Ginxs Baby, A Satire | Page 4

of
maternity. This time two sons and two daughters fell to the lot of the

happy pair. Her Majesty sent four pounds. But whatever peace there
was at home, broils disturbed the street. The neighbors, who had sent
for the police on the occasion, were angered by a notoriety which was
becoming uncomfortable to them, and began to testify their feelings in
various rough ways. Ginx removed his family to Rosemary Street,
where, up to a year before the time when Ginx's Baby was born, his
wife had continued to add to her offspring until the tale reached one
dozen. It was then that Ginx affectionately but firmly begged that his
wife would consider her family ways, since, in all conscience, he had
fairly earned the blessedness of the man who hath his quiver full of
them; and frankly gave her notice that, as his utmost efforts could
scarcely maintain their existing family, if she ventured to present him
with any more, either single, or twins, or triplets, or otherwise, he
would most assuredly drown him, or her, or them in the water-butt, and
take the consequences. II.--Home, sweet Home! The day on which
Ginx uttered his awful threat was that next to the one wherein number
twelve had drawn his first breath. His wife lay on the bed which, at the
outset of wedded life, they had purchased secondhand in Strutton
Ground for the sum of nine shillings and sixpence. SECOND-HAND!
It had passed through, at least, as many hands as there were afterwards
babies born upon it. Twelfth or thirteenth hand, a vagabond, botched
bedstead, type of all the furniture in Ginx's rooms, and in numberless
houses through the vast city. Its dimensions were 4 feet 6 inches by 6
feet. When Ginx, who was a stout navvy, and Mrs. Ginx, who was, you
may conceive, a matronly woman, were in it, there was little vacant
space about them. Yet, as they were forced to find resting-places for all
the children, it not seldom happened that at least one infant was
perilously wedged between the parental bodies; and latterly they had
been so pressed for room in the household that two younglings were
nestled at the foot of the bed. Without foot-board or pillows, the
lodgment of these infants was precarious, since any fatuous movement
of Ginx's legs was likely to expel them head-first. However they were
safe, for they were sure to fall on one or other of their brothers or
sisters. I shall be as particular as a valuer, and describe what I have
seen. The family sleeping-room measured 13 feet 6 inches by 14 feet.
Opening out of this, and again on the landing of the third-floor, was

their kitchen and sitting-room; it was not quite so large as the other.
This room contained a press, an old chest of drawers, a wooden box
once used for navvy's tools, three chairs, a stool, and some cooking
utensils. When, therefore, one little Ginx had curled himself up under a
blanket on the box, and three more had slipped beneath a tattered piece
of carpet under the table, there still remained five little bodies to be
bedded. For them an old straw mattress, limp enough to be rolled up
and thrust under the bed, was at night extended on the floor. With this,
and a patchwork quilt, the five were left to pack themselves together as
best they could. So that, if Ginx, in some vision of the night, happened
to be angered, and struck out his legs in navvy fashion, it sometimes
came to pass that a couple of children tumbled upon the mass of
infantile humanity below. Not to be described are the dinginess of the
walls, the smokiness of the ceilings, the grimy windows, the heavy,
ever-murky atmosphere of these rooms. They were 8 feet 6 inches in
height, and any curious statist can calculate the number of cubic feet of
air which they afforded to each person. The other side of the street was
14 feet distant. Behind, the backs of similar tenements came up black
and cowering over the little yard of Number Five. As rare, in the well
thus formed, was the circulation of air as that of coin in the pockets of
the inhabitants. I have seen the yard; let me warn you, if you are
fastidious, not to enter it. Such of the filth of the house as could not, at
night, be thrown out of the front windows, was there collected, and
seldom, if ever, removed. What became of it? What becomes of
countless such accretions in like places? Are a large proportion of these
filthy atoms absorbed by human creatures living and dying, instead of
being carried away by scavengers and inspectors? The forty-five big
and little lodgers in