Then sent by a gentleman to the Home. Nine
weeks in home. Can read and write.
Shoemaking.

W. S. Age, fifteen and three-quarters. Has
been baptised. Born, Whitby. Parents, dead.
Father at docks. Family left Whitby when
four years old. Father died nine months ago.
Lived with father till death. Working at paper-
stainer's. When father died, discharged, trade
being slack then. Two months on streets, selling
cigar lights, sweeping crossings, begging.
Has taken as much as two shillings in a day.
One night went to a casual ward, and was sent
up to the Home. Nine weeks there. Cannot
read nor write. Three times at school when
there. Shoemaking.

G. H. Age, sixteen and a half. Not baptised.
Baptist. Born, London. Father, dead.
Three years ago. Then went to work at papermills.
Six months there. Then joined a collier
six months, and left to join a schooner. Could
not join schooner, but went into a shrimp boat.
Left to try and get a ship. Couldn't succeed.
Had to go to the Union. Three or four months
there. Then went to Refuge. Four and a half
months there.

W. S. Age, fourteen and three-quarters.
Born, London. Parents, dead. Father
died four years ago. When father died, went to
workhouse. Sent from there to Sutton's
school, Surrey. Stopped there two or three
years. Left to find work in London. Couldn't
get any. Two months on the streets, sometimes
paying for lodgings, sometimes in casual
wards. Then went to Refuge. Eight or nine
months there. Shoemaking. Mother died
before father. Three sisters. One brother.
Does not know where he is.

W. C. Age, seventeen and three-quarters.
Born, Bridgewater, Somerset. Parents, living.
Father, hatter. Living now in London. All
came together. At home till eighteen months
ago. Working with father. Trade slack.
Obliged to leave. Went to uncle's, a travelling
cutler, who took charge of him, having no sons,
and being well to do. Left uncle because he
did not like him to go with other boys. Three
days on streets. Then went to Refuge, telling a
lie that his uncle had gone away, he did not
know where. Ten months there.

A. P. Age, thirteen and three-quarters.
Born, London. Parents, living. Father,
journeyman tailor. At home till a year ago. When
hearing there was to be a "good supper" at the
Refuge, went there. Had often run away from
home before, robbed father, &c. Went to
Refuge next day, told a lot of lies, no father, &c.,
and was taken in. Nine months in Refuge.
Has seen father since he has been on board.
Told father, "It's no use you trying to get me
home; I mean to go to sea." Father had tried
to get him to sea three weeks before the supper,
by taking him to the "Mariners' Society," but
he was not old enough for them.

J. S. Age, thirteen and three-quarters.
Don't know where born. Lived in London as
far as he can remember. Father died nine years
ago. Mother supposed alive. Not seen her for
two years. She used to sell fruit in the streets,
and get drunk. Left her because she couldn't
keep him. Has one brother in a Reformatory.
Three or four months on streets. Went to the
supper. Then taken into Refuge.

B. M. Age, sixteen and a half. Born, London.
Father died three years ago. Lived with
mother six months after father died. Eighteen
months then on and off away from his mother,
picking up jobs in Billingsgate. Mother about
the streets with no home. Drinks. Not kind
always. Ten months in Refuge. Went to the
supper first. Couldn't read when came to ship.
Did not learn in Refuge.

The foregoing little histories are fair samples
of the rest. They are also fair samples of
miniature autobiographies to be learnt at most
reformatories. Desire to make out a case, and
to interest the hearer by exciting his wonder or
commiseration, prevents him from putting
implicit faith in all he is told even by the most
artless little narrators. On the present
occasion we gathered, however, from the general
tenor of what was told us, that no boy
need sleep in a casual ward who is not slow
and stupid. He can always beg or "cadge"
enough to pay for his own supper and lodging,
if he be so minded. Old ladies and young children
are his most regular supporters; but the
general disposition to almsgiving prevalent in
London makes it easy for a sharp, unscrupulous
young vagabond to live by his wits. A reckless
independence, and an entire freedom from
restraint, compensate in some measure for the
uncertainties and vicissitudes of the career. But
the boys before us are wise enough to know that
the police-station and the prison form its inevitable
end; so that, after the meeting of a few
days since at Exeter Hall, when they were
marched at night through their old haunts, and
within sight and hail of many of their old
companions, not one of them attempted to desert or
to break the ranks.

Passing once more to the daily routine of the
ship, we find the great want to be a model
vessel on which ropes could be handled and sails
set in all weathers. These lads are only now
recovering from years of unwholesome living,
and their weak young arms cannot grapple with
the Chichester's tackle when it is wet or cold.
A full-sized model, which shall stand on the
main deck, and on which every portion of
practical seamanship can be taught, is the captain's
crying want. This can be got for some sixteen
pounds, and as accommodation for double
the number of boys, we see, is vacant for
want of funds, the longed-for model—small
as its cost would be—must be a luxury
deferred. The Chichester is but one branch of
a comprehensive scheme for reclaiming the
outcasts of our London streets. The honorary
secretary of the Great Queen-street Refuge, Mr.
Williams, acting with other gentlemen, has
instituted, and is instituting, establishments of
various characters, but with the same aim. They
believe that much of the crime and misery of