“My dear sir,” said Sir Richard Brandon, over a glass of sherry one evening after dinner, to George Brisbane, Esquire of Lively Hall, “the management of the poor is a difficult, a very difficult subject to deal with.”
“It is, unquestionably,” assented1 Brisbane, “so difficult, that I am afraid some of our legislators are unwilling2 to face it; but it ought to be faced, for there is much to be done in the way of improving the poor-laws, which at present tend to foster pauperism3 in the young, and bear heavily on the aged4. Meanwhile, philanthropists find it necessary to take up the case of the poor as a private enterprise.”
“Pardon me, Brisbane, there I think you are in error. Everything requisite5 to afford relief to the poor is provided by the state. If the poor will not take advantage of the provision, or the machinery6 is not well oiled and worked by the officials, the remedy lies in greater wisdom on the part of the poor, and supervision7 of officials—not in further legislation. But what do you mean by our poor-laws bearing heavily on the aged?”
“I mean that the old people should be better cared for, simply because of their age. Great age is a sufficient argument of itself, I think, for throwing a veil of oblivion over the past, and extending charity with a liberal, pitying hand, because of present distress8, and irremediable infirmities. Whatever may be the truth with regard to paupers9 and workhouses in general, there ought to be a distinct refuge for the aged, which should be attractive—not repulsive10, as at present—and age, without reference to character or antecedents, should constitute the title to enter it. ‘God pity the aged poor,’ is often my prayer, ‘and enable us to feel more for them in the dreary11, pitiful termination of their career.’”
“But, my dear sir,” returned Sir Richard, “you would have old paupers crowding into such workhouses, or refuges as you call them, by the thousand.”
“Well, better that they should do so than that they should die miserably12 by thousands in filthy13 and empty rooms—sometimes without fire, or food, or physic, or a single word of kindness to ease their sad descent into the grave.”
“But, then, Brisbane, as I said, it is their own fault—they have the workhouse to go to.”
“But, then, as I said, Sir Richard, the workhouse is rendered so repulsive to them that they keep out of it as long as they can, and too often keep out so long that it is too late, and their end is as I have described. However, until things are better arranged, we must do what we can for them in a private way. Indeed Scripture14 teaches distinctly the necessity for private charity, by such words as— ‘the poor ye have always with you,’ and, ‘blessed are they who consider the poor.’ Don’t you agree with me, Mr Welland?”
Stephen Welland—who, since the day of his accident, had become intimate with Mr Brisbane and Sir Richard—replied that although deeply interested in the discussion going on, his knowledge of the subject was too slight to justify15 his holding any decided16 opinion.
“Take another glass of sherry,” said Sir Richard, pushing the decanter towards the young man; “it will stir your brain and enable you to see your way more clearly through this knotty17 point.”
“No more, thank you, Sir Richard.”
“Come, come—fill your glass,” said the knight18; “you and I must set an example of moderate drinking to Brisbane, as a counter-blast to his Blue-Ribbonism.”
Welland smiled and re-filled his glass.
“Nay, I never thrust my opinions on that point on people,” said Brisbane, with a laugh, “but if you will draw the sword and challenge me, I won’t refuse the combat!”
“No, no, Brisbane. Please spare us! I re-sheath the sword, and need not that you should go all over it again. I quite understand that you are no bigot, that you think the Bible clearly permits and encourages total abstinence in certain circumstances, though it does not teach it; that, although a total abstainer19 yourself, you do not refuse to give drink to your friends if they desire it—and all that sort of thing; but pray let it pass, and I won’t offend again.”
“Ah, Sir Richard, you are an unfair foe20. You draw your sword to give me a wound through our young friend, and then sheath it before I can return on you. However, you have stated my position so well that I forgive you and shake hands. But, to return to the matter of private charity, are you aware how little suffices to support the poor—how very far the mere21 crumbs22 that fall from a rich man’s table will go to sustain them I Now, just take the glass of wine which Welland has swallowed—against his expressed wish, observe, and merely to oblige you, Sir Richard. Its value is, say, sixpence. Excuse me, I do not of course refer to its real value, but to its recognised restaurant-value! Well, I happened the other day to be at a meeting of old women at the ‘Beehive’ in Spitalfields; there were some eighty or a hundred of them. With dim eyes and trembling fingers they were sewing garments for the boys who are to be sent out to Canada. Such feeble workers could not find employment elsewhere, but by liberal hearts a plan has been devised whereby many an aged one, past work, can earn a few pence. Twopence an hour is the pay. They are in the habit of meeting once a week for three hours, and thus earn sixpence. Many of these women, I may remark, are true Christians23. I wondered how far such a sum would go, and how the poor old things spent it. One woman sixty-three years of age enlightened me. She was a feeble old creature, suffering from chronic24 rheumatism25 and a dislocated hip26. When I questioned her she said—‘I have difficulties indeed, but I tell my Father all. Sometimes, when I’m very hungry and have nothing to eat, I tell Him, and I know He hears me, for He takes the feeling away, and it only leaves me a little faint.’
“‘But how do you spend the sixpence that you earn here?’ I asked.
“‘Well, sir,’ she said, ‘sometimes, when very hard-up, I spend part of it this way:— I buy a hap’orth o’ tea, a hap’orth o’ sugar, a hap’orth o’ drippin’, a hap’orth o’ wood and a penn’orth o’ bread. Sometimes when better off than usual I get a heap of coals at a time, perhaps quarter of a hundredweight, because I save a farthing by getting the whole quarter, an’ that lasts me a long time, and wi’ the farthing I mayhap treat myself to a drop o’ milk. Sometimes, too, I buy my penn’orth o’ wood from the coopers and chop it myself, for I can make it go further that way.’
“So, you see, Welland,” continued Brisbane, “your glass of sherry would have gone a long way in the domestic calculations of a poor old woman, who very likely once had sons who were as fond of her and as proud of her, as you now are of your own mother.”
“It is very sad that any class of human beings should be reduced to so low an ebb,” returned the young man seriously.
“Yes, and it is very difficult,” said Sir Richard, “to reduce one’s mental action so as to fully27 understand the exact bearing of such minute monetary28 arrangements, especially for one who is accustomed to regard the subject of finance from a different standpoint.”
“But the saddest thing of all to me, and the most difficult to understand,” resumed Brisbane, “is the state of mind and feeling of those professing29 Christians, who, with ample means, give exceedingly little towards the alleviation30 of such distress, take little or no interest in the condition of the poor, and allow as much waste in their establishments as would, if turned to account, become streamlets of absolute wealth to many of the destitute31.”
This latter remark was a thrust which told pretty severely32 on the host—all the more so, perhaps, that he knew Brisbane did not intend it as a thrust at all, for he was utterly33 ignorant of the fact that his friend seldom gave anything away in charity, and even found it difficult to pay his way and make the two ends meet with his poor little five thousand a year—for, you see, if a man has to keep up a fairly large establishment, with a town and country house, and have his yacht, and a good stable, and indulge in betting, and give frequent dinners, and take shootings in Scotland, and amuse himself with jewellery, etcetera, why, he must pay for it, you know!
“The greatest trouble of these poor women, I found,” continued Brisbane, “is their rent, which varies from 2 shillings to 3 shillings a week for their little rooms, and it is a constant struggle with them to keep out of ‘the House,’ so greatly dreaded34 by the respectable poor. One of them told me she had lately saved up a shilling with which she bought a pair of ‘specs,’ and was greatly comforted thereby35, for they helped her fading eyesight. I thought at the time what a deal of good might be done and comfort given if people whose sight is changing would send their disused spectacles to the home of Industry in Commercial Street, Spitalfields, for the poor. By the way, your sight must have changed more than once, Sir Richard! Have you not a pair or two of disused spectacles to spare?”
“Well, yes, I have a pair or two, but they have gold rims36, which would be rather incongruous on the noses of poor people, don’t you think?”
“Oh! by no means. We could manage to convert the rims into blue steel, and leave something over for sugar and tea.”
“Well, I’ll send them,” said Sir Richard with a laugh. “By the way, you mentioned a plan whereby those poor women were enabled to do useful work, although too old for much. What plan might that be?”
“It is a very simple plan,” answered Brisbane, “and consists chiefly in the work being apportioned37 according to ability. Worn garments and odds38 and ends of stuff are sent to the Beehive from all parts of the country by sympathising friends. These are heaped together in one corner of the room where the poor old things work. Down before this mass of stuff are set certain of the company who have large constructive39 powers. These skilfully40 contrive42, cut out, alter, and piece together all kinds of clothing, including the house slippers43 and Glengarry caps worn by the little rescued boys. Even handkerchiefs and babies’ long frocks are conjured44 out of a petticoat or muslin lining45! The work, thus selected and arranged, is put into the hands of those who, though not skilful41 in originating, have the plodding46 patience to carry out the designs of the more ingenious, and so garments are produced to cover the shivering limbs of any destitute child that may enter the Refuge as well as to complete the outfits47 of the little emigrants48.”
“Well, Brisbane, I freely confess,” said Sir Richard, “that you have roused a degree of interest in poor old women which I never felt before, and it does seem to me that we might do a good deal more for them with our mere superfluities and cast-off clothing. Do the old women receive any food on these working nights besides the pence they earn?”
“No, I am sorry to say they do not—at least not usually. You see it takes a hundred or more sixpences every Monday merely to keep that sewing-class going, and more than once there has been a talk of closing it for want of funds, but the poor creatures have pleaded so pitifully that they might still be allowed to attend, even though they should work at half-price, that it has been hitherto continued. You see it is a matter of no small moment for those women merely to spend three hours in a room with a good fire, besides which they delight in the hymns49 and prayers and the loving counsel and comfort they receive. It enables them to go out into the cold, even though hungry, with more heart and trust in God as they limp slowly back again to their fireless grates and bare cupboards.
“The day on which I visited the place I could not bear the thought of this, so I gave a sovereign to let them have a good meal. This sufficed. Large kettles are always kept in readiness for such occasions. These were put on immediately by the matron. The elder girls in training on the floor above set to work to cut thick slices of bread and butter, the tea urns50 were soon brought down, and in twenty minutes I had the satisfaction of seeing the whole hundred eating heartily51 and enjoying a hot meal. My own soul was fed, too—for the words came to me, ‘I was an hungered and ye gave me meat,’ and one old woman, sitting near me, said, ‘I have a long walk home, and have been casting over in my mind all the afternoon whether I could spare a penny for a cup of tea on the way. How good the Lord is to send this!’”
With large, round, glittering eyes and parted lips, and heightened colour and varying expression, sat little Di Brandon at her father’s elbow, almost motionless, her little hands clasped tight, and uttering never a word, but gazing intently at the speakers and drinking it all in, while sorrow, surprise, sympathy, indignation, and intense pity stirred her little heart to its very centre.
In the nursery she retailed52 it all over, with an eager face and rapid commentary, to the sympathetic Mrs Screwbury, and finally, in bed, presided over millions of old women who made up mountains of old garments, devoured53 fields of buttered bread, and drank oceans of steaming tea!
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1
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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pauperism
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| n.有被救济的资格，贫困 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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abstainer
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| 节制者，戒酒者，弃权者 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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monetary
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| adj.货币的，钱的；通货的；金融的；财政的 | |
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professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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apportioned
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| vt.分摊，分配（apportion的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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outfits
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| n.全套装备( outfit的名词复数 )；一套服装；集体；组织v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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emigrants
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| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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50
urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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51
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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52
retailed
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| vt.零售（retail的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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53
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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