"Well, sir, he's eighty-five, and his sight's
failing, but his hearing's as good as ever!"
This discovery rather weakened the spirit of
our cross-examination; but time pressed, and
we passed to what was called the old men's
day-room. The pseudo deaf man, who, though
confined to his bed, looked as hale and strong
as any of us, had been a soldier, then a wanderer,
then a farm-labourer, but "had never made
himself a home," and was locally known as a
boisterous Lothario up to the time of his
accident "a long time ago, I don't exactly know
how long, but he was here when we came in
1855."

A corner cupboard containing an odd volume
of a religious work, a soap-dish and shaving-
brush, three stale crusts, two small bits of
cooked meat, and some odd cups and saucers;
a table, a bench, and a Windsor chair with
unnaturally long legs, which lifted it from the
ground like stilts, and a cottage interior to
match the rest, made up the old men's day-room.
A pauper, recently deceased, had laboured
under a spinal infirmity which compelled him
to sit in a certain position, and the chair had
been altered by order of the guardians for his
benefit. The other inmates, both male and
female, are too old and infirm for household
work, so a charwoman, and in time of
pressure two charwomen, are hired from the
village for as many days a week as are
necessary to keep the place in order.
Everything is on the same cozy scale. The
"infectious ward"—it really seems absurd to use
these titles when we recal the little place
—is the upper room of one of the cottages. It
is seldom used. How often? "Oh! perhaps
twice or three times a year, perhaps not so
much—we had a case of itch here last, but that's
five months ago. No, we've never any able-
bodied people here, and the others are nearly
all of the same class as the old man you've
been talking to, who have never made
themselves a home. Our guardians relieve out more
than in; for if they can help people at their
own places, they prefer doing it to breaking up
their homes and forcing them into the house.
Do I consider it safe to keep two idiots and a
young man of suicidal tendencies together, with
their medicine bottles within reach to drink from,
or ply each other with? Well, it's some months
ago since the young man attempted his life
last, and he's been a good deal easier in his
mind lately. Indeed, sir, if you think the
Commissioners of Lunacy ought to know about
him, and that he shouldn't be kept here, I'm
sure I'll tell the board so, and I dare say they'll
have him moved. No, sir, I don't remember
that the gentleman from the Poor Law Board
ever mentioned this; but you shall see the visiting
book directly. May I ask if you're from the
Lancet, gentlemen? Yes! I thought as much
(smiling). Well, I hope you don't find us very
bad. I'm sure we try our best, and when
there's any one sick I don't think they're badly
cared for. I generally nurse myself, and the
ladies from the Hall and the clergyman's wife
often come to read to the inmates, and lend
them books as well; oh yes, the clergyman
visits the workhouse regularly. No, sir, there's
no service held here, but the ten pounds a year
is paid him for coming, don't you see, and he's
very good and kind, I'm sure."

Although we had reason to believe that
paupers —always excepting the male casuals, who
were evidently housed wretchedly on principle—
were properly treated in the main, the arrangement
under which the workhouse is hired
struck us as peculiar. One regulation of the new
Poor Law is, that "all contracts to be entered
into on behalf of the Union, relating to the
maintenance, clothing, lodging, employment, or relief
of the poor . . . . . shall be made and entered
into by the guardians;" and, in a note to this
clause, we find that "heavy penalties are
imposed on persons having the management of the
poor"— i.e. the guardians—"if concerned in
contracts for the supply of goods,"—" goods," in
this sense, obviously referring to lodging as well
as maintenance, " for the use of such poor."

This salutary regulation is, it is well known,
frequently evaded. The influential ratepayer,
who virtually returns a section of the
guardians, is a tradesman whose tenders are not
often refused; guardians have nephews, or
brothers, or wife's relatives, who sell bread, or
groceries, or meat, on such disinterested terms,
that it is the bounden duty of the parochial
board to deal with them; or guardians sell the
raw material out of which the goods for
contracts are made, and make their vote contingent
upon the tradesman buying of them in return.
These things are notorious; and the following
anecdote fairly illustrates the system. Not
many months ago, a contract for painting a
metropolitan workhouse was signed; and, in due
course, the painter entered upon his work.
On the first day a guardian, who is a wholesale
dealer in colours, looked in at the
workhouse during the dinner-hour, and while the
workmen were away, and in his intense
regard for the paupers' comfort, asked to see
the wards then being restored, that he might
judge for himself how the work was
performed. The good man then, without passing
a word of censure or comment, wrapped up
two minute specimens of the paint, put them in
his waistcoat-pocket, and walked quietly away,
first telling the workhouse-master to let the
contractor know of his visit. The next day
this guardian and colour-dealer received in
answer to his hint an order for the very paints
required to carry out the workhouse
contract; so that all unpleasant analyses of the
quality, or quibbles as to the work, were
promptly avoided. Here was no corruption,
no touting, no undue influence. What could
be more strictly in accordance with a high-
minded guardian's sense of duty than that he
should devote his special knowledge to the
ensuring fit materials for parish work being
used? And how could this end be better
attained than by examining them for himself?
On the other hand, the contractor was merely