ing them in endowed institutions, which private charity could hardly be expected to provide, and which, in view of the varying numbers likely to use them at different times, could be managed more economically in connection with those that necessarily exist for the relief of destitution. At the same time, though considerations of economy and convenience suggest that such provision for deserving old persons as must be made inside institutions should be administered by the Guardians, it is clear that the treatment accorded to them ought to be very different from that meted out to the ordinary applicant for indoor relief. Loafers and those destitute through age may perhaps be received into the same building, but they should not be brought into contact there, nor should the stigma which attaches itself to the former ever be allowed to fall upon the latter class.

Where State action ends, that of private charity should begin, but the two should have at least one characteristic of organisation in common; for it seems most convenient that the organisation of both should depend, in great part, upon locality, the different local centres being so far linked together as to be able to supply one another with information at short notice. Further, since detailed knowledge of all the circumstances of the cases with which they have to deal is essential to a right solution, the size of these local centres ought to be confined within narrow limits. For, on the one hand, charitable agencies covering a wide area are likely to find themselves so overburdened with work that it is impossible for their executive committees fully to consider the claims of particular applicants for assistance, or to stand in such close relations with the poor that their gifts can be blended with friendliness and sympathy. Consequently the districts administered from local centres ought not to be very large. But, on the other hand, it must be remembered that it is generally easier to raise charitable funds when subscribers know that they will be employed in their own district; that the administrative areas should therefore be identical with those from which funds are drawn ; and hat these must not be so small that the resources of rich

districts like the West End of London become unavailable for coping with the problem of places like the East End.

Locality need not, however, be the only basis of division. Within the same district good work may be done by the separate charities of different religious denominations, provided only that they are brought together and harmonised by some such central body as a Charity Organisation committee. Churches and chapels have many advantages as centres of charitable action, for the ties between their members are generally closer than those subsisting between mere neighbours. Sympathy will probably be stronger, gifts can be more easily reinforced by kindness, and the distributor of relief is better able to find out the real condition of the people without giving offence. There is, of course, some danger that the clergy, with whom it generally rests to administer the charitable funds of religious communities, may be ignorant of the nature of the work they have to do, or may even be tempted to devote the funds at their disposal to the purchase of blankets and coal with which to bribe hypocritical parishioners to come to church. But there is no reason why these difficulties should not be overcome as a knowledge of the true principles of charity becomes more widely diffused. That were a consummation devoutly to be wished'; and when it is achieved local congregations will rank among the most useful of existing charitable agencies.

VII

THE CHURCH AND THE PEOPLE

O

I. THE LAITY.

F making many essays on the Church there is no end. But most of these take the standpoint of the ideal Churchman and lay down maxims for his guidance. Perhaps it may not be waste labour to take the standpoint rather of that great class whose need the Church professes to be able to supply—the labouring classes of our great cities. And the advantage of this lies in the fact that we start with no à priori theories of what the historic national Church may do, and with no fair picture of successful working in the generality of cases culled from certain honourable exceptions. If we look at the question with the eyes of the working man we may discover some truths which are unpalatable to our most cherished hopes and ideas, but there will at any rate be fewer disillusions.

What manner of man, then, is the working man, and how does he live? There are roughly three classes. The most numerous is the middle one of the three. It comprises the unskilled and less-skilled labourer who earns from twenty to thirty shillings a week. The main element of his life is monotony. The home life is monotonous, for there is no privacy. The working-time is monotonous, for there is no variety in the labour. The surroundings are monotonous, for all the dingy streets look alike. Yet life is divided into two absolutely separate compartments

Sunday and the week. The week consists of five days and a half. Every morning M. or N. will rise about five and be at work at six. This work, whether indoors in a factory or out of doors, will go on, with a break for breakfast and a break for dinner, till six in the evening, or sometimes later. Then comes the return home and the evening meal, when the wife and the children are in attendance, and there is often the subconscious feeling that at any rate some of the latter are in the way. Afterwards there is a journey to the public-house or rest beside the fire, and bed about ten o'clock.

Sunday begins on Saturday at midday. Then come the wages, and such of them as remain over after the necessary "treating" are given to the wife. The later part of the afternoon is probably spent at the public-house, and also the evening after supper. Sunday itself is indeed a day of rest. Breakfast takes place about eleven o'clock and is of a light nature. Then will follow a perusal of the Sunday paper in shirt-sleeves, while preparations are made by the rest of the family for the culinary climax of the week-the Sunday dinner. But about twelve the male population is generally to be seen, shaven but not wholly dressed, taking a constitutional in the streets till the public-houses open at one. Then exeunt omnes within them for two hours till the Christian State shuts them at three. This is the time for the Sunday dinner, which is followed by sleep or talks with a neighbour till the publichouses open and are filled at six.

The background of all this life of course is the home. And this is known to the outside world by the title of "the Housing Question." But to the working man it is no question of a discussion of possible solutions on a large scale. There is the immediate, everyday, unending though half-unconscious sense of confinement. Either two or three rooms on the average have to be a home for the father, mother, and a family increasing and growing up. And the weariness of the day's work can seldom look forward to the privacy of quiet which will make up for the strain of toil.

Such is the life of M. or N., labourer. It goes on from

the time of early youth until old age makes its continuance impossible. Except for a Bank Holiday four times a year there is no rest, no time off. The prevailing attitude of life is therefore materialistic. The two things that are certain are the satisfaction of eating and drinking and the requirement of propagating the species. Beyond this there is little time for thought, and what there is is not for edification.

Above this class there comes the higher stratum of the skilled artisan, the shop assistant, or the small clerk. With him, of course, the conditions of life are more favourable, for his income will range from thirty shillings to two pounds a week. He will probably begin work at eight instead of six, and will live in four rooms instead of three. But his daily work will be hardly more interesting, and the word "monotony" might be spelt over his life in just the same way.

Sunday is a great break in the week here too. But the pleasure is a little less materialistic than in the other case. The Sunday dinner is still the culminating point to the day, but the shirt-sleeves element tends rather to become a black-coated one. A new ideal, in fact, begins to appear -the ideal of outward respectability. This in a large degree rests on the fact of the extra room in the home. The sense of confinement gives place to a consciousness of expanse. The father need not always have his children with him. There is a sacred room where the blinds hang down all day and there are antimacassars. It is the parlour. And with the parlour there is less need for the public-house. The head of the house therefore prides himself on drinking at home, nor does he always go out to the bar.

The lowest class of the three is the criminal. He it is who is most generally associated in the mind with the vague term "slums." His life is depicted in thrilling novels with a purpose, dealing with social problems. He is not troubled with monotony, for life is always varied for him. He lives not by work so much as by its avoidance. Sunday is not a day marked off, for all days alike are good for the thief, the cut-throat, the kidnapper, the tramp.