I look with something approaching dismay at the multiplication of these institutions throughout the length and breadth of our land. To the loafing vagrant class--a very large class, I know, but a class not worthy of much consideration--they are a boon. These men tramp from one to another, and a week or two in each suits them admirably, till the warm weather and light nights arrive, and then they are off. This portion of the ‘submerged’ will always be submerged till some power takes hold of them and compels them to work out their own salvation. But there is such a procession of them that the labour homes, etc., get continual recruits, and the managers are enabled to contract for a great deal of work. In all our large towns there are numbers of self-respecting men--men who have committed no crime save the unpardonable sin of growing old. Time was when such men could get odd clerical work, envelope and circular addressing, and a variety of light but irregular employment, at which, by economy and the help of their wives, they made some sort of a living. But these men are now driven to the wall, for their poorly-paid and irregular employment is taken from them.[1] ‘_Too old to live!_’ is the cry, and the labour home has no pity for such men; indeed, these places are as pitiless as commercial life itself, for no one over forty need apply.
Now, it needs no saying that the healthy single man under forty is of all men the best able to help himself; his wants should be small, and if he cannot supply them, then there is something wrong with him. No one can help such men till they know what that something is. The shelter, labour home, or elevator are of no possible use to the intelligent, industrious, and enterprising criminal. Yet these are the dangerous men; but, after all, they are the men of whom there is hope; for where there is industry and enterprise there is backbone, and men with backbone can be saved--many of them, if not all; but they must not have the prison brand or the brand of any organization upon them.
Four years ago such a man came and claimed my help. I had seen him in the cells when he was committed for trial. I knew he would get a sentence of some years. He said: ‘Will you help me when I come out?’ I told him that if I was alive when his sentence expired he had better come and see me. I heard nothing of him while he served his three years, but one morning he was waiting for me and reminded me of our conversation. He evidently had some faith in me, so I returned the compliment and gave him a decent rig-out. I had no work to give him, but I supplied him with lodgings for a fortnight. He ultimately got work for himself, and passed from my knowledge till three weeks ago, when he called on me, exceedingly well dressed and evidently thriving. He had left his situation and was going to a superior one; he showed me a testimonial that his employer had given him, stating that for three years he had been a good and faithful servant.