‘Please, sir, I want a summons.’ It was application time, and the speaker who stood in the witness-box was a boy of about twelve, evidently from a comfortable home. He wore a good Eton suit of clothes, and his collar was immaculate. ‘Whom do you want a summons against?’ he was asked. ‘My father, sir.’ The magistrate looked at him and asked: ‘What has your father done to you?’ ‘Please, sir, he has assaulted me.’ ‘That was very wrong of your father. Why did he do so?’ ‘Please, sir, he said that I had been rude to my sister.’ ‘Did he, though? Yes, you can take a summons.’ ‘Please, sir, how much will it be?’ ‘Two shillings, my little man.’ ‘Please, sir, I am under twelve. Can’t I have it half-price?’ ‘Oh no, my boy; we have no half-price summonses.’ ‘But I have only one shilling, sir.’ ‘Then you must go and get another before your summons can be issued.’

The boy went, and those of us who heard his application naturally thought we had seen the last of him. We were wrong, for in a short time he came back with another shilling, and the summons was issued. In due time father and son were before the court, the boy as prosecutor and the father as defendant. The father, a portly, well-dressed man, was boiling with rage, and could scarcely restrain himself whilst the boy gave evidence and told how his father had beaten him. ‘Has your father ever assaulted you before?’ the magistrate asked. ‘No, sir; this is the first time.’ ‘I am sorry for that,’ the magistrate said, ‘because I am going to dismiss the summons—on one condition only, and that is that your father takes you home and gives you a double dose of what he gave you last time.’ And turning to the father: ‘And mind you do it, sir.’ ‘I will cheerfully carry out your worship’s instruction,’ the father said. And there is no doubt he did. So the young hopeful lost his two shillings and got a second thrashing.

That boy interested me: I thought I might learn something if I made an official call. So one evening I called, and was fortunate enough to find the boy and mother at home; the father had not returned from business. I told them who I was, and referred to the summons, and asked whether the father had carried out the magistrate’s wish. ‘Yes,’ said the mother, ‘he did; and he would have given him more if I had not stopped him.’ I found that both father and mother belonged to that numerous class of parents who ‘never allow anyone to beat their children.’ These were the words of the mother, and the father, too, had acted on the same principle, for he had removed this boy from two schools because the teacher had given him physical chastisement, and in one case he had written to the master threatening to take police court proceedings against him.

Of course, the inevitable result followed, and there came a time at home when punishment had to be given. The boy said sullenly to me: ‘He makes row enough when anybody else touches me. I should not have thought about a summons, I did not know anything about summonses, till I heard him threaten to summon the teacher.’ I did not feel so sure about the justice of the magistrate’s decision after hearing that.

Now, these parents are typical of a large class that exists in the middle and lower walks of life. Heaven help the children! for in most cases the parents pile up misery for them. The lives of teachers at our Board and Church schools would not be tolerable were it not for the wisdom and common-sense of our London magistrates. Many are the irate and voluble women that rush into our courts applying for summonses against school-teachers, very few of which are granted. It is not an edifying spectacle to see a worthy magistrate inspecting some young urchin to ascertain whether undue chastisement has been given, but it is not an uncommon sight. ‘Look at him yourself. You would not like one of your children served like he is. He is black and blue all over.’ And the magistrate looked. ‘Pooh!’ he said. ‘Is that all? I have had it worse than that many a time, and am all the better for it. I shan’t give you a summons. Take the boy away, and tell him to behave properly.’ But sometimes, when the parents can afford it, a solicitor makes application on their behalf, and assures the magistrate that the punishment has been excessive, and that medical evidence will be forthcoming. A summons is then granted, and the matter comes before the court.

Only a few months ago such a case came before one of our courts. An exceedingly well-dressed woman had obtained a summons against a school-teacher for beating her child, a boy under four years of age, who had attended school for nearly a year. He was a plump, robust, restless child, dressed in blue velvet and cream lace. The case occupied some hours in settlement, two solicitors and doctors being interested in it, besides some half-dozen witnesses. I closely watched the mother and infant, and saw that she herself had not the slightest control over the boy. He was restless, and would be meddling. She spoke to him several times without any effect, and twice at least she snatched his arm with considerable violence, but he paid no heed; evidently he was under no discipline at home. But he was an encumbrance, and so, at an age when he ought to have been in the nursery at home or rolling on the carpet, he was sent to a Board School, that the mother might not be bothered with him.

It is good to know that the poor mother who has to go out to work can send her young children to the Board School, where they will be taken care of; but it points to something wrong when well-dressed and well-to-do mothers send their infants to such places in order to be rid of them for a time. Such mothers, incapable of training or controlling their own children, bitterly resent anyone else trying in the least degree to discipline them. They cannot be worried or bothered with their own little ones, but precious little they care what trouble or worry is brought upon others; but the children must not be chastised. This is one of the signs of the times, and it pervades a good many sections of society, with disastrous results, for hundreds of children become, not only wilful and wicked, but also criminals, because of it. I am continually getting letters from parents—fathers and mothers—asking my advice or assistance with regard to children whom the parents declare themselves unable to control. I have been offered money if I would take such children off their parents’ hands, and place them somewhere where they could not annoy their parents.

I know that in the best regulated homes, where parents love their children, and take infinite pains with them, sometimes boys and girls of tender age develop strange and even extraordinary characteristics, and the parents are often at their wit’s end with regard to them. I remember a boy of eight being charged with stealing two pounds from his parents. He had made his way to Euston, and booked to Liverpool, taking a half-ticket. He got to his destination safely, but was soon in the hands of the police for wandering. The London police were communicated with, and by them he was fetched back, to be charged with the theft. He was an inveterate traveller, and it was by no means the first time that he had taken a long railway journey ‘all on his own.’ These kind of boys are by no means scarce, and interesting lads they are, exhibiting as they do pluck, resource, and self-reliance.

Another boy of the same age had left home above a dozen times, and had taken considerable railway journeys without once paying for a ticket. In his way he showed great skill. He lived at Old Ford, and would get on the platform at Victoria Park and into the train, change at Dalston—where he would not have to leave the station—get into a Willesden train (N.L.), get down to the main line, and travel to St. Albans and other places. On the last occasion he travelled to Fenny Stratford, but was brought back and charged. The magistrate stopped his wanderings for a time by sending him to an industrial school till he was sixteen. These lads have talents which ought to be made useful; they are worth looking after.

But the great majority of boys and girls go wrong not because of any extraordinary character they may have, but because of the indifference, idleness, or worthlessness of their parents. I am persuaded that it is not the poverty of the parents, not the environments of the children, not the possession of criminal instincts, that lead the great bulk of boys to wrong, but the utter indifference and incapability of parents, though, indeed, it sometimes happens that such parents have children that appear to be criminals almost from birth. What can be said of two small boys, one under twelve, the other about eight years of age, who stood in the dock a few days ago? They were exceedingly small for their age, neither of their heads appearing over the dock-rails, so they were brought out and taken up to the magistrate. The charge against them was that of being in unlawful possession of a gold ring, which they had endeavoured to pawn. They both declared that they found it. Perhaps they did, but, unfortunately, they had both been on the ‘kinchin lay’ for some time past, and were in partnership. The proceeds of their robberies were duly tabulated, and there does not appear to have been any dispute about the partition of profits. On the elder boy was found a small manuscript book, which he had made himself by cutting sheets of paper and stitching them together. His full name and address was fairly written on the cover. Inside were some quotations from the New Testament, followed by the names of bygone wars, and of existing British regiments. Then came the daily account of their business transactions, which appear to have been somewhat extensive. Some of the entries were as follows:

They freely admitted that this was an account of money taken on one day from smaller children, who had been going on errands. Veritable Noah Claypoles both, it would appear. But from a long conversation that I had with them, I came to the conclusion that it was not inherent wickedness on their part, but the wicked indifference of their parents, that made them what they were. I noticed, too, that although the boys were several times before the court before they were disposed of, and had been twice remanded to the workhouse, the parents did not come near, and never troubled to make a single inquiry about the boys. We hear a great deal about the cruelty of parents to children, and a National Society exists to prevent or punish it. But I would like to see the national conscience aroused on the indifference and apathy of parents, for great as the evils of cruelty to children undoubtedly are, they are infinitesimal compared to evils wrought upon children and the State by the gross indifference shown by so many parents.

I am glad to say that the magistrate committed the elder boy to an industrial school till sixteen, so that an indulgent State will take on itself the trouble and expense that worthless parents ought to have taken and have borne. But the younger was sent back to them to graduate still further in crime.

Surely it is a lesser evil to hurt the body of a child than to blast its mind and destroy its character. But some parents are not only indifferent to what becomes of their children, but will also take some pains to get rid of them; and they know how to do it, for the State has taught them that not only can they neglect their children with impunity, but also that, if they neglect them sufficiently, their children will be taken from them, and housed, clothed, fed and taught without a penny of expense to them. True, it is sometimes a long process, but if they persevere it comes to pass in the end.

But some seek to hasten this consummation by giving their children into custody, and charging them with being ‘beyond control,’ in the hope that the magistrate will relieve them of their responsibilities. Should this fail, I have known such parents leave money about for a boy to steal that he might be charged with theft. I know one father who left a sovereign ostentatiously lying about for a boy to take. He did take it, spent it, and was charged. To the father’s intense disgust and dismay, the magistrate refused to punish the boy or commit him to a reformatory—nay, he went beyond that, for he insisted on taking the father’s recognizances for the boy’s good behaviour. This was just and wise; but the father was not pleased, for he had lost his sovereign and kept his boy, and I am afraid the lad did not have a good time of it.

Another father of this description had induced the State to take charge of three of his boys. One was in a reformatory, one on a ship, and one in an industrial school. But he was not satisfied, for he wanted to get rid of the fourth, and wrote to me. I did not reply, so he came to see me, and gave the boy a terrible character. He told me how happy his other boys were, and what an intense longing this one had to go on a ‘ship.’ I told him to look well after his boy, and that I could not assist him. Some time afterwards the boy was charged with stealing thirty shillings from his employer. He was only twelve, and had not left school, but acted as errand-boy in the evenings and on Saturdays. I found from the boy that he was terribly afraid of being sent to sea; neither did he wish to leave home. He told me also—and I believed him—that for some time past his father had been suggesting to him that he should take some money, and get sent to his brother at the industrial school. The lad followed his father’s advice to the extent of stealing, but it did not turn out as the father wished, for the youngster bought two cheap pistols and a supply of ammunition, and, taking a younger boy with him, went on a hunting expedition in Epping Forest. So long as the money lasted he paid for food and lodgings for both, and they seem to have enjoyed themselves immensely. But even thirty shillings will not last for ever, and poverty compelled the lads to return, when the elder was promptly given into custody. The tradesman did not wish to prosecute, but the father insisted, and told a sad tale to the magistrate about the boy’s misdeeds. But it did not come off, for the magistrate looked upon it as a boyish escapade, and treated him under the First Offenders’ Act, taking the father’s security for the boy.

But even if such parents are balked of their desire, and are compelled to keep their own children, the lot of such children is not favourable to the formation of good character, and sooner or later many of them get again into the hands of the police. The disinclination to take pains to train their children is by no means confined to the poor. It is noticeable also among those who are in better circumstances. Not infrequently I have met with it among educated people. A short time ago I visited a lady and gentleman who lived in their own house, which was expensively furnished. Their son, aged fifteen, was in trouble. They were by no means concerned about him, and told me that it was his look-out if he got into the hands of the police; they had done their duty by him, and had given him a good education. I found that their duty consisted of sending him to a large boarding school at an early age, paying for him till he was fifteen, and then telling him to find some occupation for himself. This he did by becoming an errand-boy at six shillings per week, an elder brother being engaged at a butcher’s shop in a similar capacity, With parents so indifferent, naturally the lad went wrong. Ultimately the father came to the court, and actually pressed for the boy’s committal to a reformatory, a result that would have happened had I not begged the magistrate to let me care for the boy. This was agreed to, and I placed the boy in a better situation, where his education would be of service, and where his future prospects were hopeful. I am glad to say he is doing well so far.

Many parents are equally indifferent, and to tell them that it is their duty, as it ought to be their pleasure, to see that their boys have a suitable start in life almost staggers them. The amount of joy and thrilling happiness that is lost to parents by this one fault alone cannot be conceived; the amount of misery, sorrow, and crime that is substituted is also immeasurable. Worst of all parental vices, most certain in its results, most deadly in its consequences, is the growing one of indifference with regard to their children. Our reformatories are full because of it, countless agencies are called into existence, and vast sums of money are expended in the vain endeavour to undo the evil that it has created. ‘Don’t care’ always comes to a bad end, but ‘don’t care’ in parents is doubly cursed, for it curses both parents and children. If parents would but understand that it is a natural law; from which there is no exemption, that with the measure they mete to their children it shall be measured back to them! But a voice from the dead is almost needed to wake some parents from their gross apathetic idleness with regard to the culture of their children. Were it different, we should not have thousands of boys and girls leaving home at fifteen and sixteen years of age, going to doubtful lodgings and following doubtful occupations. Can any good come if young girls earning six shillings a week leave home and essay to live on their earnings? The worst is sure to happen; it does happen, and ere long they join the ‘unfortunate’ class, and are met with by the score at our police courts. Can any good come if a lad of sixteen, earning twelve shillings a week, leaves home and goes to a men’s lodging-house? Yet thousands of them do it. The worst again is sure to happen, and it does happen: they graduate in crime, and we meet with these by the score at our police courts.

Another course is often followed by these young people; with equally disastrous results, for boys and girls set up homes of their own and commence life on their own account, sometimes going through the form of marriage, oftener not. The home is invariably one room furnished on the hire system. The boy’s twelve shillings and the girl’s six enable them to live for a time, but a baby comes, the girl’s earnings cease, the furniture payments must be kept up. Then comes squalor, misery, and want. The rest can be imagined, and it lasts for life. A young couple of this description, who had lost their home, were found with two children sleeping in a van, and were charged. The husband was twenty-one and the wife nineteen; they had been married three years. They promised to go into the workhouse, and, on being discharged, were escorted thither by the constable who arrested them.

Some time afterward the boy husband waited on me. He had got permission for a day out to look for work; naturally the authorities did not wish to keep him and his family. He wanted some help to enable him to get another home. I offered him help on the conditions that he and the girl separated for a time, he to go to lodgings and to work, his wife also to go to lodgings and to work, I undertaking to pay for the care of the children whilst she was at work, and also promising to help them with some goods in a year’s time if they kept to the agreement. But my conditions were not satisfactory to him. He went back to the workhouse, took his wife and children out, and they were afterwards charged with begging.

I called on the parents of both husband and wife. ‘Oh, he has nothing to do with us,’ said the parents of the former; ‘he left us when he was sixteen.’ ‘What did he leave you for?’ I asked: ‘We had not got room for him,’ I was told. The girl also had left home when she was about fourteen. Neither had the parents room for her. Their story is unfortunately a very common story, for large numbers of boys and girls leave home because there is no room for them. Thousands of working men in London start a married life with an establishment consisting of one room, when with only common prudence they might as readily have two or three rooms decently furnished. Life is passable the first year, and during that year most of them might, if they would, enlarge their homes, for with a home of one room, and the husband not coming home to meals, the wife has very little to do, and is able for a time to earn money by her own labour. This she often does, but, as a rule, the public-house gets the benefit of it, consequently the home is not enlarged. Then the children begin to come; the wants of the parents increase, but their means lessen, yet by no means must the public-house be forsaken. I have seen many men completely astonished when I have suggested to them that they ought to have more room for themselves and family, and that the money spent in drink would easily provide it. The public-house has become part of their very life, and children may come in quick succession, the infants may grow into boys and girls, and the boys and girls into young men and young women, but the public-house must not be forsaken, and the amount spent on drink must not be curtailed. The sacred duty of the English working man is to see that the publican does not suffer. His wife may suffer, his children may suffer, they may herd together like animals, but his glorious institution must be upheld.

This is the rock on which the home life of working men is wrecked; yet it is not a hidden rock, for examples abound all around them, but the love of drink casts out the love of child, and the idea that present self-denial will bring them future good and lasting joy has no weight with them. The moral worth, business capacity and intellect that is lost to the country because of this one evil cannot be measured. Born into homes of one or two rooms, born even of parents stupidly neglectful, are boys that are keen as the razor’s edge, whose talents fit them for useful lives, but whose talents getting no training at home, and finding no outlet for good, very soon get trained for evil, for an outlet in that direction is always to hand.

Recently a small boy, not twelve, applied at the North London Police Court for a summons. The magistrate asked him why he required a summons. ‘For wages, sir.’ ‘But surely you go to school?’ the magistrate said. Yes, he did go to school, but he was errand-boy at nights and all day on Saturdays, and earned two shillings a week. It was Saturday morning, and he had gone to his work, but found another boy, a whole-timer, in his place. His master had not given him notice, so he claimed a week’s pay in lieu of it. The magistrate gravely told him that he was not ‘a workman within the meaning of the Act,’ and that he would have to take out a summons at the County Court, and off to the County Court the little fellow trudged.

Now, a boy of that sort is worth looking after, and is worth a good many pots of beer; but it is dangerous to neglect such a boy; yet these boys, when about fifteen, leave our working men’s homes wholesale; ‘there is no room for them.’ Nor will there ever be room for them until working men are prepared to sacrifice the public-house on the altar of home life. Great politicians, public orators, and even wise and learned deans, may boast that they ‘never robbed a man of a pot of beer.’ I would like to rob some men of a good many pots of beer, for I contend that any man who prevents home decency by pots of beer, any father who is content that his boys should leave home while still children because ‘there is no room for them,’ while he can find money for the public-house, is a traitor and a criminal; patriotism has no place in his heart, for the love of country comes from the love of home. What do such men do for the good of their country? They simply take upon themselves duties with regard to children which they scandalously and wickedly evade. But the effects are far-reaching, and the country pays the penalty in minus good but plus evil. If parents would but understand, if they would but realize and know, that child-life in their homes brings responsibility and duty, and that the fulfilment of that responsibility and the performance of that duty—though they may cost anxious thought and much worry for a time, and though self-denial may have to be practised and the public-house dispensed with—will be more than compensated by the increased happiness of their children and the increased prosperity of the community.

One thing to me seems certain and palpable: working men cannot have home happiness and home culture and the public-house. The two are in direct antagonism. It is for them to make the choice. Will they make a wise choice? I doubt it, for has it not been said, ‘They who drink beer, think beer’?

Nor is it the children of the poorest who leave home at an early age; for the poor widow, who is left to fight life’s battle with three or four children, manages, as a rule, to keep those children round her, and her struggles for them are heroic. Sometimes, it is true, the parish authorities take some or all the children off such a mother’s hands, but as a rule they keep their children round them. Day after day I meet with poorly-clad and badly-fed but plucky mothers, who, though working very hard, make a much better job of home-life and look much better after their children than many mothers who have stalwart husbands living with them and working for them. Very pleasant it is to see the boys and girls grow up, and in their turn relieving the mother’s toil and caring for her. But the police court affords no sadder sight than a poor, elderly widow who has come to plead for a son who has got into trouble. One such scene is before me now. A young man, about twenty-two, stands in the dock, and by him stands an officer supporting him, for he has been drinking heavily, and D.-T. is almost upon him; he is not conscious of what is said or what is done. In the witness-box stands a little woman with her arm bandaged. She is the prosecutor. ‘The only son of his mother, and she a widow.’

Twenty-one years before the desire of her eyes, the partner of her life, was taken away. After following the body of her husband to the cemetery, she returned home and looked upon her only boy in the cradle, and, like one of old, she said: ‘This same shall comfort me.’ And so she loved him as only a bereaved mother can love, and she worked for him as only a widowed woman can work. The years went on, and the boy was sent regularly to school. No half-time for the widow; her boy must have the full advantage the school could give, and he made good use of his time. Fourteen years rolled by, fourteen years of washing and charing for her, but now he must have a trade. No errand-boy’s place for him. She placed him as an apprentice with a saddler. She could pay no premium, so he must work for very little wage till his twenty-first birthday should come round. This meant seven more years of drudgery to her, but bravely she faced it, and the boy went through his apprenticeship. Many a time during those seven years he said to her, ‘Mother, you shan’t work so hard as this when I’m a man’; but they were years of happiness, for the widow’s heart was full of hope, and the seven years went by.

Another year has gone by, but it has been a year of continued hard work, of unrealized expectations, of unfulfilled hopes. The climax is reached now, and she stands in the witness-box to bear unwilling evidence against him. The public-house, the fell destroyer of children’s prospects, had proved the destruction of her maternal hopes. It is an old story, but a common one. His twenty-first birthday had arrived at last, and the men in the workshop had asked him to stand treat; he had not much money, but his little was added to theirs, and drink was sent for and the lad forgot his mother. The day’s work being over, they all adjourned to a public-house, and on his twenty-first birthday, late at night, the lad reeled home—drunk. The widow had prepared a nice little supper, but it was untasted; he lay on the hearthrug the night through. The widow sat on her chair, and her feet supported the boy’s head. This was the beginning of a year of misery, for in the delights of drink and the fascination of the public-house he forgot his boyish aspirations and his chivalrous intentions. His wages were not given to relieve his mother’s toil and to gladden his mother’s heart, for drunkenness became a common occurrence.

Last night he came home very late and very drunk, but the widow was waiting up for him. A knife and some bread and cheese were on the little table in their small room. He did not want any supper, he wanted more drink. There was none in the house; he would go out and get some. Placing her back to the door, the widow endeavoured to prevent him. He did not know what he was doing, and took hold of the knife. There was a struggle, and the widow’s arm was badly cut. She screamed, and a policeman and others came in. Seeing the mother covered with blood and the son in a stupid, dazed way holding the knife, he was taken into custody and charged with wounding his mother.

In giving her evidence the widow palpably perjured herself; it was transparent. She declared it was an accident, and happened as she tried to take the knife from him. The magistrate saw through it, but there was no other evidence. When the widow had given her evidence she came out of the witness-box and threw herself before the magistrate, calling out: ‘Don’t send him to prison! Don’t send him to prison! He’s a good lad, only for the drink.’ Her testimony of her boy was true, but alas! it is true of many. Home after home I have visited; parent after parent I have tried to comfort; again and again I have heard the wail: ‘A good lad! a good lad, only for the drink!’ The public-house is the limbo of unrealized parental hopes and the execution-ground of filial chivalry.

But the magistrate did not send him to prison. The widow, the son, and myself rode in a cab to their little home, where the mother and myself carried him to bed. In that little bed for some weeks he lay, not knowing what had occurred, but conscious that something unusual had happened. When the delirium had passed and he lay in bed weak and ill, I showed him the cut on his mother’s arm, and told him what had happened; but he could not believe it till I appealed to his mother. ‘But you would not have done it, Will, you would not have done it but for the drink.’ Then he believed it, and, looking very strange, he got out of bed and kneeling down, he said: ‘I call God to witness that I’ll never take another drop.’ No other pledge was needed. Years have gone by, and it has been kept; the widow’s heart sings for joy, for she is cheered, sustained, and comforted by her son, and the full fruition of her hopes and his hopes has come. He has a small shop of his own, that does for him and his mother. He has taken to himself no wife, but mother and son hand in hand and heart to heart go gently through life. But it might have been different.

But it is not only the poor widow who is despoiled of her hopes and robbed of her joy through the instrumentality of drink. Time and space would fail me to tell of the shamed and sorrowing fathers I have seen in homes of refinement and luxury who have looked pitifully to me to exercise some magic power and give them back their lads. ‘Good lads, only for the drink.’ If the young men of our land could only see, as I have seen, the parental anguish, could only take some measure, as I have taken some measure, of proud fathers, loving mothers and admiring sisters, it were enough to make them dash the sparkling beverage to the earth in all the pride of its mantling temptation.

There is yet another cause that leads to much evil among boys, and to a great deal of trouble for parents, and that is the neglect of many parents to provide situations or work for their boys before they leave school. Scores of lads become criminals from this one cause. The day arrives when these lads can legally leave school, and they do it. There is nothing at home to entertain them, so they seek entertainment in the street. A few weeks’ idleness, coupled with the undisciplined liberty of the street, is sufficient for the ruin of many lads. Once let boys whose only discipline has been the discipline of school be released from that discipline and no other substituted, and they will be in mischief, or, worse still, acquiring idle and shiftless habits that will stick to them through life. They become thieves or drones, and, personally, I have more hope of the thief. The number of lads that get into the hands of the police from this one cause is a very large one, and I more than suspect that every Metropolitan police court magistrate has commented upon the matter till he is tired. A large part of my time has been taken up in finding employment for such boys while they have been under remand or under sentence. Numbers of such lads are discharged by the various magistrates on the police court missionaries promising to find them employment. No one knows better than the magistrate that undisciplined idleness is the ruin of growing boys. Of course these situations ought to be procured by the fathers of the boys, and would be if such fathers had only the common-sense to know that financially it would pay them to see that the day after their boys leave school they are decently at work, not to be made into little slaves, but to acquire the habit of regular industry, without which their lives must be burdensome.

For good or evil, the old system of apprenticeship is dead and gone. It had its faults, but it had many virtues, for at any rate it insured a boy continuity of work during those years when idleness is fatal. Nor have we anything to take its place, for parental control and interest have to a great extent disappeared also. It ought naturally to have become more keen and active, but who can deny that the reverse is the case? Everything nowadays is to be done for the parents, and but little by them. So it comes that agencies and organizations innumerable are in existence for the purpose of doing work that ought to have been done cheerfully by the parents, or for undoing the evil that has been done by them. But can they undo it? Can anyone undo it? Boys from fourteen to sixteen may be sent to reformatories till they are nineteen years of age. But does such a course undo it? No; for if he behaves badly enough he is sent away, and if he behaves well enough he is sent out on license when he has been there two years. Many such boys get charged again and again, and many detectives tell me that the worst thieves in their districts are men who have spent a time in a reformatory.

Parental influence cannot be exercised by proxy. Standing as God’s vicegerents towards their children, parents have committed to them a sacred duty and a trust; they have given to them an influence that no one can exert on their behalf. Reformatories undoubtedly do a great amount of good; unfortunately, they are absolutely necessary, they cannot be dispensed with. To take a vicious lad from his surroundings is the only wise, and frequently the only possible, course; but having taken him, he ought at any rate to be kept a sufficient length of time to allow of his acquiring industrious habits and useful skill which will fit him for becoming a decent and self-supporting citizen. An idle, dishonest boy of fifteen cannot by any process be converted into an upright and aspiring youth in two years; nor can he in two years acquire technical skill sufficient to be of service to him. But it is too late an age for him to commence to learn a trade; if he is kept the full time, till nineteen, he is then released at a time when he is neither man nor boy, and it is difficult for him to begin life other than as a casual labourer. When a boy has been proved unfit for freedom, and the magistrate commits him to a reformatory till nineteen, he ought to remain till nineteen, unless special circumstances are brought to the magistrate’s knowledge and he endorses a license for the boy; for he, having adjudicated on the boy’s guilt, and having knowledge of all the circumstances, is surely the best judge as to whether in committing the boy he meant one year or three, two years or four. It sometimes happens that bad boys, who have been sent to reformatories and whom the magistrate thinks are in safe custody and good keeping, come in a short time again before him on some other charge; they have been let out on license. Fewer boys should be sent to reformatories—it should be the last resource; but having been sent, they ought to be detained for the specified time to allow them to grow out of their evil habits.

Probably it would be better still if the law were altered to allow of their detention till twenty-one. There would then be a sufficiency of time to allow of their learning some useful occupation. If this were done, and a start were also given them on their discharge, I feel persuaded a greater amount of success would ensue. Better still would it be if all reformatories—adult as well as juvenile—were entirely in the hands of the State, for then a greater length of time could be allowed for reforming purposes. In the eradication of criminal instincts, or for the cultivation of good habits, time is an important factor, for good qualities are not like mushrooms—they do not spring up in a night. Another great difficulty, too, would disappear if reformatories were State institutions. Before a boy can be received at either industrial school or reformatory, he must be declared by a medical officer to be of sound health and constitution, and free from physical or mental defect. It by no means follows because a boy is weakly, has bad eyesight, or has some mental peculiarity, that he cannot become a criminal; the reverse is true, for just because he possesses one or more of these defects he is the more likely to become a criminal. Reformatories and industrial schools have the right of refusing any boy, and being philanthropic societies, they are quite in the right when they exercise their own judgment. But it happens that boys with defects go uncared for, with this result, that their defects become more emphasized and their instincts more and more criminal, and ultimately the workhouse or prison has to receive them. A State reformatory, to which our magistrates can commit any boy, as a matter of right and not of favour, with the positive knowledge that such boys, even with their defects, would be kept, taught and trained till twenty-one years of age, would be an inestimable boon, and would confer lasting good on the community.