follow queer little Mattie's example, but take a child preached down into the world the words lesson from queer little Mattie. "friends and neighbours." "He read about somebody saying you shouldn't ask your friends and neighbours who could do the same for you again, but you should ask them that couldn't, because they hadn't a house to ask you to, like Poppie there." Lucy looked round and saw the most tattered little scarecrow-useless even as such in the streets of London, where there are only dusty little sparrows and an occasional raven-staring at-I cannot call it a group-well, it was a group vertically, if not laterally-and not knowing or caring what to make of it, only to look at Lucy, and satisfy her undefined and undefinable love by the beholding of its object. She loved what was lovely without in the least knowing that it was lovely, or what lovely meant. And while Lucy gazed at Poppie, with a vague impression that she had seen the child before, she could not help thinking of the contrast between the magnificent abode of the Morgensterns-for magnificent it was even in London--and the lip of the nest from which the strange But she could say nothing more to Mattie till she had told, word for word, the whole story to Mrs. Morgenstern, who, she knew, would heartily enjoy the humour of it. Nor was Lucy, who loved her Lord very truly, even more than she knew, though she was no theologian like Thomas, in the least deterred from speaking of Somebody, by the fact that Mrs. Morgenstern did not receive him as the Messiah of her nation. If he did not hesitate to show himself where he knew he would not be accepted, why should she hesitate to speak his name? And why should his name not be mentioned to those who, although they had often been persecuted in his name by those who did not understand his mind, might well be proud that the man who was conquering the world by his strong, beautiful will, was a Jew? But from the rather severe indisposition of her grandmother, she was unable to tell the story tc Mrs. Morgenstern till the very morning of the gathering. THE LONDON GAMIN. for Homeless Children, by whom the little outcast was finally admitted into the Refuge. This case affords a good example of the difficulties placed in the way of poor children in the hour of need, and the want of elasticity to meet the exigencies of the moment in our many public and private asylums for the relief of the poor. But as a means of rescuing poor children aban ALTHOUGH We boast ourselves to be a practical people, it is wonderful how long we suffer a crying evil to exist before our eyes without making an effort to remedy it. And when we do exert ourselves, what errors we commit in the process! When we contemplate the number of prisons that have arisen throughout the country, built on the scale of fortresses of the first order, and consider that the administration of these places of punish-doned by their parents from the crime they are ment has become an important element in state affairs, having a most ponderous literature of blue books of its own which nobody reads but the offi cials, we ask ourselves the question with amazement: With all this gigantic machinery to punish crime, what steps did we formerly take to prevent it? There are at the present time upwards of ten thousand children, either entirely houseless or on the verge of being so, wandering about the streets, sleeping under railway arches, in market baskets, in shutter-boxes, in the parks, or pigging on the bare boards with their poverty-stricken parents at home, who in the daytime prowl about the streets begging and stealing. If such a seed-plot of crime exists among us after twenty years of labour with Homes, Refuges, and Reformatories, what must have been the condition of outcast children in the days when punishment alone was meted out to them ! It is the theory of the poor law, that every destitute human creature is entitled to shelter and food, on application at the workhouse; but, like many other theories that are the prime boast of the Briton, they vanish into thin air when put to the test. One would imagine that nothing could be more undeniable than the right to immediate shelter of a poor child on a bitter winter's night. Let us see, however, what is the reality. On Friday night, January the 4th, when the thermometer fell to two degrees below zero, and a pointsman was frozen to death at his post on the line at Reading, a poor little girl not more than nine years old, was discovered by a gentleman curled up and trying to sleep upon a door-step in Piccadilly. Struck with pity (doubtless he had children of his own warm in bed at the time), he roused the child, almost fatally benumbed, took her to the workhouse, and desired a night's lodging for her; but on inquiry it was found that she belonged to another parish, and shelter was accordingly refused. He then took her to the policestation, but the officer in charge could give no help, although he kindly offered to allow the child to remain before the station fire. The gentleman how ever preferred taking her to his own home, where she was accommodated for the night; and next day he endeavoured to obtain from the clergyman of the parish an order of admission to some charitable institution. In this he again failed, and as a last resource, at ten o'clock at night he applied to the secretary of the St. George's and St. Giles's Refuge sure sooner or later to fall into, the temporary refuge, invaluable as it is, can be of little permanent avail for the innocent. What is wanted is a house in which every habit of their past lives could be eradicated, and fresh ones instilled. The philanthropy of the present day has been fully alive to this want, and one of the first of the institutions to supply it was the refuge we have alluded to as receiving under its fostering wing the poor little outcast of Piccadilly. A visit to the Boys' Refuge in Great Queen Street, Holborn, gave me an insight into the method which is now pursued by this and many kindred institutions to transform the outcast juvenile population, fast merging into the criminal class, into honest men and women, trained to industrial pursuits and to the service of their country, instead of becoming, as they otherwise would, its scourge, burthen, and reproach. The vice of all our old-established charities is the expensive nature of the machinery by which they are worked. There is a tendency to erect imposing buildings, to make complicated domestic arrangements, and to provide for a regular staff, which in nine cases out of ten eats up the greater portion of the income. No such vice or tendency can however be laid to the charge of the Boys' Refuge in Great Queen Street. An old coach-factory forms the physical home. Nothing could be plainer, indeed ruder, than its fittings; it possesses one advantage, however, without which such an establishment of boys could scarcely be maintained without danger to health, viz., very spacious rooms, in which a large amount of air circulates without the impediment of partitions. Like the Field-lane Refuge, no preliminary inquiries are necessary to enable a boy to enter its sheltering walls, other than the fact that he is not a convicted criminal; but, unlike the night refuges, it offers a permanent home to those who are inclined to obey its rules. On the occasion of my first visit the boys were in the full swing of their industrial pursuits: tailoring, carpentering, woodcutting, and shoemaking were going on under the eyes of the different masters. It was evident that nothing was wasted on appearances. The children looked like the Arabs of the street, which they really were; many of them indeed had only been just received. Their clothes were old rotten rags it is true,-the livery of poverty; but their faces were clean. One of the first virtues these little ones learn is the virtue of cleanliness, and a very necessary virtue it is, inasmuch as, with scarcely an exception, every boy on admission is covered with vermin, and in many cases suffering from skin diseases as a consequence. Nothing strikes the visitor with more astonishment, on going among those poor creatures, than their diminutive appearance--boys of fourteen and fifteen not being bigger than youths of nine or ten who have been well housed and nourished. But privation and hardship, although they dwarf the frame, have a tendency to sharpen the wits; and this is found to be the case with the majority of the lads. The cleverness of town boys as compared with those of the country is proverbial; but it was a complete study to notice the prematurely Fold faces of these children, and a still more remarkable study to hear them relate their experience and show their knowledge of the world. Only a few months back these lads had been turning catherinewheels, sweeping crossings, and living the street life of this great metropolis, quickening their wits and making supple their bodies with the hard training of necessity; hence the sharpness of their perception and the nimbleness of their movements. The very little boys on first entering the Refuge are taught the use of the needle. It looked inexpressibly droll to see some score of little fellows seated in a row darning stockings, or learning the use of needle and thread upon a piece of rag. To see those newly-caught little Arabs gravely pursuing such a sedentary occupation gave a certain shock to one's ideas of the fituess of things; yet nothing is more necessary to the sailor or the emigrant, which many of these little fellows are destined to become, than a knowledge of how to repair their own clothes. The cutting of firewood is another preliminary occupation to which the more juvenile boys are placed. This is a remunerative industrial pursuit, inasmuch as many friends of the institution purchase their firewood here. The more difficult occupations performed by the elder boys are shoemaking, tailoring, and carpentering. In two or three years some of the lads have learned sufficient to earn their own livelihood out of doors, whilst all the bootmaking and repairing of the inmates as well as of those in the Girls' Refnge are performed by these little workmen. Being anxious to learn how many of the hundred and twenty boys at present in the Refuge had slept upon the streets, the master, whilst they were assembled at dinner, asked the question-How many boys have slept for a week together outside of any house? Instantly fifty little hands were held up. How many for three months? Thirteen held up their hands. It seems almost incredible that poor little children, for so many days consecutively, should have braved the weather, many of them through the winter months. Two or three of the boys told me that among the "pads" was a famous place to sleep in. "Pads" are small baskets in which fish is brought to Billingsgate Market. One poor little fellow told me he "cuddled up" one night in a barge, and when the men came to work at five VIII-12 corners. 66 o'clock in the morning, one of them put a rope round his middle and "chucked him out into the river," pulling him in again and repeating the process as if he had been a bucket of water;"-and this was in the winter!"but," said he, "another of the men said he had little ones of his own, and he did not like to see me served so, and he took me to a coffee-shop and had my clothes dried, and gave me some coffee." We have all heard of the little vagrant who told his chum of the prime discovery he had made of a sleeping-place-the iron garden-roller in Regent'sPark; but we question if even this odd resting place could match the sleeping accommodation one pale little urchin confessed he was obliged to put up with, namely, a "drain pipe," at Sadler's Wells, and "Oh, it did blow round me cold," said the little fellow, shivering with the bare recollection of his night's lodging. All the boys had slept in carts and market-baskets in Covent Garden, and under the railway arches, and one lad said he thought he would one time make himself comfortable in a waterbutt, but the snow came down when he was asleep and covered him. Who shall say what are the villanies perpetrated under the Adelphi dark arches, the well-known resort of houseless wanderers? "I slept there one night," said a little boy, "and there were above a hundred there at the same time, huddled about in parties of twenties in the different The policeman came and used his belt to us, and drove us out-men, women, and children, and we went into the parks. Another policeman said he didn't like to see us hit about, and he took me to a coffee-shop and gave me some coffee; but another boy stole my boots, and I was obliged to go barefooted." But there was one rather stout lad who spoke of his lodgings on the cold ground without the slightest sense of its having been a more than common hardship. "I used," said he, "to sleep in the 'New-found-out."""Where is that?" I asked, with a look of astonishment. "Oh, that is the arches underneath the Charing Cross Hotel,' speaking of it as some delectable abode. It would be difficult to imagine a more dramatic contrast than that presented by these poor children, huddled up in the cold arches of the foundation of that splendid hotel, and the scene of luxuriance and comfort presented by the bed-chambers of its inmates. How little one half of the world knows how the other half lives! This wild, out-of-door, bitter life led by the majority of the lads before they entered the Refuge gives them an unsettled, untameable nature that is not easily conquered. Some boys, indeed, cannot resist the impulse to run away, not once, but again and again. They are literally wild animals; as much so as the colt that has been allowed to run loose on the moors. Indeed it often takes years to knock the vagrant disposition, which would almost appear to have entered their blood, out of them. The writer remembers once asking a gipsy boy, who complained that his tent-peg gave way in the night and let the snow drift into his bed, whether he would not like to sleep in a house. "Sleep in a house? Ah no, couldn't sleep in a house on no account-couldn't do it nohow!" He said this with an emphasis which left no doubt on my mind of the outrageous nature of the proposition in the wild boy's mind. The vagrant habit once acquired, it is an almost impassable barrier to the ordinary service of the world. The errand-boy who plays truant is forthwith dismissed from his place; the apprentice, if the street Arab by any chance gets the opportunity of being put into harness, is summarily taken before a magistrate and imprisoned for being idle and intractable. What hope, then, without aid, have those little ones of ever leaving their wild yet wretched state of freedom, and of being placed in the way of earning their livelihood by means of any of the paths of labour? As regards the virtues that make it possible to live the life of a civilised social being, the street Arab is wholly without them, he is in most respects a little savage. And we all know that if we take a savage, and train him carefully among Europeans, his original nature is liable to break out in his descendants to the third or fourth generation. We must be prepared, therefore, to find that it is a work of great care, trouble, and expense in many instauces to instil the new habits and to exterminate those acquired during a youth of vagabondage. When a child once falls into destitution, it is next to a miracle if he regains his footing without the aid of such societies as the one under notice. Let us give one example of the difficulties by which all such | castaways are beset, in the case of a little boy once in the Refuge. He was left an orphan at twelve, in Bristol, and not being able to procure work, he made up his mind to walk to London, and accordingly he started off, reaching the great city in a fortnight. When he arrived there he had a sore foot through walking all the way in bad boots, and found himself unable to work. "One morning I was in Hyde Park, when a gentleman came to me, and seeing what a sad state I was in, gave me a shilling, and told me, if I would meet him there the next night, he would give me some boots and a waistcoat, and told me to try and get some work." This seems to have been the first act of kindness shown to the young stranger in this vast metropolis. The boy was thankful for it, and appreciated the sympathy thus shown by his benefactor; but it was evident the poor lad was still cast down, for he says, when told to get work, "It is easy to talk about it, but not easy to get it in London without a character." He was quite right; it is not easy to get work in London, even with a character. Nevertheless he did not sit down idle without making an effort to get work. As he says, "I did get a job now and then to wheel costermongers' barrows about for men who lodged at the same place as me, for which I got my lodging and food." This prosperity however did not last long, for he again hurt his foot, and was of no service to his friends the costermongers; and now he was as badly off as ever. Having, however, found one benefactor in Hyde Park, he seems to have re He says: sorted there again, in hope no doubt that his poverty-stricken and friendless condition might attract some sympathizing, benevolent spirit. And sure enough it did, and one for whom the boy will have cause to bless God all the days of his life, for it was this friend who ultimately brought him to the Refuge. The boy's own account is this: "One night I was sitting by the Marble Arch, Hyde Park, when a gentleman came up to me and asked me if I was in want of anything. I told him I had no money to pay my lodging, and he asked me if I had any friends in London, and I told him I had not; and he asked me if I was willing to work if I could get it to do. I told him I was. He then took me to a public-house and gave me some beer; but I wanted food more than beer, and I asked him for some, and he gave me some bread and butter. After staying there a little while the gentleman took me to Farringdon-street Dispensary, but the people were gone to bed. He called them up, and I showed them my feet, and they told me they could not do anything for me then, but if I would come in the morning they would see to it. The gentleman then got me a lodging opposite to the dispensary, and gave me some money to get my breakfast. On the morrow he came and took me to the Mansion House, and got a letter of recommendation for Bartholomew Hospital, which I took, and after waiting half the day was told I would not be admitted for a fortnight. I then went back to the lodging, which the gentleman paid for until my feet got better, and then he brought me to Queen Street Refuge, where I have been ever since, and never repented coming in, for it has been a very good | thing for me, thanks to Mr. Wood and other kind friends." This lad has since been sent to Australia, where it is believed he will do extremely well. In reading this narrative, may we not ask ourselves whether we should have acted the part of the Good Samaritan to this poor lad? How often some pitiable object comes across our path in our daily walks asking our charity, and, like the Levite, we pass by on the other side. In the majority of cases we dismiss the appeal under the plea that they should go to i work, and we salve our conscience with the suggestion that the petitioner is a professional mendicant, or at least that there is the workhouse to go to, and that it is fostering mendicancy to listen to such appeals. We never reflect that a little aid will often save a fellow-creature from destruction, and it is only when we see such a case in print as I have related, that we ask ourselves,-How many times might I have done a like good deed if indolence or indifference had not stood in the way! It has been said that we sometimes entertain angels unawares. Has the gentleman who saved this little boy read this simple story of his kind deed? If he has, what pleasure it must give him to know of the good he accomplished! This, be sure, is the good angel which all of us feel in our hearts when we have acted in the spirit of love towards any of our fellow creatures. Such work the Refuge for Homeless Children has been engaged in since the year 1852, and I question if a nobler work could have engaged philanthropists. From the report of 1865 we tind that during the twenty-four years in which it has been in existence, 1,675 destitute children have been received into the Home, and tenderly treated, during varying periods, with the loving care which the term "home" implies. It is one thing to give food and lodging in the name of the law,-that is done at the workhouse; it is another to give it in the name and spirit of the All-giver. And it is this contrast which makes such a Refuge differ from the Union in its results. In the one case the recipient often leaves curses behind him; in the other, good | wishes and kind words, and, like a child, when in trouble or need, he returns again and again to the Home that gave him shelter, and is never refused. Of these 1,675 destitute children thus received, 1,016 were boys, and 659 girls, for the more dependent sex are also cared for by this institution, as we shall presently show. This little ragged army, rescued from the dens of thieves, has been disposed of as follows: If this is not a great work,-greater than the tounding of any minster or noble building, although it may not speak to the eye for unborn generations, we do not know what a great work is; and yet it has been done noiselessly and unostentatiously, without making any sign or mark, excepting in the hearts and deeds of those saved from destruction. It is worthy of note that the Home gives a preliminary education which fits the boys and girls for the various occupations in which they are likely to engage in after life. There is nothing "class" about the training; not only trades such as we have mentioned are carefully taught, but a supply of labour is furnished for the colonies, and many of the boys have emigrated, as I have said, and are now doing well in Australia, New Zealand, and Canada. It is the desire of the committee, of which the Earl of Shaftesbury is the chairman, further to train boys for colonists by the institution of a farm, at which those who are inclined for such a life may be occupied in the cultivation of the ground, similar to that long established at the certified School for Homeless Boys at East Barnet. When sufficient subscriptions come in, this new school for training will be established. The writer is glad to find, however, that the Committee, no doubt through the interest of their influential chairman, have already accomplished another portion of the task they proposed to themselves-the establishment of a ship for the training of sailors for the Royal Navy and merchant service. I am told there is no want so pressing as this. In consequence of the higher wages obtained in the United States, there is the greatest difficulty in obtaining sailors for our mercantile marine. It is said that there were no less than forty Dutchmen on board the ill-fated "London," who, on the approach of the storm in which she was lost, refused to work and went to their berths. If this really was so, and if the commercial navy is obliged to put up with so large a per-centage of foreign sailors as that instance would indicate, it undoubtedly points to one source of that increased marine disaster which of late has been so marked. The training-ship, which now lies at her permanent moorings at Greenhithe, is a fine 50gun frigate of the old model, named the "Chichester." Like scores of other ships in Her Majesty's service, she has never been to sea since she was launched in 1842. Her loan by the Admiralty therefore caused no loss to the service; indeed, if all the old wooden ships could be turned to as good a purpose, they would not have been built in vain. Their lordships, however, would not find a spar towards rigging her; consequently this has been done at an expense of £3,000, for which the Association is responsible, and for which subscriptions will gladly be received. The writer paid a visit to the "Chichester" a short time since, in order to see the boys in their new home. Fifty little fellows volunteered to go on board the moment the vessel was obtained; and twentyfive more are to follow immediately. Nothing struck me more forcibly, on questioning the children in Great Queen Street, than the universal desire on the part of these Dick Whittingtons to go to sea. They patiently submit to be made shoemakers and carpenters, and failing that, their hope is to get on board the ship; and my belief is, that every boy would run away from his bench to-morrow to join the little fellows now on board. Here is the secret of our naval power. What nation can cope with us on the ocean as long as all the youngsters are inclined to make for the water like young ducks as soon as they can get away from home? Captain Alstead, R. N., who has undertaken the training of these young sca-dogs, gave me an example of the likely material they were made of. The hammocks are hung at least four feet five inches |