mediæval, a Penitentiary, and so on. Add to these, that every one of the numerous churches and chapels has its own working schemes of schools, districtvisitings, Dorcas and other charities, and we may conclude that the poor of Bath are tolerably well cared for. Shall we see how? It will take but a short walk, this sharp but cheery winter day; the narrowness and compactness of the city's limits being a great advantage to us as well as to its charities. Let us begin at the very beginning. How shall we attack poor people's souls -through their bodies, mind-except by the first principle of purification-cleanliness, which is emphatically pronounced to be "next to godliness?" I have always had a deep faith in that virtue. I believe earnestly the saying, that a man is not near so ready to commit a crime when he has got a clean shirt on; and that the sense of self-respect and inward purity which accompanies a well-washed body, generally, more or less, communicates itself to the soul. A working-man is always more of a man, more decent and wellconducted, more fit to go to church, or go a-courting, after he has "cleaned himself;" and a working-woman-a respectable mechanic's wife, or civil maidservant-will be none the less civil and respectable for assuming, toil being over, a tidy apron, face and hands. So let our first peregrination be to certain baths and laundries, built close by the river side, in Milk Street- -a street which might have been especially chosen for the purpose, as it and the adjoining Avon Street are principally inhabited by sweeps. It was not always so. This region, now the lowest in Bath, was, not so very long since, noted for handsome residences. Kingsmead House, which still remains, forming one portion of Kingsmead Square, must have been the finest of all, and its gardens are said to have extended down to the river side, over the area now occupied by these low streets and a sort of quay. We knock at a humble door (a very humble door, for the originator of the scheme, Mr. Sutcliffe, was too truly benevolent to waste money upon architecture), with "Bath and Laundries" thereon inscribed. It is opened by an honest-looking, respectable man, as he has opened it for the last seventeen years -ever since its foundation, indeed. He is the whole of the staff-governor, housekeeper, secretary, accountant. He lives in two or three small rooms attached to the establishment, and devotes his whole time to its management. He had a wife to help him, but she is no more; now he does it all himself. "Bless 'ee, I like it," says he. "It's busy work enough, for I never go out except a Sundays: haven't taken a walk three times these seventeen years. But I like it." Easy to see that this manager is a very intelligent man of his class; working with a will-the root of all really good work. It can do him no harm to set down here his honest name— -Cox. Cox is evidently a character. He takes us into his little parlour-very tidy, and adorned with all sorts of curiositiesand, as preliminary information, gives us a printed paper, on which we read as follows: "Bath and Laundries, Milk Street.— The Committee have adopted the following low scale of charges, being far below the rates in most places, with a view to extend the benefits of the Institution to the largest possible number of persons. Charges in the wash-house.-For the use of a tub and boiler, one halfpenny per hour. Drying and ironing (small articles), one halfpenny per dozen; ditto, ditto, large, one farthing each. N.B.-One penny must be paid on entrance, and the remainder before the clothes are taken away. Charges for Baths.-Firstclass (hot or cold), threepence; secondclass (ditto, ditto), twopence. N.B.-The baths for women are in a separate part of the buildings, and are provided with female attendance. A female bather may take one child under seven years of age, into the bath with herself, without additional charge." more Very simple, cheap, and admirable arrangements-with which, on investigation, we are the more pleased. The baths are as good as any ordinary Queen elevated the half-forgotten city by granting her a charter, and assigning "of her Majesty's abundant grace, certain knowledge, and mere motion," ""all and singular such and the same waters, baths, &c." to the "mayor, aldermen, citizens, and to their successors, for ever." Which "for ever" still remains in force, one only exception being made -the Kingston or Roman bath, which is private property. The next notice of Bath is by old Samuel Pepys-who certainly had no slight regard for his body, whatever he might have had for his soul-" Looked into the baths and find the King's and Queen's full of a mixed sort of good and bad-and the cross only almost for gentry. So home with my wife: and did pay my guides, two women 5s. and one man 2s. 6d." Henceforward Bath gradually became a fashionable resort: for the sick to gain health, for the sound to enjoy it. Every pains was taken both to preserve and to entertain those frail bodies, so troublesome yet so dear to us all. Souls, it is to be feared, were rather at a discount-at least to judge by Miss Burney's; Miss Austen's and Miss Ferrier's novels, and by the historical and biographical records of the time-probably less veracious than these admirable fictions. Yet even then and there-though society was at its lowest ebb of frivolity -must have existed much of that large, loving, noble human nature which is found everywhere indestructible. How many a touching and heroic episode may, nay, must have been enacted along these very streets, and within those squares and crescents of dignified oldfashioned houses-whose frontage of white Bath-stone is darkening slowly into sombre harmonious grey. Young gentlewomen, who, in spite of hoops, sacques, paint, and patches, made the tenderest of nurses to exacting old age: young gentlemen, who under flowing wigs, and ruffled shirt-breasts carried sound heads and faithful hearts-and made honest love to those said gentlewomen along Pulteney street, the Circus, Pump-room itself or opposite the wonderful "Jacob's ladder" which makes the curious ornamentation of the Abbey door. All, all are away: dropped with their numberless, forgotten joys and sorrows into the peaceful dust. Their life is now-as each of ours shall soon be "No more than stories in a printed book.” But the city still remains-though changes have come over her too—and in the gradual ebbing of the tide of fashion, Bath has for many years been left, like a faded beauty, to devote herself no longer to the decoration and disportation, but to the sanitary preservations of bodies— and also souls. For she is, as before stated-a most religious city. Laborare est orare is certainly not her motto. Most of her inhabitants have nothing in the world to do, except to pray. That they do pray, and very sincerely-none would wish to deny. But it might be as well for them, as for most other religious communities, if they would mingle with their orisons a little less of the sounding brass and tinkling cymbal, and a little more of that most excellent gift of charity. Then they would cease disputing about the respective virtue of closed pews and open pews, lecterns and reading-desks :--and a "kettle-drum". (an innocent afternoon party, in demitoilette, for sociality, music, tittle-tattle, and tea,) would be esteemed no more irreligious, possibly a little less so, than those extraordinary and anomalous dissipations-technically termed Bible routs -where the élite of pious Bath assembles in full dress for scripture reading and expounding-coffee, ices, conversation, psalms and prayers. Nevertheless, Bath is a fair, virtuous, decorous city; containing the average, or beyond the average, of good and kindly people-or so it appears, to judge by her long list of charities. Rarely has any city, so small, so many apparent outlets for her benevolence. These comprise ancient foundations: Blue Alms, Black Alms, Grammar and Blue mediæval, a Penitentiary, and so on. Add to these, that every one of the numerous churches and chapels has its own working schemes of schools, districtvisitings, Dorcas and other charities, and we may conclude that the poor of Bath are tolerably well cared for. Shall we see how? It will take but a short walk, this sharp but cheery winter day; the narrowness and compactness of the city's limits being a great advantage to us as well as to its charities. Let us begin at the very beginning. How shall we attack poor people's souls -through their bodies, mind-except by the first principle of purification-cleanliness, which is emphatically pronounced to be "next to godliness?" I have always had a deep faith in that virtue. I believe earnestly the saying, that a man is not near so ready to commit a crime when he has got a clean shirt on; and that the sense of self-respect and inward purity which accompanies a well-washed body, generally, more or less, communicates itself to the soul. A working-man is always more of a man, more decent and wellconducted, more fit to go to church, or go a-courting, after he has "cleaned himself;" and a working-woman-a respectable mechanic's wife, or civil maidservant-will be none the less civil and respectable for assuming, toil being over, a tidy apron, face and hands. So let our first peregrination be to certain baths and laundries, built close by the river side, in Milk Street- -a street which might have been especially chosen for the purpose, as it and the adjoining Avon Street are principally inhabited by sweeps. It was not always so. This region, now the lowest in Bath, was, not so very long since, noted for handsome residences. Kingsmead House, which still remains, forming one portion of Kingsmead Square, must have been the finest of all, and its gardens are said to have extended down to the river side, over the area now occupied by these low streets and a sort of quay. We knock at a humble door (a very humble door, for the originator of the scheme, Mr. Sutcliffe, was too truly benevolent to waste money upon architecture), with "Bath and Laundries" thereon inscribed. It is opened by an honest-looking, respectable man, as he has opened it for the last seventeen years -ever since its foundation, indeed. He is the whole of the staff-governor, housekeeper, secretary, accountant. He lives in two or three small rooms attached to the establishment, and devotes his whole time to its management. He had a wife to help him, but she is no more; now he does it all himself. "Bless 'ee, I like it," says he. "It's busy work enough, for I never go out except a Sundays: haven't taken a walk three times these seventeen years. But I like it." Easy to see that this manager is a very intelligent man of his class; working with a will-the root of all really good work. It can do him no harm to set down here his honest name- -Cox. Cox is evidently a character. He takes us into his little parlour-very tidy, and adorned with all sorts of curiositiesand, as preliminary information, gives us a printed paper, on which we read as follows: "Bath and Laundries, Milk Street.— The Committee have adopted the following low scale of charges, being far below the rates in most places, with a view to extend the benefits of the Institution to the largest possible number of persons. Charges in the wash-house.-For the use of a tub and boiler, one halfpenny per hour. Drying and ironing (small articles), one halfpenny per dozen; ditto, ditto, large, one farthing each. N.B.-One penny must be paid on entrance, and the remainder before the clothes are taken away. Charges for Baths.-Firstclass (hot or cold), threepence; secondclass (ditto, ditto), twopence. N.B.-The baths for women are in a separate part of the buildings, and are provided with female attendance. A female bather may take one child under seven years of age, into the bath with herself, without additional charge." more Very simple, cheap, and admirable arrangements-with which, on investigation, we are the more pleased. The baths are as good as any ordinary bath-room in a private house. We enquire who are the sort of people that avail themselves of such an easy luxury? Sweeps "No," replies Cox, gravely; we had only two sweeps the whole of last season." "And the poor people in the streets hereabouts-do they come?" "Never. Our bathers are chiefly mechanics, shop-girls from Milsom-street, and domestic servants. Not at all the class for which the place was started. They won't come. It's a great pity. Still, one sort or other, we get about thirty bathers a day; an average of 6,000 in the course of the year." Well, 6,000 clean-washed folks are not a bad thing. But the other statement only proves more and more that the lower a human being sinks, in moral and physical degradation, the greater is his aversion to water. Let the rising generation take from this a wholesome warning-and a daily bath. But the laundry, Cox said with pride, is much more popular-and among the class for which it was intended. One can imagine the comfort it must be to. any poor woman, whose whole establishment, perhaps, consists of but one room— to be supplied with all the materials for a family wash-except soap-and to be able to take back her poor bits of "things" at the day's end, dried, ironed, and aired; no incumbrance of wet, flapping clothes, or damp smell of hot water and soap-suds, to irritate the tired husband and drive him to the publichouse. Those women-seventy I believe there were upon whom we opened the door, and gradually distinguished them through the steaming atmosphere-each busy in her separate division-looked thoroughly comfortable, though many of them were very ragged, worn, and povertystricken. 8,000, Cox informed us, was the yearly average who used these washhouses; by which we may reckon 8,000 little or large families made comfortable and decent, so far as clean linen will do it. "And do they always conduct themselves decently-these women, who bring no certificate of character, no warrant of admission except their need and their or use ill-language, or steal one another's property-as must be so very easy to do?" Cox shakes his head smiling. "We have had only two dismissions for bad conduct in my time. As for stealingsometimes there are mistakes, but the clothes are always brought to my room for fair exchange. For bad words I never hear nothing, except now and then one of 'em will begin humming a little tune to herself; that's no harm, you know." Certainly not, quite the contrary. We do not stay long in our examination; the machinery of the place being much as it is in all public establisments; water heated by steam, stoves for the irons, and hot air presses for the drying. Besides, we cannot quite feel that we have any right to stare at or hinder these decent women who have paid their honest pennies for liberty to do their honest work. We pass on to the big coal-cellar, which feeds the big steamengine, which supplies the working power of all these arrangements. And there we are considerably amused to find, lying on the warm roof of the engine, a very good plaster nymph, with several extrinsic arms and legs, the work of a sculptor-I think we may say the sculptor of Bath-to whom Cox has long allowed the liberty of drying his casts here. Cox has evidently a taste for art; for he takes us into another room-his own work-roomwhich contains the labour of his life; a gigantic chair all encrusted with shells, the two arms formed in imitation of the sea-serpent, and the back of an equally ornamental and original design; more original than comfortable, we should suppose. A chair, not beautiful, but very curious, and exactly suited for a presidential chair of the Conchological Society, if there was one. Cox unveils it, and regards it with lingering affection. - "Yes, it took me many years and much labour, for which I shall never be paid, of course. I was advised to present it to the Prince of Wales, but, bless you, he'd never have it. It, and mous specimen of this shell-work"would do well in some big lord's conservatory; but who is to make 'em known, or who will come and buy them of a poor man like me? Well, I enjoyed working at 'em," says Cox with a patient sigh, as he covers up his labours of many years. We hope he may find a purchaser, for really the lovers of the grotesque and ingenious might do worse than buy. And so with hearty good wishes we leave worthy Cox, his baths and laundries, and make our way through the cutting east wind, which rushes like a charge of bayonets at every street corner, to the next place for advantaging 'poor folks' bodies-the soup kitchens, belonging to the "Society for improving the condition of the working classes in Bath." No doubt one of the best ways of doing this is by feeding them; not by promiscuous charity, which lowers independence that honest independence which is the best boast of both poor and rich-but by some means of supplying want, and obtaining for the same benefit fair payment. The soup-kitchens do this. At the head establishment, in Chatham Row, Walcot, and at the seven branch establishments distributed about the city, there is an uniform tariff of prices; one penny the half-pint and so on, when paid by the working-man himself, which price is doubled, when the expenditure is made in tickets to be given away as charity. And the Society especially begs that purchasers will not distribute these tickets promiscuously to beggars, but to the needy and deserving poor of the town. Any one who considers how extremely difficult it is for a poor labouring man, or even a respectable mechanic, to get a hot, wholesome, well-cooked dinner at all, will understand that it was a satisfactory sight, on this bitter winter noon, to see those long lines of decent-looking men eating their steaming portions off a clean, tidy board. A cheap dinnera penny bowl of soup and a halfpenny roll-and yet it was substantial enough for any man's needs-any gentleman's, either. "I assure you," said a very The interior working of soup kitchens is pretty well known-this of Bath is like most others. Meat is procured daily from six or seven of the most respectable butchers of the city, cut up in fragments, mixed with vegetables, and thrown into the great boilers which, during the winters of 1861-2 engulphed -how much, think you?-11,433 lbs. of beef, 35 sacks of onions, 107 sacks of peas, and of salt more than a ton. Out of this materiel, how many a hungry mouth must have been filled, and how many a busy workman sent cheerily back to his work all the better fitted to earn the family bread. And if, in truth, the nearest way to a man's heartnot to say his conscience-is through his stomach, the police-sheets of the Bath magistrates may have been lightened according as these soup-boilers were filled and emptied. They are, the attendant told us, emptied every day, and newly supplied with fresh meat and vegetables, lest the poor should imagine -as they are so prone to do-"Oh, anything is thought good enough for us." At this head kitchen all the soup is made, and thence distributed, in enormous cans, to the various branch depôts. People can either consume it on the spot, or carry it away with them. Last winter, from November, 1862, to April, 1863, the consumption was 73,080 quarts, and the number of consumers was 36,333average 300 per diem: the greatest number who ever came in one day being 563. The receipts across the counter amounted to 90,945 penny pieces-that is, 3787. 18s. 9d.-while 1637. 19s. was realized by the sale of tickets for benevolent distribution. This combined sum |