by members of the association, who know them
to have lived three months in Bethnal-green—
none other are eligible—and who fill in a printed
form of recommendation, which they bring to
our labour-superintendent. This form must
be signed by a householder in the parish, as
well as one of the subcommittee, and is a
guarantee that we are giving employment to those
who really need it. But, in truth, no beggars
or idlers would attempt the work we give them."
"But," we urge, "as the labour is so hard, and
as the vestry purchases the broken granite
from you for road-mending, what becomes of
the donations of the charitable when sent to
the committee?" The explanation is easy.
The cost of the granite and labour is more
than the selling price of the granite broken
up, and the wages paid—the eighteen-pence a
day—have to be made up out of the funds
of the association. The difference between
disbursement and receipt amounts to from two
shillings to two shillings and a penny a ton.
"We cannot tell you the exact quantity broken,
as the surveyor has not been able to measure it up
yet, but we imagine that they break about two
hundred to three hundred tons a week. The
street-sweepers have special directions to
cleanse out all the filthy corners which are
to be found in many parts, and for that
purpose are supplied with pails and, where needed,
disinfectants. During the recent snowfall,
they kept the footways of the main thoroughfares
clear, which, was a great good. Our
outdoor work system is—at eight the men answer
their numbers, are 'measured up' in gangs of
six; five under care of one, who is distinguished
by a numbered badge on arm. The parish is
divided, each part being overlooked by a super-
ganger, who visits each gang and reports
whether working or idle, points out to them any
extra dirty place, and sees that work is done.
At twelve all leave for dinner, at one they are
called again, answer their numbers; at four they
are paid. Then the numbers are consecutively
called; the man repeats his name; if right, the
check clerk gives a sign, and the labour-
master hands out the day's pay. Unless
disturbed by any unpleasantness, three
hundred may be thus paid and checked in half an
hour."

We are next invited to test some of the
commissariat arrangements established in connexion
with the Employment and Relief Association;
and we leave the arches. We plod through
dirty thoroughfares, and by the side of sordid
wretched alleys to that substantial oasis of
comfort and luxury, Columbia-square. Turning
down by the west side of this, we come upon
its splendid next door neighbour, Miss Coutts's
new market, the beauty and pure architectural
taste of which make it one of the most
remarkable edifices in London, and are
introduced to the manager of the soup kitchen,
to at once recognise an old friend. That
rosy face, that grey-headed-boy look, that
simple earnestness and hearty conviction of
manner, are all familiar. The Belgian gentleman,
their owner, presided at a dinner I
helped to eat some three years ago, and made
speeches which were quite Anglican in their
length and complication on providing food for
the poor, in which art he is an adept. On
this occasion a couple of steaming basins of soup
soon cleared our comprehension of this peculiar
English. These basins held a pint each, and
we finished every drop. Could we have it
taken away in our own jugs, it would have
been served to us at a penny a pint; but
as we consumed it "in the coffee-room"
with bread, we paid three-halfpence. It was
comforting, nourishing, substantial. There was
not a touch of "poor soup" about it, and
the man who carried a pint of this excellent
compound under his waistcoat would not
be badly prepared for stone-breaking. Thick
and what London boys call "stodgey," it
is something between a soup and a stew, and
redolent both of vegetables and meat. There
was no affectation in the enjoyment either of
the genii with me or myself. We finished our
basins because we liked them; and not out
of any fanciful philanthropy as to doing what
others did. Indeed, at this time we were the
only people in the room. The regular dinner-
hour was past, and the mid-day work over, so
our benignant Belgian stood over us and
ministered to our wants like some elderly cherub
with a genius for cooking.

Not the least pleasing part of the business
is that our friend makes it pay. He
has kitchens and restaurants in various parts of
London, at which you may obtain, from seven
in the morning till nine at night, not merely
the soup I speak of, but such dishes as spiced
beef at a penny a portion, or a suet pudding for
the same price, roast meat for sixpence, and
boiled and stewed meat, meat puddings or pies
for fourpence. I can't pretend to say how this
is done. Competent people assure me that
our friend's system of accounts is admirable;
but, although you certainly may "cook"
accounts, you can't well eat them, and this
purveyor's things are all savoury and good.
Good beef and mutton purchased by himself and
paid for in ready money are his staples, and it is
by economical management and careful cooking
that he contrives to feed people well for a few
pence, and to make a comfortable profit for
himself. The capital pea-soup we have just
consumed is taken down to the stone-breakers
at their dinner-hour, and sold to those who like
it at a penny a bowl. There is no pretence of
charity in this. Our Belgian has the privilege
of vending his food at his own price to a
collection of customers who are glad enough to
buy it, but that is all. Cooking and charity
are distinct virtues, and the committee wisely
decline to mix them together. But this admirable
supply of cheap food can be dealt with on
commercial principles, and is abundantly "worked"
for charitable purposes as well. Printed books of
tickets can be bought by the benevolent either
at the depot in Columbia-market, or at Messrs.
Hatchard's, in Piccadilly, and these, if sent to