OVER-POPULATION:
A MALTHUSIAN LAMENTATION.

In making some inquiries relative to the state of the criminal population, my husband found it necessary to visit a low lodging-house, the abode of thieves and pickpockets. He there became acquainted with "Dan," and (from his returning some money that was given him to change) took such a fancy to him, that he determined to try whether the lad, who had resisted the temptation (for he could have gone off with the money with great ease), could not—if taken from his wretched and demoralizing associates—be induced to withstand all other temptations.

The boy (for he was but fourteen years of age), on being questioned, expressed a wish to change his mode of living, and he was brought home to me. When my husband told me what motives he had in taking charge of the lad, I must confess that in the impulse of the moment I thought it a worthy thing to do; for in my innocence I imagined that all thieves merely wanted some one to take them by the hand to put them in the way of getting an honest living.

In the evening we talked over a variety of plans for the boy's reformation. He was to be sent to school and well educated. There were many good men to be found, we were convinced, that would feel proud to take charge of him; and when he left school we were to put him to some trade or other. I really believe, in our own minds, we imagined that we should live to see him a great man! Who knew but that he might one day be Lord Mayor of London; stranger things than that, we both agreed, had occurred to poor boys. That he would ever return to his evil practices appeared to us impossible, if we would but look upon him as the good member of society that we wished him to become.

Little, alas! did we then know of the annoyance and trouble our "Pet Thief" would cause us!

The appearance of the poor shoeless creature was anything but prepossessing. His cheek-bones were high; his hair was cut close on the top, with a fringe of locks, as it were, left hanging in front; and he wore an old plaid shooting-jacket, that was black and shining with grease, and fastened together with pieces of string.

The first thing to be done was to make him take a bath. He had a great horror of washing, and seemed to look upon it as quite a barbarism. Some clothes were got together by subscription among the members of the family—one contributing a coat, another a pair of boots, and so on; but he looked, I think, worse in our things than he did in his own. The coat reached his heels, and was so large (my husband being corpulent) that the boy had difficulty in keeping in it.

We arranged that he should sleep out of the house, so we hired a bedroom for him at a coffee-shop in the neighbourhood. I thought I could find him work in the house by day, and so keep him employed under our own eyes, and prevent his returning to his old practices and companions until we could get him into some school. He was so eager to begin learning, however, that I offered to teach him myself while we were seeking a proper master for him.

For a day or two he was quite a "pattern boy;" but he soon got tired of his lessons with me, and was anxious to be placed at school. Anything for change: his disposition and previous mode of life forbade his remaining in one place, or at the same occupation, for any length of time.

The third morning after his coming to us, while we were at breakfast, "Dan" entered the room, and requested, in a most mysterious manner, to speak with my husband. He was told that he was quite at liberty to communicate what he had to say before the family; but he pointed to me, and replied, "I don't want to speak afore her," so I quitted the apartment. As soon as I had gone, the boy told my husband that he must get him to buy him a small-tooth comb; his head was in such a dreadful state, he said, that he thought he had better have one directly. When my husband informed me of the object of the mysterious visit, I felt cold all over; for I remembered how close I had sat to him during his lessons the previous day. Then I thought of the children, and began to repent of ever having admitted such a person into the house.

But this was only the beginning of my annoyances with the boy. My husband thought it would be a good "moral lesson" for our children to let them know that "Dan" had been a thief, and that he had been in prison a great many times; but that he had resolved to become a good boy, and that was our reason for having him with us. This, however, instead of having the effect intended, made the children look upon "Dan" as an object of great interest, so much so, indeed, that they were always wanting, whenever they saw him, to ask him something about the prison, "whether the policeman had really taken him away, and whether it was true he had only bread and water in gaol?"

One morning, on going downstairs, I discovered (to my great horror) our little boy, with his mouth wide open, seated on "Dan's" knee, listening most attentively to some story. Upon questioning the child I found that our "pet pickpocket" had been telling the little fellow of the fun it was to go "sawney hunting," which I afterwards learnt was stealing pieces of bacon from shop doors.

The Sunday evening after this the cook, who was naturally timid, had been left at home with Dan alone, it being the other maid's "Sunday out." They were both sitting very comfortably talking by the fire-light (for it was winter time) when Master Dan thought fit to tell the girl all about his previous life. He gave her some very vivid illustrations of housebreakings and informed her that Sunday night, when the family had gone to church, was their best time. He also told her of the many times that he had been in Newgate, and that once he had been taken up on "suspicion" of highway robbery; it was an old woman he helped to rob, and he told of the "lark" they had with her, and of how they had left her with her hands and feet tied together in a ditch.

All these stories so terrified the poor girl that she felt convinced that the boy meant to take advantage of the tranquillity of that Sunday evening, "their best time," to serve her as he had done the "old woman;" so she rushed to the street door in her fright, and there we found her on our return home, crying and in a dreadful state of excitement. She vowed that she would quit the house the very next morning, and she wondered how we could leave her with a "common pickpocket." I tried to quiet her (for she was a very good girl, and I did not wish to part with her), by telling her that we wished to reform the lad; but nothing would pacify her save his leaving the house; so I told my husband that he must really find a school for the boy, or we should be left without servants.

He accordingly went in search of a school. It was wonderful to see how anxious the masters were to have the youth, until my husband informed them (for it was considered but right to do so), that the boy he wished to introduce to them as a pupil had lately been an inmate of Newgate. On hearing this they invariably assured him that there was a school "just up the street" that was the very thing he wanted. Upon visiting the establishment "just up the street," however, he found the master was astonished that the "head" of such a school as the previous one should refer my husband to him, for he was sure that Mr. ——'s school was the very place for such boys—nevertheless, as Mr. —— had refused to take the lad, there was an academy a short distance from that establishment that, he was sure, would not shut their doors against him. But upon going there it was the old story over again, and we soon discovered that it was impossible to find any respectable establishment willing to take charge of our young thief.

We were at last obliged to give up all idea of getting him into any school, so we thought the best thing to be done was to try and find him a situation. In the meantime he got tired of the work he was directed to do, and would sit all day long looking at the fire without taking the least notice of any one; and if told that he should occupy himself in some way or other, he would turn sullen, and mutter something between his teeth about his being promised to be put to school, and why wasn't he sent to school when that was all he wanted?

I found that my meat began to disappear in a most mysterious manner. One day the half of a goose went no one knew where. I suspected "Dan;" my husband was indignant (for he wished to think the boy had forgotten his bad habits), and said, "It was easy for the servants to make out that Dan had purloined it." This annoyed me so much that I did not hesitate to tell my husband that I saw clearly we should have no peace in the house until the boy was provided with a situation out of it.

At last the long-looked-for situation was found. It was at a large wholesale stationer's. The proprietor was made acquainted with the boy's whole history, and he promised to do all he could to effect his reformation. But upon Dan's going to him, the gentleman was so taken aback by the boy's expression, that he sent a polite note stating—"That he should really be afraid, from his looks, to have such a character in his establishment."

In a few days afterwards he was on his way to America.

The last we heard of him was that he and several "reformed criminals" from the London ragged schools were "working" (as the thieves call it) the city of New York. In conclusion, it is but right I should add that, although the boy while with us was frequently trusted with money to change, he never defrauded us of a sixpence.

N.B. The above has been written as a hint to certain philanthropic gentlemen, that the bosom of a quiet family is not exactly the place in which to foster and reclaim a London pickpocket.