Part 103

‘You feeling Christians look with pity, Unto my grief relate-- Pity my misfortune, For my sufferings are great.

‘I’m bound in dismal darkness-- A prisoner I am led; Poor and blind, just in prime, Brought to beg my bread.

‘When in my pleasant youthful days In learning took delight,

(and when I was in the country I used to say)

And by the small-pox I lost my precious sight.

(some says by an inflammation)

‘I’ve lost all earthly comforts, But since it is God’s will, The more I cannot see the day, He’ll be my comfort still.

‘In vain I have sought doctors, Their learned skill did try, But they could not relieve me, Nor spare one single eye.

‘So now in dismal darkness For ever more must be, To spend my days in silent tears, Till death doth set me free.

‘But had I all the treasures That decks an Indian shore, Was all in my possession, I’d part with that wealthy store,

‘If I once more could gain my sight, And when could gladly view That glorious light to get my bread, And work once more like you.

‘Return you, tender Christians dear, And pity my distress; Relieve a helpless prisoner, That’s blind and comfortless.

‘I hope that Christ, our great Redeemer, Your kindness will repay, And reward you with a blessing On the judgment day.’

“Some say ‘pity the poor blind,’ but the lamentation is better. It’s a very feeling thing. Many people stands still and hears it right through, and gives a halfpenny. I’d give one myself any day to hear it well said. I’m sure the first time I heard it the very flesh crept on my bones. I larnt it to one blind man myself last summer.

“Now just to show you the difference of things two year afterwards: I went to the very same place where I had took 1_l._ by the road side, as I told, and all I got was 4_s._, so you can see how things was falling. The day I took the 1_l._, there was only one blind man in the town beside me; but when I got the 4_s._, there was three men blind there. But things now is much worse--bless you, a hundred times worse. If I went now to Braintree fair, I don’t think as I should take 3_s._ You see there’s so many blind men now about that I should’nt wonder if there’d be eight or ten at that very fair; they don’t know where to run to now to get a halfpenny; there’s so many blind people that persons makes game of them. If they see two near one another, they cries out, there’s opposition! See what things is come to. Twelve year ago I should have thought the town was completely done, and people quite tired of me. If I didn’t get my shilling going down only one side of a street, and now I may go up and down and not get a penny. If I get 3_d._ I am very well satisfied. But mind, I may perhaps sometimes meet a gentlemen who may give me a shilling, or one who may give me 2_s._ 6_d._; a person the other day tapped me on the shoulder, near Brook-street, and said, ‘Here’s half-a-crown for you.’ Why, even five year ago one gentleman gave me 1_l._ twice over within three months, and Prince Napoleon gave me a sovereign last 23rd June was two year. I know the date, because that’s the day the blind people goes to the Cloth Hall to get their quarter’s money, 25_s._, and I thought I was as good as they.” My informant told me he does better than any of them. “Not one does better than me,” he said, “because I sticks to it night and day. It’s 12 o’clock every night before I leave the streets. You know I leaves home by ten of a morning. I will have it to get a living. Many says they don’t know how I stand it to keep so long on my legs. I only has two meals a day--my breakfast, a bit of summat about five or six at a public-house--my dog though has plenty. I feeds him well, poor fellow. Many times I sleep as I go, and knock my stick just the same as if I was awake. I get a comfortable living--always a little in debt. I’ve got a very good kerackter, thank God--indeed all the blind men has--they can always get credit; and my dog gets me many a shilling that I wouldn’t get at all. But then it’s dreadful slavery. I’ve never no amusement--always out excepting on Sunday. Then I’ve got 5_l._ from Cloth Hall, besides a small pension of 1_s._, and 2_s._ 6_d._, and 5_s._ a year from different gentlemen, who allows us poor blind a small pension yearly. There are many gentleman do this at the West-end. Some will allow 10_s._ a year, and some only 1_s._ a year, to a stated number; and they all pay on a particular day that they may appoint. The Earl of Mansfield allows twenty-four destitute blind people 10_s._ 6_d._ a year; and his mother gives two blind 1_l._, and four 10_s._ The Baroness Rothschild gives to between seventy and eighty 5_s._ a piece once a year.” (“Bless her,” said my informant, most heartily, “she is a good woman.”) “The Earl Stanhope gives to between forty and fifty the same sum every year, and he’s a fine kind-hearted gentleman. The Earl of Cork’s brother gives eight or nine of us a shilling a piece once a year. Lady Otway Cave, she is very good to us; she gives seventy or eighty of us 1_s._ each every fust of May; but the butler, like a many more, I am told, takes advantage of the blind, and puts them off with 6_d._, and takes a receipt from them for 1_s._ The Earl of Normanton gives 2_s._ 6_d._ to ten of us. Mrs. Managan, of May-fair, gives three 2_s._ 6_d._ a piece. The Hon. Miss Brande 1_s._ a piece to eight. Lady Clements, Grosvenor-square, 2_s._ a piece to fifteen. The Marchioness of Aylesbury, 5_s._ a piece to about thirty. The Earl of Harrowby gives twelve 5_s._ a piece. Lord Dudley Stuart gives to seven or eight 5_s._ a piece. Mr. Gurney, 1_s._ a piece to forty. Mr. Ellis, Arlington-street, 2_s._ 6_d._ a piece to fourteen. The Marquis of Bute used to give 5_s._ a piece to sixty or seventy; but the Marchioness, since his death, has discontinued his allowance. The Dean of Westminster gives 1_s._ a piece to thirty on Boxing-day. Mr. Spottiswoode, 1_s._ a piece to about fourteen. Archbishop of Oxford, 5_s._ a piece to twelve. Rev. Sir Samuel Jarvis, 2_s._ 6_d._ a piece to five. Lady Dundas, 1_s._ a piece to about fourteen or fifteen. The Earl of Besborough, 1_s._ each to ten. Lord Stafford, 1_s._ each to about twenty; he used to give 2_s._ 6_d._, but, owing to his servant, I am told the sum has been reduced to 1_s._ Lady Isabella Thynne, 1_s._ to ten. The Countess of Carlisle, 2_s._ 6_d._ each to sixteen. Earl Fitzwilliam used to give 5_s._ to some, and 2_s._ 6_d._ to others, to about twenty. The Countess of Essex, 2_s._ 6_d._ each to three. Lord Hatherton, 2_s._ 6_d._ each to twelve. John Ashley Warr, Esq., 5_s._ each to twenty-four. Lord Tynemouth, 2_s._ 6_d._ each to forty. Miss Vaughan, 2_s._ 6_d._ each to forty (this is bequeathed for ever). Lord Saltoun, 5_s._ each to three. Mr. Hope, 1_s._ each to fifty. Mr. Warren (Bryanstone-square), 1_s._ each to twenty-five. Miss Howard (York-place), 1_s._ each to every blind person that calls on Boxing-day. Sir John Curtis, 1_s._ each to eighty (this is also a bequest). Lady Beresford, 1_s._ each to forty. Lord Robert Grosvenor gives 1_l._ each to some few. The Countess of Andover, 2_s._ 6_d._ a piece to ten. Lord Stanley used to give 3_s._ to about twelve; but two years ago the allowance was discontinued. The Marquis of Bristol gives 10_s._ to eighteen. The Bishop of London, 5_s._ to every one that can obtain a minister’s signature. Mr. Mackenzie (Devonshire-place), 2_s._ 6_d._ to ten. Mr. Deacon, 2_s._ 6_d._ to ten. Miss Sheriff (Manchester-square), 1_s._ to twenty. Miss Morrison (Cadogan-place), 1_s._ each to ten. Mrs. Kittoye (Wilton-crescent), 1_s._ to twenty. Mrs. Ferguson, 2_s._ 6_d._ each to seven. The Earl of Haddington, 10_s._ each to twelve.” I am assured that these are only half of the donors to the blind, and that, with the exception of Lady Liddledam, there is not one person living eastward of Tottenham Court-road, who allows the smallest pension to the blind. My informant told me that he knew of no attorneys, barristers, surgeons, physicians, soldiers or sailors, who distributed any money to the blind, nor one tradesman. “I think I get 10_s._ a week regular,” he said. “While the quality’s in town I’m safe. For other times I can’t count above 5_s._ a week at the outside--if it’s the least damp in the world, the quality will not come out. The musicians, you see, have got the chance of a damp day, for then all the best people’s at home; but such as me does well only when they’re out. If it wasn’t for the pensions that the quality gives to the blind during the winter, they couldn’t do at all. The blind people who have guides pay them no wages, they find them their victuals and clothes; but the guides are mostly children, and the blind are very good to them; many that I know spoils them.”

The blind people are mostly all of a religious turn of mind. They all make a point of attending divine service; and the majority of them are Catholics. My informant knew only five among his blind neighbours who were Protestants--and two of these were Presbyterians, one a Methodist, and two Churchmen; and on the other hand he numbered up fourteen Catholics, all going to the same chapel, and living within a short distance of himself. They are peculiarly distinguished by a love of music. “It’s a sure bit of bread to the most; besides, it makes them independent, you see, and that’s a great thing to people like us.” There is not one teetotaller, I am told, among the street blind, but they are not distinguished by a love of drink. The blind musicians often, when playing at public-houses, are treated to drink, and, indeed, when performing in the streets, are taken by drunken men to play at taverns, and there supplied with liquor; but they do not any of them make a habit of drinking. There is, however, one now in prison who is repeatedly intoxicated; and this, the blind say, is a great injury to them; for people who see one of them drunk in the streets, believe that they are all alike; and there is one peculiarity among them all--being continually mistaken for one another. However different they may be in features, still, from the circumstance of their being blind, and being mostly accompanied by a dog, or a guide, few persons can distinguish one from another. They are mostly very jealous, they tell me, because they say every one takes advantage of their affliction, even their own children, and their own wives. “Some of the wives dress themselves very gaily, because they know their husbands can’t see their fine clothes, particularly those that have got no children--then there’s none to tell. But, pray mind I only speaking of some of them--don’t blame the whole. People never took no money out of my dog’s basket--two gals of the town once did try to steal a shilling out of it, that some gentleman had dropped in, but the dog barked, and they gave a scream, and run away. Many of the blind men have married blind women--they say that they don’t like seeing women. If seeing men find it a hard job to take care of seeing women, how are blind men to do it?” My informant knows six blind men who have married blind wives--the blind wives, I am told, stick closer to home--and do not want to go to plays, or dances, or shows, and have no love of dress--and they are generally more sober than those who can see. “A blind person,” says one, “has no reason to be as wicked as those that can see--there’s not half the temptation, you know. The women do all their household duties as well as if they had their eyesight. They make puddings and pies, and boil them, or send them to the oven, as well, as quick, and as handy as a woman that can see. They sweep the floor without leaving a speck; and tidy the room, and black-lead the grate, and whiten the hearth, and dress the chimney-piece off quite handsome, I can tell you. They take great pride in their chimney-piece--they like other people to see it--and they take great pride in having their house quite clean and neat. Where I live it’s the remark of all, that they who can’t see have their houses the cleanest. I don’t know of any blind person that has a looking-glass over the mantelpiece, though. I’m sure that many would, if they had the money, just to please their friends. And, what’s more strange, the blind wives will wash their husbands’ shirts quite clean.” “The blind are very fond of their children, you see, sir,” said one; “we owe so much to them, they’re such helps to us, even from their very infancy. You’ll see a little thing that can hardly walk, leading her blind father about, and then, may be, our affliction makes them loves us the more. The blind people are more comfortable at home--they are more together, and more dependent on one another, and don’t like going out into company as others do. With women a love of company is mostly of a love of seeing others, and being seen themselves, so the blind wives is happy and contented at home. No man that could see, unless he was a profligate, would think of marrying a blind woman; and the blind women knows this, and that’s why they love their blind husbands the more--they pity one another, and so can’t help liking each other.” Now, it’s strange, that with so many blind couples living together, no one ever heard of any accident from fire with blind people--the fact is, their blindness makes them so careful, that there’s no chance of it: besides, when there’s two blind people together, they never hardly light a candle at all, except when a stranger comes in, and then they always ask him, before he leaves, to put the light out.

The blind people generally are persons of great feeling; they are very kind and charitable to persons who are in any way afflicted, or even to poor persons. Many of those who live on charity themselves are, I am assured, very generous to those that want. One told me that “a beggar had come to his house, and he had made him cry with his story; my heart” he said, “was that full I was ashamed.” They’re not

## particularly proud, though they like to be well-dressed, and they say

that no one can get a wife so soon as a blind man. One assured me that he’d go into any lodging-house in the country and get two or three if he wanted--only they’d fight, he said. “You see in the lodging-houses there are many woman whose husbands (but they’re not married, you know) have told them to go on and said they would follow them, which of course they don’t; or there’s many in such places as wants a companion. When a blind man goes into one of these houses, a woman is sure to say to him, ‘Can I fetch you anything, master?’ Half an ounce of tea may be, and when they’ve got it, of course, they’re invited to have a cup, and that does the business. She becomes the blind man’s guide after that. The next morning, after telling one another where to meet--‘I’m going such a road,’ they whisper to each other,--away they starts. I’ve known many a blind man run away with a seeing man’s wife. The women, I think, does it for a living, and that’s all.

“I can’t see the least light in the world--not the brightest sun that ever shone. I have pressed my eye-balls--they are quite decayed, you see; but I have pushed them in, and they have merely hurt me, and the water has run from them faster than ever. I have never seen any colours when I did so.” (This question was asked to discover whether the illusion called “peacock’s feathers” could still be produced by pressure on the nerve). “I have been struck on the eye since I have been blind, and then I have seen a flash of fire like lightning. I know it’s been like that, because I’ve seen the lightning sometimes, when it’s been very vivid, even since I was stone blind. It was terrible pain when I was struck on the eye. A man one day was carrying some chairs along the street, and struck me right in the eye-ball with the end of the leg of one of the chairs; and I fell to the ground with the pain. I thought my heart was coming out of my mouth; then I saw the brightest flash that ever I saw, either before or since I was blind.” (I irritated the ball of the eye with the object of discovering whether the nerve was decayed, but found it impossible to produce any luminous impression--though I suspect this arose principally from the difficulty of getting him to direct his eye in the proper direction). “I know the difference of colours, because I remember them; but I can’t distinguish them by my touch, nor do I think that any blind man in the world ever could. I have heard of blind people playing at cards, but it’s impossible they can do so any other way than by having them marked. I know many that plays cards that way.” He was given two similar substances, but of different colours, to feel, but could not distinguish between them--both were the same to him, he said, “with the exception that one felt stiffer than the other. I know hundreds of people myself--and they know hundreds more--and none of us has ever heard of one that could tell colours by the feel. There’s blind people in the school can tell the colours of their rods; but they do so by putting their tongue to them, and so they can distinguish them that’s been dipped in copperas from them that hasn’t. I know blind people can take a clock to pieces, and put it together again, as well as any person that can see. Blind people gets angry when they hear people talk of persons seeing with their fingers. A man has told me that a blind person in St. James’s workhouse could read the newspaper with his fingers, but that, the blind know, is quite impossible.”