a scale when the customer wasn't looking. Half
an hour ago he was saying, " Yes, sir," " Thank
you, sir," "Any other article, sir?" " Most happy
to send it for you, sir;" and now he is a very
Pluto among these penniless paupers, withering
their pale souls with a scowl. Another guardian
arrives, but still another is required to constitute
a board. Emissaries are sent out to hunt up
the stragglers, and cover is broken at the " Pig
and Tinder-Box," as a neighbouring public-house
is facetiously called. Guardian number three,
who has just been fortifying himself with what
is commonly known to the gentlemen of the
vestry as a " drain," is at last secured, and
business begins. The presiding genius, who
happens to be the " bad 3 un" on this occasion,
is seated in an arm-chair, surmounted by the
royal arms, signifying that he holds his commission
from her Gracious Majesty the Queen.
The beadle introduces a poor woman with a
child in her arms. " Now, then, look at the
chairman, and say what you have got to say."
The poor woman begins a pitiful story about
her poverty and misfortune; but is immediately
stopped by the chairman. " Oh, we haven't got
time to hear all that. We can't keep you any
longer; you must be discharged." " Discharged
this day" is immediately written in the book,
and the woman with the child in her arms is
hurried from the room, and in a few minutes
finds herself outside the workhouse gates,
friendless, homeless, and penniless. Half a
dozen other lying-in cases are disposed of in the
same summary manner. The guardians will
hear nothing; the women have been so many
days in the workhouse, and that is enough.
They must now turn out, and shift how they can.
If they cannot endure hunger and a bed on the
cold streets, there is relief for them in the canal.

A pale sickly-looking man is now brought in
from the infirmary, and is called upon to answer
to the guardians for his very audacious conduct
in being ill, and being a burden to the ratepayers.
The doctor, who shows as much kindness
to the inmates as his position will allow,
explains that the man has been ill for several
weeks, but has now got over the worst. The
guardians immediately jump to the conclusion
that the man is well enough to be discharged,
and he is discharged accordingly. The poor
invalid pleads for a shilling or two to keep him
from starvation until he gets some employment.
"Certainly not," says a guardian who has just
entered the room, and who has not heard a
word of the case; " certainly not. You hought,
as a Christian, to be thankful for what you 'ave
got, instead of trying to do the guardians out of
the ratepayers' money." "Discharged this
day." And the poor, weak, bloodless creature
speedily finds himself in the street, without a
penny in his pocket. There is no consideration
for the present condition of these wretched men
and women. They may be as destitute and
helpless as when they first entered the
workhouse but that is nothing to the guardians, who
consider that they have done their duty, if they
have kept them a certain number of days.

The hour appointed for the meeting of this
board is half-past nine, but it is not until noon
that the guardians begin to muster in force.
The business will be finished now in half an hour,
and at one the guardians dine at the expense of
the ratepayers. One or two of the guardians,
shirking the duties of the board altogether, have
already found their way into the kitchen.

"Well, cook, what have you got for us
today?"

"Sirloin of beef, sir. Look here!" and the
cook pulls back the screen, and discloses a prime
sirloin, dripping with rich brown gravy. " Am
I right, sir?" says the cook, tapping the sirloin
with his knife.

"Right you har, old feller," says the
guardian, "if you haven't forgot the Yorkshire
pudd'n'."

"Ha! ha! sir," laughs the cook; " look

here — — " But at this moment an excited

guardian runs in, and exclaims:

"I say, look sharp! The cellar is bein' shet
up."

This intimation acts like magic upon the
guardians, who immediately clear out of the
kitchen, and scamper across the yard to the
cellar. The custodian of this department is just
closing it.

"Oh, come, I say, this won't do," says a
guardian.

"Not a bit of it," says another; " we ain't
going to be done in this way."

"How are yer?" says a third, addressing the
cellarman in a friendly and coaxing manner.
"Ain't going away yet, surely?"

The butler unlocks the door, and the whole
party enter the cave of delight.

"Glasses, gentlemen," says the paupers'
butler, offering tumblers.

"No glass for me," answers the " bad 'un."
"I ain't partickler. This here will do." And
he seizes a dirty pewter pot and hands it to be
filled.

And so the guardians fill and fill again, and
pledge each other in the liquor purchased with
the money of the ratepayers for the benefit of
the sick poor. As one o'clock approaches, they
leave the cellar and proceed to the board-room,
at the door of which, as the hour strikes, the
cook, in a clean white apron, appears and
announces "dinner." " Look out, now," says
an inmate to the shivering crew of paupers in
the passage, " or you'll all be knocked over."
"Clear the way for the gentlemen, will you?"
cries an official. And immediately out come the
guardians in an ugly rush, each one bringing
his chair with him, and all scattering the paupers
right and left in their eager haste to reach the
feeding-room.

The charges for these weekly feasts have been
again and again disallowed by the Poor Law
Board, but they are always admitted by the
vestry, and so the weekly dinner is continued
in open defiance of the Poor Law Board, and of
every other authority whatsoever.

Is parochial blundering and bouncing to go
on for ever? Has the monster of incapacity