this, but they now seem to be obliterated. The
shrill whistle and the harsh rumble of wheels
overhead tell me I am still in a railway arch,
with trains passing to and fro above me; but
the handsome decorations, the gilding and
carved oak, the monster silver gridiron, the
discreetly urbane waiters, the appetising viands,
and refreshing drinks have all gone; and, in
their place, are windy discomfort, and sordid
misery. For a costly flooring of polished
marqueterie we have the hard damp earth;
for gaily painted walls, bare bricks and
mortar; for an ornate and classic entrance,
a few boards roughly nailed together and turning
on a rude hinge. The two open ends of the
arch are partly blocked up by old planks, but
the openings are many and large, and the keen
January wind rushes through fiercely and
pierces to the marrow. This arch gives partial
shelter from the rain and snow, but nothing
more. All present are working too hard,
however, to feel cold, and the deafening noise you
hear arises from hundreds of hammers busily
employed in breaking granite. The scene has
indeed changed. This cave is filled with men
who have broken down. We hear of a
"temporary pressure" and " unusual distress;" but
whole rows of faces have the hopeless beaten
look of long-suffering poverty. We are in
Bethnal-green. The cave is one of the arches
of the Great Eastern Railway, and the genii
with us are the committee of the Employment
and Relief Association recently organised at the
suggestion and by the pecuniary aid of Miss
Burdett Coutts. Three arches have been lent
by the railway company: two are filled with
stone-breakers; the other contains a little
office and pay-desk, and is being rapidly utilised
for additional workers. Four hundred men are
at present employed, the majority of whom are
in this and the adjoining arch. The rest are
sweeping the muddy streets of the district.
Seated closely together in long rows, with an
abundant stock of granite at their feet, they
plod steadily on, with no little clatter and noise,
making the hard stone fly far and wide.
Each face is covered by a piece of perforated
zinc, which effectually conceals the features
while at work; but these are moved or taken
off, as if for relief, directly the hammers cease.
But, when we first enter, the long rows of
punctured metal faces, like so many "roses"
of large watering-pots, remind one unpleasantly
of those model prisons in which
speech is prohibited, and where silent masked
figures flit to and fro the visitor's path
like forlorn spirits from the nether world.
Here, however, the wire or zinc covering is
simply a protective measure, and without it cut
faces and injured sight would almost certainly
result. The poor fellows before us would be
starving if it were not for this work. The four
hundred here to-day are drawn from the ranks
of ordinary East London labour, some skilled,
some unskilled, but none able to obtain work;
and they were classified, for our satisfaction,
with the following result: One hundred and
twenty-six were "labourers," including, besides
nondescripts, bricklayers, dock-labourers, safe-
makers, brass-founders, farmers' men, navvies,
and dustmen; forty-one were workers in
wood, including carpenters, cabinet-makers,
chair and drawer makers, box and trunk makers,
toy-makers, chair-coverers, carvers, coopers,
steam and ordinary sawyers; twenty-five were
decorators, including painters, plumbers, glass-
cutters, paperstainers, and japanners; thirteen
were workers in metal, including smiths,
gunmakers, tinmen, type-founders, and watch-case
spring-makers; eleven were skilled bricklayers,
plasterers, brick-makers, and pipe-makers;
eighty-two were weavers, including silk-
dyers and weavers, and braid, rug, and mat
makers; eighteen were shoe and boot makers;
fifteen were food-suppliers, including coster-
mongers, bakers, butchers, fishmongers, a
waiter, and a potman. There were also a
chemist's assistant, a chemical worker, two
drug-grinders, and a lampblack maker, two
stokers, and one engine-driver; twenty-one were
carmen and stablemen; two gardeners, three
time-keepers, three light porters, two soldiers,
and a solicitor's clerk, a commercial, and a railway
clerk. The remainder were manufacturers
of humble articles and followers of humble
trades, of which the variety is too great for
generalisation.

One man, for example, is a horsehair
curler, another is a willow-cutter, and a
third a shell-polisher; and all have now turned
stone-breakers or street-sweepers for dear life.
They commence work at eight in the morning,
and break stones till four in the afternoon,
having one hour out for dinner, from twelve to
one. For this they receive eighteen-pence at
four o'clock. It was first proposed to pay
twopence an hour for the time employed, and an
additional sum of fourpence if four bushels, and
sixpence if six bushels, of stone were broken in
the day. But it was found impossible to carry
this out. Checking the quantities would have
involved too much time and attention, and the
men following sedentary callings, the watch-
spring makers and the clerks, would have been
at a cruel disadvantage with the hard-handed
navvies or bricklayers' labourers. So it was
determined to pay a fixed rate per day of one
shilling and sixpence for breaking, and one and
ninepence for the harder work of wheeling and
loading the stone. The money is well earned.
Let any one who doubts this journey down to
Bethnal-green, and, shouldering a stone-hammer,
try his hand for an hour or two with these poor
men. There is, however, no forcing a prescribed
result out of each; but the foreman or ganger
keeps a sharp look-out, and any one seen shirking
is first warned and then reported. Should
this occur two or three times with the same man,
he is quietly told at the pay-place in the afternoon,
"We shan't want you any more—you
know why," whereupon he hangs his head, and,
generally without a remonstrance, skulks sheepishly
away. We ask how they find their way
here? "They are selected in the first instance