the whole group is a noble one. Foreigners
marvel when told that we lodge our old seamen
better than our Queen. But do we? It has
been ascertained by actual measurement, that
not only do the officials take the best bits, but
they occupy almost exactly one-half of all the
cubical space of the entire buildings—buildings
which cover seven acres of ground, besides the
open quadrangles and gardens. Here they live
in comfort with their wives and families; but
the wives and families of the old pensioners—
well, we shall see presently.

Those who have a right of admission into
Greenwich Hospital, as pensioners for their declining
days, are seamen and marines who have
rendered a regular service in the Royal Navy,
under conditions very technically laid down,
though varied from time to time. The merchant
seaman has nothing to do with the place, although
his sixpences in past years helped to
swell the fund out of which the establishment
is supported. A seaman is bandied about a
good deal, from Whitehall to Somerset House,
from Somerset House to Greenwich, from
one office to another, before the formalities of
his admission are settled; but when all is arranged,
he has his antiquated dress given to
him, and he is consigned to a particular ward, a
particular table, and a particular mess. Down
to the time of William the Fourth, the old fellows
had worn the same kind of knee-breeches
which had adorned their shanks for a century
and a quarter; but it then struck the Admiralty
mind that as sailors do not wear shorts when
in service, it is absurd to let their poor thin
legs get cold when age comes upon them; and
so breeches made way for trousers. The funny
three-cornered cocked-hat lived many years
longer; it did not make way for the round hat
till recently. The sleeping-rooms of the men are
divided into wards, each ward into cabins, and
each cabin contains from one to four beds. There
is very little in the cabin to take Ben Bunt's
attention off his bed; and as he is not allowed,
unless per favour, to lie on his bed in the daytime,
his cabin is little more to him than a
sleeping-place. The crack ward in the place,
King Charles's ward, open to visitors in the
daytime, exhibits something like smartness
in the cabins; but the others are less homelike
and comfortable. The wards and cabins are not
eating-places. Three times a day the veterans
(except those in the infirmary and the helpless
ward) assemble in one of the dining-halls, for
meals. At breakfast they have cocoa and bread.
At dinner they have roast meat, boiled fresh and
salt meat, boiled and baked puddings, rice and
maccaroni broth, pea-soup, and vegetables,
according to the days of the week and the season
of the year. For tea or supper (those two
meals being rolled into one), they have bread,
butter, and tea. And they have two pints of
beer per day. This dietary is certainly good,
and the quantity is sufficient for men who have
no hard work to do. The kitchens adjoin the
dining-halls, and visitors are freely admitted to
both. All is done as regular as clockwork. Of
course, if a man misbehaves, there is punishment
—expulsion without pension; fine; the
red cape (mustn't go out); and the yellow
sleeves (mess alone, and do the dirty work for
the others); but the number of delinquencies,
among the thirteen or fourteen hundred men, is
not glaringly large. The shilling a week tobacco-money
or pocket-money (so limited until
recently), given to each man, is cut up into a
number of little bits, according to the objects
regarded by him as comforts to be treasured.

Yes, comforts to be treasured. Many of the
pensioners are married; and the worst feature
in the place is the manner in which the poor
wives are treated. The royal founders of the
establishment certainly intended that something
should be done for pensioners' wives;
but (until very recently indeed) they were
ignored altogether; they had no home within
the building, no rations, no money. They had
a portion of the broken food from the dining-halls,
and they had such rations as were forfeited
by pensioners who went out on a short
leave of absence. A married pensioner was
allowed to draw tenpence a day instead of his
rations, in order that he might have his meals
with his wife or children outside the walls of
the Hospital; and this tenpence a day, with his
shilling a week pocket-money, made about seven
shillings per week, which was all he had wherewith
to feed himself, and to feed, clothe, and
lodge any who were dependent on him. Some
of the wives earned a little money in industrial
pursuits, some became chargeable to the parish,
some did worse, and some nearly starved. The
officials, as men of ordinary feeling, of course did
not like this state of things; but the system under
which they acted was inelastic, and reform could
only emanate from the Admiralty. The children,
also, were completely ignored; kind persons
within the establishment kept up a small
school for them, but it lacked money, system,
and countenance. The Royal Naval School, a
large and costly appendage to the Hospital, is
not available for these poor children, unless by
special favour. However, as most of the in-pensioners
are elderly men, their sons and
daughters comprise only a small number who
are still children. Widows are better off than
wives, in relation to this establishment; about
one hundred and fifty widows of seamen and
marines either receive pensions or are employed
in the building, to nurse the sick, and to mend
the linen and bedding of all. This picture exihibits
the state of matters as they were till
within the last four or five years; how far,
under the influence of a strongly expressed
public opinion, changes have since been made,
we shall see presently.

Greenwich Hospital is really a very wealthy
establishment, and its revenues have accrued in
many singular ways. During the reign of
Queen Anne, her brother Prince James thought
fit to fight for the crown, of which his Roman
Catholicism had deprived him. He is known in
history as the Pretender; and, in his unfortunate
proceedings of seventeen hundred and fifteen,