BEGGARS AND CHEATS.

In primitive times beggars were recognised as a legitimate component part in the fabric of society. Socially, and apart from state government, there were, during the patriarchal period, three states of the community, and these were the landowners, their servants, and the dependants of both—beggars. There was no disgrace attached to the name of beggar at this time, for those who lived by charity were persons who were either too old to work or were incapacitated from work by bodily affliction. This being the condition of the beggars of the early ages, it was considered no less a sacred than a social duty to protect them and relieve their wants. Many illustrious names, both in sacred and profane history, are associated with systematic mendicancy, and the very name of “beggar” has derived a sort of classic dignity from this circumstance. Beggars are frequently mentioned with honour in the Old Testament; and in the New, one of the most touching incidents in our Lord’s history has reference to “a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at the rich man’s gate.” Nor must it be forgotten that the father of poetry, the immortal Homer, was a beggar and blind, and went about singing his own verses to excite charity. The name of Belisarius is more closely associated with the begging exploits ascribed to him than with his great historical conquests. “Give a halfpenny to a poor man” was as familiar a phrase in Latin in the old world as it is to-day in the streets of London. It would be tedious to enumerate all the instances of honourable beggary which are celebrated in history, or even to glance at the most notable of them; it will be enough for the purpose we have in view if I direct attention to the aspects of beggary at a few marked periods of history.

It will be found that imposture in beggary has invariably been the offspring of a high state of civilization, and has generally had its origin in large towns. When mendicancy assumes this form it becomes a public nuisance, and imperatively calls for prohibitive laws. The beggar whose poverty is not real, but assumed, is no longer a beggar in the true sense of the word, but a cheat and an impostor, and as such he is naturally regarded, not as an object for compassion, but as an enemy to the state. In all times, however, the real beggar—the poor wretch who has no means of gaining a livelihood by his labour, the afflicted outcast, the aged, the forsaken, and the weak—has invariably commanded the respect and excited the compassion of his more fortunate fellow-men. The traces of this consideration for beggars which we find in history are not a little remarkable. In the early Saxon times the relief of beggars was one of the most honourable duties of the mistress of the house. Our beautiful English word “lady” derives its origin from this practice. The mistress of a Saxon household gave away bread with her own hand to the poor, and thence she was called “lef day” or bread giver, which at a later period was rendered into lady. A well-known incident in the life of Alfred the Great shows how sacred a duty the giving of alms was regarded at that period. In early times beggary had even a romantic aspect. Poets celebrated the wanderings of beggars in so attractive a manner that great personages would sometimes envy the condition of the ragged mendicant and imitate his mode of life. James V. of Scotland was so enamoured of the life of the gaberlunzie man that he assumed his wallet and tattered garments, and wandered about among his subjects begging from door to door, and singing ballads for a supper and a night’s lodging. The beggar’s profession was held in respect at that time, for it had not yet become associated with imposture; and as the country beggars were also ballad-singers and story-tellers, their visits were rather welcome than otherwise. It must also be taken into account that beggars were not numerous at this period.

It would appear that beggars first began to swarm and become troublesome and importunate shortly after the Reformation. The immediate cause of this was the abolition and spoliation of the monasteries and religious houses by Henry VIII. Whatever amount of evil they may have done, the monasteries did one good thing—they assisted the poor and provided for many persons who were unable to provide for themselves. When the monasteries were demolished and their revenues confiscated, these dependent persons were cast upon the world to seek bread where they could find it. As many of them were totally unaccustomed to labour, they had no resource but to beg. The result was that the country was soon overrun with beggars, many of whom exacted alms by violence and by threats. In the course of the next reign we hear of legislative enactments for the suppression of beggary. The first efforts in this direction wholly failed to abate the nuisance, and more stringent acts were passed. In the reign of Charles II. begging had become so profitable that a great many Irish came over to this country to pursue it as a trade.

The evil then became so intolerable that a royal proclamation was issued, specially directed to check the importation of beggars from Ireland. It is intituled “A Proclamation for the speedy rendering away of the Irishe Beggars out of this Kingdome into their owne Countrie and for the Suppressing and Ordering of Rogues and Vagabonds according to the Laws,” which recites that: “Whereas this realme hath of late been pestered with great numbers of Irishe beggars who live here idly and dangerously, and are of ill example to the natives of this kingdome; and, whereas the multitude of English rogues and vagabonds doe much more abound than in former tymes—some wandering and begging under the colour of soldiers and mariners, others under the pretext of impotent persons, whereby they become a burthen to the good people of the land, all which happeneth by the neglect of the due execution of the lawes, formerly with great providence made, for relief of the true poore and indigent, and for the punishment of sturdy rogues and vagabonds; for the reforming therefore of soe great a mischiefe, and to prevent the many dangers which will ensue by the neglect thereof, the king, by the advice of his privy council and of his judges, commands that all the laws and statutes now in force for the punishment of rogues and vagabonds be duly putt in execution; and more particularly that all Irishe beggars, which now are in any part of this kingdome, wandering or begging, under what pretence soever, shall forthwith depart this realme and return to their owne countries, and there abide.” And it is further directed that all such beggars “shall be conveyed from constable to constable to Bristoll, Mynhead, Barstable, Chester, Lyrepool, Milford-haven, and Workington, or such of them as shall be most convenient.”

We see by this that the state of mendicancy in 1629, was very much what it is now, and that the artifices and dodges resorted to at that period were very similar to, and in many cases, exactly the same, as the more modern impostures which I shall have to expose in the succeeding pages.

THE ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF THE POOR LAWS.

An Act passed in 1536 (27 Henry VIII. c. 25) is the first by which voluntary charity was converted into compulsory payment. It enacts that the head officers of every parish to which the impotent or able-bodied poor may resort under the provisions of the Act of 1531, shall receive and keep them, so that none shall be compelled to beg openly. The able-bodied were to be kept to constant labour, and every parish making default, was to forfeit 20s. a month. The money required for the support of the poor, was to be collected partly by the head officers of corporate towns and the churchwardens of parishes, and partly was to be derived from collections in the churches, and on various occasions where the clergy had opportunities for exhorting the people to charity. Alms-giving beyond the town or parish was prohibited on forfeiture of ten times the amount given. A “sturdy beggar” was to be whipped the first time he was detected in begging; to have his right ear cropped for the second offence; and if again guilty of begging was to be indicted for “wandering, loitering, and idleness,” and if convicted was “to suffer execution of death as a felon and an enemy of the Commonwealth.” The severity of this act prevented its execution, and it was repealed by 1 Edward VI. c. 3 (1547). Under this statute, every able-bodied person who should not apply himself to some honest labour, or offer to serve for even meat and drink, was to be taken for a vagabond, branded on the shoulder and adjudged a slave for two years to any one who should demand him, to be fed on bread and water and refuse meat and made to work by being beaten, chained, or otherwise treated. If he ran away during the two years, he was to be branded on the cheek and adjudged a slave for life, and if he ran away again he was to suffer death as a felon. If not demanded as a slave he was to be kept to hard labour on the highway in chains. The impotent poor were to be passed to their place of birth or settlement from the hands of one parish constable to those of another.

The statute was repealed three years afterwards and that of 1531 was revived. In 1551 an Act was passed which directed that a book should be kept in every parish containing the names of the householders and of the impotent poor; that collectors of alms should be appointed who should “gently ask every man and woman what they of their charity will give weekly to the relief of the poor.” If any one able to give should refuse, or discourage others from giving, the ministers and churchwardens were to exhort him, and failing of success, the bishop was to admonish him on the subject. This Act, and another made to enforce it, which was passed in 1555, were wholly ineffectual, and in 1563 it was re-enacted (5 Elizabeth c. 3), with the addition that any person able to contribute and refusing should be cited by the bishop to appear at the next sessions before the justices, where if he would not be persuaded to give, the justices were to tax him according to their discretion, and on his refusal he was to be committed to gaol until the sum taxed should be paid, with all arrears.

The next statute on the subject, which was passed in 1572 (14 Eliz. c. 5), shows how ineffectual the previous statutes had been. It enacted that all rogues, vagabonds and sturdy beggars, including in this description “all persons whole and mighty in body, able to labour, not having land or master, nor using any lawful merchandise, craft or mystery, and all common labourers, able in body, loitering and refusing to work for such reasonable wage as is commonly given,” should “for the first offence be grievously whipped and burned through the gristle of the right ear with a hot iron of the compass of an inch about;” for the second should be deemed felons; and for the third should suffer death as felons without benefit of clergy.

For the relief and sustentation of the aged and impotent poor, the justices of the peace within their several districts were “by their good discretion” to tax and assess all the inhabitants dwelling therein. Any one refusing to contribute was to be imprisoned until he should comply with the assessment. By the statutes 39 of Elizabeth, c. 3 and 4 (1598), every able-bodied person refusing to work for the ordinary wages was to be “openly whipped until his body should be bloody, and forthwith sent from parish to parish, the most strait way to the parish where he was born, there to put himself to labour as a true subject ought to do.”

The next Act, the 43 Elizabeth, c. 2, has been in operation from the time of its enactment in 1601 to the present day. A change in the mode of administration was, however, effected by the Poor Law Amendment Act (4 and 5 Wm. IV. c. 76) which was passed in 1834. During that long period many abuses crept into the administration of the laws relating to the poor, so that in practice their operation impaired the character of the most numerous class, and was injurious to the whole country. In its original provisions the Act of Elizabeth directed the overseers of the poor in every parish to “take order for setting to work the children of all such parents as shall not be thought able to maintain their children,” as well as all such persons as, having no means to maintain them, use no ordinary trade to get their living by. For this purpose they were empowered to raise weekly, or otherwise, by “taxation of every inhabitant, parson, vicar, and other; and of every occupier of lands, houses, tithes, mines, &c., such sums of money as they shall require for providing a sufficient stock of flax, hemp, wool and other ware, or stuff to set the poor on work; and also competent sums for relief of lame, blind, old and impotent persons, and for putting out children as apprentices.” Power was given to the justices to send to the house of correction or common gaol all persons who would not work. The churchwardens and overseers were further empowered to build poor houses at the charge of the parish for the reception of the impotent poor only. The justices were further empowered to assess all persons of sufficient ability for the relief and maintenance of their children, grandchildren, and parents. The parish officers were also empowered to bind as apprentices any children who should be chargeable to the parish.

These simple provisions were in course of time greatly perverted, and many abuses were introduced into the administration of the poor law. One of the most mischievous practices was that which was established by the justices for the county of Berks in 1795, when, in order to meet the wants of the labouring population, caused by the high price of provisions, an allowance in proportion to the number of his family was made out of the parish fund to every labourer who applied for relief. This allowance fluctuated with the price of the gallon loaf of second flour, and the scale was so adjusted as to return to each family the sum which in given number of loaves would cost beyond the price in years of ordinary abundance. This plan was conceived in a spirit of benevolence; but the readiness with which it was adopted in all parts of England clearly shows the want of sound views on the subject. Under the allowance system the labourer received a part of his means of subsistence in the form of a parish gift, and as the fund out of which it was provided was raised from the contributions of those who did not employ labourers, as well as of those who did, their employers being able in part to burthen others with the payment for their labour had a direct interest in perpetuating the system. Those who employed labourers looked upon the parish contribution as part of the fund out of which they were to be paid, and accordingly lowered their rate of wages. The labourers also looked on the fund as a source of wage. The consequence was, that the labourer looked to the parish, and as a matter of right, without any regard to his real wants, and he received the wages of his labour as only one and a secondary source of the means of subsistence. His character as a labourer became of less value, his value as a labourer being thus diminished, under the combined operation of these two causes.

In 1832 a commission was appointed by the Crown, under whose direction inquiries were made through England and Wales, and the actual condition of the labouring classes in every parish was ascertained, with the view of showing the evils of the existing practice and of suggesting some remedy.

The labour of this inquiry was great; but in a short time a report was presented by the commissioners, which explained the operation of the law as administered, with its effects upon different classes, and suggested remedial measures. This report was presented in 1834, and was followed by the passing of the Poor Law Amendment Act (4 and 5 Wm. IV. c. 76) in August of the same year. This Act was again amended by the 7 and 8 Victoria, c. 101 (9th August 1844).

The chief provisions of this law are the appointment of a central board of three commissioners in London for the general superintendence and control of all bodies charged with the management of funds for the relief of the poor. There are nine assistant commissioners; each of whom has a district; the assistant commissioners are appointed by and removable by the commissioners; and the whole is under the direction of the President of the Poor Law Board. The administration of relief to the poor is under the control of the commissioners, who make rules and regulations for the purpose. They are empowered to order workhouses to be built, hired, altered, or enlarged, with the consent of a majority of a board of guardians. They have the power of uniting several parishes for the purposes of a more effective and economical administration of poor relief, but so that the actual charge in respect to its own poor is defrayed by each parish. These united parishes or unions are managed by Boards of Guardians, annually elected by the rate-payers of the various parishes; but the masters of the workhouses and other paid officers are under the orders of the commissioners, and removable by them. The system of paying wages partly out of poor-rates is discontinued, and, except in ordinary cases, of which the commissioners are the judges, the relief is only to be given to able-bodied persons, or to their families, within the walls of the workhouse.

A glance at some of the clauses of the Act 7 and 8 Victoria will show the present condition of the machinery of the Poor Law, as regards the latest reforms.

Chapter 101, sect. 12, empowers the Poor Law Commissioners to prescribe the duties of the masters to whom poor children may be apprenticed, and the terms and conditions of the indentures of apprenticeship: and no poor children are in future to be apprenticed by the overseers of any parish included in any union, or subject to a Board of Guardians under the provisions of the 4 and 5 Wm. IV. c. 76; but it is declared to be lawful for the guardians of such union or parish to bind poor children apprentices. The 13th section abolishes so much of the 43 Eliz., c. 2, and of the 8 and 9 William III. c. 3, and of all other Acts, as compels any person to receive any poor child as an apprentice.

The 14th and following sections make some new regulations as to the number of votes of owners of property and rate-payers in the election of guardians and in other cases where the consent of the owners and rate-payers is required for any of the purposes of the 4 and 5 Wm. IV. c. 76.

The 18th section empowers the commissioners, having due regard to the relative population or circumstances of any parish, included in a union, to alter the number of guardians to be elected for such parish without such consent as is required by the Act of William.

This section also empowers the commissioners to divide parishes which have more than 20,000 inhabitants, according to the census then last published, into wards for the purpose of electing guardians, and to determine the number of guardians to be elected for each ward.

The 25th section provides that so long as any woman’s husband is beyond the seas, or in custody of the law, or in confinement in a licensed house or asylum as a lunatic or idiot, all relief given to such a woman, or to her child or children, shall be given in the same manner, and subject to the same conditions as if she was a widow; but the obligation or liability of the husband in respect of such relief continues as before.

The 26th section empowers the guardians of a parish or union to give relief to widows under certain conditions, who at the time of their husband’s death were resident with them in some place other than the parish of their legal settlement, and not situated in any union in which such parish is comprised.

The 32nd section provides that the commissioners may combine parishes and unions in England for the audit of accounts. By the 40th section the commissioners may, subject to certain restrictions there mentioned, combine unions or parishes not in union, or such parishes and unions, into school districts for the management of any class or classes of infant poor not above the age of 16 years, being chargeable to any such parish or union, or who are deserted by their parents, or whose parent, or surviving parent, or guardians are consenting to the placing of such children in the school of such district.

By the 41st section the commissioners are empowered to declare parishes, or unions, or parishes and unions within the district of the metropolitan police, or the city of London, &c., to be combined into districts for the purpose of founding and managing asylums for the temporary relief and setting to work therein of destitute homeless poor who are not charged with any offence, and who may apply for relief, or become chargeable to the poors’ rates within any such parish or union.

Statistics of the Poor Laws.

The salaries and expenses of the commissioners for carrying into execution the Poor Law Acts in England and Ireland amount to about 56,000l.

The following statements will show the number of paupers, and the amounts expended in relieving their wants at various periods since the year 1783.

The average sum expended for the years 1783, 1784, and 1785, was£1,912,241

18014,017,871

18116,656,105

18216,959,249

18316,798,888

18327,036,969

18336,790,799

18346,317,254

18355,526,418

18364,717,630

18374,044,741

18384,123,604

18394,421,714

18404,576,965

18414,760,929

18424,911,498

18435,208,027

18444,976,093

18605,454,964

Number of indoor and outdoor paupers relieved during the following years:

Paupers.Proportion per cent. to Population.

18031,040,71612

18151,319,85113

18321,429,356 9

18441,477,561 9·3

1860844,633 4·3

In the last report of the Poor Law Board (that for 1860) it is stated that for twenty-two years preceding the Poor Law Amendment Act in 1834 the average annual disbursement for the relief of the poor was 6,505,037l., while for the subsequent 25 years it has only been 5,169,073l., the supposed annual saving by the new law being 1,335,964l. The average annual cost of the new union-workhouses has been about 200,000l., and the salaries of the paid Union-officers about 600,000l.

The strikes of 1860 told severely upon the returns. On July 1st, 1860, there were 1,751 able-bodied men receiving relief more than on the same day of the previous year. On new year’s day of 1860 there were 40,972 more persons of all classes in receipt of relief than on the first day of the preceding year. There were 6,720 more able-bodied men in receipt of relief, and 7,026 more able-bodied women.

Report of the Poor Law Board (1860).

The usual statistics of this report show that in the year 1860 the sum of 5,454,964l. was expended for the relief of the poor in England and Wales, being at the rate per head of the estimated population, of 5s. 6d. The net annual value of the rateable property at the present time (1860) is 71 millions.

The inefficiency of the Poor Law to meet the wants of the destitute in times of great and prevailing distress has been demonstrated over and over again, and at no period more pointedly and decisively than during the year 1860. On this subject we subjoin the remarks of a writer in the Times (Feb. 11, 1861). “It is an admitted and notorious fact, that after a fortnight’s frost the police courts were besieged by thousands who professed to be starving; the magistrates and officers of the court undertook the office of almoners in addition to their other laborious duties; the public poured in their contributions as they would for the victims of a terrible disaster; for a time we had in a dozen places a scene that rather took one back to the indiscriminate dole before the convent door, or the largess flung by the hand among the crowd at a royal progress than to an institution or custom of this sensible age. To some it naturally occurred that the Poor Law ought to have dispensed with this extraordinary exhibition; to others that no law could meet the emergency.... It was the saturnalia if not of mendicancy, at least of destitution. The police stood aside while beggars possessed the thoroughfares on the sole plea of an extraordinary visitation. There was a fortnight’s frost, so it was allowable to one class to hold a midnight fair on the Serpentine, and to another to insist on being maintained at the expense of the public. Was all this right and proper? We had thought that the race of sturdy vagrants and valiant beggars was extinct, or at least that they dared no longer show themselves. But here they were in open day like the wretches which are said to emerge out of darkness on the day of a revolution.... When such is the fact, and when it is now admitted by all to have been not only exceptional, but highly exceptionable, we may leave others to find out the right shoulders on which the blame should be laid. For our part we hold that a Poor Law ought to be as proof against a long frost, or any other general visitation—and there are many more serious—as a ship ought to be against a storm, or an embankment against an inundation.”

On the occasion here referred to the Poor Law gave relief to 23,000; but sent away 17,000 empty-handed, who would have starved but for the open-handed charity of the public, dispensed in the most liberal spirit by the metropolitan magistrates.

Mendicancy has always increased to an alarming extent after a war, and during the time of war, if it has been protracted. There is no doubt that the calamities of war reduce many respectable persons to want; but at the same time the circumstances which attend a period of commotion and trouble always afford opportunities to impostors. Mendicancy had reached a fearful pitch during the last great war with France; and in 1816, the year after the battle of Waterloo, the large towns were so infested by beggars of every description that it was deemed necessary to appoint a select committee of the House of Commons to consider what could be done to abate the nuisance. The report of this committee furnishes some interesting particulars of the begging impostures of the time and of the gains of beggars.

Street Beggars in 1816.

It was clearly proved that a man with a dog got 30s. in one day.

Two houses in St. Giles’s frequented by from 200 to 300 beggars. It was proved that each beggar made on an average from 3s. to 5s. a day. They had grand suppers at midnight, and drank and sang songs until day-break.

A negro beggar retired to the West Indies, with a fortune of 1,500l.

The value of 15s. 20s. and 30s. found upon ordinary street beggars. They get more by begging than they can by work; they get so much by begging that they never apply for parochial relief.

A manufacturer in Spitalfields stated that there were instances of his own people leaving profitable work for the purpose of begging.

It was proved that many beggars paid 50s. a week for their board.

Beggars stated that they go through 40 streets in a day, and that it is a poor street that does not yield 2d.

Beggars are furnished with children at houses in Whitechapel and Shoreditch; some who look like twins.

A woman with twins who never grew older sat for ten years at the corner of a street.

Children let out by the day, who carried to their parents 2s. 6d. a day as the price paid by the persons who hired them.

A little boy and a little girl earned 8s. a day. An instance is stated of an old woman who kept a night school for instructing children in the street language, and how to beg.

The number of beggars infesting London at this time (1816) was computed to be 16,000, of which 6,300 were Irish. We glean further from the report respecting them.

It appears by the evidence of the person who contracts for carrying vagrants in and through the county of Middlesex, that he has passed as many as 12,000 or 13,000 in a year; but no estimate can be formed from that, as many of them are passed several times in the course of the year. And it is proved that these people are in the course of eight or ten days in the same situation; as they find no difficulty in escaping as soon as they are out of the hands of the Middlesex contractor.

A magistrate in the office at Whitechapel, thinks there is not one who is not worthless.

The rector of Saint Clement Danes describes them as living very well, especially if they are pretty well maimed, blind, or if they have children.

Beggars scarify their feet to make the blood come; share considerable sums of money, and get scandalously drunk, quarrel, and fight, and one teaches the other the mode of extorting money; they are the worst of characters, blasphemous and abusive; when they are detected as impostors in one parish they go into another.

They eat no broken victuals; but have ham, beef, &c.

Forty or fifty sleep in a house, and are locked in lest they should carry anything away, and are let out in the morning all at once.

Tear their clothes for an appearance of distress.

Beggars assemble in a morning, and agree what route each shall take. At some of the houses, the knives and forks chained to the tables, and other articles chained to the walls.

Mendicant Pensioners.

Some who have pensions as soldiers or sailors were among those who apply by letters for charity; one sailor who had lost a leg is one of the most violent and desperate characters in the metropolis.

Among beggars of the very worst class there are about 30 Greenwich pensioners, who have instruments of music, and go about in parties.

A marine who complained that he had but 7l. a year pension, said he could make a day’s work in an hour in any square in London.

A pensioner who had 18l. a year from Chelsea, when taken up for begging had bank-notes concealed in his waistcoat, and on many of that description frequently 8s. 10s. or 12s. are found, that they have got in a day.

Chelsea pensioners beg in all directions at periods between the receipts of their pensions.

A Chelsea pensioner who receives 1s. 6d. a day is one of the most notorious beggars who infest the town.

A Greenwich pensioner of 7l. a year, gets from 5s. to 10s. for writing begging letters.

Begging Letter Writers in 1816.

Some thousand applications by letters are made for charity to ladies, noblemen, and gentlemen in the metropolis; two thousand on an average were within the knowledge of one individual who was employed to make inquiries. Several persons subsist by writing letters; one woman profits by the practice, who receives a guinea a week as a legacy from a relation, and has laid out 200l. in the funds. Letters have been written by the same person in five or six different hands.

Persons who write begging letters are called twopenny-post beggars.

A man who keeps a school writes begging letters for 2d. each.

These extracts, culled here and there from a voluminous report, will suffice to give an idea of the state of mendicancy in the metropolis at the beginning of the century. The public were so shocked and startled by the systematic impostures that were brought to light that an effort was made to protect the charitable by means of an organized system of inquiry into the character, and condition of all persons who were found begging. The result of this effort was the establishment in 1818 of the now well-known

Mendicity Society.

The object of this Society was to protect noblemen, gentlemen, and other persons accustomed to dispense large sums in charity from being imposed upon by cheats and pretenders, and at the same time to provide, on behalf of the public, a police system, whose sole and special function should be the suppression of mendicancy.

The plan of the Society is as follows:—The subscribers receive printed tickets from the Society, and these they give to beggars instead of money. The ticket refers the beggar to the Society’s office, and there his case is enquired into. If he be a deserving person relief is afforded him from funds placed at the disposal of the Society by its subscribers. If he is found to be an impostor he is arrested and prosecuted at the instance of the Society. Governors of this Society may obtain tickets for distribution at any time. The annual payment of one guinea constitutes the donor a governor, and the payment of ten guineas at one time, or within one year, a governor for life. A system of inquiry into the merits of persons who are in the habit of BEGGING BY LETTER has been incorporated with the Society’s proceedings, and the following persons are entitled to refer such letters to the office for investigation, it being understood that the eventual grant of relief rests with the subscriber sending the case:—

I. All contributors to the general funds of the Society to the amount of twenty guineas.

II. All contributors to the general funds of the Society to the amount of ten guineas, and who also subscribe ONE GUINEA annually.

III. All subscribers of two guineas and upwards per annum.

So successful have been the efforts of this Society in protecting the charitable from the depredations of begging-letter writers and other mendicants, that now almost every public man whose prominent position marks him out for their appeals, contributes to the Society, either by subscriptions or donation. The Queen herself is the Patron; the President is the Marquis of Westminster, and among the Vice-Presidents may be counted three dukes, three marquises, eight earls, one viscount, a bishop, and a long list of lords and members of parliament. Altogether the Society has about 2,400 subscribers, whose donations and subscriptions range from 100l. and 50l. to 2l. and 1l. The total amount of the Society’s income for 1860 was 3,913l. 14s. 2d., of which 3,010l 13s. 9d. was derived from subscriptions and donations, the remainder being derived from legacies, interest on stock and the profits of the Society’s works. The expenditure for the same year was 3,169l. 16s. 10d., and the amount expended in the relief of mendicants, 906l. 9s.

The meals given in 1860 to persons who were found to be deserving were 42,192.

The unregistered cases (that is, those not thought to require a special investigation) were 4,224, and the registered cases 430.

The vagrants apprehended were 739; of whom 350 were convicted.

The following Table sets forth the whole of the cases that came under the notice of the Society in 1860.

Number of registered cases in 1860430

Of which there appeared to belong—

To parishes in London151

Country142

Ireland82

Scotland0

Wales8

France2

East Indies7

West Indies2

America1

Italy5

Africa1

China1

Switzerland2

Germany2

Poland1

Unknown7

—430

Alleged causes of distress.

Want of employment395

Age and infirmity1

Failure in business1

Foreigners and others desirous of returning home22

Sickness and accidents2

Want of clothing3

Loss of stock, tools, &c.1

Loss of character1

Loss of relations and friends by death, desertion, imprisonment, &c.4

—430

The various cases were disposed of as follows:—

Referred to London parishes; most of whom were admitted into workhouses, or obtained relief through the interference of the Society, some being previously relieved with money, food, and clothing15

Relieved with clothing and sent to their respective parishes9

Provided with situations, clothing, tools, goods, or other means of effectually supporting themselves8

New apprehended cases by the Society’s constables during 1860: a large number of whom were committed by the magistrates as vagrants; others were referred to the Society, and sent to work, the men at the mill, and stone-breaking, and the women at oakum-picking; and several were assisted with the means of returning home376

Proved on investigation to be undeserving4

Employed at the mill and oakum picking (not apprehended cases)1

Placed in hospitals and assisted with clothing4

Relieved weekly, where distress appeared temporary, and clothes, blankets, shoes, &c. given13

Total430

The following Table exhibits a statement of the Society’s proceedings from the first year of its formation to the year 1860:—

Years.Cases registered.Vagrants committed.Meals given.

18183,28438516,827

18194,68258033,013

18204,54635946,407

18212,33932428,542

18222,23528722,232

18231,49319320,152

18241,44119525,396

18251,09638119,600

182683330022,972

182780640335,892

18281,28478621,066

182967160226,286

1830848—105,488

18311,285—79,156

18321,040—73,315

1833624—37,074

18341,22665230,513

18351,4081,51084,717

18369461,00468,134

18371,0871,09087,454

18381,041873155,348

18391,055962110,943

1840706752113,502

18419971,119195,625

18421,2331,306128,914

18431,1481,018167,126

18441,184937174,229

18451,001868165,139

1846980778148,569

1847910625239,171

18481,161979148,661

18491,04390564,251

185078757094,106

18511,150900102,140

185265860767,985

185341935462,788

185433232652,212

185523523952,731

185632529349,806

185735435854,074

185832929843,836

185936430540,256

186043035042,192

51,01624,7733,357,834

Total number of apprehended cases in 1860:—

Committed350

Discharged389

——739

Non-registered cases during the year4,224

Registered cases430

——4,654

I will now give a few examples of the cases which ordinarily come under the notice of the Society.

A Deserving Case.

A. L. and her sister, the one a widow, 70, the other a single woman, 55, applied for relief under the following circumstances. They had for many years been supporting themselves by making children’s leather-covered toy balls, at one time earning a comfortable living; but their means were reduced from time to time by the introduction of India-rubber and gutta-percha, until at last five pence per dozen was all they could obtain for their labour; and it required both to apply themselves for many hours to earn that small amount; still, to avoid the workhouse, they toiled on, until the destruction of Messrs. Payne’s toy warehouse in Holborn, which threw them entirely out of work, and reduced them to absolute want. It was thus they were found in the winter having been frequently without food, fire, or candle, nearly perishing with cold, and in fear of being turned into the streets for arrears of rent. Inquiry having been instituted as to their character, which was found to be exceedingly good, they were relieved for three months with money and food weekly, besides bedding and clothing being given to them from the Society’s stores.

Another.

E. W., the applicant, a widow of a journeyman carpenter, who, in consequence of his protracted illness and want of employment, was at the time of his death destitute, and in her confinement at the time she was visited by the Society. She had three young children incapable of contributing to their own support, and the parish officers in consequence were relieving her with a trifle weekly; but she was in a very low state for want of nourishment. The referee expressed it as his opinion that she was a very deserving woman, and that on two or three occasions he had afforded her assistance, and had much pleasure in recommending her case. Assistance was in consequence given her for several weeks, for which she appeared very grateful.

An Impostor.

J. C. This man, who has been seventeen times apprehended by the Society’s constables, and as many more by the police, was taken into custody for begging. He is an old man, and his age usually excites the sympathy of the public; but he is a gross impostor, and for the last fifteen years has been about the streets, imposing upon the benevolent. He has been convicted of stealing books, newspapers, and on one occasion an inkstand from a coffee house. His appeals to the benevolent in the streets are very pertinacious, and persons frequently give him money for the purpose of getting rid of him. He had, when last taken into custody, 2l. 9s. 4d. secreted about his person, part in his stockings, which he stated had been given to him to enable him to leave the country, and a variety of what he represented to be original verses was found in his possession and produced before the magistrate, to whom he appealed to sympathise with a poor author. “Pray, sir,” said he, “look at my verses; you will find that they are such as would be written by a man of scholastic attainments; they breathe a sentiment of love and charity, and of generosity to the poor; they are of scientific interest, and fit for the perusal of royalty.” His sentence to a month’s imprisonment only evidently surprised him, for which he thanked the magistrate; but he continued in a suppressed tone of voice: “But, sir, what about my money?” On being informed that, on account of his age, it should be returned to him when his time of imprisonment expired, he indulged in a rhapsody of delight, but begged that his emotion might not be misconstrued. “It is not the love of money, sir,” addressing the magistrate, “that moves me thus; it is a far higher feeling; I have an affectionate heart, sir,—it is gratitude.”

Another Impostor.

E. M. C. This man applied for relief during the severity of the winter of 1860-1, representing himself as in much distress for want of employment; that he had a wife ill at home, confined to her bed, and having been for a long time out of work, his three children were wanting food. Work was accordingly given to him at the Society’s mill, and he was supplied with food for the immediate wants of his family, pending inquiry into the truthfulness of his story. It was found that he was a single man, who, for deceptive purposes, had adopted the name of a woman with whom he was living, and who had separated from her husband but a short time previously, and was tutoring her children in all imaginable kinds of vice. It was also ascertained that the police had strict orders to watch the man’s movements, for he was known as an associate of characters of the worst description. He was consequently discharged from the Society’s works, with a caution against applying to the benevolent for their sympathy in the future.

The following is the case of a person who applied for charity by letter, whose case was found to be a deserving one:—

J. W. A middle-aged man of creditable appearance, who had for many years obtained a livelihood for himself and family (consisting of his wife and six children) as a clerk and salesman to a respectable firm, being thrown out of his situation through his employer’s embarrassed circumstances, became gradually reduced to destitution, and therefore made application for assistance to a subscriber to the Society. It appeared upon investigation that he had been most regular in his attention to his duties, strictly honest, industrious, and sober, and just at the time of the inquiry it fortunately happened that he procured another situation, but was hampered with trifling debts which he incurred while out of employment, which it was necessary to discharge, as well as procure suitable clothing. His character having proved satisfactory, the subscriber applied to directed a handsome donation to be appropriated to his assistance, whereby he was enabled to overcome his difficulties. He showed himself most grateful for the assistance.

I shall now, by way of contrast, give the case of two beggars by letter, who were found to be rank impostors:—

H. G. This man and his wife have been known to the Society for many years as two of the most persevering and impudent impostors that ever came under its cognizance. The man, although possessing considerable ability, and having a respectable situation as a clerk in a public institution, had become such an habitual drunkard as to be quite reckless as to what false representations he put forth to obtain charitable assistance; and finding himself detected in his various fabricated tales of distress, had the impudence to apply to a subscriber by letter, wherein he represented that his wife had died after several months’ severe affliction, which upon inquiry turned out untrue, his wife being alive and well, and they were living together at the very time the letter was written. Notwithstanding he was thus foiled in his endeavours to impose, a few weeks afterwards the wife had the assurance to send a letter to another subscriber, craving assistance on account of the death of her husband, and in order to carry out the deception she dressed herself in widow’s weeds. The gentleman applied to, however, having some misgivings as to her representations, fortunately forwarded her appeal to the Society, where it was ascertained that her husband was also alive and well.

A Well-Educated Beggar.

J. R. P. F. A man about 45 years of age, the son of a much respected clergyman in Lancashire, who had received a good classical education, and was capable of gaining an excellent livelihood, applied to various persons for aid, in consequence, as he said, of being in great distress through want of a situation. He carefully selected those gentlemen who were well acquainted with, and respected, his father, some of whom, mistrusting his representations, forwarded the letters to the Mendicity Society for inquiry, which proved the applicant to be a most depraved character, who had been a source of great trouble to his parents for many years, they having provided him with situations (as teacher in various respectable establishments) from time to time, and also furnished him with means of clothing himself respectably; but on every occasion he remained in his employment but a very short time, before he gave way to his propensity to drink, and so disgraced himself that his employers were glad to get rid of him; whereupon he made away with his clothing to indulge his vicious propensity.

I will now proceed to give an account of the beggars of London, as they have come under my notice in the course of the present inquiry.

BEGGING-LETTER WRITERS.

Foremost among beggars, by right of pretension to blighted prospects and correct penmanship, stands the Begging-Letter Writer. He is the connecting link between mendicity and the observance of external respectability. He affects white cravats, soft hands, and filbert nails. He oils his hair, cleans his boots, and wears a portentous stick-up collar. The light of other days of gentility and comfort casts a halo of “deportment” over his well-brushed, white-seamed coat, his carefully darned black-cloth gloves, and pudgy gaiters. He invariably carries an umbrella, and wears a hat with an enormous brim. His once raven hair is turning grey, and his well-shaved whiskerless cheeks are blue as with gunpowder tattoo. He uses the plainest and most respectable of cotton pocket-handkerchiefs, and keeps his references as to character in the most irreproachable of shabby leather pocket-books. His mouth is heavy, his under-lip thick, sensual, and lowering, and his general expression of pious resignation contradicted by restless, bloodshot eyes, that flash from side to side, quick to perceive the approach of a compassionate-looking clergyman, a female devotee, or a keen-scented member of the Society for the Suppression of Mendicity.

Among the many varieties of mendacious beggars, there is none so detestable as this hypocritical scoundrel, who, with an ostentatiously-submissive air, and false pretence of faded fortunes, tells his plausible tale of undeserved suffering, and extracts from the hearts and pockets of the superficially good-hearted their sympathy and coin. His calling is a special one, and requires study, perseverance, and some personal advantages. The begging-letter writer must write a good hand, speak grammatically, and have that shrewd perception of character peculiar to fortune-tellers, horoscopists, cheap-jacks, and pedlars. He “must read and write, and cast accounts;” have an intuitive knowledge of the “nobility and landed gentry;” be a keen physiognomist, and an adept at imitation of handwritings, old documents, quaint ancient orthography, and the like. He must possess an artistic eye for costume, an unfaltering courage, and have tears and hysterics at immediate command.

His great stock-in-trade is his register. There he carefully notes down the names, addresses, and mental peculiarities of his victims, and the character and pretence under which he robbed them of their bounty. It would not do to tell the same person the same story twice, as once happened to an unusually audacious member of the fraternity, who had obtained money from an old lady for the purpose of burying his wife, for whose loss he, of course, expressed the deepest grief. Confident in the old lady’s kindness of heart and weakness of memory, three months after his bereavement he again posted himself before the lady’s door, and gave vent to violent emotion.

“Dear me!” thought the old lady, “there’s that poor man who lost his wife some time ago.” She opened the window, and, bidding the vagabond draw nearer, asked him what trouble he was in at present.

After repeated questioning the fellow gurgled out, “That the wife of his bosom, the mother of his children, had left him for that bourne from which no traveller returns, and that owing to a series of unprecedented and unexpected misfortunes he had not sufficient money to defray the funeral expenses, and—”

“Oh, nonsense!” interrupted the old lady. “You lost your wife a quarter of a year ago. You couldn’t lose her twice; and as to marrying again, and losing again in that short time, it is quite impossible!”

I subjoin some extracts from a Register kept by a begging-letter writer, and who was detected and punished:—

Cheltenham. May 14, 1842.

Rev. John Furby.—Springwood Villa.—Low Church.—Fond of architecture—Dugdale’s Monastica—Son of architect—Lost his life in the “Charon,” U.S. packet—£2, and suit of clothes—Got reference.

Mrs. Branxholme.—Clematis Cottage—Widow—Through Rev. Furby, £3 and prayer-book.

Gloucester. May 30.

Mrs. Captain Daniels.— —— Street.—Widow—Son drowned off Cape, as purser of same ship, “The Thetis”—£5 and old sea-chest. N.B.: Vamosed next day—Captain returned from London—Gaff blown in county paper. Mem.: Not to visit neighbourhood for four years.

Lincoln. June 19.

Andrew Taggart.— —— street.—Gentleman—Great abolitionist of slave trade—As tradesman from U.S., who had lost his custom by aiding slope of fugitive female slave—By name Naomi Brown—£5. N.B.: To work him again, for he is good.

Grantham. July 1.

Charles James Campion.—Westby House.—Gentleman—Literary—Writes plays and novels—As distant relative of George Frederick Cooke, and burnt-out bookseller—£2 2s. N.B.: Gave me some of his own books to read—Such trash—· Cadger in one—No more like cadger than I’m like Bobby Peel—Went to him again on 5th—Told him thought it wonderful, and the best thing out since Vicar of Wakefield—Gave me £1 more—Very good man—To be seen to for the future.

Huntingdon. July 15.

Mrs. Siddick.— —— Street.—Widow—Cranky—Baptist—As member of persuasion from persecution of worldly-minded relatives—£10—Gave her address in London—Good for a £5 every year—Recognized inspector—Leave to-night.

There are, of course, many varieties of the begging-letter writer; but although each and all of them have the same pretensions to former respectability, their mode of levying contributions is entirely different. There are but few who possess the versatility of their great master—Bampfylde Moore Carew; and it is usual for every member of the fraternity to chalk out for himself a particular “line” of imposition—a course of conduct that renders him perfect in the part he plays, makes his references and certificates continually available, and prevents him from “jostling” or coming into collision with others of his calling who might be “on the same lay as himself, and spoil his game!” Among the many specimens, one of the most prominent is the

Decayed Gentleman.

The conversation of this class of mendicant is of former greatness, of acquaintance among the nobility and gentry of a particular county—always a distant one from the scene of operations—of hunting, races, balls, meets, appointments to the magistracy, lord-lieutenants, contested elections, and marriages in high life. The knowledge of the things of which he talks so fluently is gleaned from files of old county newspapers. When at fault, or to use his own phrase, “pounded,” a ready wit, a deprecating shrug, and a few words, such as, “Perhaps I’m mistaken—I used to visit a good deal there, and was introduced to so many who have forgotten me now—my memory is failing, like everything else”—extricate him from his difficulty, and increase his capital of past prosperity and present poverty. The decayed gentleman is also a great authority on wines—by right of a famous sample—his father “laid down” in eighteen eleven, “the comet year you know,” and is not a little severe upon his past extravagance. He relishes the retrospection of the heavy losses he endured at Newmarket, Doncaster, and Epsom in “forty-two and three,” and is pathetic on the subject of the death of William Scott. The cause of his ruin he attributes usually to a suit in the Court of Chancery, or the “fatal and calamitous Encumbered Irish Estates Bill.” He is a florid impostor, and has a jaunty sonorous way of using his clean, threadbare, silk pocket-handkerchief, that carries conviction even to the most sceptical.

It is not uncommon to find among these degraded mendicants one who has really been a gentleman, as far as birth and education go, but whose excesses and extravagances have reduced him to mendicity. Such cases are the most hopeless. Unmindful of decent pride, and that true gentility that rises superior to circumstance, and finds no soil upon the money earned by labour, the lying, drunken, sodden wretch considers work “beneath him;” upon the shifting quicksands of his own vices rears an edifice of vagabond vanity, and persuades himself that, by forfeiting his manhood, he vindicates his right to the character of gentleman.

The letters written by this class of beggar generally run as follows. My readers will, of course, understand that the names and places mentioned are the only portions of the epistles that are fictitious.

“Three Mermaids Inn, Pond Lane. April—, 18 .

“Sir, or Madam,

“Although I have not the honour to be personally acquainted with you, I have had the advantage of an introduction to a member of your family, Major Sherbrook, when with his regiment at Malta; and my present disadvantageous circumstances emboldens me to write to you, for the claims of affliction upon the heart of the compassionate are among the holiest of those kindred ties that bind man to his fellow-being.

“My father was a large landed proprietor at Peddlethorpe, ——shire. I, his only son, had every advantage that birth and fortune could give me claim to. From an informality in the wording of my father’s will, the dishonesty of an attorney, and the rapacity of some of my poor late father’s distant relatives, the property was, at his death, thrown into Chancery, and for the last four years I have been reduced to—comparatively speaking—starvation.

“With the few relics of my former prosperity I have long since parted. My valued books, and, I am ashamed to own, my clothes, are gone. I am now in the last stage of destitution, and, I regret to say, in debt to the worthy landlord of the tavern from which I write this, to the amount of eight and sixpence. My object in coming to this part of the country was to see an old friend, whom I had hoped would have assisted me. We were on the same form together at Rugby—Mr. Joseph Thurwood of Copesthorpe. Alas! I find that he died three months ago.

“I most respectfully beg of you to grant me some trifling assistance. As in my days of prosperity I trust my heart was never deaf to the voice of entreaty, nor my purse closed to the wants of the necessitous; so dear sir, or madam, I hope that my request will not be considered by you as impertinent or intrusive.

“I have the honour to enclose you some testimonials as to my character and former station in society; and trusting that the Almighty Being may never visit you with that affliction which it has been His all-wise purpose to heap on me, I am

“Your most humble and “Obliged servant, “Frederick Maurice Stanhope,

“Formerly of Stanhope House, ——shire.”

The Broken-down Tradesman

is a sort of retail dealer in the same description of article as the decayed gentleman. The unexpected breaking of fourteen of the most respectable banking-houses in New York, or the loss of the cargoes of two vessels in the late autumnal gales, or the suspension of payment of Haul, Strong, and Chates, “joined and combined together with the present commercial crisis, has been the means of bringing him down to his present deplorable situation,” as his letter runs. His references are mostly from churchwardens, bankers, and dissenting clergymen, and he carries about a fictitious set of books—day-book, ledger, and petty-cash-book, containing entries of debts of large amounts, and a dazzling display of the neatest and most immaculate of commercial cyphering. His conversation, like his correspondence, is a queer jumble of arithmetic and scripture. He has a wife whose appearance is in itself a small income. She folds the hardest-working-looking of hands across the cleanest of white aprons, and curtseys with the humility of a pew-opener. The clothes of the worthy couple are shabby, but their persons and linen are rigorously clean. Their cheeks shine with yellow soap, as if they were rasped and bee’s-waxed every morning. The male impostor, when fleecing a victim, has a habit of washing his hands “with invisible soap and imperceptible water,” as though he were waiting on a customer. The wedded pair—and, generally, they are really married—are of congenial dispositions and domestic turn of mind, and get drunk, and fight each other, or go half-price to the play according to their humour. It is usually jealousy that betrays them. The husband is unfaithful, and the wife “peaches;” through her agency the police are put upon the track, and the broken-down tradesman is committed. In prison he professes extreme penitence, and has a turn for scriptural quotation, that stands him in good stead.

On his release he takes to itinerant preaching, or political lecturing. What becomes of him after those last resources it is difficult to determine. The chances are that he again writes begging letters, but “on a different lay.”

The Distressed Scholar

is another variety of the same species, a connecting link between the self-glorification of the decayed gentleman and the humility of the broken-down tradesman. He is generally in want of money to pay his railway-fare, or coach-hire to the north of England, where he has a situation as usher to an academy—or he cannot seek for a situation for want of “those clothes which sad necessity has compelled him to part with for temporary convenience.” His letters, written in the best small hand, with the finest of upstrokes and fattest of downstrokes, are after this fashion:

“Star Temperance Coffee House, “Gravel Walk.

“Sir, or Madam,

“I have the honour to lay my case before you, humbly entreating your kind consideration.

“I am a tutor, and was educated at St. ——’s College, Cambridge. My last situation was with the Rev. Mr. Cross, Laburnum House, near Dorking. I profess English, Latin, Greek, mathematics, and the higher branches of arithmetic, and am well read in general literature, ancient and modern. ‘Rudem esse omnino in nostris poetis est inertissimæ signitiæ signum.’

“I am at present under engagement to superintend the scholastic establishment of Mr. Tighthand of the classical and commercial academy ——, Cumberland, but have not the means of defraying the expenses of my journey, nor of appearing with becoming decency before my new employer and my pupils.

“My wardrobe is all pledged for an amount incommensurate with its value, and I humbly and respectfully lay my case before you, and implore you for assistance, or even a temporary accommodation.

“I am aware that impostors, armed with specious stories, often impose on the kind-hearted and the credulous. ‘Nervi atque artus est sapientiæ—non temere credere.’ I have therefore the honour to forward you the enclosed testimonials from my former employers and others as to my character and capacity.

“That you may never be placed in such circumstances as to compel you to indite such an epistle as the one I am at present penning is my most fervent wish. Rely upon it, generous sir—or madam—that, should you afford me the means of gaining an honourable competence, you shall never have to repent your timely benevolence. If, however, I should be unsuccessful in my present application, I must endeavour to console myself with the words of the great poet. ‘Ætas ipsa solatium omnibus affert,’ or with the diviner precept: ‘And this too shall pass away.’

“I have, sir—or madam—the honour to be

“Your humble and obedient servant, “Horace Humm.”

A gracefully flourished swan, with the date in German text on his left wing, terminates the letter.

The Kaggs Family.

This case of cleverly organized swindling fell beneath the writer’s personal observation.

In a paved court, dignified with the name of a market, leading into one of the principal thoroughfares of London, dwelt a family whom, from fear of an action for libel which, should they ever read these lines, they would assuredly bring, I will call Kaggs. Mr. Kaggs, the head of the family, had commenced life in the service of a nobleman. He was a tall, portly man, with a short nose, broad truculent mouth, and a light, moist eye. His personal advantages and general conduct obtained him promotion, and raised him from the servants’ hall to the pantry. When he was thirty years of age, he was butler in the family of a country gentleman, whose youngest daughter fell in love, ran away with, and—married him. The angry father closed his doors against them, and steeled his heart to the pathetic appeals addressed to him by every post. Mr. Kaggs, unable to obtain a character from his last place, found himself shut out from his former occupation. His wife gave promise of making an increase to the numbers of the family, and to use Mr. Kaggs’s own pantry vernacular, “he was flyblown and frostbitten every joint of him.”

It was then that he first conceived the idea of making his wife’s birth and parentage a source of present income and provision for old age. She was an excellent penwoman, and for some months had had great practice in the composition of begging letters to her father. Mr. Kaggs’s appearance being martial and imposing, he collected what information he could find upon the subject, and passed himself off for a young Englishman of good family, who had been an officer in the Spanish army, and served “under Evans!” Mrs. Kaggs’s knowledge of the county families stood them in good stead, and they begged themselves through England, Scotland, and Wales, and lived in a sort of vulgar luxury, at no cost but invention, falsehood, and a ream or so of paper.

It was some few years ago that I first made their acquaintance. Mrs. Kaggs had bloomed into a fine elderly woman, and Mr. Kaggs’s nose and stomach had widened to that appearance of fatherly responsibility and parochial importance that was most to be desired. The wife had sunk to the husband’s level, and had brought up her children to tread in the same path. Their family, though not numerous, was a blessing to them, for each child, some way or other, contrived to bring in money. It was their parents’ pride that they had given their offspring a liberal education. As soon as they were of an age capable of receiving instruction, they were placed at a respectable boarding-school, and, although they only stayed in it one half-year, they went to another establishment for the next half-year, and so managed to pick up a good miscellaneous education, and at the same time save their parents the cost of board and lodging.

James Julian Kaggs, the eldest and only son, was in Australia, “doing well,” as his mamma would often say—though in what particular business or profession was a subject on which she preserved a discreet silence. As I never saw the young man in question, I am unable to furnish any information respecting him.

Catherine Kaggs, the eldest daughter, was an ugly and vulgar girl, on whom a genteel education and her mother’s example of elegance and refinement had been thrown away. Kitty was a sort of Cinderella in the family, and being possessed of neither tact nor manner to levy contributions on the charitable, was sentenced to an out-door employment, for which she was well fitted. She sold flowers in the thoroughfare, near the market.

The second daughter, Betsey, was the pride of her father and mother, and the mainstay of the family. Tall, thin, and elegant, interesting rather than pretty, her pale face and subdued manners, her long eyelashes, soft voice, and fine hands, were the very requisites for the personation of beggared gentility and dilapidated aristocracy. Mrs. Kaggs often said, “That poor Kitty was her father’s girl, a Kaggs all over—but that Bessie was a Thorncliffe (her own maiden name) and a lady every inch!”

The other children were a boy and girl of five and three years old, who called Mrs. Kaggs “Mamma,” but who appeared much too young to belong to that lady in any relation but that of grand-children. Kitty, the flower girl, was passionately fond of them, and “Bessie” patronized them in her meek, maidenly way, and called them her dear brother and sister.

In the height of the season Miss Bessie Kaggs, attired in shabby black silk, dark shawl, and plain bonnet, would sally forth to the most aristocratic and fashionable squares, attended by her father in a white neck-cloth, carrying in one hand a small and fragile basket, and in the other a heavy and respectable umbrella. Arrived at the mansion of the intended victim, Miss Bessie would give a pretentious knock, and relieve her father of the burthen of the fragile basket. As the door opened, she would desire her parent, who was supposed to be a faithful retainer, to wait, and Mr. Kaggs would touch his hat respectfully and retire meekly to the corner of the square, and watch the placards in the public-house in the next street.

“Is Lady —— within?” Miss Betsey would inquire of the servant.

If the porter replied that his lady was out, or that she could not receive visitors, except by appointment, Miss Betsey would boldly demand pen, ink, and paper, and sit down and write, in a delicate, lady’s hand, to the following effect:—

“Miss Thirlbrook presents her compliments to the Countess of ——, and most respectfully requests the honour of enrolling the Countess’s name among the list of ladies who are kindly aiding her in disposing of a few necessaries for the toilette.

“Miss Thirlbrook is reduced to this extreme measure from the sad requirements of her infirm father, formerly an officer in his Majesty’s —d Regiment, who, from a position of comfort and affluence, is now compelled to seek aid from the charitable, and to rely on the feeble exertions of his daughter: a confirmed cripple and valetudinarian, he has no other resource.

“The well-known charity of the Countess of —— has induced Miss Thirlbrook to make this intrusion on her time. Miss T. will do herself the honour of waiting upon her ladyship on Thursday, when she earnestly entreats the favour of an interview, or an inspection of the few articles she has to dispose of.”

Monday.

This carefully concocted letter—so different from the usual appeals—containing no references to other persons as to character or antecedents, generally had its effect, and in a few days Miss Betsey would find herself tête-à-tête with the Countess ——.

On entering the room she would make a profound curtsey, and, after thanking her ladyship for the honour, would open the fragile basket, which contained a few bottles of scent, some fancy soaps, ornamental envelopes, and perforated note-papers.

“Sit down, Miss Thirlbrook,” the Countess would open the conversation. “I see the articles. Your note, I think, mentioned something of your being in less fortunate——”

Miss Betsey would lower her eyelashes and bend her head—not too deferentially, but as if bowing to circumstances for her father—her dear father’s sake—for this was implied by her admirably concealed histrionic capability.

The lady would then suggest that she had a great many claims upon her consideration, and would delicately inquire into the pedigree and circumstances of Lieutenant Thirlbrook, formerly of his Majesty’s —d Regiment.

Miss Betsey’s replies were neither too ready nor too glib. She suffered herself to be drawn out, but did not advance a statement, and so established in her patroness’s mind the idea that she had to deal with a very superior person. The sum of the story of this interesting scion of a fallen house was, that her father was an old Peninsular officer—as would be seen by a reference to the Army List (Miss Betsey had found the name in an old list); that he had left the service during the peace in 1814; that a ruinous lawsuit, arising from railway speculations, and an absconding agent, had reduced them to—to—to their present position—and that six years ago, an old wound—received at Barossa—had broken out, and laid her father helpless on a sick bed. “I know that these articles,” Betsey would conclude, pointing to the fancy soaps and stationery, “are not such perhaps as your ladyship is accustomed to; but if you would kindly aid me by purchasing some of them—if ever so few—you would materially assist us; and I hope that—that we should not prove—either undeserving or ungrateful.”

When, as sometimes happened, ladies paid a visit to Lieut. Thirlbrook, everything was prepared for their reception with a dramatic regard for propriety. The garret was made as clean and as uncomfortable as possible. Mr. Kaggs was put to bed, and the purpled pinkness of his complexion toned down with violet powder and cosmetics. A white handkerchief, with the Thirlbrook crest in a corner, was carelessly dropped upon the coverlid. A few physic bottles, an old United Service paper, and a ponderous Bible lay upon a ricketty round table beside him. Mrs. Kaggs was propped up with pillows in an arm-chair near the fireplace, and desired to look rheumatic and resigned. Kitty was sent out of the way; and the two children were dressed up in shabby black, and promised plums if they would keep quiet. Miss Betsey herself, in grey stuff and an apron, meek, mild, and matronly beyond her years, glided about softly, like a Sister of Mercy connected with the family.

My readers must understand that Mr. Kaggs was the sole tenant of the house he lived in, though he pretended that he only occupied the garrets as a lodger.

During the stay of the fashionable Samaritans Lieut. Thirlbrook—who had received a wound in his leg at Barossa, under the Duke—would say but little, but now and then his mouth would twitch as with suppressed pain. The visitors were generally much moved at the distressing scene. The gallant veteran—the helpless old lady—the sad and silent children—and the ministering angel of a daughter, were an impressive spectacle. The ladies would promise to exert themselves among their friends, and do all in their power to relieve them.

“Miss Thirlbrook,” they would ask, as Miss Betsey attended them to the street-door, “those dear children are not your brother and sister, are they?”

Betsey would suppress a sigh, and say, “They are the son and daughter of my poor brother, who was a surgeon in the Navy—they are orphans. My brother died on the Gold Coast, and his poor wife soon followed him. She was delicate, and could not bear up against the shock. The poor things have only us to look to, and we do for them what little lies in our power.”

This last stroke was a climax. “She never mentioned them before!” thought the ladies. “What delicacy! What high feeling! These are not common beggars, who make an exaggerated statement of their griefs.”

“Miss Thirlbrook, I am sure you will pardon me for making the offer; but those dear children upstairs do not look strong. I hope you will not be offended by my offering to send them a luncheon now and then—a few delicacies—nourishing things—to do them good.”

Miss Betsey would curtsey, lower her eyelids, and say, softly, “They are not strong.”

“I’ll send my servant as soon as I get home. Pray use this trifle for the present,” (the lady would take out her purse,) “and good morning, Miss Thirlbrook. I must shake hands with you. I consider myself fortunate in having made your acquaintance.”

Betsey’s eyes would fill with tears, and as she held the door open, the expression of her face would plainly say: “Not only for myself, oh dear and charitable ladies, but for my father—my poor father—who was wounded, at Barossa, in the leg—do I thank you from the depths of a profoundly grateful heart.”

When the basket arrived, Miss Betsey would sit down with her worthy parents and enjoy whatever poultry or meat had not been touched; but anything that had been cut, anything “second-hand,” that dainty and haughty young lady would instruct her sister Kitty to give to the poor beggars.

This system of swindling could not, of course, last many years, and when the west end of London became too hot to hold them, the indefatigable Kaggses put an advertisement into the Times and Morning Post, addressed to the charitable and humane, saying that “a poor, but respectable family, required a small sum to enable them to make up the amount of their passage to Australia, and that they could give the highest references as to character.”

The old certificates were hawked about, and for more than two years they drove a roaring trade in money, outfits, and necessaries for a voyage. Mr. Kaggs, too, made a fortunate hit. He purchased an old piano, and raffled it at five shillings a head. Each of his own family took a chance. At the first raffle Miss Betsey won it, at the second, Miss Kitty, on the third, Mr. Kaggs, on the fourth, his faithful partner, and on the fifth and last time, a particular friend of Miss Kitty’s, a young lady in the green-grocery line. This invaluable piece of furniture was eventually disposed of by private contract to a dealer in Barret’s Court, Oxford Street, and, a few days after, the Kaggs family really sailed for Melbourne, and I have never since heard of them.

Among the begging-letter fraternity there are not a few persons who affect to be literary men. They have at one time or another been able to publish a pamphlet, a poem, or a song—generally a patriotic one, and copies of these works—they always call them “works”—they constantly carry about with them to be ready for any customer who may turn up. I have known a notable member of this class of beggars for some years. He was introduced to me as a literary man by an innocent friend who really believed in his talent. He greeted me as a brother craftsman, and immediately took from the breast-pocket of his threadbare surtout a copy of one of his works. “Allow me,” he said, “to present you with my latest work; it is dedicated, you will perceive, to the Right Honourable the Earl of Derby—here is a letter from his lordship complimenting me in the most handsome terms;” and before I could look into the book, the author produced from a well-worn black pocket-book a dirty letter distinguished by a large red seal. Sure enough it was a genuine letter beginning “The Earl of Derby presents his compliments,” and going on to acknowledge the receipt of a copy of Mr. Driver’s work. Mr. Driver—I will call my author by that name—produced a great many other letters, all from persons of distinction, and the polite terms in which they were expressed astonished me not a little. I soon, however, discovered the key to all this condescension. The work was a political one, glorifying the Conservative party, and abounding with all sorts of old-fashioned Tory sentiments. The letters Mr. Driver showed me were of course all from tories. The “work” was quite a curiosity. It was called a political novel. It had for its motto, “Pro Rege, Lege, Aris et Focis,” and the dedication to the Right Honourable the Earl of Derby was displayed over a whole page in epitaph fashion. At the close of our interview Mr. Driver pointed out to me that the price of the work was two shillings. Understanding the hint, I gave him that amount, when he called for pen and ink, and wrote on the fly leaf of the work, “To —— ——, Esq., with the sincere regards of the author.—J. Fitzharding Driver.” On looking over the book—it was a mere paper-covered pamphlet of some hundred pages—I found that the story was not completed. I mentioned this to Mr. Driver the next time I met him, and he explained that he meant to go to press—that was a favourite expression of his—to go to press with the second volume shortly. Ten years, however, have elapsed since then, and Mr. Driver has not yet gone to press with his second volume. The last time I met him he offered me the original volume as his “last new work,” which he presumed I had never seen. He also informed me that he was about to publish a patriotic song in honour of the Queen. Would I subscribe for a copy—only three-and-sixpence—and he would leave it for me? Mr. Driver had forgotten that I had subscribed for this very song eight years previously. He showed me the selfsame MS. of the new national anthem, which I had perused so long ago. The paper had become as soft and limp and dingy as a Scotch one-pound note, but it had been worth a good many one-pound notes to Mr. Fitzharding Driver. Mr. Driver has lived upon this as yet unpublished song, and that unfinished political novel, for ten years and more. I have seen him often enough to know exactly his modus operandi. Though practically a beggar Mr. Driver is no great rogue. Were you to dress him well, he might pass for a nobleman. As it is, in his shabby genteel clothes he looks a broken-down swell. And so in fact he is. In his young days he had plenty of money, and went the pace among the young bloods of Bond Street. Mr. Driver’s young days were the days of the Regent. He drove a dashing phaeton-and-four then, and lounged and gambled, and lived the life of a man about town. He tells you all that with great pride, and also how he came to grief, though this part of the story is not so clear. There is no doubt that he had considerable acquaintance among great people in his prosperous days. He lives now upon his works, and the public-house parlours of the purlieus of the west-end serve him as publishing houses. He is a great political disputant, and his company is not unwelcome in those quarters. He enters, takes his seat, drinks his glass, joins in the conversation, and, as he says himself, shows that he is a man of parts. In this way he makes friends among the tradesmen who visit these resorts. They soon find out that he is poor, and an author, and moved both to pity and admiration, each member of the company purchases a copy of that unfinished political novel, or subscribes for that new patriotic song, which I expect will yet be in the womb of the press when the crack of doom comes. I think Mr. Driver has pretty well used up all the quiet parlours of W. district by this time. Not long ago I had a letter from him enclosing a prospectus of a new work to be entitled “Whiggery, or the Decline of England,” and soliciting a subscription to enable him to go to press with the first edition. I have no doubt that every conservative member of both houses of Parliament has had a copy of that prospectus. Mr. Fitzharding Driver will call at their houses for an answer, and some entirely out of easy charity, and others from a party feeling of delight at the prospect of the Whigs being abused in a book even by this poor beggar, will send him down half-crowns, and enable the poor wretch to eat and drink for a few months longer. On more than one occasion while I have known him, Mr. Driver has been on the point of “being well off again,” to use his own expression. His behaviour under the prospect was characteristic of the man, his antecedents, and his mode of life. He touched up his seedy clothes, had some cotton-velvet facings put to his threadbare surtout, revived his hat, mounted a pair of shabby patent-leather boots, provided himself with a penny cane, adorned with an old silk tassel, and appeared each day with a flower in his button-hole. In addition to these he had sewn into the breast of his surtout a bit of parti-coloured ribbon to look like a decoration. In this guise he came up to me at the Crystal Palace one day, and appeared to be in great glee. His ogling and mysterious manner puzzled me. Judge of my astonishment when this hoary, old, tottering, toothless beggar informed me, with many self-satisfied chuckles, that a rich widow, “a fine dashing woman, sir,” had fallen in love with him, and was going to marry him. The marriage did not come off, the pile is worn away from the velvet facings, the patent-leather boots have become mere shapeless flaps of leather, the old broad-brimmed hat is past the power of reviver, and the Bond Street buck of the days of the Regent now wanders from public-house to public-house selling lucifer-matches. He still however carries with him a copy of his “work,” the limp and worn MS. of his anthem, and the prospectus of “Whiggery, or the Decline of England.” These and the letters from distinguished personages stand him in better stead than the lucifer-matches, when he lights upon persons of congenial sympathies.

Advertising Begging-letter Writers.

Among many begging-letter writers who appealed to sentiment, the most notorious and successful was a man of the name of Thomas Stone, alias Stanley, alias Newton. He had been in early life transported for forgery, and afterwards was tried for perjury; and when his ordinary methods of raising money had been detected and exposed, he resorted to the ingenious expedient of sending an advertisement to the Times, of which the following is a copy:—

“To the Charitable and Affluent.

“At the eleventh hour a young and most unfortunate lady is driven by great distress to solicit from those charitable and humane persons who ever derive pleasure from benevolent acts, some little pecuniary assistance. The advertiser’s condition is almost hopeless, being, alas! friendless, and reduced to the last extremity. The smallest aid would be most thankfully acknowledged, and the fullest explanation given. Direct Miss T. C. M., Post-office, Great Randolph St., Camden New Town.”

This touching appeal was read by a philanthropic gentleman, who sent the advertiser 5l., and afterwards 1l. more, to which he received a reply in the following words:—

“Sir,—I again offer my gratitude for your charitable kindness. I am quite unable to speak the promptings of my heart for your great goodness to me, an entire stranger, but you may believe me, sir, I am very sincerely thankful. You will, I am sure, be happy to hear I have paid the few trifling demands upon me, and also obtained sufficient of my wearing apparel to make a decent appearance; but it has swallowed up the whole of your generous bounty, or I should this day have moved to the Hampstead Road, where a far more comfortable lodging has been offered me, and where, sir, if you would condescend to call I would cheerfully and with pleasure relate my circumstances in connexion with my past history, and I do hope you might consider me worthy of your further notice. But it is my earnest desire to support myself and my dearest child by my own industry. As I mentioned before, I have youth and health, and have received a good education, but alas! I fear I shall have a great difficulty in obtaining employment such as I desire, for I have fallen! I am a mother, and my dear poor boy is the child of sin. But I was deceived—cruelly deceived by a base and heartless villain. A licence was purchased for our marriage; I believed all; my heart knew no guile; the deceptions of the world I had scarcely ever heard of; but too soon I found myself destroyed and lost, the best affections of my heart trampled upon, and myself infamous and disgraced. But I did not continue to live in sin. Oh no! I despised and loathed the villain who so deceived me. Neither have I received, nor would I, one shilling from him. I think I stated in my first letter I am the daughter of a deceased merchant; such is the case; and had I some friends to interest themselves for me, I do think it would be found I am entitled to some property; however, it would be first necessary to explain personally every circumstance, and to you, sir, I would unreservedly explain all. And oh! I do earnestly hope you would, after hearing my sad tale, think there was some little palliation of my guilt.

“In answer to the advertisement I had inserted, I received many offers of assistance, but they contained overtures of such a nature that I could not allow myself to reply to any of them. You, sir, have been my best friend, and may God bless you for your sympathy and kindness. I am very desirous to remove, but cannot do so without a little money in my pocket. Your charity has enabled me to provide all I required, and paid that which I owed, which has been a great relief to my mind. I hope and trust that you will not think me covetous or encroaching upon your goodness, in asking you to assist me with a small sum further, for the purpose named. Should you, however, decline to do so, believe me, I should be equally grateful; and it is most painful and repugnant to my feelings to ask, but I know not to whom else to apply. Entreating your early reply, however it may result, and with every good wish, and the sincerest and warmest acknowledgments of my heart, believe, sir, always your most thankful and humble servant,

“Frances Thorpe.

“Please direct T. C. M., Post-office, Crown Street, Gray’s Inn Road.”

With the same sort of tale, varying the signature to Fanny Lyons, Mary Whitmore, and Fanny Hamilton, &c., Mr. Stone continued to victimize the public, until the Society for the Suppression of Mendicity laid him by the heels. He was committed for trial at Clerkenwell Sessions, and sentenced to transportation for seven years.

I must content myself with these few specimens of the begging-letter impostors; it would be impossible to describe every variety. Sometimes they are printers, whose premises have been destroyed by fire; at others, young women who have been ruined by noblemen and are anxious to retrieve themselves; or widows of naval officers who have perished in action or by sickness. There was a long run upon “aged clergymen, whose sands of life were fast running out,” but the fraud became so common that it was soon “blown.”

The greatest blow that was ever struck at this species of imposition was the establishment of the Begging-Letter Department by the Society for the Suppression of Mendicity. In the very first case they investigated they found the writer—who had penned a most touching letter to a well-known nobleman—crouching in a fireless garret in one of the worst and lowest neighbourhoods of London. This man was discovered to be the owner and occupier of a handsomely-furnished house in another part of the town, where his wife and family lived in luxury. The following is a specimen of a most artful begging letter from America.

Ellicot’s Mills, Howard Co., Maryland, United States, June 6, 1859.

“My dearest Friend,

“Why—why have you not written, and sent me the usual remittances? Your silence has caused me the greatest uneasiness. Poor dear Frederick is dying and we are in the extremest want. The period to hear from you has past some time, and no letter. It is very strange! What can it mean?

“In a short time your poor suffering son will be at rest. I shall then trouble you no more; but—oh! I beseech you, do not permit your poor son to die in want. I have expended my last shilling to procure him those little necessaries he must and shall have. Little did I think when, long, long years ago, I deserted all, that you might be free and happy, that you would fail me in this terrible hour of affliction—but you have not—I know you have not. You must have sent, and the letter miscarried. Your poor dying son sends his fondest love. Poor dear fellow!—he has never known a father’s care; still, from a child, he has prayed for, revered, and loved you—he is now going to his Father in heaven, and, when he is gone my widowed heart will break. When I look back upon the long past, although broken-hearted and crushed to the earth, yet I cannot tutor my heart to regret it, for I dearly loved you. Yes, and proved it, dearest friend, by forsaking and fleeing with my poor fatherless boy to this strange and distant land, that you might be free and happy with those so worthy of you; and, believe me when I say, that your happiness has been my constant prayer. In consequence of poor dear Frederick’s sickness we are in the greatest distress and want. I have been compelled to forego all exertion, and attend solely upon him; therefore, do, I pray you, send me, without an instant’s delay, a 10l. note. I must have it, or I shall go mad. Your poor suffering boy must not die in misery and want. Send the money by return mail, and send a Bank of England note, for I am now miles away from where I could get a draught cashed. I came here for the benefit of poor dear Frederick, but I fear it has done him no good. We are now among strangers, and in the most abject distress, and unless you send soon, your afflicted unoffending boy will starve to death. I can no longer bear up against poverty, sickness, and your unkindness; but you must have sent; your good, kind heart would not permit you to let us die in want. God bless you, and keep you and yours. May you be supremely happy! Bless you! In mercy send soon, for we are in extremest want.

“Remaining faithfully, “Your dearest friend, “Kate Stanley.

“Pay the postage of your letter to me, or I shall not be able to obtain it, for I am selling everything to live.”

The above affecting letter was received by the widow of a London merchant six months after his death. The affair was investigated and proved to be an imposture. The moral character of Mr. —— had been irreproachable. American begging-letter writers read the obituaries in English newspapers and ply their trade, while the loss of the bereaved relatives of the man whose memory they malign is recent.

Ashamed Beggars.

By the above title I mean those tall, lanthorn-jawed men, in seedy well-brushed clothes, who, with a ticket on their breasts, on which a short but piteous tale is written in the most respectable of large-hand, and with a few boxes of lucifer-matches in their hands, make no appeal by word of mouth, but invoke the charity of passers-by by meek glances and imploring looks—fellows who, having no talent for “patter,” are gifted with great powers of facial pathos, and make expression of feature stand in lieu of vocal supplication. For some years I have watched a specimen of this class, who has a regular “beat” at the west end of London. He is a tall man, with thin legs and arms, and a slightly-protuberant stomach. His “costume” (I use the word advisedly, for he is really a great actor of pantomime,) consists of an old black dress-coat, carefully buttoned, but left sufficiently open at the top to show a spotlessly white shirt, and at the bottom, to exhibit an old grey waistcoat; and a snowy apron, which he wears after the fashion of a Freemason, forgetting that real tradesmen are never seen in their aprons except behind the counter. A pair of tight, dark, shabby trousers, black gaiters without an absent button, and heavy shoes of the severest thickness, cover his nether man. Round his neck is a red worsted comforter, which neatly tied at the throat, descends straight and formally beneath his coat, and exhibits two fringed ends, which fall, in agreeable contrast of colour, over the before-mentioned apron. I never remember seeing a beggar of this class without an apron and a worsted comforter—they would appear to be his stock-in-trade, a necessary portion of his outfit; the white apron to relieve the sombre hue of his habiliments, and show up their well-brushed shabbiness; the scarlet comforter to contrast with the cadaverous complexion which he owes to art or nature. In winter the comforter also serves as an advertisement that his great-coat is gone.

The man I am describing wears a “pad” round his neck, on which is written—

Kind Friends and Christian Brethren! I was once a Respectable Tradesman, doing a Good Business; till Misfortune reduced me to this Pass! Be kind enough to Buy some of the Articles I offer, and you will confer a Real Charity!

In his hands, on which he wears scrupulously-darned mittens, he carries a box or two of matches, or a few quires of note-paper or envelopes, and half-a-dozen small sticks of sealing-wax. He is also furnished with a shabby-genteel looking boy of about nine years old, who wears a Shakesperian collar, and the regulation worsted comforter, the ends of which nearly trail upon the ground. The poor child, whose features do not in the least resemble the man’s, and who, too young to be his son, is too old to be his grandson, keeps his little hands in his large pockets, and tries to look as unhappy and half-starved as he can.

But the face of the beggar is a marvellous exhibition! His acting is admirable! Christian resignation and its consequent fortitude are written on his brow. His eyes roll imploringly, but no sound escapes him. The expression of his features almost pronounces, “Christian friend, purchase my humble wares, for I scorn to beg. I am starving, but tortures shall not wring the humiliating secret from my lips.” He exercises a singular fascination over old ladies, who slide coppers into his hand quickly, as if afraid that they shall hurt his feelings. He pockets the money, heaves a sigh, and darts an abashed and grateful look at them that makes them feel how keenly he appreciates their delicacy. When the snow is on the ground he now and then introduces a little shiver, and with a well-worn pocket-handkerchief stifles a cough that he intimates by, a despairing dropping of his eyelids, is slowly killing him.