THE SLUMS OF MELBOURNE

Press, Volume XLVI, Issue 7246, 28 February 1889, Page 6

THE SLUMS OF MELBOURNE

Bound the corner of Bourke-etreefc, whkh everybody knows, a short walk along Swanston-etreet, and there is the main channel of the city's slams. Its Innocent ; looking mouth, its dark and cavernous length. All below Swanstonstieet is business, all above infamy, except where, in a few instances, the iron heel of trade has forced its way In. Oar old friends the Chinese are just as we remembered them on a previous visit; smoking on their conches, beaafcy and the beast together, crowding around the fan. tan tables, or marking tickets for the banks. No sign of useful industry or healthful rest amongst them. Debauched with opium, or demented with the gambling passion, one and all. There is a good deal of opium here ; its use and "its evil influence show no signs of abatement. Is opium smoke responsible for that horror, that puzzling and shocking scene—a broad bench in a cupboard of a room, covered with a dingy mattress, a Chinaman on one side, old, nideous, possessed of "the habit," the opium pot and the lamp beside him, the pipe Iα his hand, which he languidly prepares. On the other side a woman, who« in other circumstances, would pass for a lady. Young, pale, sickly, dressed in white, spotlessly dean. The pipe, when ready, will be hers, She gets it at last, places the broad bowl over the lamp, and the mouthpiece well within her lips, inhales then, takes the dense cloud quite into her lungs, and breathes it out through her nostrils. Three inhalations thus, and then the stem drops, and you notice that her eyes are heavy, and there are symptoms of relaxation in all her limbs. She may sink into stupor in a few minutes, or may require another pipe. How did she get there? Why does she stay there? Are there many similar cases? Impossible to answer any question but the last. There are very many such casesscores of them within a few yardsof us. We were entering a lane, the lowest public-house in Melbourne, perhaps, standing at one corner. There was a mixed crowd about the bar—mixed as regards sex, but otherwise to be classed as all bad. One of our official friends noticed a " wanted " man amongst them, and in an instant bis mate barred the front door, while he himself proceeded to the side. It looked very, ugly within. There were about a dozen men and half as many of the other «ex. Not one of them all, probably, bat was conscious of some offence against tbe law. The men were young natives of the city, for the most part of Irish parents—furtive, brutal, feloniou* in appearance, flash and filthy in dress, and defiant in looks. The women had all the deeply-impressed stamp of their class. Which was it I " I want you, Duffy. , " " What do you want with mc V " Just come outside, and I'll tell you." One must admire the quiet tact of the detective. None of the ordinary policeman's bounce and brutality. " You see. I most lock you up; here is the description; you can't get away, from that."

" Let's see it, 111 swear it ain't mc." " Come across here, then.".

"Across here "is a Chinese cookshop. And thither goes Duffy with an officer on either hand. There U no hand on his collar, nor any enow of handcaffs. The women stream out into the streets, and become noisy; the men Rather in knots, and look savage. The writer would not hftve attempted to take that man away alone for the greatest reward ever offered, bat the officers say there is no danger if you keep cool and watchful. We seem to be in the deepest depth of the city's crime and squalor, and yet, not more than 200 yards away, its great balk towering above the other buildings, is seen the Palace Hotel in Bourke street, the promenaders on the roof seen plainly by the electric light, and strains of music coming down to us with each breath of air. There is no hurry or bustle on the part, of. the officers. They permit a lengthened. farewell, and absolutely coax their man away; consequently, there is no disturbance. The next scene is the lock-up, and... something -unexpected there. While the necessary formalities are in process a puling cry is heard. From what can that proceed ? Look down the long dungeon corridor, but nothing is seen there. It i* nearer; down in the corner of the ante-room used by the constables on guard a little heap of children ia seen, two sleeping in prion blankets, one, a girl of about six, sitting op with a sickly baby in her arms. The baby wails continuously They are not badly clad, but there is that about them which is more shocking and shameful than the foulest rags. The doctor looks closely, and says, "The baby cannot live." That perhaps is very well, for on the baby and every other of the little group are the evidences of inherited disease and disability. Each one might say, and with infinitely more truth thin he who first gave the words utterance, " Behold I was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did ray mother conceive mc." Where is the mother f

" Locked up drunk."

Yes, you can see her through the grating stretched out on the floor of one of those cells off the corridor. Where is the father?

" Don't know; but most likely in gaol." " Poor little beggars" is the official comment, and what can we add to it ? ■

We looked through the windows of a huge room, a , whitewashed hall or barn, at the back of an hotel. It was a fourpenny lodginghouse. A mattress and a blanket for fourpence. It was midnight, and the place was nearly full. What a strange collection of human beings was there—just above the Immigrants' Home; j net below the Model Lodgingho jse. Fifty men who could afford fourpence, but were blocked by the demand for sixpence. It would hardly be believed that so many and so fine grades of poverty existed in our rich city. New chums and old colonists lie there side by side, men simply hard up, men shivering in the palsy of long-con-tinued but abruptly-ended debauch, men crippled mentally and physically—a sad and a sorry crew.

Sad and sorry, indeed, is every memory of that night. Excepting the curtailment of the evil by the intrusion of trade and labour, there is no sign of amelioration or improvement. The same now as two years, and as ten years ago, despite all the "bang* ing of Salvation Army drums, or the milder performances of the numerous adjacent churches. And those, who are crowded out, are they lopt to or won from infamy? <■•..'

- "Oh, no," replies the voice of experience, " they re-establish themselves in the suburbs. You may spread them about, if that is any good, but you cannot wipe them-out.

"And what about all the Salvation Army work; do you note any difference in the general total of infamy f Practical experience is very sceptical on that point. "They-Jthe criminals and slum folks .generally; are so cursedly bad, and so infernally canning; they sham religion mostly when it suiia them, just as they do is gaol." Practical experience is singularly and sadly unanimous in this conclusion. One thing even to the casual observer, however, seemed strange to explain, the blood and fire of the Army is not poured forth most abundantly where devildom is most rampant. Through all that night there wad not a soldier, or a tambourine, or servant of the Army in any capacity seen about that central slum, while through the same hours the decent quietude of every bush Tillage in the colony was rudely disturbed by organised companies. How is this? A vigorous earthquake or an effective ukaae of utter demolition would probably do more good than all the "blood'and fire" in Australia, but remembering the loud and frequent advertisement of Army work, one naturally expects to see a little more evidence of achievement, or, at least, of steady and increasing effort.—abgus.