Bewildered with the rapid sequence of events, I was following in the crowd.Falconer looked about till he saw me, and gave me a nod which meant come along.Before we reached Bow Street.however, the offending policeman, who had been walking a little behind in conversation with one of the others, advanced to Falconer, touched his hat, and said something, to which Falconer replied.
'Remember, I have my eye upon you,' was all I heard, however, as he left the crowd and rejoined me.We turned and walked eastward again.
The storm kept on intermittently, but the streets were rather more crowded than usual notwithstanding.
'Look at that man in the woollen jacket,' said Falconer.'What a beautiful outline of face! There must be something noble in that man.'
'I did not see him,' I answered, 'I was taken up with a woman's face, like that of a beautiful corpse.It's eyes were bright.
There was gin in its brain.'
The streets swarmed with human faces gleaming past.It was a night of ghosts.
There stood a man who had lost one arm, earnestly pumping bilge-music out of an accordion with the other, holding it to his body with the stump.There was a woman, pale with hunger and gin, three match-boxes in one extended hand, and the other holding a baby to her breast.As we looked, the poor baby let go its hold, turned its little head, and smiled a wan, shrivelled, old-fashioned smile in our faces.
Another happy baby, you see, Mr.Gordon,' said Falconer.'A child, fresh from God, finds its heaven where no one else would.The devil could drive woman out of Paradise; but the devil himself cannot drive the Paradise out of a woman.'
'What can be done for them?' I said, and at the moment, my eye fell upon a row of little children, from two to five years of age, seated upon the curb-stone.
They were chattering fast, and apparently carrying on some game, as happy as if they had been in the fields.
'Wouldn't you like to take all those little grubby things, and put them in a great tub and wash them clean?' I said.
'They'd fight like spiders,' rejoined Falconer.
'They're not fighting now.'
'Then don't make them.It would be all useless.The probability is that you would only change the forms of the various evils, and possibly for worse.You would buy all that man's glue-lizards, and that man's three-foot rules, and that man's dog-collars and chains, at three times their value, that they might get more drink than usual, and do nothing at all for their living to-morrow.--What a happy London you would make if you were Sultan Haroun!' he added, laughing.'You would put an end to poverty altogether, would you not?'
I did not reply at once.
'But I beg your pardon,' he resumed; 'I am very rude.'
'Not at all,' I returned.'I was only thinking how to answer you.
They would be no worse after all than those who inherit property and lead idle lives.'
'True; but they would be no better.Would you be content that your quondam poor should be no better off than the rich? What would be gained thereby? Is there no truth in the words "Blessed are the poor"? A deeper truth than most Christians dare to see.--Did you ever observe that there is not one word about the vices of the poor in the Bible--from beginning to end?'
'But they have their vices.'
'Indubitably.I am only stating a fact.The Bible is full enough of the vices of the rich.I make no comment.'
'But don't you care for their sufferings?'
'They are of secondary importance quite.But if you had been as much amongst them as I, perhaps you would be of my opinion, that the poor are not, cannot possibly feel so wretched as they seem to us.
They live in a climate, as it were, which is their own, by natural law comply with it, and find it not altogether unfriendly.The Laplander will prefer his wastes to the rich fields of England, not merely from ignorance, but for the sake of certain blessings amongst which he has been born and brought up.The blessedness of life depends far more on its interest than upon its comfort.The need of exertion and the doubt of success, renders life much more interesting to the poor than it is to those who, unblessed with anxiety for the bread that perisheth, waste their poor hearts about rank and reputation.'
'I thought such anxiety was represented as an evil in the New Testament.'
'Yes.But it is a still greater evil to lose it in any other way than by faith in God.You would remove the anxiety by destroying its cause: God would remove it by lifting them above it, by teaching them to trust in him, and thus making them partakers of the divine nature.Poverty is a blessing when it makes a man look up.'
'But you cannot say it does so always.'
'I cannot determine when, where, and how much; but I am sure it does.And I am confident that to free those hearts from it by any deed of yours would be to do them the greatest injury you could.
Probably their want of foresight would prove the natural remedy, speedily reducing them to their former condition--not however without serious loss.'
'But will not this theory prove at last an an?sthetic rather than an anodyne? I mean that, although you may adopt it at first for refuge from the misery the sight of their condition occasions you, there is surely a danger of its rendering you at last indifferent to it.'
'Am I indifferent? But you do not know me yet.Pardon my egotism.
There may be such danger.Every truth has its own danger or shadow.Assuredly I would have no less labour spent upon them.But there can be no true labour done, save in as far as we are fellow-labourers with God.We must work with him, not against him.
