said one of these to his friend, who had just finished and stood
wiping his mouth complacently. "Shap't that," replied the other,
"ay, lad, aw can do a ticket and a hafe (three pints of soup) every
morning." Five hundred people breakfast in the sheds alone, every
day. The soup kitchen opens at five in the morning, and there is
always a crowd waiting to get in. This looks like the eagerness of
hunger. I was told that they often deliver 3000 quarts of soup at
this kitchen in two hours. The superintendent of the bread
department informed me that, on that morning, he had served out two
thousand loaves, of 3lb. 11oz. each. There was a window at one end,
where soup was delivered to such as brought money for it instead of
tickets. Those who came with tickets--by far the greatest number--
had to pass in single file through a strong wooden maze, which
restrained their eagerness, and compelled them to order. I noticed
that only a small proportion of men went through the maze; they were
mostly women and children. There was many a fine, intelligent young
face hurried blushing through that maze--many a bonny lad and lass
who will be heard of honourably hereafter. The variety of utensils
presented showed that some of the poor souls had been hard put to it
for things to fetch their soup in. One brought a pitcher; another a
bowl; and another a tin can, a world too big for what it had to
hold. "Yo mun mind th' jug," said one old woman; "it's cracked, an'
it's noan o' mine." "Will ye bring me some?" said a little, light-
haired lass, holding up her rosy neb to the soupmaster. "Aw want a
ha'poth," said a lad with a three-quart can in his hand. The
benevolent-looking old gentleman who had taken the superintendence
of the soup department as a labour of love, told me that there had
been a woman there by half-past five that morning, who had come four
miles for some coffee. There was a poor fellow breakfasting in the
shed at the same time; and he gave the woman a thick shive of his