THE NECESSITY FOR BEGGARS
To the Editor of The Idler.
Dear Sir: It is with alarm that I observe the increasing activity of our charitable organizations and the consequent disappearance of beggars from our city streets. I, who was formerly constantly importuned for alms whenever I stirred abroad, have not now been approached by one of those needy tatterdemalions for a period of six months or more. This fact has, for me, a deep significance. It means nothing less than that the ancient fraternity of street beggars is rapidly dying out. Surely you must have noticed that yourself. Where are the old blue-spectacled men one used to see standing upon the corners, bearing the once-familiar placard, “I am Blind”? Where are the legless men who used to wring discords from little squatty hand-organs? Where are the street-singers, the match venders,the orphans, the lost children, the paralytics? Where, even, is the Italian organ-grinder with his begging monkey? These charitable organizations, Sir, have spirited them away, and now instead of being approached by the beggars themselves, we are visited by the agents of the societies.
Now, Sir, my regret at the passing of the beggar is not altogether sentimental, like Charles Lamb’s complaint inThe Decay of Beggars in the Metropolis. There may be a certain amount of sentiment in it, for certainly in the loss of beggars we not only lose a picturesque class of people, but we also suffer a spiritual loss. The spiritual glow which came of personal giving is entirely, or almost entirely, absent in making checks for these beggars by proxy. But, Sir, I am a practical man and I can plainly see that the beggar, so far from being a mere nuisance and eyesore, as charity-workers would have you believe, is a very useful and necessary member of the social order.
Beggars, Mr.Idler, are the natural scavengersof the human race. They live upon the scraps we throw from our tables; they dress in our cast-off garments. In short, Sir, they make to serve a useful purpose, that which would otherwise be sheer waste. These humble people are the economists of humanity. They save what we squander. Every time one of them goes without a meal, there is that much more food left in the world for the rest of us. James Howell wrote of the Spaniard in 1623, “He hath another commendable quality, that when he giveth alms he pulls off his hat and puts it in the beggar’s hand with a great deal of humility.” Let us say, rather, with a great deal of respect and gratitude. Truly the Spanish grandee had reason to be grateful and respectful to the beggar who made possible his own magnificence.
Now, Sir, what are these charitable organizations trying to do? I will tell you—they are trying to teach the beggar that he wants the comforts of life. They are trying to teach him to desire good clothes and good food. They are trying to awaken in him that selfish desireto appear better than his fellows, which we call “self-respect”.They are even trying to teach him to work!What folly!
“But,” you say, “it would be an excellent thing if all of these vagabonds could be induced to work, for heretofore they have been mere idlers and parasites.” To which I answer, “You are wrong, it wouldnotbe a good thing.” Is it not perfectly clear that, once these beggars become workers, they will immediately demand the means to enable them to maintain a higher standard of living? Which do you think costs you the more, the beggar who begs perhaps a dollar a week, which he has not earned, or the bricklayer who charges you six dollars a day, of which he has earned only a part? It has been some years now since the notorious Coxey led his army of unemployed to Washington, and since that time the number of unemployed workers has been steadily increasing. Do you think, then, that we need more laborers? Have we so much wealth that we must force it on those who were content to be without it?
Why, Sir, I tell you this corruption of beggars should be put down with a firm hand. These charitable organizations should be legislated out of existence before they do an irreparable mischief.
I am, Sir,Henry Hardhead.