I am afraid, too, that sometimes judges and magistrates cannot attain to Pauline excellence and "suffer fools gladly." Hundreds of times I have heard the expression about someone who had received a severe sentence: "Well, he deserved it for being such a fool!" Even the public is more prepared to tolerate severe punishments for the men whose crimes savour of crass folly, if not of downright idiocy, than it is for dangerous, clever daring, and calculating rogues. My second example will tend to show that magistrates are not exempt from this kind of feeling, but when led by it, rush to the other extreme, and inflict no punishment whatever. The hearing of the case I am about to relate took place at Tower Bridge Police-Court in July, 1908.

A young married woman was charged with obtaining by false pretences £75 in cash and £15 worth of jewellery from an old woman who had been a domestic servant, but who at the age of seventy had given up regular work, and was hoping to make her little savings suffice for the remainder of her days. The prisoner was also charged with obtaining by fraud £10 5s. from a working man in whose house she had lodgings.

Evidence was given that the prisoner had an uncle abroad, but nothing had been heard of him for a very long time. Two years ago the prisoner spread a report that he had died immensely rich, and had left her thousands of pounds. In order to pay legal expenses, she said, she borrowed money from her aunt, an old woman of eighty. Having exhausted her aunt's money, and leaving her to the workhouse authorities, the prisoner then proceeded to draw upon the retired domestic, who parted with every penny of her savings and her jewellery.

In due time she was penniless also, and had again to seek work, at seventy years of age, having no friends to help her. The prisoner then turned her attention to her landlord, and obtained £10 5s. from him; but he became suspicious, and wanted to see some documents or solicitors. She gave him the address of her solicitors in Chancery Lane. Then he insisted upon her accompanying him to see them; he compelled her to go, and, on arriving, found the address to be a bank. The landlord then communicated with the police, and she was arrested. The prisoner admitted that the whole story was false, and that she was very wicked. It was stated in evidence that the prisoner had an illegitimate child, which she said was the child of a gentleman, and that she had persuaded a young man to marry her by promising him £300 from the child's father, when the wedding took place; but the young husband had never received the money.

The lady missionary told the magistrate that she had received a letter from the prisoner, whilst under remand in Holloway Prison, expressing her deep sorrow, and promising to work hard and pay the money back.

Mr. Hutton bound the prisoner over under the Probation Act! I wonder what was at the back of Mr. Hutton's mind when he practically discharged her.

If the Probation Act is to bring us such judgments as this, it would have been well if we had never heard of it.

I can imagine no more heartless and cruel series of frauds than those perpetrated in this case.

The prisoner seems to have pursued her victims with unerring instinct and skill: the old aunt was robbed and ruined; the old domestic, after a long life of hard work and economy, was robbed and ruined; then, with confidence in her own powers, she proceeded to rob her landlord. A continual succession of lies, deceptions, and frauds, extending over years! And then bound over! Herein is a problem: If ten teaspoons, one metal chain, and one gold locket are equal to fourteen years' penal servitude, what are some hundreds of pounds, obtained by two years' fraud, and entailing the ruin of two decent old women, equal to?

The answer, according to the magistrate, is, Nothing! A great deal has been said, and not without some show of justice, about there being one law for the rich and another for the poor. In this case it is positively true, though in an opposite sense to the generally accepted meaning of the words.

I have no hesitation in saying that if the prosecutors had been in more influential circumstances, and had employed a solicitor to put their case, the law would not have been satisfied by accepting the prisoner's recognizances. Are we to accept the principle that punishment must be in inverse ratio to the seriousness of the offence? It appears so!

The innocent young man she decoyed into marriage has not received his £300—he never will—but he received what he might have expected, and at least he got his deserts.

I ask my readers to ponder this decision: Bound over! I ask them to ponder this sentence: Fourteen years' penal servitude! There is an eternity between the two sentences; the one is permitted to go on her guileless way. The other is sent to confinement, monotony, and degradation for fourteen years. The latter was at the worst a foolish, clumsy rogue; the other was a consummate and accomplished artist in deception.

Whether the old women would have received any benefit from the imprisonment of the younger woman is beside the question. I am sure they will receive no benefit from her liberty, though she says she will work hard and repay them!

On what principle can she be called a first offender? If rogues are to be imprisoned at all, by what process of reasoning can it be argued that she ought to go free?

Surely the time is come when other people as well as prisoners must be considered. What will be the effect of a judgment like this? It can have but one effect: it will encourage similar young women in their lives of deception and fraud.

I may here stop to ask whether a young man charged with similar offence would have been dealt with at Tower Bridge Police-Court, or at any other court, in a similar way. My own conviction is that he would not have been so dealt with.

This raises the question whether there is or ought to be equality, or something approximating to equality, of punishment for the sexes.

This being the day of women's rights, I would say that certainly there ought to be something like equality even in the imposition of sentences; but the law and its administrators do not hold this view. I do not remember any case of a man and woman being jointly charged, both being jointly and equally guilty, in which the man did not receive much the heavier sentence.

I can understand it in the case of husband and wife, for the law considers husband and wife as one; but, unfortunately for the husband, it considers the male person as that particular one. But, with regard to unmarried couples, I can see no general reason for severity to the man and leniency to the woman.

At the risk of appearing ferocious, I must say that I was taken aback at the Tower Bridge Police-Court decision, for I confess that I would have preferred the magistrate giving the prisoner six months' hard labour, or sending her for trial before judge and jury. Not that I want either men or women to be detained in prison—I hate the thought of it—but I happen to hate something else much more, and that is the idea that plausible and crafty young women can rob and ruin decent old women with impunity.

I hold—though in this I may be wrong—that if the law cannot compel fraudulent persons to restore their ill-gotten gains—and in the case of the prisoner at Tower Bridge this was, of course, impossible—then at least it ought to administer in such cases a decent amount of punishment. But the course adopted did not uphold the dignity of the law; it did not in the least help those that have suffered; it did not punish the prisoner; neither did it serve to act as a warning to others. But while, as I have previously said, justice is, on the whole, fairly administered, there is still a wide difference in the sentences given for like offences. The demeanour of a prisoner before the magistrate may easily add to or lessen the length of his sentence; crocodile tears and a whining appeal for mercy generally have an opposite effect to that the prisoner wishes.

A scornful, defiant, or violent attitude is almost certain to increase the length of sentence. The plausible, cunning, and somewhat clever man, who cross-examines with the skill of an expert, is sure to be hardly judged and appraised when sentence is given; but the devil-may-care fellow, who bears himself a bit jauntily, and who, moreover, has considerable humour and a dash of wit, is almost sure by a few witty or humorous quips to partially disarm justice and secure for himself more lenient punishment. I suppose we all have a sneaking kindness for the complete vagabond; we instinctively like the fellow who can make us laugh; we do not want to believe that the man who is possessed of humour is altogether bad, and when we have to punish him we let him off as lightly as possible. But the stubborn thick-head does not excite either our risible faculties or our heart's sympathy; nevertheless, that thick-head may be far less guilty than the complete vagabond—in truth, he is often a far better fellow—but his thick-headedness is against him, and we punish him accordingly. And here I draw upon my own experiences, for I have known complete vagabonds that were also absolute scoundrels, who, by their apparent candour, jollity, and flashes of humour, continually saved themselves from anything approaching long sentences.

One fellow in particular took at least twelve years in qualifying for penal servitude, though he was a thorough rogue and a vagabond absolutely. He was a printer and a clever workman; but he never worked—not he! He would steal anything. Several times he had called on clergymen, and while conversing with them in their halls had appropriated their best silk umbrellas. On one occasion he had gone away without booty, but he returned five minutes afterwards, and rang the bell, which, being answered by the servant, he said: "I am very sorry to trouble, but I forgot my umbrella. Ah! here it is." And he went away with the parson's best.

"Give me another chance," I have heard him say. "You know you like me: I am not a bad fellow at heart." He saved himself from penal servitude many times, but he got it at last, after several narrow escapes.

One winter night I was told he was at my front-door, where he had been many times, for I never asked him in: I am sure he would have robbed me if I had. "Well, old man, how are you?" he said, for he always patronized me in a delightful manner. "Oh, it is you, Downy, is it?" "Ah, it is me. I say, Holmes, I am starving!" "There is some comfort in that," I said. "Bah! you don't mean it; you are too good-hearted. Give us a cup of tea." I declined his invitation, and told him that I had no umbrellas to spare. "Well, that's a bit thick," he said; "I did not expect that from you. Well, I'm off." Then, as an afterthought, he said: "What's the time?" "Five minutes past six," I said. "Why, I have been on this doorstep quite five minutes." "Quite ten minutes," I said.

Away he went to the parish clergyman, who did not know him, and delivered some imaginary messages from myself. He got two shillings and a meal from the clergyman.

To my surprise, I saw him in the dock next day, charged with stealing a valuable fur-lined overcoat. He had called at a gentleman's house to ask for employment. The servant had admitted him, and left him standing in the hall while she summoned the master. It was dark, but he discovered the valuable coat and put it on. There was no work for him, and the gentleman, who knew Downy well, showed him out promptly. He afterwards missed his coat, and quickly gave information to the police. Downy was as light-hearted as usual, denied his guilt, and closely examined the prosecutor as to the exact time he (Downy) called on him. The magistrate, having had depositions taken, was about to commit him for trial, when the prisoner said: "I have a witness to call." "You can call him at your trial," the magistrate said. "Who is your witness?" "Mr. Holmes." "What can he prove?" "That I was at his house at exactly the same time that it is said I was at the prosecutor's." I declined to give evidence, for I believed the fellow had the overcoat, though he was without a coat when I saw him. He was duly committed for trial, but before leaving the dock he turned to the magistrate and said: "You have made up your mind that I am to get five years, but you are mistaken this time: no jury will convict on the evidence." The grand jury threw out the bill, so I was saved the pleasure of giving evidence for him. In a few days he appeared at the court desiring to speak to the magistrate. When given the chance, he said: "Well, I'm here again. I thought you might be pleased to know that no true bill was found against me; my case did not go to the jury. You haven't done with me yet." "I am sorry," said the magistrate. "But you will not be disappointed many more times. You will get your five years." "Probably, but not at your suggestion. Good-morning!"

He was on my doorstep again that evening. "Come to see you again, Holmes, my boy. Lend us half a crown!" I declined. "Ha!" he said, "you would lend it me soon enough if you knew what a lark I have had. I can't help laughing. Why, I have been to old —— and offered to give him back his fur coat for a quid." And the rascal roared at the thought of it. "What did he say to you?" "Well, he rather hurt my feelings, for his language was not polite." "I suppose you have not restored it?" "What do you think?"

But Downy got his five years within a few weeks. He removed a big marble clock from the bar of a public-house, and got away with it, too, in broad daylight; but Fate tripped him at last, and he got his well-earned five years. As he is still under forty years of age, I have no doubt but that in prison his talent will be developed. Not that he has much to learn, but even Downy may gather a few wrinkles when given proper opportunities.