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"After Dark" in Birmingham.

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N keeping my appointment with Detective P- -r, I had to take into account that he might have "a job" at the last moment, which would prevent him from keeping his; and thus it proved, for it was three hours "after dark" before he could meet me, and, as he said, just too late to see what was to have been the first in order, of the series of pictures in real life, hung so low on the line that some painful stooping would be necessary to take in the detail. In its true order, Series I. of the Hogarthian realisms should have been "Supper time in the lodging-houses," followed by Series II., "Lodging-houses after bedtime," but hitting neither of these times we decided to take the lodginghouses just as they came, leaving the special phases for another round when we could go at the right hours. Just as the clock of St. Martin's chimes half-past ten, the luminous face of the same looking calmly down upon the hurrying crowd below, we turn into Park Street-familiar enough to my eyes, having years ago often passed through it on my way to St. Martin's Schools. As we pass the side door of the "Museum vaults my guide says, "One moment: we will see who is in here to-night;" and swinging back the heavy door we enter the large and crowded bar. Our business not being with these places to-night, I have only just time to note that more than one customer has "spotted my companion, and one at least made a hasty exit, doubtless having an urgent appointment with a friend “outside” at the moment. A word or two with an elderly man, and a private door is unlocked admitting us to the body of the music hall, just at the moment when a popular clog-dancer has concluded his final effort and brought down the house. Amid the applause, stamping of feet, cat calls, and the like noises, we pass upstairs to the "reserved" seats; stationing ourselves for a few minutes at a point of vantage, and gazing down on the seething mass of people, principally young boys, who are now settling down for the next item on the programme-but not before some of them engage in a free fight, lasting but a few seconds, a ring being formed, a few blows exchanged, and then the pressure closes in upon the combatants, only to be relaxed at another point for a similar display. But the "M.C." raps loudly

with his hammer, one or two "lambs" collar the most unruly of the "school." and chuck them out just as the boards are graced by the "Cornish Couple," who forthwith commence a sentimental duet. Soon wearying of this, we make our way out into the comparative quiet of Park Street. Walking quickly past the "Phoenix," just as a couple of drunken Arabs reel in, each with a jug in hand, we come upon the first of the lodging-houses.

Without any ceremony, P. pushes open a door, and we find ourselves standing in a rather long, but low and narrow room, dark in the corners, but sufficiently light near the fireplace, in which a tolerable fire is burning; a small paraffin lamp supplying such remaining light as suffices for the needs of those grouped around. Here I counted fourteen people, composed of three men, five women, and six children, the latter at once riveting my attention. Three of them were seated on a form, the end of which touched the fireplace; and one stood by it, a little fellow about three years old, curly headed, dirty, evidently very sleepy, and perfectly quiet, with his finger in his mouth. A pair of big blue eyes were raised for a moment and fixed upon mine, or upon the cigar I was smoking, and then fell again. Poor little chap! his attitude seemed to say, as plainly as any words, "I want to go to bed;" and so did the collapsed postures of numbers two, three and four. A few questions elicited the information that their mother had not come in yet. She was a firewood seller; and until the few requisite coppers were forthcoming, they could not go to bed at all, nor have any supper; but being "regulars" they were allowed to sit there until the needful was obtained. I learned from the lips of the eldest that they had had nothing to eat since breakfast, and that they were very hungry; so, finding which was the woman of the house, we deposited fourpence for a loaf, with an injunction (not to be trifled with) from my companion, to "see they had it." The latter, now going up to the sleeping figure of a man on a settle near the wall, shook him by the shoulder until he sat up, rubbing his eyes with his tolerably clean hands. "What,--you're down here again, Splits, are you?" said P.; and the fellow, carefully avoiding the " speaker's eye," growled out, "Well, what if I am?" and either in pretence or in reality, dropped off into his drunken sleep again. This, P. told me, was one of "the boys," from London, his clean hands indicating that he followed one of the genteel callings analogous to pocket-picking. (In these quarters, all the honest men have dirty hands, a singular reversal of the sense in which "clean" and "dirty" hands are spoken of in commercial and polite circles.) With an injunction to one of the women to send her children to bed at once, and a warning word to the master of the housewho now lounged in in a beery condition, and seemed more than half inclined to quarrel with us—we turned into the street again, just as a maddrunk Irishwoman was raving at an entry end, cursing and swearing at some invisible foe; quite satisfied to maintain all the talking to herself, and supremely unnoticed by those who stood about, even at her elbow. Nothing could more clearly have impressed upon one that such hideous discords were the normal state of things too often in this neighbourhood.

Turning down another entry, passing through an empty house, and emerging into a back yard, we entered one of what are called “furnished apartments;" and found in a small room, lighted by one small candle in a bottle, and containing a table, two chairs, and a shelf, a man at work mending a pair of boots; and at his feet, asleep on the bare floor, a little child, just covered with his own coat. Here the father was an honest man, paying three-and-sixpence a week for two rooms, under the same roof with thieves and burglars. The mother had not come home, and he could not leave this little one upstairs alone, for the boots must be done to-night, or there would be no breakfast to-morrow. I glanced down at the sleeping two-year-old, and again (as when I looked at the sleepy curly-head in the house we had just left) I thought of my own little fellow, snugly tucked-up in his cot at home; and my heart gave a thump, while I involuntarily said to myself "God help these little mites!" and stood for a moment or two, and thought upon the mystery of life. After visiting a similar scene, where a workman lived in "apartments," the annual rental of which was nine pounds, two shillings, and where we saw three children—“ well cared for,” as P said, distinguishing them at a glance from the waifs and strays, who all, more or less, bore the marks of "pinching -we descended to the ground floor, into one of the common rooms--occupied by women only, the men having gone out after supper. A few questions drew from one of these, the story that she was passing through the town with her husband, and was here with her four children. Finding us sympathetic, an old crone in the chimneycorner came forward, and with surprising glibness told us of her having come all the way from Dublin, etc., etc., and concluded with a most comprehensive blessing when we put a few pence into her hand for the company. Not long afterwards, we saw her going into one of the gin shops near, with a bottle for the refreshment. Intending next to visit a notorious "thieves' house," a temporary abode of some of " the boys from London, or elsewhere, who wanted to remain in hiding, P. led the way down another ominous-looking row, and stopped at a door which we found was locked. Here he expected we should have some difficulty in gaining admittance; but, after ing in a peculiar way, a shuffling noise was heard from within, and after a time the door was opened, when we entered, to find a wretched-looking young man, clad in a shirt only. He looked half scared at our appearance, and in a trembling voice assured us that the "mother" was out, and he alone in the house. This we found was true; and making the poor fellow sit down near the fire, to keep his bare feet from the brick floor, we questioned him, and found he was a shoeblack, who was in trouble, as the police had driven him away from his corner, because he had fits, which made him an object of fear and alarm, especially to women who might be passing by. P. spoke a kind word or two to him, and said he would see what could be done; and the poor fellow appeared quite grateful even for this slight indication of some interest being taken in his welfare.

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As we had missed the proper time to see the lodgers in full swing, we resolved to leave these quarters for this night, and pay them another visit shortly; but in turning our footsteps homeward we dropped in at several "dens," my guide having an eye to business; and sure enough, in a room at the rear of an innocent-looking tobacco shop, we found a young girl not more than fifteen or sixteen, whose parents had given information to the police of her having been decoyed from a country home. P., being in possession of this information, "drew a bow at a venture" when he said to her "I am coming here to-morrow to fetch you away, and take you back to S." The immediate effect of this remark was to make the child-for she was little more-burst into tears which would not be restrained. The story was very simple. She was the daughter of respectable parents, and was in service at S. On her "night out" she had got into bad company and taken too much to drink, and the next morning found herself where we had now discovered her, too firmly in the toils to extricate herself had she wished it; but still, thanks to our excellent police service, soon to be in a fair way to do so, though it would be with shame upon her young cheek. Space will not permit of a description of the other quarters visited, but enough may have been written to raise an interest in the sketches still in my note book, and which, with the Editor's permission, I hope to transcribe for a future number.

W. M.

TReview.

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R. FRANK SMITH BRITTAIN, a student of the Birmingham Medical School, has published a little volume entitled "Oscar and Esther, and other Poems."*

In these days, when so many self-styled poets, destitute of the smallest spark of the true Promethean fire, persistently rush into print under the mistaken impression that there is a burning desire on the part of the public to read any and all poetry that may be issued from the press, it is refreshing to light upon a volume, which, to give it the mildest praise, is far above mediocrity, and gives promise of still better work.

Like all youthful poets, Mr. Brittain's principal theme is Love; and if, in some of his pieces, he does not speak from actual experience, he has certainly obtained a wonderfully intuitive knowledge of the mysterious passion, if we may judge from the following extracts from a poem entitled "We did not Kiss."

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* Wyman & Sons, Great Queen Street, Lincoln's-Inn Fields, W.C.

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The reader must not imagine, however, that the wonderful self-denial indicated by the title of the piece is rigidly persevered in to the end, for we find later on

"Ah! I will not say how often

I have kissed that truthful brow."

The principal poem is well sustained, and contains many passages breathing the true poetic spirit.

W

Our Local Contemporaries.

HEN we-that is, the Central Literary Magazine—made our first appearance in January, 1873, with fear and trembling, and with many misgivings as to the probabilities of success, we could not then refer to "Our Contemporaries," for we had but one-the immortal "Jacob." Now, however, that we are almost at the close of the 12th year of our existence, we feel a somewhat patriarchal pride in enumerating the Magazines which have arisen in the meantime to keep us company; viz, The Midland Naturalist, The Midland Institute Magazine, The Mason College Magazine, Edgbastonia, The Antiquarian, The Central Debating Magazine, and The Small Heath Magazine. With the exception of the last two, which came to an untimely end, all are still in existence, and give evidence of vigorous vitality.

Considerations of space forbid special reference to their contents, suffice it to say that each magazine has its own raison d'ètre, and appeals to its own distinct class of readers. Just as The Institute Magazine, under the guidance of Mr. H. S. Pearson, expresses the thoughtful aspirations of the students of the great Institution to which they belong, so The Mason College Magazine, ably edited by Miss Constance Naden, whilst reflecting the scientific character of the studies of its contributors, affords ample proof that literary excellence is not by any means incompatible with their severer pursuits.

The Mialand Naturalist, which has now reached its 7th volume, is, as its title implies, devoted to the consideration of a special subject. The success which it has achieved should be very gratifying to the joint editors, Messrs. Badger and Harrison.

Edgbastonia, which is always readable and interesting, might be appropriately described as S.D.R.'s Own Magazine, since its contents are chiefly contributed by Mr. Edwards, whose memoirs of Edgbaston worthies have a peculiar and special attraction for all who take a lively interest in the public and social life of the town we live in.

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