| | | Nature, as Mr. Tennyson sings, is

"careful of the type" |

even where she is careless of the individual, but there | are certain types of existence upon which nature seems to | lavish an especial tenderness. Even when, nipt by unkindly | frosts of criticism, they seem to disappear, it is only like the | disappearance of the fountain Arethusa ~~ a temporary dip | till they may venture to bubble up again under more | favourable circumstances. If there was one creature which, | so far as England is concerned, history would have | pronounced dead as a door-nail, it was the Mendicant Friar. | Whatever else it had done, the Reformation had at any rate | done this. The great creation of Francis of Assisi, the | saintly ne'er-do-well who wedded poverty in the frescoes | of Giotto, the sturdy beggar whose itinerant tub and cap | handed busily round broke the slumbers and sapped the | revenues of Lord Abbots

"purple as their wines,"

| the butt of Erasmus, the scandal of More, had been | summarily and for ever suppressed. It was, to the highly | respectable English mind, one of the triumphs of his | Establishment that it found no place for the dirty and | importunate friar who annoyed him on continental piazzas; | that the business of sending the hat round was left, in our | favoured land, to obscure persons of the ranting type; that | an English rector was plump and well-to-do, and stood on | the intelligible ground of tithe and independence. Peel | parishes, mission districts, and the weekly offertory have, | we fear, somewhat roughly dispelled our dreams. The | Begging parson has taken the place of the Mendicant Friar, | but he has taken it with all the increased energy, the | improved appliances, the wider sweep of the nineteenth | century. The press and the penny post carry over thousands | of leagues the whine that would hardly reach across an | Italian street, and the wallet stored with bits of household | stuff is replaced by the thousands of the subscription list. | After all, if one is to be fleeced, there is some comfort in | being fleeced respectably, and while we refuse any alms | but contempt to the wretched cloak and monotonous appeal | of the friar, we may be pardoned for drawing a cheque | when fronted with the varied eloquence, the philanthropic | plans, the spotless tie, and the well-brushed broadcloth of | the clerical tout. | The race, if we venture to summarize its natural history, | began with the ecclesiastical reforms of Sir Robert Peel. A |

"Peel parson"

represents still, in many districts, | the nadir of clerical existence. It was a happy thought that | suggested the evangelization of our manufacturing masses | by apostolic successors, whose incomes were regulated by | apostolic precedent, and which pitched a man down in a | mass of grimy, poverty-stricken streets, with the Gospel | and seventy pounds a year. The natural result followed with | somewhat startling rapidity. The Gospel did little in | keeping the wolf from the door, and the law made no | exception in favour of classical debtors.

"He is a | perfect St. Paul,"

pleaded the friends of an apostle of | this kind to a bishop from whom they sought a preferment | for him.

"Yes, in prisons | | oft,"

was the Episcopal reply. But the rough | discipline of life soon suggested its own ingenious | expedients to the Peel parson. He it was who invented the | begging circular, and the apparatus of sham treasurers and | nonexistent committees. We remember coming across the | meritorious efforts of a hero of this kind in a Northern | diocese. His stipend consisted of seventy pounds a year and | a cabbage-garden; he had no parsonage, and he had a sick | wife. He touted from the manufacturers around him in vain. | Then he bought for a few pence the wreck of an old court | Calendar, and devoted his existence to the siege of the | noble lords. About one in five hundred answered him, but | the day was gained. He headed his subscription list | triumphantly with the names of the prince Consort and the | Duke of Wellington, and forwarded it again to the | millowners. The pride of capital rose in honest rivalry; the | ducal guineas soon paled before the cheques of the | manufacturer, and a handsome parsonage rose within the | widened bounds of the cabbage-garden. It is amusing to see | how instinctively pecuniary pressure produces a knowledge | of the weaknesses of human nature, but the tentative efforts | of our Northern friend have long been left behind by his | successors. The primary result of the labours of the peel | parson was to ticket the givers. As the ordinary mendicants | soon learn to know the houses where they may expect aid | and to neglect those where no aid is ever afforded, the | Mendicant Parson soon learned to distinguish the classes of | givers and non-givers. The number of the former was soon | found to be extremely limited, and after twenty years of | bleeding signs of exhaustion began to appear. Troublesome | questions were asked about accounts, there were growls at | the want of business habits among the clergy; in fact, | however convenient the small constituency system was, it | became clear that mendicancy must find a larger field or | perish. It found the larger field in the grandest and most | spiritual application the world has ever seen of the old | sensational dodge. Many a poor preacher who, from sheer | want of logic and reading, had been forced to fling himself | upon

"the large heart of humanity,"

began to feel | that the lesson was a true one for almsgiving too. We fancy | that it was in the East of London that the great discovery | was made, by one who has long ago departed in the odour | of sanctity and debt, of the power of

"Picturesque | Poverty."

Crime was an unfailing weapon; the | fortunate possessor of a

"Guilt-garden"

was | assured of an income for life. But mere poverty, not | poverty out of rags, decent hard-working poverty ~~ for | this had little charm for the philanthropist, and was utterly | useless for parochial purposes ~~ but poverty in rags, | picturesque, sensational poverty, drew wonderfully well. | Duchesses rolled down into low suburbs to see a hundred | coster-mongers devouring their charitable dinner, and then | rolled back in the same spirit of enlightened benevolence to | the Zoological to see the beasts fed there. It was eminently | comforting to Christian feeling to be trotted about through | rows of these strange faces as a Lady Bountiful, and to find | that it only cost as much as a box for the Huguenots. | sometimes, indeed, the results were a little odd. A | Peeress for whom immense pains had been taken, and no | little money spent, to secure the usual

"crowded | congregation of poor people, smelling so very queerly, you | know, dear,"

was amused to find the church empty, | and the congregation not grouped during the service round | her very ordinary-looking self, but lost in silent admiration | around her gorgeous Jehu. Of church, it must be owned, the | picturesque poor were usually a little shy; and yet the | greatest of all the begging dodges in inventive power chose | a church for its arena. Hundreds of the worst scum of a low | London district were paid to attend church on an evening | when aristocratic visitors were expected, but no payment | was offered save on condition of their bringing their clay | pipes and their battered pewters. The scene produced an | immense effect, and was called

"Bringing the | mountain to Mahomet, because Mahomet would not go to | the mountain."

Sensational titles, indeed, are half the | secret of sensational success.

"London over the | Border"

drew thousands from people who had not the | slightest idea of what

"the border"

meant; it was | the mystery that constituted the charm.

"Our Heathen," |

the

"Street Arab,"

the "Lucifer-match Girl," |

have all had a very fair run in their way. Still, even | picturesque poverty begins to pall upon the public, and | there are signs that

"picturesque immorality"

will | have to take its place. Soiled doves have long exercised a | peculiar spell over the charitable mind, but the details of | reformation are after all very commonplace, and the | romance of the matter dies away when one is requested to | send one's washing to the penitentiary and the doves are | seen through a medium of soap-suds. Moreover, | philanthropy is not yet prepared for the absolutely | improper; it prefers to linger, like the novels of

"the | world,"

on the border of propriety even while it casts a | longing glance beyond. Difficult as such a demand is, the | Mendicant Parson is already prepared to meet it, and to | blend subtly the proper and the improper in the proposal of |

"Free Marriages."

| asks the author of this ingenious scheme, | the Rev. E.F. Coke, in a widely circulated pamphlet ~~ | Echo, in the person of a

| "Merchant,"

is supposed to answer,

"Why | indeed, sir?"

Echo might have answered that the slight | effort to save up for the marriage fee is often the beginning | of economy with these poor people, that improvident | marriages are about the most immoral things in the world, | and that a marriage between people without a penny in their | pocket is hardly worthy of much encouragement. But echo | can hardly do this in face of Mr. Coke's facts and Mr. | Coke's principles. In the highly-favoured district for which | he appeals, it seems that

"one-half the people living | together are unmarried,"

and that it is a common | practice among East-end workmen

"to form a new | alliance about every two years."

Under these | circumstances it is no wonder if Mr. Coke, of whose | ministerial teaching this is the startling result or | accompaniment, flies to yet more startling axioms. | says the first of these, | Why rent and taxes ~~ or whatever else is intended by

| "fixed charges"

~~ do this in Bethnal Green more | than elsewhere, we do not know; but Mr. Coke hastens to | descend to particulars. The problem is a double one, his | people are living in the state which we may call

| "spiritual marriage,"

and his own fees are under fifty | pounds. How, asks Mr. Coke, are his fifty pounds to | become a hundred, and his people to be brought within the | sphere of legitimate matrimony? By the simple process, he | replies of the public subscribing 2,000 pounds | Mr. Coke's wealthy supporters appear, from | his expressions of thanks, to be accustomed to these | appeals; they pay for his curates, his pew-openers, his | repairs, his coal-bill, and his soup-tickets. Never were | people more perfectly freed from those terrible

"fixed | charges,"

which the pamphlet describes as

"bars | to purity and religion,"

than the flock who seem to be | living in this universal condition of

"spiritual | marriage."

The public, however, is far from being | disheartened by the results, and the 2,000 pounds seem to | be flowing duly in. The candidates for matrimony seem to | be duly sensible of the opportunity, and if we may trust the | vivid description he gives, Mr. Coke's church must recall | on Sunday the famous marriage scene in Aurora | Leigh. The list includes | The

| "spiritual wives"

seem to take to matrimony with a | wonderful amount of enthusiasm; they pronounce their | minister (as he modestly states) | and although their moral training seems to have been | somewhat neglected, some pains seem really to have been | taken with their religious education. | Conscientious scruples, | indeed, of the subtlest order seem to flourish in these very | unpromising grounds; some | So anxious, indeed, are people for | marriage, that it seems as if they could not have too much | of it. There was | We just pause to own that this | item gives us a little comfort. Our horror at Mr. Coke's | statistics of the unmarried state of his population is | assuaged by finding that he does not count Roman | Catholics as married people at all, an assumption which of | course tells materially on his statistics. | concludes Mr. | Coke, with a glow of honest triumph, | Henceforth the | ruffians can wed the poor girls at their will. Felony is | handicapped in similar fashion; one of the cases recorded is | that of a man | To attain such | desirable ends we cannot wonder if Mr. Coke demurs to the | restrictions of the law. Clauses about residence in the parish | can hardly be allowed to stand in the way of philanthropy | on such a very high horse as this. We are happy, therefore, | to assure the Registrar-General, or whomsoever it may | concern, that in a district with a population of 4,000, 1,5000 | marriages are celebrated in a year. q> | as Mr. Coke tells us, Pauperism, the | Guardians tell us, prospers, too, in Bethnal Green, and they | are hard-hearted enough to add, that

"free marriages" |

are responsible for a good deal of the mischief. | Happily, clerical beggars are as disdainful of economists as | they are of scruples which might be suggested by the law; | and we suppose it is of little consequence to Mr. Coke's | philanthropic supporters what the result of their labours | may be in the casual ward or the stoneyard. The parson's | fees are doubled, and morality is saved. | says the author of this wonderful scheme, | We fancy there are | a good many people throughout England echoing Mr. | Coke's wish very heartily just now. There is hardly a | Bishop who cannot point to a dozen of his clergy whose | appeals he knows to be unworthy of public support. But, | with the single exception for the Bishop of St. David's, we | never heard of one right reverend prelate who considered it | his duty to give the public the slightest hint of his | disapproval. It is possible that the Bishops feel the foolish | fear of

"checking public liberality"

if they tried to | direct it into wiser channels. But the fear is a perfectly | groundless one. While there are fools to give there will | always be plenty of persons to take, and the Episcopal | Bench might fairly interfere to protect people who wish to | do real good with their money without the slightest danger | of destroying their pet class of Clerical Beggars.