anxious to please his customers; and if one
of them furnished the paints himself, it was
scarcely likely that the board would be
dissatisfied; or questions arise as to an inferior
description being used, or less work being
given; or on the contract generally being
performed in a slovenly but inexpensive fashion.
The tacit understanding manifested between
guardian and contractor was beautifully simple,
and in large towns, where parochial boards are
mainly composed of small tradesmen, there is
no reasonable doubt that similar practices
prevail almost universally. But in the agricultural
districts, where country gentlemen,
magistrates, and their friends serve as guardians,
where a patriarchal interest is supposed to be
felt in the poor people of the township, or the
estate, we expect matters to be managed without
taint of jobbery. Yet, in the establishment
we are visiting, where we find so much to
praise and so comparatively little to blame, the
chief guardian lets the workhouse to the rest,
and draws his rent from the poor-rates he
administers!

It is possible that no very serious wrong
ensues. It is possible that the ratepayers are
better served than if a workhouse were built in
another portion of the parish; and it is
probable that the paupers are more kindly treated,
when the squire of the parish serves in the
double capacity of landlord and chief guardian.
But that the practice is loosely illegal, and open
to grave abuse, there cannot be a doubt.
Suppose a man to be less high-minded than
there is reason to believe this present chairman
to be. Suppose other guardians coalesced to
purchase, build, and let to each other for the
use of the poor. Suppose land to be owned
by one guardian, bricks made by another,
building undertaken by a third, and so on—what
check have we then? The answer is, the Poor
Law Board, which, through its representative,
the district inspector, undertakes to see that
the law is properly observed. Let us turn, then,
to the visiting-book, and see how the official
visitor, who is already celebrated for his
discharge of duty at Farnham, has performed this
duty. His inspections have been made with great
regularity twice a year, and " Wards in good
order," "Satisfactory," "Very satisfactory,"
form the staple of his monotonous remarks. Not
a syllable concerning sanitary arrangements,
closets, cesspools, classification, or the ownership
of the house. Not a grumble, scarcely a
suggestion. That some vegetables should be
moved from one empty room to another, is
positively the most important recommendation made
for years. Another entry, in which some minor
alterations are suggested, has under it, as the
guardians' minute thereupon, "refer to the
landlord, and request him to make the changes
advised." That is, refer to our chief, and see
whether he will put his hand in his pocket, as
owner, to satisfy a request officially made by
himself as guardian. Comment is needless
upon a system of control which makes this
state of things possible, and we left the
workhouse honestly wondering that its abuses
are so few.

Then came the question, argued earnestly and
anxiously on our way home—How are securities
to be made stronger, and laxity and cruelty less
frequent? Our answer was—Publicity. Our
workhouses must no longer be close boroughs,
jobbed and managed, or mismanaged, by a clique
or coterie. Inspection must be in the hands
of the ratepayers, as well as of an official
who lives in the county, who is on terms of
friendly intimacy with the guardians, and who,
having reported for the last thirty years that
everything is in capital order, cannot well eat
his own words, and stigmatise wards and
infirmaries as imperfect now. At present, a
painstaking inspector is to be pitied, for he has no
reward but unpopularity and a conviction that
in the most careful of his investigations he
is beating the air. He reports unfavourably
to the Poor Law Board, and a letter is sent from
Whitehall to the country guardians, advising that
the recommendations made by their officer be
carried out. The guardians—we are quoting
no imaginary case, but one which is constantly
occurring—either order the official communication
to "lie on the table," or argue the point
with their Whitehall censors, showing how,
with all due respect for the inspector in
a general way, they cannot but feel that in this
particular instance he is utterly wrong, and
they must therefore decline to incur the
expenditure advised. Then comes a pause.
Meanwhile the months roll on, and the inspector
visits the workhouse again, sees the same abuses,
reports as before, and another official letter is
sent to the guardians. This is either
unanswered, or again answered as we have said.
What happens then? Is the department
irritated, or stimulated into action, or hurt at its
own powerlessness? Not a bit of it. "Put by"
is written on the papers relating to what is called
"that troublesome case," and the matter drops
into oblivion, the inspector becoming known
as a man giving needless trouble. It may
be a foul drain, killing off its tens or hundreds
every year; a mode of dispensing medicines
which ensures fatal accidents from blundering;
or a defect in an infirmary ward which is slowiy
torturing the helpless into their graves. No
matter. The Poor Law Board "has the honour
to be," and, having acknowledged a report and
made a request, comfortably washes its hands
of the business, and feels it has done its duty.
"The Poor Law Board," said a chairman of a
board of guardians in conversation the other day,
"appeal to the Poor Law Board! strengthen the
Poor Law Board! Why, it's the greatest sham
and obstructive of us all. Guardians are bad
enough, and stupid enough, and sometimes
corrupt enough; but for downright causing of
evil, the government 'safeguard' is the worst
of all. We've never applied to it for advice
in a difficulty, and had a satisfactory answer.
Many a time have the obstructives at our board
—the fellows who've but one notion of a pauper,
something to starve, or put down, or get rid of